#CONTEXT rob is my shitty ex

[wolvierinez]

SIGH

[lavendead]

my thoughts on aggretsuko season 5:

so ik i haven’t talked about this show on here but honestly it’s kind of a watch the new season and forget about it kind of a show for me. but i do really like it so here are some of my thoughts.

1. tsunoda and fenneko should have ended up together or at least really good friends. they’re bromance was a really good place for their arcs to go, both of them finding true feminism in a girls supporting girls way and i would have liked to actually see that happen in season 5.

2. please do gori and washimi some justice, they are really amazing characters and they were shoved to the side as gossip girls this season it makes me sad. gori might be my favorite character in the show so i would have liked to see her arc about finding love get resolved as well as retsukos.

3. tadano had just become a deus ex machina rich guy which is kinda funny and on point but also really annoying sometimes from a narrative and character standpoint. tadanos one of my favs i would have loved to see him get actual development or even a character moment that doesn’t revolve around retsuko.

4. ton is perfect these last two seasons no notes on that front honestly.

5. the otm crew was also used as just a plot device this season and i felt like manaka and hyoto were really ooc. they just felt really over exaggerated especially because we got to see a lot of down to earth moments with those two in season 3.

6. i feel like all of retsukos character development she’s been getting throughout the show, especially last season, got flushed down the toilet this season so they could make it more haida centric. like she had her whole confidence cool girl thing last season and this season it really fell to the wayside.

7. i actually liked the haida homelessness arc and i think that could have been a really good way for this season to go if they actually gave it the time of day. the campaign arc was stupid and incredibly forced and robbed the show of a good or meaningful ending. ik they were probably trying to push a political statement i don’t get the full context of, but they could have done that with the whole homelessness thing, they didn’t need to push it into a political campaign because there’s a campaign season in every slice of life show and it’s never good. egirl and constructions guy (i forget their name) we’re really good characters i wish we saw more of them.

8. the wedding. this was honestly the biggest cop out of the entire show and it pisses me off to no end. season 1 retsuko gets into trouble with ron because she wants to get married and quit her job. season 2 she dumps my boy tadano because she wants to get married and he doesn’t. season 3 she leaves otm girls and wants a simple life and a wedding. season 4 she half dumps haida because he needs to get his shit together so they can get married. and you’re telling me we never actually see a wedding??? just a blink and you miss it marrige certificate??? all so they can focus on this stupid campaign???

9. season 5 wasn’t meant to be an ending and that’s pretty clear. they had to many ideas to make a proper wrap up to the show and that left us with a really shitty finale to say the least. everything they’ve been building up for four seasons got shoved over to make room for the arcs of this season and it just makes me sad ngl.

tldr; the writers lost focus on the show for shiny new arcs this season so it was a really bad ending and i wish there was more so we could get a good conclusion for al of the fun characters.

[royalbluefairydust]

hii i am new to the fandom so i don't really know much so

has max done anything problematic? or like is there a specific reason you dislike him?

also HOW DOES HE HAVE A WHOLE COUNTRY AGAINST HIM WHAT

Oh, dear anon, where do I begin??

First things first, I am kinda new too, I watch f1 for 3 months, and I liked Max at the beginning because he’s a damn good driver (probably because his dad always pushed and straight up abused him - but we don’t have time to unpack all of that) and he’s very straightforward with the press.

The first things that started to change my view about him is 1. that he doesn’t kneel with the other drivers (and I find his explanation bs) and 2. the brazilian gp 2018, his ‘fight’ with Esteban Ocon (it’s kinda funny in retrospect, I think both were at fault here, but it’s a delight to see someone stand up against him).

Then the recent things (meaning the shit he said in the last 3? 2? months). Buckle up.

He used ableist and racist slurs against Lance Stroll at the 2020 portuguese gp fp2 (i’m sure there’s an uncensored version somewhere on yt). Some people thought we have an issue with the use of swear words, but no, that’s completely fine in high adrenaline situations like that. I’m trying to find an article that explains everything but the main thing is that the racist slur is connected to Mongolia and the Mongolian government wants him to apologize (although he thinks he already did it with this, but he never said I’m sorry or I apologize). Here’s an article about it but tumblr was full of it too after it blown up.

Let’s continue with Kelly Piquet, shall we? Imo, it’s not a big deal compared to the other stuff, but judge for yourself. Miss Piquet is current f1 driver Daniil Kvyat’s ex girlfriend and the mother of his child. And apparently Max and Kelly are together now. I think they are adults and can sort this thing out between themselves (also, it’s their private life??), but it’s still weird and caused quite a bit of drama on f1blr.

Uhh, the thing he said after Romain Grosjean’s crash? He said something along the lines of “if a driver is afraid to get back in the car after an accident like that, then he shouldn’t drive” and he’d kick them out of their seat if they refused to drive which is insensitive af (and like the complete opposite of what his best mate Daniel Ricciardo said about the situation, that’s interesting too). So it’s here and here. After this, if I recall correctly he said it’s been taken out of context and he didn’t mean it like that...

Next, he said anyone could win in a Mercedes (this was after Lewis Hamilton got his 7th world champion title, I think, but I don’t remember where I saw this)

Aaand he said some mean shit about Alex Albon after his first podium at the 2020 Tuscan GP?? (or later, I can’t quite recall but I’ll link his statement if I find it), when the reporter asked something about Alex’s much needed points, and Max said if he can be honest, it’s not normal that you’re 30-40 sec behind your teammate. Oh, so wait, it was more recent, at Bahrain when there was a double Red Bull podium. And here’s an article

And lastly, more recently, after the Sakhir GP, when George Russell laid down on the grass, disappointed with his race result (rightly so, he was robbed of that pole), Max said something about how George put on a show for the cameras, when in Turkey he went sulking behind a dumpster bin after quali (in front of cameras as well). Let me just

So these are the things from the top off my head. Also, it’s been said that he is/was a pretty aggressive driver, so... I’m not saying he’s pure evil, but boy, why don’t you think before you speak? I think, as a public figure, he needs to educate himself more and think twice, thrice before saying something that can be controversial.

Feel free to add anything that I might have forgotten, everybody.

And that concludes our Max Verstappen is a shitty person 101 class.

[scienceoftheidiot]

So, 1 week after, here are my thoughts on Endgame. 

I liked the film, this is the thing you need to know. 

Rest of the thoughts under the cut, not in any order, and of course SPOILERS AHEAD 

Also careful as I put ALL my opinions there. Dunno if it’s unpopular or not and frankly I don’t really give a shit. 

Time travel. Didn’t expect that, rather some shenanigans with Strange, so time travel + Antman ? I’m game, thanks for surprising me. I think Antman is now my favourite Avenger. And I haven’t seen Antman and the Wasp, so uh. I was a little put off. lol. 

