#FOR THE EXACT SAME REASONS AS DVD/CDS!!!

[maythray]

trying to get a new dvd writer and like half the people i talk to are like "ohh why are you doing this that form of media is so old and no one uses it anymore!" RR RRRRR RRRRAAGHG RRAGHH I USE IT!!! I LIKE TO OWN THINGS I LIKE TO NOT RELY ON INTERNET TO WATCH THINGS!!!!

[logosbot-tm-fics]

CW!!! Implied suicidal thoughts!!!

Sorry for the wait lmao, hit a block and had to take a break, anyway!

Take My Tea With Formaldehyde

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Chapter 12: While I Whittle My Bones

(More beneath cut)

Mumbo felt like tearing down the posters from the wall. 

He stood in his bedroom, tears finally drying enough to be nothing more than discoloured tracks down his cheeks, and he was staring up at the posters on the walls. Ariana’s bright smile, her comforting eyes, everything that had been so sweet, so secure just a few hours before… it felt like they were taunting him. Mumbo wanted to scream, he wanted to sob and rage and rip them from the walls, careless of their condition, of the way that they would surely tear and crease.

He wanted to. God, he really, really wanted to.

It was so tempting just to throw out all of the CDs piled on top of his drawers, the merch stacked in his closet, the DVDs balanced in the corner. He wanted to toss them out of his bedroom window, he wanted to break them, to stomp them into the ground. 

He needed them gone, all of them. He couldn't stand to look at them anymore. They felt mocking, like they were the reason why the argument even happened, as if–

He didn’t throw them out. 

He couldn't bring himself to destroy anything, no matter how angry the mere sight of it made him. He tried, he stood paralysed in his room for hours at a time, staring at the posters on the walls, the discs on the shelves. He watched as the light of the room changed, as late afternoon turned to dusk, as everything was bathed in shadow.

He couldn’t even make himself reach up and touch them for a long while. Like he was scared they would fade away, like he was scared something would go wrong.

Instead, after taking the time to work up the nerve, Mumbo took down the posters gently. He rolled them up carefully, slipping them into cardboard tubes and tucking them safely into a box. He was methodical in his movements, slow and measured and cautious. He handled them like they were fragile, like they were poisonous, like they were one wrong move away from pouncing on him.

The box was the same one that he had used when he moved everything into there in the first place. 

He hadn’t even had time to put it away, before it was being used again for the exact same thing.

The room looked empty when he was done. The walls were bare, the surfaces lifeless. In the short amount of time the posters had been there, he had become so used to them. Eyes roving across the emptiness, Mumbo felt the upset crashing down on him once again. 

It felt fitting. 

With a shaky sigh, he hefted the box into his arms, moving to put it into the attic. He stopped after only a few steps, his eyes caught on the photo standing innocently on his bureau. 

The image was unsuspecting, something unprofessional and blurry, ever so slightly out of focus. The frame was old and cracked, the cheap gold inlay beginning to rub away and the wood surrounding it bleached from the sun.

He was a lot younger in that picture. Freer.

It showed him – acne ridden and awkward, with only the barest hint of facial hair – and… and his best friend, at the time. Gr– his friend had his arm slung casually around Mumbo's neck as they beamed happily at the camera. Mumbo must've been about…18, at the time? The other man in the photo would have been 19, that meant. 

They hadn’t known each other for long at the time, yet they still managed to act as though they'd been friends for their entire lives. They were familiar, perfect. Honestly, Mumbo can’t remember who started their friendship, but if he were to really consider it… it was probably the other. He had probably been the one to spark it, to befriend Mumbo. He had always been the more extroverted of the two.

Mumbo’s eyes began to burn as he stared at it, unblinkingly. 

They were so young. So happy. What happened? When– when had that changed?

He shook his head, trying his best not to dwell on it, and, with a sigh, Mumbo stepped forward and placed it into the box robotically.

Another picture caught his eye soon after. And then another, and another. There were photos taken by Mumbo and some taken by him – images of Mumbo, drenched after a successful prank; of the other, asleep in the grass after a picnic. They surrounded the room, littering the drawers and walls, interspersed with images of other friends, of other loved ones. 

Distantly, Mumbo wonders if he can even think of him like that anymore.

The pictures had become almost invasive now that he considered it. It felt like an intrusion, seeing all of the memories that were once happy, that had filled him with enough joy for him to prop them up around his house and pile them in his drawers.

There were a lot of photos of the two of them from when they were younger, more than Mumbo had ever really noticed despite the fact that he had put them into their picture frames. They both looked so present, not yet tired and weary from the stress of work or adult life. They were so involved with one another, their lives well and truly intertwined in a way that Mumbo hadn’t even noticed had been slipping away. It must have been years since they knew each other like they did back then.

Walking from his bedroom, Mumbo’s eyes caught on the photo frames hanging on the wall. Huh, he had… never really realised quite how many there were. He looked over them all slowly, gaze flicking from a picture of his parents, to his childhood dog, to Iskall, and then Gr– him.

It was a more recent photo this time, showing the pair of them on the beach, sitting together in the sand. Mumbo remembered that day, filled with relaxed banter and casual conversations, their feet in the sand and the wind in their hair. It felt tainted. He reached up and pulled the frame from the wall, sliding it into the box in his arms.

Moving towards the living room, he walked straight towards the polaroids hanging on a wall, pinned up in a way that he had once been so proud of. Some of the polaroids included other friends, but most were just the two of them. He'd never realised just how many they had taken together, even despite the fact that he had been present for every single one.

It took a while, much longer than he would want to admit, but eventually every single photo ever taken of the two of them, of him, ended up in the box. Mumbo was thorough, checking every room for painful reminders of the other. The pile he ended up with was almost overwhelming.

He didn’t want to see them, he wasn’t sure whether he would want to see them ever again. They made him feel so hurt, so angry. He double checked that every photo was in the box almost manically, looking at each of them over and over again. 

When he was sure that they were all gone, he taped the box shut and brought it up to the attic. He shimmied it back as far into the small space as possible, pushing it past dust and cobwebs, leaving it behind boxes filled with holiday ornaments and old school awards. 

He stepped away from it slowly, trying to ignore the way that the box peeked past all of his barricades. The way that he could still make it out, even as he began to climb down from the attic.

He didn't want to see the box. He didn't want to think about it.

He felt nauseous as he left, each step trembling and hesitant, as if there was something magnetising him towards all of the memories, as if it wasn’t truly put away, even though it was out of reach.

He didn’t know how better to hide it.

He didn’t know if he wanted to.

~

Mumbo was starting to think that he wasn't capable of feeling anything, anymore. 

He was numb, he couldn’t really bring himself to care for anything at all. It was as if his heart had turned into a void, he felt devoid of emotions, something distant and encompassing buzzing through him, weighing him down. It was as if all of the care that he had once had, all of the time that he had once put into everything, had finally become too much. Like his mind now finally had had enough, too exhausted and overwhelmed to continue, and was instead sparing him from feeling, because it knew it would only hurt. 

He just felt tired. As if the pull of gravity was too strong for him to fight.

That was probably why he just spent most of his days laying on the couch, staring into nothing. He felt heavy, really, really heavy, but at the same time he felt weightless as if his head was constantly sleeping and he wasn’t touching the ground and everything was static and–

He felt as if he was floating in something heavier than water, something more viscous and violent, just waiting to drown. 

In all honesty he didn’t want to be awake, he just wanted to sleep, to slip into that inevitable bliss of not having to think, to feel. That’s all he wanted, sleep until he had the energy to be awake, to sleep until everything stopped being.

He had lost track of how many times he had called to work and said that he was sick. They believed him every time that he did, his reputation of rarely, if ever, being away from work helping him in a way he knew he should feel grateful for. He couldn’t stay away forever though, despite how much he wanted to do nothing but rest. Whenever he went to work, he ended up half asleep, exhausted from being around people and carrying out all of the necessary tasks, but as soon as he came home to rest, he just couldn’t.

His mind was far, far too loud. Yelling things he didn’t want to hear.

Logically, Mumbo knew that he wasn’t at fault. Logically, he knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He knew had just been trying to help. He knew that he hadn’t deserved anything of what the other had said to him.

Logically, Mumbo knew all of that. 

However, his brain didn’t seem particularly concerned with the logistics of the matter at the moment. It hardly mattered just how certain he was of what he knew and what he didn’t, not when his mind was constantly reminding him of his shortcomings, screaming words and insults that hurt. 

It didn’t matter how logical he wanted to be, when he found himself absentmindedly agreeing with those thoughts. The facts weren’t important, not when he conceded himself to the screaming that rang in his ears. 

He felt strangely apathetic, almost detached from the insults, from his body, despite how much it all hurt.

It didn’t matter what Mumbo knew, what he was certain of, what was logical. Not when it all hurt so much. 

~

Mumbo had called in sick to work once again, the day that Iskall came over.

He hadn't been expecting any company, and Iskall hadn't told him that they were going to show up. They just did. 

When Mumbo heard the front door open, he first thought it was… him. Hell, he found himself kinda hoping that it was. Some small part of Mumbo wanted it to be him, desperately hoped that it would be him, appearing to try and fix things, to salvage them before they were too far gone. Mumbo wanted him to be there, if for nothing else than to prove that they weren’t done with each other. Even if it was bad, even if they did nothing but hurt each other again, it still meant that there was a chance. 

God, he wanted there to be a chance, even despite it all.

But, realistically, Mumbo knew better than that.

He knew that it wasn't him, that it wouldn't be him for a long, long time. That maybe… maybe they’d never see each other again. Maybe everything was just too much, maybe something had broken between them that couldn’t ever be fixed. 

He thought back to the photographs, to the countless polaroids and pictures scattered around his apartment, to the innocent happiness that their friendship once had. Mumbo wasn’t sure that they could ever be like that again.

But… he can’t help but entertain the idea. What if he walked in right now? What if it really was him at the door? What could they possibly say to each other? 

The sound of Iskall hanging up their coat and taking off their shoes was familiar, it felt a little more like routine than Mumbo had experienced in days. He listened carefully as Iskall began to walk towards the bedroom door, the heavy, habitual pattern to their steps a clear indicator of their presence. Their footfalls always had been louder than… his.

If Mumbo felt more like himself, he might've wondered how Iskall got inside. Maybe, if he had more of his wits about him, he would have remembered that they didn't have their own key.

Instead, Mumbo didn't wonder. He didn’t think about anything more than the noise of Iskall’s movements. He didn’t try to get out of bed. He simply just stared straight forward at the now-blank wall, his eyes burning from his blinkless gaze. 

He couldn’t bring himself to move a muscle even when he heard the bedroom door open. Even when he heard Iskall walk over to him, he still didn't move, he didn’t blink. The rise and fall of his chest was shallow, slow, controlled. He wished that the bed would open up into a hungry maw of pure void, that he'd fall into it and disappear. 

He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be anywhere. 

He heard Iskall sigh beside him, but they didn't say anything, and Mumbo’s eyes remained glued straight ahead. They just sat down next to him on the bed, and gently brushed Mumbo's hair out of his face, tucking it delicately behind his ear. 

"Bad day?" They asked softly.

Mumbo nodded his head, his neck complaining with the sudden unexpected motion, and he sunk further into the bed pathetically. The numbness that had taken over his entire body evaporated instantly, pulled apart and shattered into pieces as a lump grew in his throat, bulbous and heavy. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of Iskall.

