#HIS FIRST CAREER HAT TRICK YAY

[ruinix]

3 out of 3. Hat trick achieved 🎉🎉🎉🧢 HATS OFF FOR KIEFER.

(Beautiful goal from afar. Wahoo. The cheers. The hats on ice. Well done.)

(Colorado Avalanche @ Vancouver Canucks, December 16, 2024)

[babydollmarauders]

MEDIA MANAGEMENT— JACK HUGHES (PART NINE)

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 5.5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9

notes: i’m finally up to the games that i attended! pictures 5 and 9 were taken by me at this game! fun fact: dawson and the equipment guy actually posed for that pic for me after his hat trick <3

y/ndevils00

liked by dawson1417, john.marino97, and 34,186 others

y/ndevils00 hey! hi! how are ya?! i’m great thanks for asking because MY BEST FRIEND GOT HIS VERY FIRST HAT TRICK!!

let me preface tonight’s recap post by saying that i’m aware that there were 3 goal scorers in tonights 5-1 win against the penguins, and i’m proud of dougie, timo, and ALL of the guys for their hard work tonight. however, tonight’s recap is slightly different because it’s focused mainly on my very own best friend!

my puppy, my sun, the godfather to my child, best friend number 1, my favorite person in the world (jack look away), dawson mercer. you got your first career hat trick and i could not be more proud of you! i’m so glad i was healed from my debilitating illness (i had a cold) and was able to witness it in person! i’m not saying i’m your lucky charm but… slap me in green and call me a leprechaun! 🍀

i’m so happy for you, dawson! i love you so very much! here’s to this being the first of very many!

p.s. it would not be a y/n postgame post if i didn’t have a couple pics of my favorite ipad kid snuck in there <3 you did great tonight, my beautiful princess!

tagged dawson1417 and jackhughes

dawson1417 thank you best friend number 3! i’m glad you were there to see me hit this milestone! here’s to many more! love you so very much! ❤️

y/ndevils00 you are actually my very favorite person in this entire world! i’m so insanely over the moon for you right now! drinks?

dawson1417 drinks!

user68 wait i always thought the “best friend number 1 and 2” was just y/n being silly about dawson and marino, but they actually have assigned numbers?! 🥹 that’s so cute!

jackhughes so happy for you merc! @/dawson1417

dawson1417 thanks hughesy! ‘preciate it!

y/ndevils00 my two favorite people 🥹 where’s my other?!

trevorzegras @/y/ndevils00 right here!

y/ndevils00 @/trevorzegras k well we all know i wasn’t talking about u, lucifer’s favorite child

john.marino97 @/y/ndevils00 i’m scared to ask but is it me?

y/ndevils00 @/john.marino97 THERE HE IS! all 3 of my people <3

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 you’re being lovey to marino… how much did you drink tonight babe?

y/ndevils00 oh so much

john.marino97 @/dawson1417 so proud of you man!

dawson1417 thanks bro!

y/ndevils00 my boys 🥹

john.marino97 @/y/ndevils00 you’re weirding me out now. stop being nice. it’s unnatural

y/ndevils00 alright ur done. ur booted down with trevor

trevorzegras @/y/ndevils00 what did i ever do to you?!

y/ndevils00 @/trevorzegras exist.

jackhughes babe, you gotta stop referring to our cat as your child. you’re gonna make people think we actually have a kid

y/ndevils00 we literally do?? lil satan IS our child

jackhughes she’s a cat.

y/ndevils00 @/nicohischier you’ve gained a child and a y/n. congratulations!

nicohischier yay! i’ve always wanted those!

jackhughes @/nicohischier stay away from MY y/n!

trevorzegras i don’t go here but congrats dude!

dawson1417 thanks dude!

y/ndevils00 stay away from my best friend, demon!

trevorzegras @/y/ndevils00 doesn’t feel too good does it?! stay away from jimbo!

y/ndevils00 too late! we already have a snap streak!

trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale tell me it isn’t so!

jamie.drysdale do you want the truth or a lie?

nicohischier congratulations merc! ❤️

dawson1417 thank you cap!

jesperbratt did you take that last picture through the glass?

y/ndevils00 yes. but i think you forgot something….

jesperbratt congrats @/dawson1417 !

dawson1417 thanks bratter!

y/ndevils00 much better

[alpona]

Geats episode 14 liveblog:

What an episode full of delicious info! Obviously spoilers.

- lol, Game master getting annoyed at predictable winner situation?

- Keiwa-kun being the super nice guy again

- yes Neon, I'm also wondering about Ace's secret plan.

- woo, Keiwa using command twin buckle already! Good good, no drama like boost.

- punkjack didn't write aaanything for a wish, not even a silly one.....

- *gasp* yesss! Jamatos showing traits of dead riders, because they're grown from broken ID cores!! What did I write in that episode.... Ah, so Jamatos are kinda like... Reborn...plant...people....??

- hmm, So red-hat girl was an illusion created by the Jamato, and it can make hallucination inducing pollens. Very cool.

- Ace directly asking important questions.

- btw, punkjack may not know about Ace's wish to join every game, but Ace definitely realized that simply eliminating him won't accomplish anything, right? His memory will only be lost for this game, he'll get it back when the next game begins. Killing him is the only option for game master.