Since we’re on this subject : why oh why do you all go to fucking TONY’s to talk about time travel when Bruce is still around ?!???!!!!  Tony is a genius engineer. He does physics. BUT NOT THIS KIND  Bruce is the closest you can have for time travel (I would have gone to Pym but eh he’s gone).  further proof that in cinema, all scientists are interchangeable (if... you can call Tony a scientist. Mmmmmeeeehhh depends on the definition) science rant off/  Physicist = BRUCE. NOT TONY  

Tony was fucking grating all the damn movie. I understand his reactions, I understand his motivations, but really ? I have started to not like him much a few films before, and now it has culminated. So I guess now I’m team Cap. Always been team Cap anyway, except during civil war when the sole well written character is Black Panther. 

the 5 years gap ? the most stupid part of the movie. I can suspend my disbelief (not all the (russian) nuclear plants have exploded without enough supervision, for example, well I think so, we have no idea how the rest of the world has coped because USA USA USA)(the french ones are supposed to calm down and “turn off” in this case)(i said SUPPOSED) but there are things that should be addressed    It’s only used as a background and never made in perspective as a European, we know that 5 years ? Is enough to rebound. No “big empty places” unless you have decided to make a reserve of it (which they should have taken the opportunity for, given Steve’s comment about whales in the Hudson. Animals grow faste than humans). Economy is probably thriving by then, and all this. The whole infrastructure is still there, nothing to rebuild. I’m fairly sure people have started to make a lot, a lot a lot of babies.  The people returning at the end ? All their family have gone without them for 5 years ? How do they deal with that ? All the economy is going to collapse again. Families are going to be broken again. People are going to find themselves without a home, without a support, without anything.  And if you think it works, I would engage you into reading what happened to the people who survived camps after WW2. And nothing of this is addressed. It creates more problems than it solves them and all of this because of this 5 years gap to give a daughter to Tony and some (badly made fake) belly to Thor.  Spiderman ? goes back to high school ? and his friend is still there ? so his friends was snapped too, or else it’s a monumental fuck up. Unless you’re extremely dumb you don’t stay 5 years in high school you know  This gap is unneccessaty and made there just so Tony can have a kid so his death is more dramatic or whatever. It sucks. Even during the film it put me off.  oh it’s maybe also there because they want Thor to totally collapse, which brings me to 

Thor  The next time I see someone saying “Thor isn’t like this ! Thor would never collapse” has not seen the same films as I did (and probably is one of those Ragnarok haters who have not understood the movie)  Thor can collapse. In fact, it’s just as understandable or actually even more, than Tony doing so in the beginning of the movie (who is the only one who hasn’t lost a loved one ? hey, Tony ! Thor has lost his country, his brother, his parents, and he has LOST, he fought and lost, and this isn’t something he is used to).  No, the probelm with Thor isn’t that he’s collapsed and is now an alcoholic (and actually more of an alcoholic than Tony ever was shown to be when he’s supposed to be one - Tony never tries to find alcohol or else. Tony is a.... Tony c’est un putain d’alcoolique mondain. Pas franchement intéressant. Pas un poivrot. Thor est plus intéressant qu’un alcoolique mondain. Sorry for the french I can’t translate.  The problem with Thor is that it’s played for the laughs.  I don’t mind Rocket slapping him - it’s ROCKET dudes, he is a fucking arse with no social capabilities you think he’s going to help his sole partner while they’re supposed to do a mission ? No, he slaps him. Cause he’s an arsehole. It’s IN CHARACTER  No, it’s the way it’s filmed. The Russos tried to do a Waititi, but they didn’t understand Ragnarok, just like half of tumblr apparently, and played this for the laughs, without any finesse, without any of the things that made Thor in Ragnarok relatable and not the butt of a joke. Once it’s alright, the surprise of Banner finding Thor this way and all.  A few lines here and there, okay Not this constant “look Thor is fat and depressed and alcoholic haha who would have thought it’s so funny let’s have more” 

It didn’t enrage me but it’s very very meh 

I don’t know if it was the French translation but almost all the fucking humour was off. 

Time travel is full of plot holes. I don’t care about that. But time travel is slippery and they fell in all the holes. Luckily for them, I watch Doctor Who. I have learnt not to see the holes (Doctor Who does it better though eeehhhh) 

I don’t mind and actually liked all the returns to the past, I know people found it shitty, I liked it. 

Loki... eeehhh. He’s in ANOTHER timeline now. If he comes back, he better have an explanation. A GOOD ONE 

I won’t watch the Disney series anyway so I don’t really care about what happens, do your thing, I’m off 

Big battle at the end : YES 

I WANT TO BE WALKYRIE WHEN I AM A GROWN UP 

SHE IS BADASS 

SHE HAS ALWAYS BEEN AND I ALREADY WANTED TO BE HER IN RAGNAROK SHE IS ME

BUT NOW SHE HAS A FLYING PONY 

IT’S AWESOME

I WANT TO BE WALKYRIE OKAY 

Now I have thoughts about identification and Hollywood stereotypes of races and the way they mix gender expression and sexuality - but if that interest someone I’ll just tell them in private. Just know that I’m white and straight, yet I almost only identify to non white and often non straight female characters. So there IS something to look into there. I don’t give a fuck in what race or sexuality the characters I identify with are - unless Tumblr decides I can’t cosplay Walkyrie because I’m white or this kind of bullshit - I just find it interesting, because I only identify with ONE type of women, and these women are always such. So there is stuff to dig up imo. ANYWAY  BACK TO YOUR REGULAR SCHEDULE 

I hate MCU Spiderman

I hate MCU Spiderman

I hate MCU Spiderman 

His presence and his talking and all ruined all the fucking scenes he was in 

ESPECIALLY TONY’S DEATH 

Dude ? you know him for barely a few months ? You are so dependant on him ? I know you’re young, but... you’re not 10yo, and you’re supposed to have been Spidey WITHOUT him before ? and what you do is just basically worship the ground Tony is on all the time ? 

TONY IS DYING AND THE ONE WHO STAYS THERE AND THAT NO ONE KICKS AWAY IS SPIDERMAN ???? 

LET PEPPER BE THERE 

HECK EVEN CAP HAD MORE HISTORY WITH HIM 

I swear I was 2 seconds away from screaming when Pepper finally pushed him away. 

You, my little arsehole baby Spidey who apparently can’t do shit alone, have robbed some of the last seconds of Tony’s life from his love. Thank you Spiderman 

Spiderman has more screentime than T’challa and I will always be salty about it. T’challa, Tchuri, are far more interesting and important to this story than Peter Parker. 

Spidey rant off/ 

Where is Captain Marvel ? Away on Plot Planet so that she doesn’t ruin the film by being too strong. She still Deus Ex Machinas her way at the end. 

I have nothing against Captain Marvel, she’s for me like Superman, too powered so uninteresting. 

Remember who my fave  superheroes are ? Daredevil and Hawkeye(s). Superpowers don’t really do it for me, eh. So that’s it. 

CAPTAIN AMERICA HOLDING MJOLNIR 

I DIED 

THIS WAS PERFECT

I MIGHT HAVE SHOUTED 

I LOVED IT 

Cap was redeemed to me by this film, after Civil War which fucked him up and Infinity War where he was... not really interesting (best char in IW ??? THOR FFS) 

Cap’s end. Is the best. I don’t care about the timeline bullshit and how it shouldn’t work and all this 

Cap comes back to Peggy and they live happily ever after and I’m so happy for them and that’s it. 

Natacha? The whole soul stone thing was dumb. But given the context there she HAD to die. 

I am not salty about her dying though. 

BUT WHY DOESNT SHE HAVE A FUCKING FUNERAL 

EVEN WITHOUT HER BODY DO SOMETHING HAVE SOME TIME TO REFLECT ABOUT HER AND REMEMBER WHY YOU LOVED HER AND MAKE A SPEECH AND ALL THIS 

TONY HAS THIS ? BUT NOT NATACHA ? SERIOUSLY ???? 

bon petite parenthèse j’ai du mal avec le prénom natacha (natasha ?) pke la seule meuf que j’eu jamais connu avec ce prénom était une grosse conne qu’on a fini par appeler natachatte et je ne peux pas penser à natacha sans que mon cerveau ne me rappelle natachatte voilà merci. Natachatte tu es surement toujours une grosse conne, mais bon. En plus je suis pas hyper fan de Scarlet Johansson mais passons 

I liked that she was eventually allowed some emotions in there btw. 