"I– I’m sorry, I know you don't want to be checking up on me," Mumbo whispered, his voice tight and strained. He felt guilty that Iskall was taking time out of their hectic schedule to check on him, that the other felt the need to make sure he wasn’t wasting away. 

It would have been his own fault if he was, that wasn’t Iskall’s responsibility. The guilt in his lungs threatened to swallow him whole. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best not to cry.

Iskall sighed again, seemingly ignorant to, or perhaps strategically ignoring, Mumbo’s internal spiral. They put a hand on Mumbo's blanketed shoulder, squeezing in a way that was comforting. 

"Mumbo, I'm here because I want to help you," they said gently. "I know what I said in the past, and that wasn't fair to you. At all. I want to check on you and make sure that you're okay.” They sighed, pausing for a few moments, “And if you're not, then I'd like to help the best that I can, but… I'll only help if you want me to, okay?" 

Mumbo thought about it for a second and then nodded. It sounded good, to have someone take care of him. He was so heavy, so overwhelmed, and even though there was guilt at such a suggestion, Mumbo knew that he wouldn’t be able to help himself. Not like this. 

"Well, let's get you out of bed then, hm?" Iskall stood up with a dramatic groan, holding out their hands for Mumbo to take. 

Mumbo didn't really want to leave his bed, he felt like a stone buried at the bottom of the ocean, unable to be picked up even by the rushing tide, but he knew he had to try. With a deep breath, he raised his own shaking hands to Iskall’s, letting himself be pulled out of bed. 

"Well done!" Iskall said, smiling genuinely at Mumbo. "Now, I’m going to get started on some food, so maybe you could go take a shower? It will make you feel a lot better, I promise."

The floorboards beneath his feet were cold, and Mumbo shuffled against them uncomfortably. A warm shower sounded like a very, very good idea. 

"Yeah,” he agreed, “Yeah… I– I probably should."

Iskall beamed, running their thumb over the back of his hand. "Great,” they nodded happily, “And then come to the kitchen when you're done, yeah?"

Mumbo just nodded in response. He didn't have the energy to reply.

His room was cold. He felt like he was made from ice. 

He didn't cry.

~ 

The warm water from his shower ran down his body like rain, the steam rising from his skin and surrounding him with a stifling, suffocating air. He titled his head upwards, so that it would run down his face, and–

Mumbo began to cry. Painfully.

It felt like he'd been stabbed, run over by a train or shot in the chest. Everything hurt. It all hurt so much, it felt like it was killing him. 

The argument hurt. Putting everything away hurt. Thinking about him for even a second hurt. It all hurt. 

The shower washed away his tears, disguising them in the hot water, dragging them away into the drain. Little by little, he started to feel more like a person, and less like a pathetic grey blob of sadness. 

He stood there for a while, basking in the way the water pelted against his back, the way that the steam made it feel like that was the only reason breathing was so hard, and eventually, he felt okayish. Mumbo stayed under the water until he stopped crying, soap and shampoo filling the air with a sweet scent, the conditioner making his hair smoother than it had been in days. 

He stepped out of the shower eventually, wrapping a towel around himself. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

He looked… better. His hair wasn't messy anymore, his skin was slightly red from the hot water, and he didn't look as tired. There were no traces of tears left on his face. The dark circles under his eyes were still very much there, standing out starkly on his face as if to mock him. He traced them with his fingers, following their shape over and over like he could wipe them away. 

Mumbo looked at himself for a little while, staring into his dull, murky eyes, before he began to pull on some clothes. They felt like soft cotton clouds against his skin, something soft and soothing, and he found himself wanting to go back to bed.

But… Iskall had said that they were going to make food, and even if Mumbo would rather do anything but eat, he still felt obligated to go to the kitchen. They had come out to check on him, after all. Surely he owed them this.

Mumbo dragged his feet as he walked through the flat, his steps slow and sluggish as the cold floors spat ice back into him, crawling up his body to freeze him once again. He was shivering, despite the hoodie that he had pulled on, but somehow zipping it felt like it was too much work. 

Vaguely, he noticed the state of the flat. There were clothes on the floor, abandoned cutlery and plates and piles of takeout boxes. He hadn’t noticed how messy it was before. Like he just dropped everything on the floor and couldn’t get himself to pick it up.

The flat was bathed in a grey darkness, the sun strangely low for the time of year, only barely peeking through the windows. Mumbo wondered what time it was. He hadn’t had to think about it in so long.

His lamps had been turned on, two placed on opposite sides of the living room, and he couldn’t help but think that they didn’t light the space up enough. Even with them, everything remained dreary and dim.

And yet, the light in the kitchen felt far too bright, and the room felt claustrophobic despite not being that small. It felt uncomfortable, and suddenly Mumbo wanted to be anywhere but there.

Instead, he pulled out a chair from the table, the chair that was usually his, the one that Mumbo couldn’t remember picking up from the floor. Mumbo could almost see the argument replaying in front of him. Who said what, who did what, who–

He shook his head, instead focusing on Iskall, who was unpacking grocery bags in the kitchen. They must’ve realised he hadn’t bought food for himself in a little while. There was barely anything in the fridge.

They talked about…something, as they unpacked, shuffling naturally around the kitchen. Mumbo couldn’t really hear what they were saying, listening took too much effort, but he appreciated the background noise that it provided. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, absentmindedly scrolling through social media, occasionally giving Iskall a half-hearted hum. 

He got stuck on Ariana’s page for a little while, scrolling through the new pictures and teasers that she had posted, before hovering his thumb over the unfollow button. He didn’t want to see posts from her or related to her popping up in his feed, she felt like a reminder, like a bad memory. He hit unfollow before he could talk himself out of it. 

Then he got stuck on Gri– on his page, scrolling through years and years worth of photos. Mumbo was in a lot of them, somehow being the focus of a lot of photos despite few of the moments or events actually being about him. His thumb hovered over the unfollow button of that account too, but–

He closed out of the app. Mumbo didn’t want to know what would happen if he were to unfollow him. 

Somehow, he ended up reading through their old messages instead. He had changed his name back to just “Grian” a few days ago, having a nickname felt… wrong. He didn’t want to think about– 

“What are you doing?” Iskall asked concernedly as they placed a pan on the stove. 

Mumbo shrugged. Some part of him didn’t want Iskall to know that he was reading through old conversations, he felt almost… ashamed of it. Like Iskall finding out was akin to a parent seeing you do something you knew you’d get in trouble for.

The meagre response didn’t make them any less worried, but instead of saying something, they simply peered over at his screen to see what he was doing. 

“Nope,” they said, pulling the phone out of his weak grip, “That’s not healthy, Mumbo.” They slipped his phone into their jeans pocket, and strolled back over to the stove.

Mumbo wanted to protest, it felt unfair somehow, but he knew that it was probably for the best. Otherwise he would’ve kept digging himself further and further down into a hole. With nothing to do, he tried his best to tune into what they were saying instead.

"So, Ariana has been put on hia–" Iskall began, a topic chosen deliberately, probably aiming to engage Mumbo.

But… no. No, Mumbo didn't want to hear anything about her. Actually, he’d much rather hear about anything but her. Well, maybe except for– 

"I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but could we talk about something else?" He interrupted quietly, fiddling with the strings to his hoodie.

Iskall seemed surprised. "But you–" Mumbo could see the realisation slowly setting in, something dawning over their expression as the gears turned in their mind. "Oh, so that's what it was about," they murmured, "That explains–" 

Mumbo could hear the end of the sentence, even as Iskall cut themself off.

'That explains the missing posters.'

“Okay, let’s talk about…" 

The room went silent as they thought. It wasn't a bad silence, not really, but it still made Mumbo rather uncomfortable. He felt bad about asking them to change the topic. Maybe he could have just sucked it up, maybe he should have just sat through it, maybe–

"As a child, I spent a fair amount of time in Denmark," they began, turning back to making the food. It smelled nice. Buttery, in the same way pancakes smell. "And something I began to wonder – like really really wonder – was why the hell are there so many doves in Denmark?!” They gestured wildly with the spatula in their hand, voice raising slightly, “Like seriously, picture it, you go outside, and there's doves everywhere – I’m not kidding– everywhere. You can't go five metres without a flock of doves follow–"

This seemed to be something they were strangely passionate about, and Mumbo realised that he didn't really mind the rant. It was meant as a distraction, and it was working fairly well. 

He listened half heartedly as they ranted about the doves in Denmark, which quickly turned into a rant about how the differences between the Norwegian, Danish and Swedish were fairly big and that "We don't always understand each other, Mumbo!", and then the rant turned into how gorgeous the nature was in Norway, and then further into other topics surrounding the Nordic countries.

Honestly, the random ranting about topics Mumbo couldn't relate to let him relax for a second. They made him more comfortable in his kitchen. They made him think less of him. 

Though, when the food was done, Mumbo's stomach churned. Eating dinner in his kitchen felt…wrong, too familiar and it was too close in time, he couldn't eat in there, he wouldn't be able to–

He stared at the bowl of soup Iskall had placed in front of him, before asking quietly, "Could we eat in the living room? This room is…too much." 

Iskall tilted their head. "Of course, it's your apartment," they replied gently. "Take your bowl through, and I'll gather the rest." 

Mumbo complied, holding the warm bowl in his hands. It warmed him up slightly, his fingers defrosting under his tight grip. 

He sat down on the couch as Iskall placed down a tray on the table. It had a pot of tomato soup, something white in a small bowl, Iskall's bowl, and two cups of tea. 

"Unfortunately, the soup I wanted to make doesn't exist here, so I just bought tomato soup instead," Iskall shrugged, sitting down in the other corner of the couch. 

"What's that?" Mumbo asked, pointing at the small bowl.

"Just mozzarella that I cut up,” Iskall replied casually, "It tastes pretty good in tomato soup."

Mumbo nodded. "Weren't you making pancakes?" He asked, slightly confused. Sure he didn't mind the soup, not at all, but he had seen Iskall make the pancakes. 

"It's Thursday, we can't have pancakes without eating soup first," Iskall replied, as if Mumbo's question made him confused. 

"...What?" 

Iskall was silent for a second. "...Is that– that's a Swedish thing, isn't it?" 

Mumbo smiled slightly. "Yeah, um… yeah, that's a Swedish thing."

Iskall shrugged again. "Well, that does explain some things," they said, "Anyway, you wanna watch something?" 

Mumbo looked up at the TV, tearing his eyes away from the bowl of soup still warming his hands. "Uh…" Did he want to watch something? And what would he want to watch? Every single idea he came up with felt like it would just make his mood worse, or it would make him think of Him, which he desperately wanted to avoid. "...Chicago?" He said, eventually. 

It was really the only movie he could come up with, all of the others being bad options.  

Iskall nodded, grabbing the remote from the table, "Chicago it is."

The two ate in silence, the movie playing quietly on the screen in front of them. Honestly, Mumbo had seen it so many times that he couldn't really care less about paying attention, but, as he chewed on the slightly melted mozzarella, he realised that somehow he felt…better. 

Not okay by any means, but less like he wanted to crawl up and sink into the ground.

Maybe it was the fact that he actually got some decent food in him; maybe it was the shower. Maybe it was just the fact that Iskall was trying so hard to make Mumbo feel better without pressuring him. 

Maybe it was even all three at once. 

Maybe. 

But… it was only at that moment, that moment where they were together, that he felt better. 

Mumbo couldn’t help but wonder, later, when Iskall left, would he still be feeling okay?

Would he?

[sortanonymous]

Sorta's CD/DVD/Blu-Ray Collection

Tons of notes under the cut

The Beatles Red and Blue albums are the 2023 remixed and expanded versions, not the 2010 remasters with practically the exact same packaging.

The Bad 25 case has been jammed since I got it in 2019, so despite it having a bonus disc inside, I've only ever been able to use the first disc. Yeah, that's nice.

I do have the slipcover on Echoes in a drawer, but not on the case because the case is kind of busted and can't fit it.

The tiny replacement case is for Running with Scissors by "Weird Al" Yankovic.

I don't actually have Rio or Surf's Up (at least not the discs anymore) but I'm using them as replacement cases for the Snow White 2001 cases, since that case wasn't in great shape. Prepare to see something like that a lot.

The Tangled DVD case has disc 1 of the Atlantis DVD due to a bad disc holder in that case (disc 2 isn't too bad though)

The copy of Iron Man on the third shelf was one I bought from a record store in 2020 that somehow didn't have the bonus Blu-Ray, but instead a DVD copy, and for some reason I didn't think to get a refund (it was the same visit actually when I got Echoes and its bad case).

I put the discs for the Steven Universe box set in those four clear cases due to how bad the sleeves were. However, I also keep the original Season 1 DVD there (which I got a couple years earlier in 2018) because the identical S1 discs in that specific box set might have been particularly ruined. (Now do you see why I want disc sleeves in box sets banned?)

I do have Angry Birds Toons S2, Vol. 1 on DVD, but due to, wait for it, another bad case, I have the disc in the Lion King 2011 Blu-Ray case, which conveniently was missing the DVD. (Same story actually for Finding Dory as I moved my Kirby's Dream Collection case into there from a bad GameStop case, although nowadays at least it's backed up through USB Loader GX.)

The Star Trek Compendium steelbook version on the 2nd shelf (which was also from that visit to that record store that I swear was way better than I'm making it out to be) was such a nightmare packaging-wise that I just ordered the case version of it.

The version of Star Trek Beyond I have is the Target 2-disc Blu-Ray, with the DVD thrown into the Snow White 2001 case.

The Cartoon Saloon box set's weird disc holders were bad (especially for Song of the Sea, which had to spend a few days after Christmas '21 in an empty Wii U case) so I have those 4 discs in a plain case.

The Arrested Development S1 DVD I bought in 2023 had a broken disc spindle, so the 3 discs are spread across an empty Minecraft Xbox case, a LEGO Star Wars Force Awakens PS4 case, and the actual case.

I also have a VERY old DVD of Batman (1989) via a Wii copy of LEGI Batman: The Videogame.

Ftr, I still haven't mentioned that I'll probably need replacement cases, for varying reasons, for Encanto, A Bug's Life, every 2018-present Pixar movie with 2 Blu-Ray discs, MCU Phase 3b (and 3a if I ever get that in 4K), Holy Grail Extraordinarily Deluxe edition, SpongeBob 100 Episodes, and especially del Toro's Pinocchio.

Tl;dr: my tastes might be a bit limited and weird and apparently making a reliable case is 100 times harder than you think. Viva La Disque!

[karuvapatta]

Hey look, it’s another instalment of that Jon/Elias fic I never planned to write, because I want them to be soft and they just keep fighting.

Part 1 | Part 2

***

Jon cannot rest.

On his way home, he glances upwards, only to see the familiar grey eyes in the face of the woman opposite him. The train lurches; the woman blinks. Jon must have imagined it, because her eyes are dark, almost as dark as his own. And she notices him staring, because she stands up and moves further down the car, very blatantly avoiding Jon.

He cannot blame her.

Back in his flat, he drops his briefcase and collapses onto his own (much less comfortable) couch. He fixes himself a cup of tea that isn’t nearly as nice as the tea Martin makes for him. He stands up, and paces, and then sits back down again, only to bury his face in his hands.

There is a pile of old magazines on his coffee table. He breathes in, sharply, because the man on the cover is watching him—

He isn’t, of course. Jon rolls up the magazine just in case, and then stuffs it in the bin.

There aren’t many pictures in his flat, thankfully. Not even of his grandmother, which he feels vaguely guilty about. But not as guilty as he does now, as he retrieves duct tape from his cupboard and carefully, deliberately tapes it over every eye he can see. CDs. DVDs. A paint-by-numbers painting of owls, which was supposed to help with his anxiety. Even the little ghost magnet on his fridge that Georgie gave him at some point.

It's stupid. It’s really, really stupid. But it makes him feel better, lessens the prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

He goes to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and then looks up, startled to see his own reflection. Is there grey in his eyes, to match the grey in his hair? Can Elias even do that? Spy on Jon through Jon’s very eyes, without alerting him to his presence?

There must be limits to his abilities, and it’s maddening that Jon doesn’t know them. If he understood more, he could protect himself better. Protect Tim and Martin and Sasha, too.

Tim shoved him away as soon as they left Elias’s office. Whatever it was that Elias forced him to see, Jon couldn’t even begin to guess. But he shouldn’t have let Tim go, either. He offered to walk him home, at the very least, but it only brought back unpleasant memories of when he used to stalk Tim; an unforgivable breech of privacy. Tim angrily rebuffed his offer.

Jon would have to face him tomorrow. Find some way to apologize. Even though he was running out of excuses for his own inadequacy. There’s only so many times a man can apologize, after all, before it all rings hollow.

He takes the mirror off the wall. Just in case.

***

Next week, Elias is busy. Something about the board of directors, Rosie says apologetically; meetings to have, reports to give, budgets to submit for acceptance. It’s mundane to the point of grotesque.

Jon requests a meeting anyway, and isn’t granted one until next Wednesday. His heart is in his throat, the way it tends to be when he enters Elias’s office lately. It’s thankfully late in the day, the Institute being almost deserted. He wonders if Elias scheduled it that way on purpose, so that they can be alone.

If so, he is almost glad.

“Elias,” he says. And then, because nothing in his life makes sense anymore, he follows up with: “I hope everything went well with the board meetings.”

“Quite so,” Elias says. “Even if we had the exact same bloody conversation hundreds of thousands of times. You’d think Peter would get bored of it by now.”

He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its neat, stylish lines. It’s strange to see Elias in any state of disarray; he looks disconcertingly human right now. He seems to almost forget about Jon’s presence, before he looks up.

“Come on in, Archivist. Lock the door.”

Jon does so. There is something final about the click of the lock; he almost shudders at the sound.

“Any particular reason?” he asks, belatedly.

“It’s been a long week. I don’t want any of your annoying assistants pestering me today.”

“They wouldn’t do that if you hadn’t—”

“What? Assaulted your precious virtue?”

Jon is blushing. He must be, because he feels the warmth in his cheeks. But he refuses to back down. Not with Elias smirking at him the way he is right now, leaning back in his fancy chair. Jon takes the opposite seat and folds his hands in his lap; his mind helpfully brings back the memories of his job interview; the day he signed the contract and unknowingly pledged himself to the Institute and the Beholding for the rest of his life; the day Elias offered him the promotion.

Knowing what he knows now, he wishes he could have refused at any of these occasions. He could have told Elias “No” at any point. But—in truth, he isn’t sure he could have. He might have walked away, but he’d spend the rest of his life wondering.

“You were listening, then,” he says.

“Yes,” Elias says simply.

“Is this why you hurt Tim?”

Elias’s sharp laugh cuts through the silence. Jon fidgets in his seat.

“No. But he annoyed me.”

“You can’t do this sort of thing just because someone annoys you, Elias!” Jon snaps.

Tim still isn’t quite all right. He pretends to be, but Jon’s been watching him too carefully, and too long, to miss the obvious signs. And he knows that his watchful concern is driving Tim insane, but he still can’t bring himself to stop.

“Why not?” Elias asks, with an infuriating little smile.

Jon struggles for an appropriate response, but all he can come up with is: “It isn’t right.”

“And who is to decide what is or isn’t “right”, Jon? You? Me? An impartial and uncaring God? Because I can assure you, the Eye loved that particular display. Or could you not feel it?”

“Whatever it is your God wants from you—”

“Our God, Archivist. Do not ever forget that.”

Jon bites back a sharp retort. He has little to gain by challenging Elias’s delusions—

“Do you need any further proofs?” Elias asks calmly. “Because I can provide them. In abundance.”

“Get out of my head,” Jon seethes.

“Learn to stop me,” Elias says. “Make it difficult, at the very least.”

“Tell me how.”

“Why would I give you answers it took more than one lifetime to procure?” Elias asks. “You have to work for these things, Jon. Otherwise they have no meaning.”

Jon forces himself to breathe evenly. He didn’t ask for this; he doesn’t need to know. He can ignore the gnawing hunger that’s consuming him; that has already consumed Elias. The Eye demands a hefty price for its gifts, and Jon isn’t willing to pay it. He must remember that.

“Let them go,” he says, as calm as he can manage. “Tim and Martin and Sasha. They shouldn’t be here.”

“They are bound by the same contract as you are,” Elias says.

“They didn’t know. None of us knew.”

“Yes, it is frustrating, isn’t it?” Elias smiles. “Ignorance. Uncertainty. Doubt. Wouldn’t you rather be rid of them, Jon?”

He doesn’t bother denying. What would be the point? Elias can see right through him already. But there are lines Jon cannot cross. And there’s some comfort in knowing his own limits; he wonders if Elias has any such compunctions. Knowing that about him would be an immensely valuable asset.

It is hard to imagine. Harder to imagine still that he might come to know Elias so intimately, and what that knowledge might do to him. How well can you know another person, Jon wonders, before it changes something irrevocably and fundamentally about your own self?

“Elias,” he tries again, in a softer voice. “Please. Let them go. I don’t want to see them hurt.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” Elias says. “So what is it you can offer me in exchange, Archivist?”

And Jon laughs. He can’t help it. His shoulders tremble with the effort of holding it back, before he gives up entirely, and dissolves into giggles, wiping more than one tear from his eyes. His thoughts are such a complete and utter mess that not even Elias can read them right now, if his puzzled frown is any indication.

“Something funny?”

“I was just thinking about what Tim had said,” Jon says.

Elias isn’t pleased, he can tell as much from the frown on his face. Jon is half-heartedly expecting him to take out his anger on Jon himself – he tries to prepare himself for a barrage of horrifying images that Elias might want to push into his mind. What shape would they take? It is unsettling to consider, but some detached part of himself can’t help but wonder what Elias thinks Jon’s worst nightmare is. If that’s even how it works, of course.

“I’m not going to do that, Jon,” Elias says.

“Why not?” Jon asks. Yet again Elias is picking through his thoughts as if it was his right to do so. Yet again he shows absolutely no regard for other people’s privacy. It’s maddening, and Jon wants very badly to stop him, but since he doesn’t know how, he just thinks the word: Bastard as clearly as he can, and hopes it makes its way through their mental link.

“There is no reason to,” Elias says. “It’s just that, you see… considering how well-suited you are for your role, and how quickly you are adapting to it, I find the idea that my interest in you is purely sexual to be unacceptable and downright insulting.”