But she died. And no one mourned her for more than 5 minutes. That is the lot of people dying in the middle of movies. Bleh 

By the way if I see once more that she was fridged I’m going to kill someone

this is not fridging THIS DIDNT CAUSE MAN PAIN 

THIS DIDNT CAUSE ANY PAIN AT ALL AND THIS IS THE PROBLEM 

Smart Hulk is funny for 5 minutes then becomes really not funny and really not interesting and seriously the interesting part of Banner is his struggle with Hulk, why do this 

The “Gay mention” at the start ? Really not something to be proud about when you could have used the actual non straight characters you have around (cough Walkyrie cough Captain Marvel cough hell even Loki) BUT enough to stop Russia from showing the film in English so they could censor it. Bravooooooo. I feel for my Russian friends, as I know Russian dubbing is not exactly the best in the world. All this, boasting and all, for this seriously meh scene with an unknown character we don’t give a shit about, and it leads to that. Seriously. 

I think I’m done. 

I’m done? 

Morgan Stark was unnecessary. Also calling her Morgan is making stuff difficult. Cause there’s another character called Morgan Stark in the comics and I had trouble finding her when I didn’t remember her name. 

I hate Gwyneth Paltrow but Pepper is perfect 

Which is weird because I really don’t like Tony there but eh okay. 

Thank God for Antman. Paul Rudd is my baby and his character is the sole funny one. 

Hawkeye as Ronin is... seriously not as interesting as he should be, and there were moments when I really wondered why they bothered with such an underpowered character that did. Nothing. 

Also that phone call ? that phone call ?????? why would Ronin have kept his phone when he... is Ronin, doesn’t let people contact him, and has lost his whole family ? I almost yelled in the cinema. You need to explain me why he has this phone there. 

The “girl power” shot was way too much, unnecessary, and I really didn’t understand how and why all the girls were there suddenly at the same place when they were all scattered around the battlefield seconds before. Do your job, write good and varied female characters, this is NOT USEFUL and tacky and... dumb. Really. Don’t. 

Okay now I’m done. These were *some* of my thoughts 

I still liked the film, mind you, I’m a good public, give me action and jokes and people I like on screen and I’m good. It was a good moment and I don’t regret seeing it. 

Now I think I am done with the MCU, maybe appart from Antman and Black Panther. Guardians of the Galaxy if James Gunn comes back (but I’m kinda afraid of Thor being there, the joke about “who’s the captain” was already WAY TOO MUCH in the film, I can’t have that for a whole film - plus “new Gamora” means there’s going to be some very cringey scenes and Quill will try to make her love him again and this is going to be... boring as fuck because we’ve already seen it. Nope.) 

It was a good end to it. Now ? All I want is for people to Save Daredevil of course. I have no interest into anything else, thanks. 

[acatnamedlulu]

My Thoughts on Channel Awesome- Part 1: The Walkers

So, full disclosure, this is going to get dramatic. This isn’t going to be an “objective look” on the whole controversy surrounding Channel Awesome. This is going to be a biased, unfiltered rant. And it’s gonna get loooooooooong. I’ll put a TL;DR at the end of this, and I’ll try and keep the deep anger and frustration to a minimum to prevent any rambling tangents or “CAPZLOCK YELLING BCUZ I AM ANGER, RRAAAAGH!” 

 Ok, I’m sure many of you already know by now the recent shitstorm of events surrounding Channel Awesome over the past couple weeks, but for those of you unaware, how about a little context:

A few weeks ago (at the time of this posting), several former producers/content creators of Channel Awesome compiled a 70+ page google document titled “Not So Awesome”, each detailing their own shitty experiences working at Channel Awesome. Many of these allegations range from minor jabs, to full legitimate complaints regarding Doug and Rob Walker and especially Channel Awesome CEO Mike Michaud’s behavior. So while maybe one or two points brought up in the document could come off as petty, or just throwing shade, I don’t think that’s a reason to discredit the entire thing.This is nearly a dozen or so ex-producers affiliated with the “TGWTG” website as early as 2008, all with their own experiences and grievances. And even though everyone has a different story to tell, they all seem to be tied together by the same goddamn themes: Not just about the shitty behavior/poor business etiquette of Mike Michaud, but also poor behavior by the Walkers. And although Michaud is absolutely the worst out of all the people being named, I wanna talk about Doug Walker first. And by extent Rob Walker. Although, Rob is more of an issue when it comes to the business end of Channel Awesome as opposed to the actual entertainment, so maybe I’ll talk about him more when I go into a rant about Michaud. Granted, I have a feeling that my opinions on the Walkers are going to be met with a more negative response, and believe me, I completely understand why, but just... just here me out. More bullshit context and backstory, oh happy fucking day!

Alright, so when I was a dumb, hormonal young teen exploring her “edgy” side, I came across the Nostalgia Critic circa 2009-10ish? And after finding the character’s harsh judgement, foul colorful language, and humorous approach to critiquing to be right up my alley, I became an extremely loyal fan of TGWTG. Even after the NC reboot in 2013, I still stuck around and tuned in every week. For as much as I hated some of those goddamn skits, and clipless reviews, I still wanted to hear Doug’s opinion on a movie. He helped me understand film on a critical level that I didn’t think I could reach. And while I don’t consider myself a “critic” in any sense of the word, it was cool to have someone help guide me through an entire medium and look at it in a meaningful and thoughtful way. I eventually started watching Doug and Rob out of character, and both of them seemed like passionate, humble people who enjoy what they do. Watching the NC behind the scenes were sometimes more fun than watching an episode because Doug Walker truly looks like a man who’s dedicated to his work. But as I say this now, this also seems to be one of his biggest flaws. I know this is already longer than it has any business being, but the reason I’m going on this lengthy diatribe, is because I need you guys to understand where I’m coming from, and why I have such a strong stance on this. Which is why I’ll finally get to my fucking point: 

I think Doug Walker needs to be held more accountable for his actions. Or at least his actions need to be taken more seriously/into consideration.

As stupid as this sounds, this has been bugging me since the day the “Not so Awesome” google document has been released. Not so much the contents of the document itself, but rather, some of the reactions around it. The general consensus is that Mike Michaud is a terrible person, and something absolutely needs to be done about him... which is absolutely true. But what bothered me is people’s quick need to, maybe not justify, but brush over the shit that Doug has caused too. One of the biggest issues that many of the producers discuss in the document is the absolute production hell of the CA anniversary movies.

From “Kickassia” all the way up to “To Boldly Flee”, it just baffles me how incompetent and incapable Doug Walker is, both at making a film, and caring for his crew at even the bare minimum. Going back and watching TBF, you don’t even have to read the full extension of what it was like working on the set, because you can practically see it on the actors’ faces! You can just feel the exhaustion of everybody involved except Doug, but that’s because the man was so severely wrapped up in this self-serving ego project, that everyone else gets stepped on as a result. Remember what the stupid plot of TBF was anyway? The Nostalgia Critic brings everyone from CA into space to fight an anomaly called a “plot hole”, only for the NC to make his big damn sacrifice and die as the noble hero, killing off the character for good... until the reboot in 2013. With none of the other producers being notified of this until they received their scripts just a few weeks before filming.Yeah, it’s kinda fucking heartbreaking to know that other contributors and producers were treated as such an afterthought, that they were told this information in this short amount of time, in a movie that they were starring in. 

Several people have pointed out the lack of basic necessities needed on a film set such as catering and water. Guys, this isn’t a group of kids dicking around with a camera and a computer for a few hours and making a home movie. This was an actual production supervised by grown adults who needed to be told during filming that “people need food and water”. Across the course of several films. One of which was filmed in the Nevada desert. How difficult would it have really been to stop off at a fucking Walmart, gather up some coolers and ice bags, some of those 24 packs of water in bulk and keep it at a safe location on the damn set? This isn’t something that requires a goddamn film degree to understand, it’s common fucking sense. It’s just baffling to me that these painstaking efforts from the producers were just “voluntary” positions, too. The document itself goes into much more detail of how that shit works, so I’ll be posting it at the end of this rant, you’re welcome. 

And this is where I draw the line of giving Doug a pass. You can’t convince me that this level of negligence is just some kind of mistake that can be easily forgiven. I can’t believe that people can defend Doug on the grounds of “well, he’s just the pawn in this” or “he was just being naive and selfish”. No, this type of naivete and lack of basic human decency has caused people physical harm. Several actors sustained injuries throughout the production of the anniversary films. This usually ended with both Doug and Rob shrugging some of these off, while others had to sign contracts in order for CA to avoid a lawsuit. That is fucking insane!

A couple producers in the document recall how Doug was more involved with the business aspect of CA. He was more than just a puppet for Mike Michaud. Remember, the anniversary movies were written by him and Rob. And while Michaud was most likely the one who had the final say of what went on, Doug was the overseer of these projects. These were his creations, and he should have taken full responsibility for what was going on. And for him to have such a cynical and uncaring approach to the treatment of both the characters within the film, and the producers portraying them is sickening. This man has put on the persona of being this nice, approachable, easy to work/converse with person for years, and to hear how egotistical and negligent he truly is. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there was always something a bit self-centered about Doug, but knowing what I know now... like, it’s hard to explain why I feel so guilty about supporting Doug for as long as I did. I know we all can say “oh, well, it’s not like we knew”, but see, the thing is, I kind of did. The incidents with Obscurus Lupa weren’t completely unknown beforehand. Since like, 2015, people have been bringing this shit up, and I willingly chose to ignore it because I was such a huge NC fan. I just blindly kept watching the show and pretending CA was this cool, friendly place and nothing was wrong. Yeah, I’m not gonna act like I’m such a good person for bashing Doug, and I know that I shouldn’t have had such blind support. But the good news is, I don’t now.  I know better, and I hope we all can move on from this, and learn. 

Ok, so going back and reading this overly dramatic tripe, I realize I may have gone off the rails at some points. So before this turns into an “amateur hour smear campaign”, I think I’m going to split this up into two parts. I already said all I want to say about Doug and Rob. But I still have issues with Mike Michaud that are probably the same opinions everyone and their mother has expressed on this insane human being. But I still wanna get some stuff off my chest. Anyway, this is now Part 1 of the “Lunatic ravings of a disgruntled former fangirl” saga, maybe some of you would like to join me for My Thoughts on Channel Awesome Part 2: Electric Boogaloo. 

and now for the TL;DR

I think Doug Walker is an inept, egotistical man who has hurt people both emotionally, and sometimes physically to get what he wants. And people shouldn’t excuse his actions just because he doesn’t run the CA site in the way Mike Michaud does. If he’s going to go through the trouble of making a fucking movie, especially one that’s nearly four hours long, he should make sure the crew is at least hydrated and not exhausted all the goddamn time. Doug is a grown ass man, and he should carry these responsibilities like an adult. Maybe then, the CA anniversary movies would be at least a little less cringey to watch. Rant on Michaud coming soon. Peace out, dickholes. 

The “Not So Awesome” document

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WZFkR__B3Mk9EYQglvislMUx9HWvWhOaBP820UBa4dA/preview#heading=h.smmxroimnosh

[icefang111]

Excuse this ramble if it doesn't make much sense but I'm fevered as hell and tired and I gotta rant about IDEAS

Spider-man idolizing and trying to follow Tony is interesting and makes sense in the context of the movie-verse and as concept IN THEORY it could have worked, but in practice they just striped him down so much he's not even a person anymore. He doesn't think for himself he just does what Tony tells him (even in far from home, he's just trying to do what Tony wants), he was never his own hero (getting his iconic suit from Tony, having no morals/veiws of his own yet), just Iron-man junior- more a plot convenience for Tony's characterization than his own. Spidey got robbed in the MCU.

If marvel was smart and willing to take literally any risks with its big name characters (and would have waited after getting spider-man to use him effectively instead of shoving him in immediately to civil war, damn the consequences to Tony's character, spideys morals, and the flow of the movie over all, and like literally everyone else there for fighting a literal child) they would have given Spidey a split presence between the movies and the tv shows. The TV show to establish him as a street level hero and character BEFORE getting tangled into the the big Avengers movies. It's a great way to establish Spideys supporting cast and the more melo drama aspects of his life the a movie just doesn't have time for. The tv angle just gives those relationships more room to breath and grow. Plus it shows how Spider-man tends to fall into that weird space between a street level vigilanty and big name hero.

You could even still have the Tony aspect and actually explore that hero worship of real life hero's, of thinking of himself of the next generation. Trying to emulate a hero he's never even met, and then in the movies have that be challenged when he DOES meet him. Tentatively touching on that in FFH doesn't cut it when we don't see them interact or what Peter ever thought of him beyond broad strokes. Imagine if we could have Peter take down the Vulture over the course of a season on his own, figuring out what kinda hero he wants to be. Really explore that dynamic with tombs, and have his decent be truly tragic not just I'm in it for my family but I guess I'm a cold blooded killer now!

It'd also make Tony finding spider-man make more sense. It'd be so much cooler to have Tony find Peter from Peter trying to warn him his cargo was being targeted and saving the day then Tony just figuring out his identity cause "I'm Tony Stark and I'm awesome". One it makes Peter feel smarter to have been able to hide it, and two it expands his character in that he's willing to through that all away if it means saving people and doing the right thing.

You could explore the media backlash to the ferry incedent with no Iron man due ex machina. "I wasn't there, different story right?" Yeah it sure would have been and it would have been way more interesting!!!!

Idk man the concept was good it was executed so poorly- they're where way more interesting ways they coulda handled it!!!

I know people hate origins for Spidey at this point but with the way they de-leveled him is civil war with the shitty suit- it gives me all these thoughts of what a year one batman equivalent of spider-man could be like. Idk I just feel they had good starting concepts and didn't take advantage of them, giving us the worse possible version (this weird blank slate who just does whatever the plot demands) instead of really diving into the implications these changes would have on Peter as a person.

It’s not that I expect 1:1 faithful comic book adaptations when it comes to movies. It’s just that it comes a point that a director just doesn’t want to write a character and that arrogance, and no it is not artistic license it’s fucking arrogance, permits them to rewrite shit.

Batman doesn’t kill people.

Directors: Batman kills people.

Cassandra Cain has a severe speech disability and is fervently against committing murder and seeing acts of murder.

Directors: Cass is palling around with a convicted murderer, gets roped into murdering, and is having whole ass conversations.

Watchmen was a deconstruction of the growing Objectivism in superhero media(*cough*Ditko*cough*) and how any hero who subscribes to such philosophy isn’t heroic.

Director: a staunch objectivist

Superman was created as a fuck you to Nietzche’s nihilism and the concept of an Ubermensch that man should transcend conventional morality and altruism is a weakness.

Director: has Martha Kent evangelize that Superman doesn’t owe people anything and is a staunch objectivist, a derivative of Nietzsche’s nihilism.