That—Jon doesn’t quite know what to make of that. What does one make of that?

“You think I’m good at my job?” he asks. Clarity, he needs clarity.

“Yes, Jon. I knew you would be. This is why I picked you.”

“Oh.”

Jon looks at the floor. Elias isn’t looking at him, either, his gaze focused somewhere on the ceiling.

“But—” No, he can’t bring himself to ask. You do want to have sex with me? Hangs at the tip of his tongue, caught in a limbo of shame and mortification. People don’t ask questions like that. Do they? For them this is just—perfectly natural. They don’t need to be told these things.

He should have dated more. He should have tried, actually tried, to get the experience he is so utterly lacking. Maybe then he might have a frame of reference for how to talk to Elias, or how to act in this situation. What is he even going to do?

Tim should be here. Or Sasha, or Martin. He still wants to keep them as far away from the supernatural as possible, still needs to keep them safe – and he can do it, really, he can do his own research, it will only take more time without Sasha’s technical skills or Tim’s charisma, without their combined dedication and efforts. He can—he must learn to handle it all alone. There’s no other way to proceed, it’s too dangerous otherwise. But – in this particular situation, with this particular subject, Jon could really use some bloody assistance right about now…

“Jon. You’re spiralling.”

“Hm?”

He looks down at his hands, twisted in his lap. He unclenches them carefully, and tries to wipe the sweat on his trousers without making it too obvious that this is what he’s doing.

Elias is smiling at him, that inexplicable, infuriating little smile that spells out that Elias knows he is the smartest person in the room, and is very much enjoying it. And oh, how Jon aches to wipe it off; to finally, finally see Elias Bouchard trip on his own ego and admit he isn’t as perfect as he likes to pretend.

After a long silence, Elias finally decides to take pity on him, and Jon hates him for it.

“Yes. I would rather like to have sex with you. But I am aware this isn’t something you would be interested in, it is irrelevant to the greater work we are trying to accomplish, and forcing you into it might negatively impact your ability to follow my orders. So I decided not to pursue the matter.”

“Negatively impact—? Oh, fuck you!”

Elias shrugs. “You wanted a clear answer.”

“I’m—you’re unbelievable.”

“It’s not my fault that the truth isn’t what you wanted it to be, Archivist.”

Elias is enjoying himself, still. And Jon wants to punch him. It would solve nothing, and create more trouble than it’s worth, but oh, he really, really wants to do it.

[a-student-out-of-time]

I’m seeing 4 major reactions to this episode

Fwendship for Arei :3

WHAT ARE YOU HIDING STARMAN

Desperately inhaling “Switch theory is wrong copium” and Cynicism hopium

Being 100% convinced Mod is right

I am three of those and I'm 100% convinced you're right

//I know a lot of people are increasingly doubting my theory, and I can understand that, but I promise you that this isn't coming from a place of denial or copium because I want my favorite character to survive.

//This is me asking "Why are there so many unanswered questions this chapter?" Very oddly specific questions to ask and to bring attention to, and here's the biggest one for me:

//If this conversation wasn't in this chapter, my theory would not exist. But its inclusion here feels far too deliberate for me to simply brush it off as an odd quirk.

//Genuine question: if my theory isn't true, why else would it be here? What else could its inclusion be in relation to?

//It can't be about someone framing Nico, not only because they admitted they tried to kill Ace, but because when we saw Nico, Teruko was with Eden and Nico wasn't even wearing their hood. All the exact same details were there.

//This also wasn't included just for the funsies. This was foreshadowed back in Chapter 1, as others have pointed out.

//So, what else could it be referring to? Having it here just to set up future chapter details honestly feels like a waste. DT has had such a tight means of storytelling, where all the small details matter, and when they draw attention to small moments, we shouldn't overlook them.

//Remember how they had a whole conversation about the difference between a DVD and a CD? That proved to be important. Remember how they talked about the air circulation in the playground? That's also proved to be important.

//So why would a conversation about Teruko having prosopagnosia not matter to the outcome of this trial? Why would a hypothetical question posed by Veronika, which Teruko didn't even answer, not matter?

//This is really the crux of my theory. What else could this possibly be referring to if not someone switching places with someone else? And the only two people I can really see actually pulling that off are Arei and J

//And with every passing episode, that idea just becomes more and more plausible to me. Nothing J has said is stuff Arei couldn't also have known from either being there or from hearing from J directly, which she'd have to if they were going to pull this off

//Until we get an actual answer to this, one that explains Teruko's prosopagnosia and firmly establishes why they couldn't have pulled off a switch, I'm going to stick to my theory

//If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. But I haven't seen any reasons to believe I'm wrong just yet

[itsdoobergirl]

Story of the lady who ate kids

Some beauties in this world, not everybody understands. It's very easy to look at a picture, exhaling oohs and ahhs the same way everyone around is doing. An acquired taste, they call it. To smile while drinking wine, making all the right faces in order to play along, no matter how stringent the flavor might still be. Some beauties in this world, everyone understands, or everyone pretends to.

The other day Santiago came home, with a CD. The kind kids these days don't even have anymore. He arrived at the door with a paper envelope clutched in his hands, asking if he could use the DVD player on the living room. There was another disc, inside, also white and scribbled on with permanent marker, which he tossed over to the slit in the couch without a second thought. Then, Santiago played Echoes of Silence, or something like that. Fifty minutes of some Enrique talking about his ten Bentleys, his billion dollars and his four villas in the Riviera.

Santiago says that older people don't understand because they are older, and nothing more. "When you were young", he says, "you'd listen to the exact same crap. No generation in the history of humanity passed without gloating about their banal possessions and how much they had. Everyone likes talking about how they are doing good." Mateo unplugs the player and asks for some radio, and they frown at each other, making almost the same face.

Enrique, I understand just a little bit. So many people that listen to him, that buy his CDs, and I refuse to believe it is just because they're stupid. I could stand in front of the stereo and tell Santiago what I think of his music. But not seeing the beauty, and the beauty not being there, are two very different things. Perhaps I haven't found the beauty in the Echoes of Silence. I'm not in a rush, though.

Mateo almost doesn't listen to music. He says there is already too much noise inside his head. Every time I open the door to his bedroom he is looking straight at me, then he looks at the window. He asks me if anything is wrong, and I answer him No, I just came to check on him. I ask him if he's hungry, and he never is.

"I don't know how Santiago does it."

' Does what?'

"Run in the hallways, all day. Laugh like that. He doesn't care about a thing."

Mateo looks at the ground and I embrace him. Tomorrow he turns fifteen. It's not an age to dance and sing without a reason. A decade of taking in the world with avid eyes, then half another looking for a motive to smile. He turns his head in between my arms to face me,

"I really don't get it."

In the end, Enrique sings about the good things in his life, I think. He can't hold all the gratefulness in himself and pours it out over four chords of the synthesizer. I give thanks, too. I sing to the flowers like he sings to his cars. I sing to the earth and to my children when I tuck them in at night. The wind sings back at me, from the window, making the bedsheets on the empty shelves flutter. I sing when I'm sweeping, singing with the dust perhaps. I sing to the old rag I use to mop the floorboards. I sing with Enrique in the car, with the speakers at full volume and my furniture in the trunk.

[tackysapphic]

this is a post about my thoughts and feelings regarding physical media and it turned out kinda long and ramble-y so I’m putting it under a read me just to kind of. not clog y’all’s shit with it jdbjdbdj feel free to read if you’d like, I just. Had some words to say and wanted to get it Out :)) anyways i lov physical media it’s my best friend

sitting here thinking about physical media again and just wondering like. why did we move SO far away from it??? of course cds and dvds are still being made and haven’t ever Stopped but like the idea that it’s Weird or Quirky to want to own or use these things is baffling to me. Of course I understand the pros of streaming and digital media, they absolutely exist and I’d be insane to say get rid of it completely. But I genuinely do think it’s strange how far removed we’ve been becoming from physical, tangible media. Now of course a large part of this blame is on the corporations wanting to force people to keep shelling out money for endless subscription services and on tech companies for removing things like disk drives and USB ports from their computers and laptops for “””aesthetic””” and money reasons but like. I’d say most cars still have CD players??? and honestly cds are not very expensive like they’re cheaper than I assumed. And they last for SO long??? And you *own* it. You buy it and it’s yours forever, not just until whatever company updates it’s tos and adds in weird clauses or whatever the fuck nintendo does to its consoles or until you stop paying monthly for access or until whatever it is gets moved to a NEW streaming service that also costs 14.99 a month on top of the 3 other ones you gotta have. you know??? i mean with tumblr and the people I interact with online I feel like this is a fairly shared sentiment. I just have been thinking a lot and been getting increasingly frustrated with streaming platforms as time goes on. And honestly?? The fucking JOY I get from just popping a cd in my car and blasting that shit, or putting a record on while I clean my room is fucking unparalleled for REAL. even just simply putting a shitty movie like mamma Mia (which is a masterpiece do NOT get me wrong) into my laptop and being able to watch it completely uninterrupted and completely offline!! it’s genuinely so fun and honestly helps me separate from my phone a bit. like when you don’t Have to rely on one object for every single thing you genuinely feel a little bit better!! at least for me anyways. and btw these sentiments also extend to books (ebook and audio, bc there Are ways to actually own those also and those are good for a variety of reasons including accessibility) but I’ve never like. set aside books in the same manner as dvds and cds and vinyls, like books have always been there in their exact form so I feel like I don’t have to touch on that as much. idk!! i have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this topic, i could probably go on for a while longer but I won’t!! except to say this: genuinely, getting back into using these forms of media has done something for my mental health in a way I can’t quite explain. it just feels good!! Feels right feels natural!! and I hope more people get back into these things.

[arabrot]

Who Do You Love by John Doran

Who Do You Love?

We drove 5,000 miles of barbed wire.

You’d think that by travelling that distance around a country you could get the measure of it. Especially if the country was only 361 miles from top to bottom and even less from East to West. You’d be thinking reasonably but not accurately.

Despite journeying the equivalent of one fifth of the circumference of the entire Earth in 31 days, all we got to see was the road itself. England endless. What we experienced was just a percentage of a splodge, a smidge of a blotch on the coastal fringe of Europe that deserved neither the sobriquet Great, nor the title United. How did such a small area of land contain such extravagant lengths of major road? In the same way that a human body could house a tapeworm 33 metres long. Probably not comfortably but hopefully not fatally either. Undoubtedly, in May 2015 - general election month - England had beauty to spare: it’s just that none of it was visible from the motorway.

We met on the forecourt of a petrol station near an airport. Heat haze was already starting to rise from the tarmac. The Driver was dressed immaculately in a tight-fitting black suit, shades and wide-brimmed black hat. His concession to non-monochromatic decoration was silver chains carrying cocks and crosses. He looked like Asa Hawkes, the “blind” preacher from Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Blood - but much thinner. He tipped the brim of his hat hello. This was not his stage hat but his everyday hat. His stage hat, the kind of prairie Stetson featured in the opening scene of Holy Mountain was massive and kept in the kind of box that suggested it was an essential part of a drum kit. It had its own carefully allotted slot in the back of the van with the tons of amplifiers, speaker cabinets, guitars, synthesizers, boxes of books, suitcases full of clothes and bags and bags of oranges we were taking with us. There was only one way to fit all of this stuff into the vehicle, and packing it correctly was like 3-D Tetris. All it took was one giant, impractical hat in the wrong place and then everything had to be taken out again and reloaded in the correct position.