Spider-Man is not Iron Man Jr. The character prides himself on not being a teen sidekick.

MCU: let’s associate Peter Parker with Iron Man to the point that he is his direct descendent in spite of the fact that the character debuted two full years before Ironman.

The people behind these adaptations can and should get their heads out of their collective asses. It’s bordering on why did you even choose this character? Why are you using a franchise to write your own thing and subjecting fans to your bullshit?

@ubernegro

[notesfromthepen]

Prison Tales; The Ballad Of Juan Jose Garcia

During my tenure as a convict I've crossed paths with countless characters, any one of which you could drop into a packed stadium and be confident that their exceptionality amongst the crowd would stand unrivaled. And although prisons are fertile fields, there have been just a few individuals I've felt compelled to write about. And even then, it's only been superficial scribblings. 

My bunkie, Juan Jose Garcia, whose name should belong to a grizzled Mexican ranch hand not a pudgy white kid from Grand Rapids, has forced my hand. His behavior will no longer allow me to shirk my moral responsibility to document his existence for the sake of human psychology, sociology, education, and genetic mapping...as well as writers of comedy, satire, and tragedy. And makers of human leashes, helmets, and adjusters of IQ. 

I was really struggling on what to call him, both for anonymity as well as convenience. His government name is so poetically appropriate when taken into context. Juan Jose Garcia, is a doughy teenager, who alleges to have Puerto Rican and Mexican DNA stacked somewhere in the rungs of his double helix, but short of him volunteering this information, or checking his prison ID, you'd never guess at his Latino heritage. His nickname is Guerro, which is Spanish for white boy; a language he doesn't speak. It's not like he's Aryan white. He looks more like one of his parents could be part Italian, or Greek maybe. He looks "American white." If that's such a thing. But he definitely doesn't look like what our culturally prejudice ideas of what a Juan "should" look like. But that's not what has me wondering about what to call him here. It's all nicknames in here, no one goes by their government names. So I figure I'll just call him whichever name feels right in the moment; Juan, Guerro, dummy, but mostly I'll call him bunkie, which is what I actually call him anyway. And though he's no longer a teenager (he turned 20 a few days ago) I will most likely continue to refer to him as such. A decision I stand by; partly because he was a 19 when I met him, but mostly because, in a way, he always will be.

In full disclosure this is a proclamation/insult my very own sister frequently hurls in my direction. "Forever seventeen," as she puts it. I'd feel compelled to argue with her on the subject if she didn't have the advantage of being right. This immaturity is the common ground on which me & my bunkie meet. It's our love language. And it is the ONLY quality we have in common.

I want to make clear that I love the kid. In the way an older brother loves a pain-in-the-ass younger brother. He's got a great heart and sweet nature, rivaled only by his devastatingly prolific quality as a complete and utter airhead. Unfortunately, like many inmates, the environment and circumstance he grew up in actively sought to kill his softer nature at every turn (and apparently, a majority of his working braincells.) But nature is a stubborn bitch and will always find a way.

As frustrating as it can be at times, I'm glad he's my bunkie. And I'm trying my damnedest to get him together before he is inevitably sent to another joint, unit, or cube, where the likelihood of a relatively patient and understanding, slightly asshole-ish bunkie he respects, is practically nil.

He calls me his dad. A moniker I insistently rebuke, to no avail. He's also stubborn; quite possibly a side effect of the airy environment cultivated between his ears; and he's highly susceptible to peer pressure. Which is why—I like to tell myself—I use shame in my attempt to curb his behavior. He turned 20 this month. With the excuse of being a teenager, all-but gone, I've really tried to focus my guidance, hoping he will absorb something before we part ways. Again, to no avail.

What follows are simply a few tales of what it looks like to raise a teenager, that's not yours, behind bars. Care has been taken to make as little alteration to the actual events as possible, while still protecting the guilty an innocent alike. So without further adieu:

Raising Juan Garcia; The Taffy Hustle

My bunkie came to prison a few months ago. A full-fledged fish. Though it is his first prison bid, he's not completely unfamiliar with institutional life. Much of his adolescence was spent in group homes and juvenile detention centers. Though you wouldn't know by watching him stumble through this experience.

Tall Rob stopped at my window. Which isn't a window as much as it is just the space between the foot of my bunk bed and my locker where they but up against the chest-high divider wall that separates the eight-man cube and the hallway.

The imposing figure that so frequently darkens this prison window is Tall Rob, a 6'6 ex hitman/fixer for the Russian mob. Supposedly, other than Tall Rob, there's only one other inmate at this prison serving a life sentence, without the possibility of parole, after copping out (pleading guilty) to a 1st degree murder charge. Not taking a 1st degree murder beef to trial is like being all in on a pot of Hold 'Em and folding before you see the river. You've got nothing to lose by playing the hand out. The other guy is a serial killer, who copped out because they already had him on a bunch of other murders. What's another life sentence when you're already doing three. Tall Rob, on the other hand, copped out because he's a standup guy. Dragging his case to trial would mean a lengthy investigation. And I don't know what you know about the Russian mob, but they don't really like investigations. So he copped out to quash the investigation and is serving a natural life sentence. 

So Tall Rob's at my window when he notices my bunkie, covered in flop sweat, attempting to cut, separate, and wrap his 1st batch of prison taffy. Tall Rob asks, "Where are your gloves?"

With the excitement of a puppy that just saw something new, my bunkie says, "I asked the CO. He wouldn't give me any."

Any convict knows that latex gloves are for officers, and officers only. And, though not always enforced, gloves are unquestionably labeled illegal contraband when possessed by an inmate. But you must remember—I must remember, daily—that my bunkie isn't just ANY inmate.

"You asked the cops?…" I ask, between sips of morning coffee.

"Yeah, they wouldn't give me any."

I glance to Tall Rob. My eyebrows say, "You see what I gotta deal with?"

Fighting off a grin, Rob commences to inform my bunkie that not only will the cops not give him gloves, they could write him a ticket just for having them. He goes on to explain what, I assumed, was basic inmate knowledge of the importance of wearing gloves; how it’s mainly to show potential customers that your particular brand of prison taffy was crafted with at least some thought of personal hygiene.

While my bunkie was nodding along to the lecture, I dug out the pair of contraband-blue gloves I keep stashed in my footlocker and dropped them in his lap.

Rob headed back down the rock towards his cube, convinced his point was made.

One small step to my right and I retreat into the sanctuary of my bunk. Not so convinced. I pull the makeshift curtain, a shirt hanging from my bunkie's bed, closed, and wait for the caffeine to kick in. Robin Meade delivered the news.

My bunkie, I assume, continued whatever it was he was previously doing.

Ten...fifteen, minutes later, with instant coffee coursing through my bloodstream, I'm reasonably awake.

Open curtain.

Standing up puts me chest level with my bunkie's bed. A once clear Tupperware bowl, the one I gave him as a loaner two months ago when he first got here, is resting on his bunk covered in pink & purple splotches of taffy like some Jackson Pollack-inspired line of prison Tupperware. In the midst of the sugary melee, welded to the borrowed bowl, are the contraband-blue gloves I just gave him.

My bunkie was at the table, still wrestling the taffy with his bare hands, as if he'd never left.

With the timing of a shitty three-camera sitcom, Tall Rob stops at the window.

He's looks at the bowl, smothered in gloves, smothered in taffy.

He looks at my bunkie.

He looks at me.

I ask my bunkie about the gloves. He tells me the hot taffy stuck to 'em when he was pouring the bowl onto a flattened out chip bag. He tells me he couldn't get them off.

"Why were you wearing the gloves?!…" I ask, "You don't need..." I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands. The rest of the sentence comes out as a whisper, "...gloves when your pouring the taffy out." Approaching normal volume, maybe slightly louder, I tell him, "You need the gloves for when you're actually HANDLING THE TAFFY!"

Blank stare.

My frustration with the exchange is directly proportional to Tall Rob's joy at being there to witness it.

At hearing Rob's laughter my bunkie gets up and walks over, right up next to me, so he can see Rob at the window. So he can start performing. "It was hot as shit," he says, poking the taffy-covered gloves. "They're still good," he assures us. He runs his sticky fingers through his hair.

He's been growing his hair out since he came to prison. It's 1970s Elvis length. Somehow he has accomplished the seemingly impossible feat of producing a bountiful, never-ending, source of dandruff, while still having, otherwise, greasy locks. When you're on a bottom bunk, gravity is your enemy, hair is a weapon. Many altercations, leading to very real consequences, have started with falling hair. Bunkie's big dream is to get it braided. I don't know what he's waiting for; its been long enough for weeks. (I've since learned he's waiting until it's long enough to have two long braids, one on each side, hanging down past his shoulders before he gets it braided. Meaning another year of growth at least.)

Tall Rob tells him he needs to cut his hair.

I second the proposal.

"No way," he says, "I'm growing it out." This time he runs both hands through his hair. He looks at his palms before wiping them on his shirt.

"You should cut it," I say.

"Why?"

"It's greasy. And you're always touching it. And now you're handling food."

"I washed it yesterday."

“OK?..."

"With what?" asks Rob.

"With water. Tomorrow I'm using soap." He said it as if he was revealing a plan of sheer brilliance.

"Water?!" I'm approaching the edge, "You mean, you got it wet! You didn't WASH your hair, you got it WET!"

Tall Rob's eyes go wide.

"And TOMORROW..." I'm talking to Rob at this point, "he's going to wash it, not with shampoo," I grab one of the tiny state-issued bars of green soap from the top of my locker, "but this! “ HAND soap! And what does that have to do with not cutting your hair?!"

"Nothing. You said it was greasy."

"It is!" I say, "And to prove me wrong, you say you got it wet yesterday?" 

Everyone's laughing but me.

My indignation is equal parts performance and genuine frustration.

—Just now, as I am writing this, a C.O. leaned in the window and says, "Do you know where Garcia is?" My back is to her and I'm distracted. I assume she's talking to someone else. "Do you know where Garcia is?" I look over my shoulder. She's talking to me. "They need him to pick up his store bag.

Store day is once every two weeks and it’s an EVENT. It's payday. They go cube by cube calling inmates to go stand in line to pick up their commissary. If you miss it, because you're in class or at a healthcare appointment they'll send your bag back to the warehouse. If your lucky you'll get it a few days later, otherwise they'll send it back to the company and refund your money. That means another two weeks without food or hygiene. NO ONE misses store day.

"They're about to leave," she says, "if you know where he is you should get him."

Store day isn't something that you can sleep through or can pass by unnoticed. Especially when people owe you money. Especially if YOU owe people money.

Even more especially, when you owe your bunkie money. All of which apply to my bunkie's investment in not missing store day. 

I take the tablet with me, trying to finish that last sentence, as I look for this kid. I'm wondering where he could be. What emergency could account for his absence? Is he at class? Maybe his dumb ass is in the shower or passed out in a locker or dead on the back forty. None of which would be worthy excuses for missing store. I'm headed to the bathroom first. The day room is on the way, but I decide it'd be a waste of time to check there. There's no way he could be in the day room and not know it's time for our side to get store. Remembering who it is I'm looking for, I glance in the day room window on my way to the bathroom. And I'll be damned! There he is, in the first fucking row, laughing obnoxiously at a scene from Hell Boy. I thought it was Fast and the Furious, but he later corrected me as I was chastising him.

Hell Boy!!!

He made it there just as they were packing his bag up to take to the warehouse.

He reacted like he reacts to everything: Slightly oblivious, completely careless.

This is the shit I have to deal with. Everyday, two, three, times a day he gives me something that out does the last thing I figured I'd tell you about. His buffoonery rears its head so often that I get interrupted writing about previous buffoonery with current buffoonery!—

OK, back to the Taffy.

He finished separating, cutting, twisting, and wrapping the individual pieces of taffy courting mini disasters every step of the way. I did my best to talk him through the difficulties. Taffy was my hustle when I first came to the joint. I wanted him to succeed. He spent five hours doing what should've taken forty-five minutes, but eventually he got it bagged up and on the market.

I later found out that he had an investor that bankrolled his little endeavor. It wasn't his money he was gambling with. Which means he has less to lose, but it also means he's beholden to somebody. There is more pressure on his profit.

As I write this I can hear him in the cube kitty-corner from us, explaining the mathematics of his endeavor to his benefactor.

It's been about a week since his product hit the market and I get the feeling this will be his first and last venture into the confection game. It requires more than a couple hits of commitment. But who knows? Last night he told me, after paying to have pockets sewn into his pants, hands tucked deep into his newest obsession, that he was going to start investing in, "a ton of property." Whatever that means.

The timing of this piece seems like fate. Today is store day. Which is payday in the joint. That means he'll be collecting his taffy debts. I started writing this, unsure of my conclusion, and now an ending reveals itself.

My bunkie just plopped down in the chair next to my bed, the one he uses to get up and down from his bunk. He has a pen and a yellow legal pad. A debt sheet.

"Are you still writing?" he asks. It's a rhetorical question. He knows I'm still writing. It means he wants to talk to me but knows by now not to interrupt me when I'm doing something; a hard fought lesson, but a lesson learned nonetheless. Progress.

"Yes, I'm still writing," I say, "but I'm writing about you, so I can talk and still consider it work." I put down the tablet. "What's up?"

He looks at the legal pad, "I'd have to sell twenty-one pieces to make back the 7 dollars (the price of the materials)."

"How many did you sell?" 

"Eighteen," he says. The realization, that all his work was for less than nothing, dawns on him. He doodles something on the paper. "I don't think I like selling taffy bunkie." Defeat.

Now I feel like shit.

Like most kids his age, he's a blind optimist. And REALITY is—well, reality doesn't exactly follow suit. A quality he refuses to acknowledge.

He's a young dummy; It's his job to be all pie-in-the-sky about getting rich selling taffy. And It's my job to bring him back to earth, to tell him there are already three people in here who sell taffy, that there's only so much money in the candy market and most of it's cornered, to let him know that taffy doesn't sit well, so if he doesn't sell it fast he'll be sitting on a product with depreciating value. All of which I said.

Still, I don't want to see his spirit completely crushed. There's no fun telling someone you like, "I told you so." Especially when you actually told them so.

A beat later, before I can think of something to say to resuscitate his spirits, he looks up with a smile and says, "I guess I'll just stick to selling drugs." He chuckles at his comment, and heads out, onto the next adventure. He's only half joking. And just like that it's over. He's completely washed his hands, emotionally, of the entire situation. Any stress, wiped away in an instant.

Chipped, cracked, or caked in shit, his glass is always full, even when it's empty.

Part of my frustration with the shit he does, the shit he says, is out of some begrudging envy for how carelessly he moves through life. Setting fires as he goes. The best and worst thing about being a shark is the ten minute memory.

The gloves, the taffy, the hair, none of them are exceptional events in the life of Juan Garcia but I had to pick something to write about, something to give you a little glimpse into life with my bunkie.