He was the colour of milk, which made the angry red scars up either side of his neck all the more vivid. He looked like the missing link between human being and some future race of Lovecraftian eel-men who would be able to breathe via gills under water.

As well as me and the Driver, there was the Passenger. She looked more like she had stepped straight from the set of Bladerunner than a Jodorowsky or John Huston movie. This was to be their last tour as boyfriend and girlfriend as they were headed straight to a deconsecrated church in rural Sweden to get married as soon as the trip ended. I was merely a temporary guest in their world. A road voyeur with a month long pass.

Within minutes of setting off we hit the M25 we became enmeshed in May Day traffic. I realised that most of the month was going to be spent looking at slow moving traffic on motorways.

But just as driving to Brighton was slow and painful, leaving it the next day was a dream. On the motorway, time stretched and contracted simultaneously in temporal doppler effect. The days seemed longer but time blistered, popped and broke apart pleasantly as the brain switched down a few gears into a near pure experiential mode. There was little to worry about. All I could do was count the pylons and pretend I had a flamethrower to aim at UKIP billboards and hoardings; to luxuriate in motorway sign typography and listen to Maggot Brain as loud as it would go. Miles Davis’ Agharta was the soundtrack to us speeding out of the south up the M1 towards the Rainy City. Al Foster’s ringing, open hi-hat was our fuel. And then it was nothing but John Coltrane, Electric Wizard and NOMEANSNO until we reached our destination. It started raining the second we hit Stoke. And then before long we were on the Mancunian Way heading for Piccadilly in torrential rain, parking the van under a tangle of flyovers. When I planned this jaunt it was a thing of beauty. I took an AA road map and unfolded it until it covered half the floor space in my tiny living room. I took a sheet of stickers from my son’s Thomas The Tank Engine magazine and created a spiral of towns and cities, first round the edges near the coast and then spiraling in toward the centre. Our proposed journey looked like an occult temporal and spatial message only discernable from the god perspective. What I planned was a perfect thing. But after you plan your perfect thing what happens is this: promoters start phoning you up or emailing you. ‘We’ve double booked you with a Stereophonics tribute act’; ‘There’s actually a bar mitzvah on that day’; ‘It’s Record Store Day.’ And then the perfect thing falls to pieces. By the time we hit the road the perfect thing looked like that terrifying film of a spider on LSD trying to spin a web. And there was only one thing worse than a spider on LSD trying to spin a web and that was a spider on caffeine trying to spin a web.

We stopped for several coffees en route to Sunderland the next day. The weather was beautiful. Fields of golden rape seed glowed under a blue sky. But I gave up counting the UKIP billboards. There were just too many. The purple pound signs zipped past in a blur. We’d been on the road for five days and I hadn’t seen a single sign for Labour. It was almost a relief when we passed a huge hoarding in an arable field next to a broken tractor which proclaimed: “Prepare to meet your Lord!” We pulled in soon after to stretch our legs in front of a petrol station that shared a forecourt with a sex shop wrapped in a large tarpaulin hoarding, proclaiming: “Under new management!” Next door was a garden centre flying a row of ten confederate flags and two Union Jacks. There was a knackered and rusty jet stream caravan serving up plastic cups of filter coffee.

It became clear early on that the Travelodge was our friend. Every Travelodge the Driver, the Passenger and I shared was identical. A family room. One double bed, one fold out couch bed, minimal decoration, very interesting mass produced art, scant furniture, tea making facilities and a portable telly, often chained to the wall. The Travelodge may have had less furniture in it than the average bail hostel and may sometimes have smelled like a suburban pet shop from 1984 but it was totally fine as we were low ranking touring musicians and writers, not visiting dignitaries from Saudi Arabia.

After Leeds, our Travelodge was situated in a motorway retail park so the following morning we walked just a few hundred yards to the Toby Carvery for breakfast. Pushing open the double swing doors we were confronted by a man in stained chef’s whites, with hair pushed under a light blue plastic turban crowning a jowly and crimson face. He was methodically and noisily applying a large cleaver to a foot long cylindrical sharpening steel with a schnick-schnick sound.

“Hello!” said the Driver cheerfully. “Are you Toby?”

The chef looked up slowly and a pendulous and translucent bead of sweat swayed under his nose. His eyes were like drill holes in gammon. Bruised udders of flesh were hanging below each of his nicotine-stained ocular orbs. He was possibly the most hungover man I had ever seen. He jawed away silently, his eyes flickering dully with rage as he started straightening up. The BPM of metal on metal increased. The three of us circled round him gingerly and headed rapidly for the breakfast counter past tables rammed full of people who looked like they were about to die. I had never seen so many morbidly obese people in one place at one time. It was like God’s waiting room with unlimited fried egg.

Oh England, you are sick.

It was only £5 per head and you could eat as much as you wanted but the choice was only bacon, sausages, roast potatoes, black pudding, fried egg, fried bread, beans and mushrooms. The thrill of the open road. Unlimited roast potatoes and bacon for breakfast.

(We spent just one night at the supposedly more upmarket Premier Inn, and it was relatively more luxurious but due to its incomprehensible automated reception machine, it took us an hour and a long conversation with two angry Premier Inn employees to gain access to our room. “Getting into this hotel was like the opening scene from a new episode of Black Mirror”, said the Driver, a recent convert to the show. “There’s nothing like waking up in some shitty English town, before eating some shitty English breakfast before driving slowly down some shitty English motorway for 12 hours before loading into some shitty English venue and playing a shitty gig to ten people before going to some shitty Travelodge just to watch a really well made English TV series which explains to you exactly why everything is so fucked”, he told me gleefully.)

Any hotel room was actually very much like home as long as you had a laptop, a handful of Nick Cave CDs, some Right Guard and a copy of Threads on DVD, which happened to be the exact contents of my overnight hotel bag.

Waking up in another identical Travelodge on another identical Motorway retail park the next day I realised finally that this was literally the worst place for a writer to be during general election month. Nowhere had wifi that worked. It was like being in a bubble of ignorance for 31 days. We had to choose these parks to minimise the chances of the splitter van getting stolen with all of our gear inside it. Every Travelodge we stayed in was essentially the same, surrounded by a handful of other outlets - a Toby Carvery or a Harvester or, if you were really unlucky, both of them. Then maybe also a Costa, a Boots and an Esso petrol station as well. They were all accessible from a motorway roundabout that wasn’t really near anything other than either an airport, a prison or an industrial estate. A vague hangover from reading JG Ballard as a schoolboy led me to believe that there would be some kind of mind-expanding nourishment to be had from this aspect of the venture but these motorway retail parks were all identical. They were the most co-opted and least free spaces of all.

After breakfast, outside, sitting on a wall drinking a cup of tea in the sunshine, I looked intently at a semicircle of rooks surrounding a single bird of their own kind. They were slowly advancing in toward it. The bird in the middle was stock still and not moving. It didn’t look like a friendly encounter. The Driver and the Passenger came out and joined me. The parliament were just about to attack the accused in order to peck it to death but just as the corvine jury bore down, they were disturbed by a loud noise from above. The Red Arrows flew over the Travelodge in formation causing them to scatter  It felt almost as if the Driver existed in a bubble of weird, uncanny, apocalyptic and esoteric events that moved with him wherever he roved. But it was also as if he barely noticed any of them. I stood pointing at the sky.

“Yes, yes” he snapped irritably as if he was sick of seeing this kind of thing. “Let’s get in the van and get off otherwise we won’t get to Digbeth in time.”

That night I dreamt that the solid iron core of the Earth was about to slough us all off until the planet stood raw and bleeding in space, just roiling magma with no skin to contain it. The utter indignity of being born between waves, the scions of a pusillanimous age we were all about to be cast into the void with the filthy scab of a country we called England. A flat and unmagical land. A depressing and tawdry place. When I opened my eyes Toby was stood in the corner of the room, sharpening his cleaver, schnick, schnick, schnick, schnick. Empty eye sockets carved out of rancid, fly-blown gammon.  

“We have to stop eating lunch at the Harvester!” I sprang out of my fold out bed and shouted at the Driver and the Passenger, waking them from their sleep. “The full rack of ribs is fucking killing me!”

Fuck the Harvester. Fuck Toby Carvery. All of the clothes that were hanging off me on May 1 were now snug and it was only May 12. My ears were ringing with the premonition of some future blue cheese dressing related pulmonary event.

It was easy to see how ruinous life on the road could be, even when you didn’t drink or do drugs. I felt sorry for younger bands who felt they had to go out partying every night after shows. After a couple of weeks it must end up hellish.

The road to Hull was paved with UKIP signs. Only Necrosis by Cadaver played at ear disrespecting volumes kept us sane. It was dark as we drove into town and ghosts lined Ferensway waiting to greet me. The cinema where I’d had my first date in town, the pair of us just turned 18 - watching Shirley Valentine no less, saying, “Imagine being that old” about Pauline Collins and Bernard Hill - was now a bingo hall. The war memorial that I regularly drank sherry in front of on a bench. The Welly nightclub where I saw a punter swan dive off a balcony and go headfirst through the corner of a formica table. When they took him out on a stretcher there was a blanket pulled up over his face. And then down past my old house on De Grey Street and into the car park of the Adelphi. And then the ghosts waved us back out of town.

The drive to Great Yarmouth was gruelling and 13-hours long because of traffic - we got stuck behind no less than three serious road accidents. Bodies strewn across baking tarmac. Bloodied travellers weeping in incomprehension at the hard shoulder. Slow moving the traffic might have been but at least we had plenty of long albums to listen to. Just like a mattress in a shared student house or the narrative flow of the Bayeux Tapestry - Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly sagged in the middle but it was very, very long, making it ideal for the van.

Eight hours later, after the show, we flew down the A47 unimpeded like we were clinging to a rocket, listening to Slayer albums sequentially at full volume, gabbling like a bunch of four-year-olds as we went. By the last day, I felt like I was about to die and constantly on the verge of tears. I didn’t want it to end. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the worst of times. It was genuinely the worst of all times. And yet I’d crawl over broken glass to be able to do it all again right now.

You know, if you really want to get the measure of a country don’t drive round it. Take a train or walk. Maybe buy a bicycle or a skateboard or something.

We drove 5,000 miles of barbed wire and parked the splitter van by the roadside.

John Doran, Bangkok, Thailand, December 2017

[brotheralyosha]

Like a traditional library, the Internet Archive buys or accepts donations of physical books. The archive scans its physical books, making one digital copy available for each physical book it owns. The digitized copies are then loaned out for a limited period, like a traditional library loan. The physical books from which the scans were made are stored and do not circulate, a practice known as “own-to-loan.”

Harvard copyright scholar and lawyer Kyle Courtney has explained this reasoning very clearly. “Libraries do not need permission or a license to loan those books that they have purchased or acquired,” he said at a recent conference. “Copyright law covers those exact issues.… Congress actually placed all of these specialized copyright exemptions for libraries in the Copyright Act itself.”

The for-profit publishers in the lawsuit, however, do not care for this idea. What they allege in the complaint is this: “Without any license or any payment to authors or publishers, IA [the Internet Archive] scans print books, uploads these illegally scanned books to its servers, and distributes verbatim digital copies of the books in whole via public-facing websites.”

What this ominous description fails to acknowledge is that all libraries that lend e-books “distribute verbatim digital copies of the books in whole via public-facing websites.” Yet the publishers claim later in the same document that they have no beef with regular libraries. They love libraries, they say (“Publishers have long supported public libraries, recognizing the significant benefits to the public of ready access to books and other publications”), and are “in partnership” with them: “This partnership turns upon a well-developed and longstanding library market, through which public libraries buy print books and license ebooks (or agree to terms of sale for ebooks) from publishers.”

The real issue emerges here: The words “license ebooks” are the most important ones in the whole lawsuit.

Publishers approve of libraries paying for e-book licenses because they’re temporary, just like your right to watch a movie on Netflix is temporary and can evaporate at any moment. In the same way, publishers would like to see libraries obliged to license, not to own, books—that is, continue to pay for the same book again and again. That’s what this lawsuit is really about. It’s impossible to avoid the conclusion that publishers took advantage of the pandemic to achieve what they had not been able to achieve previously: to turn the library system into a “reading as a service” operation from which they can squeeze profits forever.

Their argument also hinges on the notion that it’s illegal to scan a book that you own. Note that this is what’s being claimed in the complaint: that the books are “illegally scanned,” as Whitehead tweeted back in March. It’s not just the distribution of “pirated” copies they’re trying to prevent. It’s doing as you wish with your own property.

This runs deeper than the question of digital format. NYU law professor Jason Schultz, co-author of The End of Ownership, explained it in an e-mail: “The key here is that our law and cultures have always distinguished between owning something and temporarily purchasing access to something. Most people know the difference between owning a home and renting one, or owning a tuxedo or renting one. We also know this with most media, for example the difference between buying a copy of a film on DVD and going to see it in the theater.”

The Internet is 31 years old, and in those three short decades the virtual world we’ve come to depend on has slowly eroded the idea of private ownership—literally, your right to call your belongings your own. Things you used to buy just once, such as your own private copies of software like Photoshop or Word, your privately owned vinyl discs and CDs, or movies on VHS—have increasingly begun to come through dispensing services you pay for every month, from vendors like Adobe, Netflix, Hulu, and Spotify. And you’ll never stop paying.

[burningbelieverarbiter]

Wav Or Aiff For Mac

AIFF is a great audio format, mainly used in Apple Macintosh. It was also developed by Apple in 1998. Pulse code modulation is used in these files. This high-quality format uses uncompressed data. Only an AIFF Player can decode and play these audio files. If you want to listen to AIFF files on your device, you must download a good player. Given below are some of the best available AIFF player choices for you.

Wav Or Aiff For Mac Download

Wav Or Aiff Format

Convert Aiff To Mp3

Wav Or Aiff For Mac Os

Aiff C

Wav Or Aiff

Audio Interchange File Format (AIFF) is an audio file format standard used for storing sound data for personal computers and other electronic audio devices. The format was developed by Apple Inc. In 1988 based on Electronic Arts' Interchange File Format (IFF, widely used on Amiga systems) and is most commonly used on Apple Macintosh computer systems. The audio data in most AIFF files is. Aiff to wav converter mac free download - Free AIFF to WAV Converter, Free WAV to AIFF Converter, AIFF To WAV Converter Software, and many more programs. Choose WAV output format at the main window Format list. Set sample rate and bit depth in the main window. When input file is 24 bit reduced to 16 bit, set Dithering on (check ON and OFF and use, that sound better for you). Select target directory (watch video). Push Start button. Wait until end of conversion and look for converted stuff is placed in the target directory (selected in goal 6).

Wav Or Aiff For Mac Download

Related:

Vlc Player

VLC is probably the most popular media player in the world. It can play AIFF files with good control. VLC is compatible with almost all video, audio formats in the world. If you want to listen to an audio file created on Mac, you must download VLC media player software.

Free Aiff Player

Media player lite is a free AIFF video player designed mainly for Windows users. This software is compatible with Windows Vista, Windows XP, and Windows 7. You can adjust the settings of resolution and bitrate. This AIFF player can also be used as a file converter, capable of doing batch conversions.

Foobar2000

If you are looking for a freeware AIFF player download, Foobar2000 is the best thing for you. It can replace your media player, and it acts as a DVD ripper tool. Foobar2000 allows users to convert audio files to any audio format you like. You can enjoy gapless playback of AIFF audio files.

Other AIFF Player Platforms

If you are thinking about your unconventional operating system and its compatibility with AIFF players, it is time to stop worrying. There are hundreds of AIFF players available on the internet for every operating system. Take a look at some examples listed below, and download the best option for you.

AIFF Player for Android – Poweramp Music Player

This is the best AIFF player for android. It can help you to play Mac audio, video files using an android device. It is not possible to decode and play AIFF files, on an android phone. However, Powerapm helps you play AIFF audio with lyrics. Gapless, crossfade playback is an important feature of this software

AIFF Player for MAC – Audio Music Plan Player

If you are using Mac OS, you must download this software. It has an eye grabbing graphical interface. The menu is available in different languages including Chinese, Spanish, and Russian. You will need iOS 7 or anything after 7, to use Audio music plan player. You can easily customize the interface according to your idea.

AIFF Player for Windows – AIFF Player

You can purchase this amazing software from the official website of Microsoft, for just 2.99 dollars. This is the best way to play AIFF Mac audio files using your Windows OS. The playlists are easily customizable. Different types of audio visualization graphics helps you to experience the music in a different way.

Most Popular AIFF Player – Media Monkey

Media Monkey is the most popular AIFF audio player today. You can easily manage thousands of songs using playlists. Let it be audio books, podcasts, AIFF audios, or MP3s – MediaMonkey will help you to enjoy a gapless playback. The software supports different audio formats as well as video files. You can also see Remix Player Software

What is AIFF Player?

AIFF player is a software program to manage AIFF files. If you are a MAC user, you will know the importance of such a software. People today have different gadgets. If you have a MAC computer at office and Windows at home, it will be difficult to transfer and read data between them. You can also see Music Beat Maker Software

Wav Or Aiff Format

MAC audios will not work on Windows without an AIFF player. There are many extra benefits for using these applications. You can convert audio files into any format you like. Some of them even allow batch conversion. Today, AIFF players can play audios and videos alike.

Read the above descriptions carefully before choosing a particular product. Always remember your exact requirement with such a software. If all you need to do is listen to AIFF files, you can seek an opensource AIFF player download website. If you want a comprehensive media player, it will be better to scrutinize all the features.

Related Posts

Convert Aiff To Mp3

The Free Lossless Audio Codec (FLAC) is the most well-liked lossless format, making it a good selection if you wish to store your music in lossless. While the primary goal of. an audio converter software is to transform audio from one format to a different, there are different features you need to look for to raised manipulate the audio. For instance, a program that may extract audio from video can save you time as you don’t have to use a separate program to do the same. Click on Convert to convert your AIFF file(s).

To convert songs currently in your iTunes library, open the software program and discover the Preferences menu from the iTunes dropdown on a Mac or Edit dropdown on a Windows laptop. Next, click on the Basic tab, then find the Import Settings within the lower part of the Preferences window. After that, click the dropdown subsequent to Import Utilizing, select the format and click on OK to save lots of that import format as the default setting. iTunes permits for batch changing, so the ultimate step is to select all the files you wish to convert, click on the File menu, then select Convert and click on on Create MP3 Version. If you happen to chose a unique output format, it shows that format moderately than MP3.

Audio recordsdata are available various totally different codecs. Some are lossy, comparable to AAC and MP3; they save area in comparison with the unique recordsdata, but a number of the authentic knowledge is lost throughout compression. Some codecs are lossless, resembling Apple Lossless, FLAC, and SHN; these files may be transformed again to their unique kind with out the lack of a single bit. Finally, some are uncompressed, akin to WAV and AIFF; they signify the exact information from a CD or a grasp.

Wav Or Aiff For Mac Os

A most of 18 surround channels, stereo down combine channel and bit stream indicators with non-PCM coded data can also be stored within the file format. RF64 can be utilized in the entire programme chain from capture to editing and play out and for short or long term archiving of multichannel information. He gave me his recording in aiff format for some reason. I pulled it into S1 with no problem and exported it as a stem in wav format so all recordsdata were in the identical folder. As soon as I sync the files collectively I begin to notice a drift because the recording progresses, it is noticeable after a minute or so.

Hamster Free Audio Converter is claimed to work with Home windows 7, Vista, XP, and 2000. • You can even email the converted file URL to others. I have tried removing theaiff extension on sound recordsdata and dragging them into storage band. It worked for a couple of files however it’s actually hit or miss. File any reside classes or unable to obtain music from any online websites.

The worst thing about FileZigZag is the time it takes to add the audio file and obtain the link in your e mail. Nevertheless, most audio recordsdata, even long music tracks, come in a reasonably small dimension, so it isn’t often an issue. Select which audio information you want to merge. These might be added out of your laptop or system, by means of Dropbox, from Google Drive, or from some other online supply that you just hyperlink. You possibly can add a number of files directly or select them one at a time.

Aiff C

Should you’re certain you have got a 16-bitWAV or AIFF file at a 44.1kHz sample fee, and it still will not import into the SPD-SX, then the file might have embedded metadata, or “tags,” that are causing the error. This could happen with recordsdata that come from DAWs (“Digital Audio Workstations”), other audio packages, or sample libraries. You possibly can strip this extra info from the file by changing it to Apple Lossless or FLAC format. After converting to Apple Lossless or FLAC, convert that file back to WAV or AIFF, sixteen-bit and forty four.1kHz.

I do not disagree at all – and I will expand upon this crucial topic quickly. Tagging is the KEY to a correct music system and wendiweathers98.hatenablog.com people get very touchy about it – and understandably so. For those of us that have invested tons of of hours curating and sprucing our metadata, we want that point and personal touch to be honored. I do suppose Roon does not respect that enough.

Wav Or Aiff

Initially, upload the FLAC file by clicking “Add Information” button in this system. Alternatively, you can even upload through the use of drag and drop possibility. The good WMA to M4A Converter can convert WMA to M4A, AAC, WAV, AIFF, FLAC, MP3, ALAC, and AC3. Edit audio file to cut off the unneeded half and reduct the file size. You can convert music or sound to WAV format with free online converter.

The Audio Interchange File Format (.aif oraiff) was developed as the standard audio format for the Macintosh platform, http://www.audio-transcoder.com/how-to-convert-aiff-files-to-wav but it is now supported by Home windows and other platforms. It can support as much as six channels and arbitrary sampling charges and bit depths, with 8 kHz and eleven.127 kHz at 8 and sixteen bits being the commonest online.

[ohmygodhelena]

8 Beginner Video Tips For Making Professional-looking Videos That Nobody is Talking About

The smart Trick of 8 Beginner Video Tips For Making Professional-looking Videos That Nobody is Talking About

Table of Contents

Starting An Online Business: The Ultimate Guide For 2020 for Dummies

Not known Facts About How To Start A Youtube Channel And Make Money ... - Fotor

How To Make Money Blogging In 2021 ($203k In Year One) - Questions

The Main Principles Of How To Monetize Your Blog: 7 Case Studies For Newbie ...