As I'm finishing this up, I hear him across the hall trying to give the remaining taffy back to his benefactor, the smushed, stale, falling-out-of-the-wrapper taffy. He's out. Investors be damned.

Oh, to be a shark.

[notesfromthepen]

Prison Tales Of Simplicity; The Ballad of Juan Jose Garcia

During my tenure as a convict I've crossed paths with countless characters, any one of which you could drop into a packed stadium and be confident that their exceptionality amongst the crowd would stand unrivaled. And although prisons are fertile fields, there have been just a few individuals I've felt compelled to write about. And even then, it's only been superficial scribblings. 

My bunkie, Juan Jose Garcia, whose name should belong to a grizzled Mexican ranch hand not a pudgy white kid from Grand Rapids, has forced my hand. His behavior will no longer allow me to shirk my moral responsibility to document his existence for the sake of human psychology, sociology, education, and genetic mapping...as well as writers of comedy, satire, and tragedy. And makers of human leashes, helmets, and adjusters of IQ. 

I was really struggling on what to call him, both for anonymity as well as convenience. His government name is so poetically appropriate when taken into context. Juan Jose Garcia, is a doughy teenager, who alleges to have Puerto Rican and Mexican DNA stacked somewhere in the rungs of his double helix, but short of him volunteering this information, or checking his prison ID, you'd never guess at his Latino heritage. His nickname is Guerro, which is Spanish for white boy; a language he doesn't speak. It's not like he's Aryan white. He looks more like one of his parents could be part Italian, or Greek maybe. He looks "American white." If that's such a thing. But he definitely doesn't look like what our culturally prejudice ideas of what a Juan "should" look like. But that's not what has me wondering about what to call him here. It's all nicknames in here, no one goes by their government names. So I figure I'll just call him whichever name feels right in the moment; Juan, Guerro, dummy, but mostly I'll call him bunkie, which is what I actually call him anyway. And though he's no longer a teenager (he turned 20 a few days ago) I will most likely continue to refer to him as such. A decision I stand by; partly because he was a 19 when I met him, but mostly because, in a way, he always will be.

In full disclosure this is a proclamation/insult my very own sister frequently hurls in my direction. "Forever seventeen," as she puts it. I'd feel compelled to argue with her on the subject if she didn't have the advantage of being right. This immaturity is the common ground on which me & my bunkie meet. It's our love language. And it is the ONLY quality we have in common.

I want to make clear that I love the kid. In the way an older brother loves a pain-in-the-ass younger brother. He's got a great heart and sweet nature, rivaled only by his devastatingly prolific quality as a complete and utter airhead. Unfortunately, like many inmates, the environment and circumstance he grew up in actively sought to kill his softer nature at every turn (and apparently, a majority of his working braincells.) But nature is a stubborn bitch and will always find a way.

As frustrating as it can be at times, I'm glad he's my bunkie. And I'm trying my damnedest to get him together before he is inevitably sent to another joint, unit, or cube, where the likelihood of a relatively patient and understanding, slightly asshole-ish bunkie he respects, is practically nil.

He calls me his dad. A moniker I insistently rebuke, to no avail. He's also stubborn; quite possibly a side effect of the airy environment cultivated between his ears; and he's highly susceptible to peer pressure. Which is why—I like to tell myself—I use shame in my attempt to curb his behavior. He turned 20 this month. With the excuse of being a teenager, all-but gone, I've really tried to focus my guidance, hoping he will absorb something before we part ways. Again, to no avail.

What follows are simply a few tales of what it looks like to raise a teenager, that's not yours, behind bars. Care has been taken to make as little alteration to the actual events as possible, while still protecting the guilty an innocent alike. So without further adieu:

Raising Juan Garcia; The Taffy Hustle

My bunkie came to prison a few months ago. A full-fledged fish. Though it is his first prison bid, he's not completely unfamiliar with institutional life. Much of his adolescence was spent in group homes and juvenile detention centers. Though you wouldn't know by watching him stumble through this experience.

Tall Rob stopped at my window. Which isn't a window as much as it is just the space between the foot of my bunk bed and my locker where they but up against the chest-high divider wall that separates the eight-man cube and the hallway.

The imposing figure that so frequently darkens this prison window is Tall Rob, a 6'6 ex hitman/fixer for the Russian mob. Supposedly, other than Tall Rob, there's only one other inmate at this prison serving a life sentence, without the possibility of parole, after copping out (pleading guilty) to a 1st degree murder charge. Not taking a 1st degree murder beef to trial is like being all in on a pot of Hold 'Em and folding before you see the river. You've got nothing to lose by playing the hand out. The other guy is a serial killer, who copped out because they already had him on a bunch of other murders. What's another life sentence when you're already doing three. Tall Rob, on the other hand, copped out because he's a standup guy. Dragging his case to trial would mean a lengthy investigation. And I don't know what you know about the Russian mob, but they don't really like investigations. So he copped out to quash the investigation and is serving a natural life sentence. 

So Tall Rob's at my window when he notices my bunkie, covered in flop sweat, attempting to cut, separate, and wrap his 1st batch of prison taffy. Tall Rob asks, "Where are your gloves?"

With the excitement of a puppy that just saw something new, my bunkie says, "I asked the CO. He wouldn't give me any."

Any convict knows that latex gloves are for officers, and officers only. And, though not always enforced, gloves are unquestionably labeled illegal contraband when possessed by an inmate. But you must remember—I must remember, daily—that my bunkie isn't just ANY inmate.

"You asked the cops?…" I ask, between sips of morning coffee.

"Yeah, they wouldn't give me any."

I glance to Tall Rob. My eyebrows say, "You see what I gotta deal with?"

Fighting off a grin, Rob commences to inform my bunkie that not only will the cops not give him gloves, they could write him a ticket just for having them. He goes on to explain what, I assumed, was basic inmate knowledge of the importance of wearing gloves; how it’s mainly to show potential customers that your particular brand of prison taffy was crafted with at least some thought of personal hygiene.

While my bunkie was nodding along to the lecture, I dug out the pair of contraband-blue gloves I keep stashed in my footlocker and dropped them in his lap.

Rob headed back down the rock towards his cube, convinced his point was made.

One small step to my right and I retreat into the sanctuary of my bunk. Not so convinced. I pull the makeshift curtain, a shirt hanging from my bunkie's bed, closed, and wait for the caffeine to kick in. Robin Meade delivered the news.

My bunkie, I assume, continued whatever it was he was previously doing.

Ten...fifteen, minutes later, with instant coffee coursing through my bloodstream, I'm reasonably awake.

Open curtain.

Standing up puts me chest level with my bunkie's bed. A once clear Tupperware bowl, the one I gave him as a loaner two months ago when he first got here, is resting on his bunk covered in pink & purple splotches of taffy like some Jackson Pollack-inspired line of prison Tupperware. In the midst of the sugary melee, welded to the borrowed bowl, are the contraband-blue gloves I just gave him.

My bunkie was at the table, still wrestling the taffy with his bare hands, as if he'd never left.

With the timing of a shitty three-camera sitcom, Tall Rob stops at the window.

He's looks at the bowl, smothered in gloves, smothered in taffy.

He looks at my bunkie.

He looks at me.

I ask my bunkie about the gloves. He tells me the hot taffy stuck to 'em when he was pouring the bowl onto a flattened out chip bag. He tells me he couldn't get them off.

"Why were you wearing the gloves?!…" I ask, "You don't need..." I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands. The rest of the sentence comes out as a whisper, "...gloves when your pouring the taffy out." Approaching normal volume, maybe slightly louder, I tell him, "You need the gloves for when you're actually HANDLING THE TAFFY!"