It can be a daunting enough task thinking of—much less selling— information products online. That was, until you found this post. Today, I’m going to break down what information products are, give you real-life examples of best selling ideas (you can realistically start) and guide you from idea to income.

1

Imagine all business product types on a matrix similar to MakeMoneyOnline.tv. You could do a physical product. Or build software. Or run a service business. When it comes to building an online business there are essentially six paths you can take. Every has different costs and earning potentials. Here, let’s graph them out: The businesses that fall in the upper-right part are commonly called .

2

g., e-books and online courses). They’re in the area where there’s: Low cost (i. e., doesn’t cost you a lot of money to make) High earning potential (i. e., makes you a LOT of money) The best part is you can create products relatively quickly (depending on which information product ideas you choose) AND those products generate passive income.

3

Not all information product ideas are made equal though. What works for one business might not work very well for you at all. That’s why I want to break down your options for information product ideas, give you a few good places to start, and take a look at examples of information products that have helped people grow their business.

4

The 5-Second Trick For How To Start An Ecommerce Business (A Complete Blueprint)

Chances are you’ve purchased an information product already and used them in your everyday life. Not all information products are digital either. Information products can exist in the form of DVDs, CDs, traditional books, and even services like coaching or consulting. However, it’s when you create a digital information product (i.

5

We’re going to pretend we’re running a new business. It’s a fitness website catered towards twenty-something content marketers called “Muscle Up.” Yeah, it’s a crappy name — but we’re playing pretend remember? As the founder of Muscle Up, you’ve built a solid list of subscribers and have been churning out helpful blog posts for a while.

6

Let’s take a look at a few different options that are perfect for you as the founder of Muscle Up and beginner entrepreneur who wants to create their first information product. For each product, I’ll give you the price you can sell one unit for and the time it takes to produce the product.

7

: $10 – $50 per book 2 – 8 weeks E-books are those things that you keep downloading but never get around to reading. Luckily, plenty of other people are willing to pay you money to gain your valuable muscle-building knowledge. They’re deceptively simple to make too. Since you’ve been frequently blogging and providing valuable content to your readers already on Muscle Up’s website, you can use those exact same blog posts and compile them into one awesome resource for your readers.

8

35 Fatal Ecommerce Mistakes We See People Make (Yes ... Fundamentals Explained

A few great examples: . Travel expert Nomadic Matt dishes out knowledge for any wannabe budget travelers out there. $5. 99 . Learn how to create awesome songs with this e-book. $17 . A no-nonsense guide to building an online business. By us. $7. 99 . Take a deep dive into the world of travel hacking with this guide available in Money Gravity.

9

95 . Television producer Paula Rizzo shows you how to be more productive and get more done through the art of list making. $9. 99 So now you have Muscle Up’s first e-book, “Every Day is Leg Day: How to Scare People When You Wear Shorts.” Now you want to be able to engage a bit more with your community while making money.

10

: $200 – $1,000+ per hour 1 – 3 hours per session Coaching is one of the fastest information product ideas to get started with. This is when you offer one-on-one guidance and teaching to a client in your area of expertise. And they’re awesome for a few reasons: Many customers / clients are willing to pay premium prices for coaching.

11

You can meet with customers in person, with video conferencing (Skype, Google Hangouts, etc.), or even over the phone. This flexibility allows you to cater to customers all over the world — improving your chances of getting clients. You get to effectively conduct customer research with coaching. You can tap into their fears, goals, and vulnerabilities by interacting with your clients through one-on-one coaching.

12

Not known Factual Statements About How To Sell On Shopify - A Definitive Beginner's Guide ...

There are a few downsides to coaching though. You need to be more involved in order to make money since you’re offering a one-on-one service. That means a lot of continuous work and sweat equity in order to make money. You are literally selling your time for money, and that has a natural limit.

13

[daisyachain]

hold up i’m having a coherent thought.

the development of technology and sharing networks over the 2000s-2010s has allowed media markets to spread across a spectrum from amateur-for-free and professional-commercial rather than sitting on a few discrete points.

in ye olde days you had options including:

independent work done for free but distributed through paid mail networks to cover the cost of distribution. limited to print forms due to the cost of other types of production (e.g. zines)

independent or collaborative work done without official pay but financed through some under-the-counter scheme or other, distributed physically in-person or by mail (e.g. bootleg films)

semi-independent or collaborative corporate work done with no up-front pay and sold legally to a firm to distribute (e.g. scripts or treatments, novels. limited to print forms due to the cost of other types of production)

collaborative corporate work financed by a firm or sponsor (e.g. most audio and video productions)

most of the non-financed options required a lot of time, money, and effort to distribute beyond a very narrow audience. Without access to radio/television/newspaper ad space ($$$), the best you could do was tape a poster up to a lamppost asking if anyone wanted to look at your unedited novella

in these new days, you have options including

independent or collaborative work done and distributed for free with no expectation or method of payment (e.g. anything posted to a no-advertising site like a*o3)

independent or collaborative work done and distributed for free with no expectation for payment, but with a method and hope for payment (e.g. anything posted with a link to ko-fi)

independent or collaborative work done and distributed for free with expectation/incentives for payment (e.g. anything with additional patreon content)

collaborative corporate work done and distributed for free with expectation/incentives for payment (e.g. anything with additional patreon content)

collaborative corporate work financed by a firm/sponsor distributed commercially for free with expectation/incentives for payment (e.g. some things with patreon or other ‘paid’ add-ons available)

independent or collaborative work sold commercially (e.g. some indie games)

collaborative corporate work financed by a firm or sponsor and sold commercially (e.g. most mainstream media)

pretty much all work is distributed via a combination of hosting and social media websites on the internet. the majority of distribution through conventional streams (DVDs, CDs, print books) is work financed by a firm with some capital and sold to make money.

the variety of working models and distribution channels opened up by the internet is vast. there is still somewhat of a divide between what i’m going to call internet native content and mainstream content. internet native content is largely independent, produced by digital natives (mostly under-40 or under-30), and financially untenable without the internet. mainstream content is largely corporate/commercial, produced by established firms whose employees may or may not be tapped into digital culture.

sometimes these areas overlap where firms hire/commission creators known for their independent work. mainstream firms are increasingly tilting their distribution towards the digital, muddying the water further. for the purposes of this irrelevant, nonsensical, and overlong post, anything produced commercially by a firm with capital is mainstream content, and anything produced independently by individuals or a small organization is internet native content.

there’s a sizeable and vocal chunk of the internet dedicated to media consumption and criticism, especially as relates to how fictional stories replicate and perpetuate real-life biases and oppression. given how serious and unavoidable the issue is in real life, it only makes sense that people want to be able to escape into content (fiction AND non-fiction) that eliminate, counteract, or criticize those forms of oppression.

given the ease of sharing information around on social media, there are some concepts/ideas/thoughts that act as baseline ‘rules’ for keeping your work clean. obviously there are a load of assholes who ignore these and take any explanation in bad faith, but these ‘rules’ are still extremely accessible by anyone plugged into internet culture (as boomer a phrase as that is). if you ask a 15-year-old on tumblr they can tell you to a) research the culture of any character who doesn’t share your background before writing, b) split screentime and focus evenly between men and women, c) look into the background and assumptions behind your tropes to see how they fit into historical structures of oppression.

this means that there’s an expectation among people i’ll call digital natives (who can access this endless stream of grassroots critical theory) that anyone older or less familiar with technology and fan culture won’t have access to this information. never mind that critical race theory, the concept of ‘fridging’, and trans people have existed for decades at least.

because of this, mainstream content is judged to be written, produced, edited, and executed by a group of people whose idea of revolutionary tv is a woman talking and a black character living past the first season. on the other hand, internet native content is made by people who know all the latest discourse and discussion. mainstream media gets a passing grade if it even expresses awareness that there exist people other than whites; internet native media is expected to follow the various rules.

this makes some sense. it’s a reasonable assumption that mainstream creators don’t and can’t know the rules, while internet native creators automatically do. the chance that a 56-year-old man who got his position at ABC because his father’s brother-in-law went to college with a guy who was an exec even thinks about social justice is marginally higher than zero.

however. all that is to say that these expectations don’t reflect the financial situation of mainstream vs digital native productions. mainstream content generally has enough financing to pull together a team of professionals paid up-front at market rate to create content. internet native content is generally made by a team of amateur friends and/or acquaintances for free or for well below minimum wage. a lot of fans expect a deeper level of rigour and research from people working on one ham sandwich per week than from the glitziest hbo production. even better, said fans will personally call out a minor slight from a solo endeavour and demand a retraction while at the same time they put up a mild and indirect complaint about some shit a film pulled.

that’s not to say that lack of resources are an excuse for writing total bullshit. what that is to say is that fan expectations don’t necessarily reflect project constraints. it’s going to hurt when your favourite webcomic or youtube series gets rid of the only woman in its cast, and it’s a tropey move that should be criticized as tired or misogynist storytelling. it’s also par for the course on the field of storytelling. there are ten thousand novels, a hundred comic issues, and ten network tv shows that are doing the exact same thing as we speak. if you’re going to take sloppy research from star wars fanfic as a personal offence, you may as well direct your energy into publically criticizing lucasfilm for the extreme racism their production crew show time and again. it’s frustrating to see the same people ripping apart indie content that is tasteless at worst and saying nothing about more real and more destructive stuff in mainstream content

[blogomalowaniufigurek]

Model Train Shows

Like many existing hobby nightclubs, good membership is what matters most. The common love for model trains is the reason that attracts all enthusiasts together but it's the club's activities and leadership which retains and preserves joyful and active associates. One club event that's practically present in a club's calendar of activities will be a model railroad series. This is the highlight in most club history as it aims to assemble additional hobbyists from various localities and motivates beginners to get more excited within their new pastime.

Model train shows comprise showcasing numerous layouts and sceneries. It has several sorts of model trains out of steam to electric powered locomotives. The scales are varied from O scale, N scale, G scale and more. Vendors are invited to exhibit their own goods for model rail supplies and other items included in the avocation. This means becoming them cheaper as of those discounted prices they give. This is just another opportunity version train visitors and members should make use. When a gathering of rail enthusiasts has materialized, many ideas are exchanged. Excellent advices receive publicly. Talks on how best to solve issues like steam leaking out of piston or valve glands, or any time the packaging made of graphite yarn or a nitrile oring is damaged are given. Scenery structures, wiring and model railroad planning are other topics that they cover and discuss. For most shows, there's an affordable entry fee but that which you're able to take away from attending one is ample.

Services and products offered in model railway shows are a sight to behold. Some are painted and prepared to be taken home by a buyer. Cast resin mimic houses, Poradniki malowania figurek warhammer , digital sound modules and DCC control apparatus are on hand. Standard scenery items like those copying nature and unique scales will also be contained. This is critical for every new beginner to master and find out which scale he intends to use when he starts to build his own model train set. Ready to assemble kits may also be available to provide you an essential tutorial about what happens in a train set. The event sponsors and staff will be there to readily show you and offer you hints to produce the assembly easy, simple and enjoyable. Reading substances are also there for one to choose home and study on. An step-by-step guide can be helpful. Other media are also available like CDs, DVDs and also interactive websites. It is every hobbyist's shopping haven

The center of everything else could be the model trains themselves. The minute they begin to perform onto their tracks, engines fired up and roaring, some with live steam coming outside, it's something to behold. Place against scenery made with planned and care detailing, the lights and sounds of the layouts enhances the complete effect. This really is what enchants all enthusiasts to love the hobby of model trains. One other element which adds to the appeal of many would be the family-oriented value mounted on it. Grandfathers, fathers and sons can learn to like and love the passion and have the exact same train to be kept in the family for generations ahead.

[dynamofitness-blog1]

Whole Body Vibration Machine: Great Home Gym Equipment That Can Fulfill Your Desires

No doubt that we are ending up being increasingly more worried with our health and wellness. Home health club tools can be thought about as a resourceful, comfy as well as cost-effective method to remain in shape. There is huge selection of gym weights for sale readily available on the market that's why it comes to be tough to discover the ideal one. Well, Entire body Resonance Equipment is among the item that can satisfy your ever before transforming needs. Also, the vibration equipment has become popular in numerous gym also. You will certainly see great deal of whole body resonance makers selections out there and out of these, commonly two types of machines are marketed at the highest demand:

Direct Whole Body Vibration Equipment: It consists of vertical or tri planar resonance action.

Oscillating Whole Body Resonance Equipment: It entails see-saw or teeter-totter action.

More notably, the variety of equipment depends upon your requirement. Besides, you can conveniently obtain the solution provided in the internet. It can be quickly installed at the home areas but ideally open spaces are thought about to be the best area. As well as you can obtain more information about its usage with the help of CDs and DVDs readily available with the maker.

The means exactly how it works is really straightforward. You need to stand or rest on a shaking system and also as this system vibrate; your muscle mass are compelled to respond to the resonance. This process will help you to shed added calories without any effort. Just 10 mins exercise on device has the exact same impact as 50 minutes of workout at the health club. And this is the significant factor to have this as your home gym equipment. More than this, starting from a commoner to any type of celeb, all have currently become its daily customers. You can measure the adhering to advantages in your self following 5 weeks of its normal use.

Complying with are the significant benefits of this device:

It brings a fantastic adaptability and also preserves a total balance in the body.

It includes vibration treatment as well as for this reason the muscles heal toned. As compare to typical means, this devices can increase the muscles 2X quicker.

One can execute both aerobic as well as anaerobic exercises with it.

Resonance training raises blood circulation lowers high blood pressure and lowers swelling in the body. It likewise causes the reducing of the dangerous cellulite web content from the blood as well as hence promotes good oxygenation and also regrowth of healthy tissues. Indirectly, this process makes your whole neurological system extra improved and well stimulated.

Its regular use additionally raises your metabolism price as well as additionally normalizes insulin degree in the blood. Due to which, you really feel more energetic as even more energy is released for every motion you do.

For more info:-  Commercial gym equipment Melbourne

[gregorygowins-blog]

Convert Cda To Flac

Convert MP4, MP3, WAV, MOV and more to any format on-line. The appliance begins the conversion the moment you add the FLAC files. You will note the progress bar which tells you the progress of the present conversion and How to open cda music files many FLACs are within the queue preparing to be transformed. Once the conversion is full, you will be able to search out the transformed recordsdata in the location folder you've gotten set or the default authentic folder. The CD Ripper for mac can convert an audio section or several recordsdata at once, cut up a file into sections, concurrently output a file into several formats and to the required dimension, regulate conversion parameters, edit ID3 tag information, add numerous audio effects, together with quite a lot of different nice options. Furthermore, multithreading and multi-core CPU processing are supported for providing high speed conversion. FLAC is a newer format which makes use of lossless compression to retailer the identical exact knowledge (lossless) however in a compressed manner so that it takes much less area. A wide range of techniques can be utilized to achieve lossless compression, but they effectively involve finding patterns within the knowledge and then storing the sample quite than each incidence of the sample. This permits for probably much smaller quantities of knowledge to be used to characterize the same stream, but it means that the decoder has to place the jigsaw puzzle again together earlier than it might really meaningfully play the file. This means that a participant wants a lot more processing capability to play the audio again, however can use much less house to store it. FLAC is a lossless audio format that provides compression in measurement with out loss in high quality. This open source codec works similar to ZIP archiving, but gives better compression specifically for sound knowledge (as much as 60%). FLAC audio is supported by the vast majority of platforms like Windows, Unix, Amiga. That is the only non-proprietary lossless codec with effectively documented specs and API. Supports four-32 bps resolution, 1-8 channels. In streaming protocol FLAC makes use of CRC checksums. Click on the Add button on the Burrrn interface and navigate to the folder that contains your music tracks on your laborious drive, using the explorer window that pops up (this window will differ in several versions of Home windows, the window proven above is Home windows XP). You may select a number of files like in the image above by holding the CTRL key and clicking whatever you wish to load into the program. When you've got chosen all the songs you want, click on Open.

To transform CDA to lossless audio FLAC, WMA lossless, click on Profile" drop-down button and choose FLAC or WMA Lossless from Basic Audio" class. With this new characteristic you might "Load art work" and "Save artwork" for all of your mp3 files. Only bmp, jpg and png pictures are allowed to be loaded as art work, however you need to use saved artworks in your participant, your smarphone or ipod. I read an fascinating article in Slate by an audiophile not bemoaning the easy acceptance of inferior MP3s, but quite, the general lack of appreciation of stay music and the failure of, even fetish, of audiophiles over things like $1600 phono cartridges at the expense of that music. To restate what Teknojnky already said, when you wish to use a CDA in a file that is usable by a computer (i.e. to edit, take heed to, and so forth.) it needs to be transformed to the WAV format. Of course, after getting it in WAV format, you'll be able to convert it to MP3, FLAC, OGG, M4A, WMA, and so forth. Ripping CDs is, consider it or not, a high quality art, and it is modified massively because the golden age of compressing 128kbps MP3 information onto limited storage. The purpose is not ‘small and adequate' any extra - it is about getting the best possible quality copy potential. Previously , we have discussed at length the reasons for our dismissal of MP3 and different lossy codecs, however latest articles in the mainstream press promoting MP3 (examined in Michael Fremer's " The Swiftboating of Audiophiles ") make the topic value re-examining.

DVD rippers are designed primarily to copy information from DVD and strip out copyright safety in the course of. Asunder is an easy-to-use, plain CD ripper that converts into MP3, OGG, FLAC, WAV, and the brand new open codec WavPack Asunder is in the Ubuntu repository and will be installed with Synaptic or Software Center. Rip once (to WAV) and use iTunes to convert this WAV file to Apple Lossless (ALAC). Solely then will you could have two files which have an identical knowledge. As we talked about the above that Leawo Music Recorder can robotically obtain and add music tags. When you discover some tags mislabeled, you may as well manually modify music tags like genre, album by going to Media > Library and how to open cda music files right-clicking the recording to choose "Edit music tags". M4A and MP3 recordsdata to iTunes library. FLAC to rodzaj kompresji bezstratnej i neid a sie go umie¶ciж w CDAudio. Mozesz co najwyїej zdekompresowaж flac-a i nagraж na CDA i nero nie powinien mieж z tym problemu.

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Burning FLAC Information To Audio CD, Utilizing Nero

CD, short format of Compact Disc, is a digital optical disc information storage format. Tips about easy methods to convert CDA to M4A online with CDA to M4A Converter ? In contrast with Leawo Music Recorder, which helps WAV and MP3 audio codecs as output format, On-line CDA to MP3 converter and Format Manufacturing unit assist further output codecs like MP3, WMA, OGG, AAC. Music might be saved in your MP3 participant mechanically in the occasion you choose your MP3 participant as your vacation spot by connecting MP3 USB cable with laptop. ☉ Save recordings to either WAV or MP3 format. CUE file is the index file related to APE file, if there is no such thing as a CUE file, it may't select the song when enjoying APE file. Open the CUE file with Notepad program, you will discover that it information the singers of whole album in APE recordsdata, album name, APE file identify, track quantity, sdr free cda to flac converter download every track title, artist, begin time and end time. Thus it is so necessary for you if you wish to burn CD with the APE file.

I've been utilizing file compression and music archiving software for the reason that in style music hearth sale that got here together with file-sharing sites like Napster in the mid-'90s. That phenomenon taught me an necessary lesson concerning the value of excessive-high quality music playback versus having enough music on a device to final by retirement. I found myself shopping for CDs despite the fact that I had the identical album in a compressed digital format as a result of I knew the CD would sound higher. The know-how advancements in audio converter software program now afford us the flexibility to extract excessive-quality audio from CDs or streaming services, and duplicate those information and convert them to lossy codecs, like MP3, to make the recordsdata smaller and playable on mobile gadgets. Pazera's Software program Free Audio Video Pack is a collection of video and audio converters that help convert between all kinds of widespread audio and video codecs. The package deal also consists of functions that lets you extract audio tracks from CD pictures based on the CUE sheets, in addition to an audio extractor that lets you take just the audio from a video file. I have set myself a challenge to convert all my LPs and Tapes to CDs. I can do it, however not to my satisfaction. I have completed the following: recorded a tape to awav file; chopped thewav file into tracks and saved them to individualwav information; burned the tracks to a CD. When I achieved that, I discovered that my players (windows media player, cd participant - automotive and home, dvd participant, roxio, and so forth) didn't show the artist, album title, or track titles. I appeared on the CD and found a bunch ofcda observe information. The CDA format is somewhat misleading, as a result of it's not a file, however somewhat a shortcut that Microsoft makes use of to stage to the songs encoded on an audio CD. In practice, Residence home windows Media Participant makes use of the CDA shortcuts and creates information in your selection of format in the event you copy songs to digital data, a course of known as ripping. I could have used a decrease bit charge than 320kbps (really VBR: variable bit price), and I can not reliably hear the distinction between lossless and 196kbps MP3 recordsdata. However, sdr free cda to flac converter download using the next bit charge ought to imply that after I purchase higher tools -- such as a high-finish MP3 player - it won't expose issues that were masked before. As you could have found, a good quality hello-fi stack and studio displays can reveal flaws in music recordsdata which are inaudible when using a mainstream MP3 participant with headphones or earbuds. This applies to CDs as properly.

Here get the most effective sdr free cda to flac converter download CDA to MP3 Converter Instruments and find out how to transform cda to mp3 format. Audio CDs accommodates music in uncompressed form and it's of great quality. Music on Audio CDs can solely be played on Audio CD participant and Laptop. While you open any Audio CD in Home windows then you will notice that the Audio files have thecda extension.Now that CDs have traveled down the identical street to obsolescence as cassette and eight-monitor tapes, the ability to successfully archive your music library within the digital realm has turn out to be a precious commodity. We examined all of the features of free and for-pay audio converter software to verify we recommend a product that may deal with all of your audio manipulation wants for present and future music codecs.CUETools can study of an information observe's existence on the original CD by data in thecue sheet orlog file. Thecue sheet probably will not have the wanted size data as a result of the info track is the last track and possibly isn't in the rip (audio CD rippers usually don't rip information tracks in any respect). Nevertheless, in case you have an EAC log made by a current model of EAC, CUETools can get the information monitor length from it. For this to work, thelog file should have the same title as thecue file, but ending inlog as a substitute ofcue, of course. Or, if you don't have alog file, but yourcue sheet contains the disc's unique freedb DISCID (like allcue sheets made by latest EAC versions), CUETools can determine a possible vary for the data observe size. You may try to enter seventy five completely different values in that vary manually to search out an exact length.