Blank stare.

My frustration with the exchange is directly proportional to Tall Rob's joy at being there to witness it.

At hearing Rob's laughter my bunkie gets up and walks over, right up next to me, so he can see Rob at the window. So he can start performing. "It was hot as shit," he says, poking the taffy-covered gloves. "They're still good," he assures us. He runs his sticky fingers through his hair.

He's been growing his hair out since he came to prison. It's 1970s Elvis length. Somehow he has accomplished the seemingly impossible feat of producing a bountiful, never-ending, source of dandruff, while still having, otherwise, greasy locks. When you're on a bottom bunk, gravity is your enemy, hair is a weapon. Many altercations, leading to very real consequences, have started with falling hair. Bunkie's big dream is to get it braided. I don't know what he's waiting for; its been long enough for weeks. (I've since learned he's waiting until it's long enough to have two long braids, one on each side, hanging down past his shoulders before he gets it braided. Meaning another year of growth at least.)

Tall Rob tells him he needs to cut his hair.

I second the proposal.

"No way," he says, "I'm growing it out." This time he runs both hands through his hair. He looks at his palms before wiping them on his shirt.

"You should cut it," I say.

"Why?"

"It's greasy. And you're always touching it. And now you're handling food."

"I washed it yesterday."

“OK?..."

"With what?" asks Rob.

"With water. Tomorrow I'm using soap." He said it as if he was revealing a plan of sheer brilliance.

"Water?!" I'm approaching the edge, "You mean, you got it wet! You didn't WASH your hair, you got it WET!"

Tall Rob's eyes go wide.

"And TOMORROW..." I'm talking to Rob at this point, "he's going to wash it, not with shampoo," I grab one of the tiny state-issued bars of green soap from the top of my locker, "but this! “ HAND soap! And what does that have to do with not cutting your hair?!"

"Nothing. You said it was greasy."

"It is!" I say, "And to prove me wrong, you say you got it wet yesterday?" 

Everyone's laughing but me.

My indignation is equal parts performance and genuine frustration.

—Just now, as I am writing this, a C.O. leaned in the window and says, "Do you know where Garcia is?" My back is to her and I'm distracted. I assume she's talking to someone else. "Do you know where Garcia is?" I look over my shoulder. She's talking to me. "They need him to pick up his store bag.

Store day is once every two weeks and it’s an EVENT. It's payday. They go cube by cube calling inmates to go stand in line to pick up their commissary. If you miss it, because you're in class or at a healthcare appointment they'll send your bag back to the warehouse. If your lucky you'll get it a few days later, otherwise they'll send it back to the company and refund your money. That means another two weeks without food or hygiene. NO ONE misses store day.

"They're about to leave," she says, "if you know where he is you should get him."

Store day isn't something that you can sleep through or can pass by unnoticed. Especially when people owe you money. Especially if YOU owe people money.

Even more especially, when you owe your bunkie money. All of which apply to my bunkie's investment in not missing store day. 

I take the tablet with me, trying to finish that last sentence, as I look for this kid. I'm wondering where he could be. What emergency could account for his absence? Is he at class? Maybe his dumb ass is in the shower or passed out in a locker or dead on the back forty. None of which would be worthy excuses for missing store. I'm headed to the bathroom first. The day room is on the way, but I decide it'd be a waste of time to check there. There's no way he could be in the day room and not know it's time for our side to get store. Remembering who it is I'm looking for, I glance in the day room window on my way to the bathroom. And I'll be damned! There he is, in the first fucking row, laughing obnoxiously at a scene from Hell Boy. I thought it was Fast and the Furious, but he later corrected me as I was chastising him.

Hell Boy!!!

He made it there just as they were packing his bag up to take to the warehouse.

He reacted like he reacts to everything: Slightly oblivious, completely careless.

This is the shit I have to deal with. Everyday, two, three, times a day he gives me something that out does the last thing I figured I'd tell you about. His buffoonery rears its head so often that I get interrupted writing about previous buffoonery with current buffoonery!—

OK, back to the Taffy.

He finished separating, cutting, twisting, and wrapping the individual pieces of taffy courting mini disasters every step of the way. I did my best to talk him through the difficulties. Taffy was my hustle when I first came to the joint. I wanted him to succeed. He spent five hours doing what should've taken forty-five minutes, but eventually he got it bagged up and on the market.

I later found out that he had an investor that bankrolled his little endeavor. It wasn't his money he was gambling with. Which means he has less to lose, but it also means he's beholden to somebody. There is more pressure on his profit.

As I write this I can hear him in the cube kitty-corner from us, explaining the mathematics of his endeavor to his benefactor.

It's been about a week since his product hit the market and I get the feeling this will be his first and last venture into the confection game. It requires more than a couple hits of commitment. But who knows? Last night he told me, after paying to have pockets sewn into his pants, hands tucked deep into his newest obsession, that he was going to start investing in, "a ton of property." Whatever that means.

The timing of this piece seems like fate. Today is store day. Which is payday in the joint. That means he'll be collecting his taffy debts. I started writing this, unsure of my conclusion, and now an ending reveals itself.

My bunkie just plopped down in the chair next to my bed, the one he uses to get up and down from his bunk. He has a pen and a yellow legal pad. A debt sheet.

"Are you still writing?" he asks. It's a rhetorical question. He knows I'm still writing. It means he wants to talk to me but knows by now not to interrupt me when I'm doing something; a hard fought lesson, but a lesson learned nonetheless. Progress.

"Yes, I'm still writing," I say, "but I'm writing about you, so I can talk and still consider it work." I put down the tablet. "What's up?"

He looks at the legal pad, "I'd have to sell twenty-one pieces to make back the 7 dollars (the price of the materials)."

"How many did you sell?" 

"Eighteen," he says. The realization, that all his work was for less than nothing, dawns on him. He doodles something on the paper. "I don't think I like selling taffy bunkie." Defeat.

Now I feel like shit.

Like most kids his age, he's a blind optimist. And REALITY is—well, reality doesn't exactly follow suit. A quality he refuses to acknowledge.

He's a young dummy; It's his job to be all pie-in-the-sky about getting rich selling taffy. And It's my job to bring him back to earth, to tell him there are already three people in here who sell taffy, that there's only so much money in the candy market and most of it's cornered, to let him know that taffy doesn't sit well, so if he doesn't sell it fast he'll be sitting on a product with depreciating value. All of which I said.

Still, I don't want to see his spirit completely crushed. There's no fun telling someone you like, "I told you so." Especially when you actually told them so.

A beat later, before I can think of something to say to resuscitate his spirits, he looks up with a smile and says, "I guess I'll just stick to selling drugs." He chuckles at his comment, and heads out, onto the next adventure. He's only half joking. And just like that it's over. He's completely washed his hands, emotionally, of the entire situation. Any stress, wiped away in an instant.

Chipped, cracked, or caked in shit, his glass is always full, even when it's empty.

Part of my frustration with the shit he does, the shit he says, is out of some begrudging envy for how carelessly he moves through life. Setting fires as he goes. The best and worst thing about being a shark is the ten minute memory.

The gloves, the taffy, the hair, none of them are exceptional events in the life of Juan Garcia but I had to pick something to write about, something to give you a little glimpse into life with my bunkie.

As I'm finishing this up, I hear him across the hall trying to give the remaining taffy back to his benefactor, the smushed, stale, falling-out-of-the-wrapper taffy. He's out. Investors be damned.

Oh, to be a shark.