- Neon's valid concern. Sigh... Sometimes you do need certain people...

- hello bodyguard-san! What's Neon's gonna ask...

- I expected punkjack to betray game master, but he betrayed punkjack first? Ahaha

- sweet exposition time! My favorite!

- the superstar wish had deeper reasons after all. This kinda has a parallel with Neon making videos to get noticed too.

- yay, detective bodyguards!

- woahh Ben and John already used to be riders!! That means definitely on screen henshin in future episodes too!

Congrats Tom Constantine for becoming a rider on top of joining the cast! Woah, what a dream come true!

What are the motifs, white tiger?

- 'sponsor' huh. And DGP even needs funds. Curious how these things actually works considering the reality bending powers they have...

Is there an alien with superpower 'sponsoring' these things? Lol.

- punkjack backstory. His music career wasn't a lie, woah

- Ace's mom was a navigator? Ok! Did she became the main boss behind everything, or did something and got banned or something... I wonder.

- Yeah, we're also thinking you should know game master's identity, Ace-kun.

- oh, thank you! Thank goodness it was Ace's plan to deliberately let Michinaga take the driver, I'm glad the slyness isn't totally gone 😁

- "what am I doing with my life" thats what I wonder everyday too, dear punkjack.

- by the way, Neon has a very practical hairstyle this episode.

- little deception lesson Punkjack and game master should learn: don't reveal your plan before fully achieving your goal. (I'm not a criminal consultant btw)

- Game master henshin time! Vision driver huh, a totally different system than regular riders. With fingerprint scan n all. Girori become glare. The suit is cool

- and he can even do mind control, wow, scary!

- episodes almost ending, when's that preview scene of Ace worriedly looking at his ID core at... I had some ideas about that scene.

I was thinking maybe Game master will 'deactivate' Geats ID core, to ensure he can't even henshin with ANY driver at all.

- Ace just went poof eliminated? The scene was so short, nooo Takahashi-san, there could've been much more drama here..!

More twists please (lol)

But again, Game master can't seriously be content with just eliminating Ace, unless... He's planning the murder while Ace doesn't remember anything and is vulnerable, outside the game, with some trick that doesn't revive him👀😳? *Dan dan daaan!*

- lol at the rule!

Well well, we got the visual of Ace-kun being eliminated! That's actually not a big deal, cuz anytime he can come in contact with an ID core and remember everything, most likely Keiwa himself will go ahead and do that. Plus the upper management seems to be on his side, heck, wouldn't be surprised if he already has a backup plan and hid a spare ID core in his room! Basically, he can very easily join again very soon, maybe next episode. So Geats isn't gone yet. But I'm actually waiting for his apperant 'death' sometime.

(I'm starting to sound like an ominous witch with all the 'Ace will die' talk 😝)

[realm-of-kinda-different-stuff]

41. POLAND

Gromee feat. Lukas Meijer - “Light me up” 33rd place

After a LONG~ break (sorry bout that), we come to look at this monstrosity my own country decided to send to Lisbon, as you are welcome to deduce I was NOT pleased with our choice(pun intended) so yeah, have a look

                                    Preaching for a chance, yuck

So let’s kick off with Polish “Eliminacje Krajowe“, our very own preselection. I don’t know how it looks in your countries but if BIG NAMES in your preselections are ONE D-Class popstar and a girl that sung with #TrulyFaboulousMichałSzpak once or twice, you’re in BIG SHIT mister (and Lidia Kopania wanted another shot too, but yeah...she didn’t made the cut). It probably comes from very Polish mentality in which “when you ain’t da best, you’re da worst”, so we’re probably easier pre-sec than frickin San Marino [thats sad y’all] and that how we ended up with this one

You can clearly see that he’s doing it cause his family told him to do so

Yeah, no one was sold on Lukas vocals from the start, and they were the reason why we bombed (sure lie yourself on that) but the true reason was different: 1.The song was generic as fuck 2.Their stage presece was bad 3.Staging was yuck 4.And his vocals suck [yay I rhymed]

                                               Untill you find her

                      We were paid to be here, don’t judge us plox

So that was my first reason why I didn’t liked this, is simply suck, bear with me tho, second reason to hate it was: People tried to make it work somehow!

Everyone tried to make Gromee a cute dorky dad, with his silly as fuck (also cringe worthy) dance moves

Also it was “more” important than pyro on-stage? Thats what rumors says

And there’s also “the hat” thing, because hats are a “thing” now? I don’t know

In the end, I dispase that “song” it was cheap trick to go to Eurovison, believing that Swedish vote pull us through, they did not and I’m happy for that [It was my first scream of joy, second one was Spain on death slot] but I kinda grew to like Lukas, not for his musical career, cause he should abbandon that ship, but he just seem to be a nice person, and he’s a teacher, he teaches kids...stuff I suppose. I really hope that Michał Szpak will return to save our asses and this piece of garbage will rott in hell. Goodnight everybody.

Ranking of ESC 2018 entries: Garbage Tier: 43. Ireland 42. Spain 41. Poland

[deliverydefresas]

come over and start up a conversation with just me

So... I could swear I did queue this for earlier today yet I can’t see it nowhere??? Can anyone confirm I’m not crazy???

As I said before (maybe) I had one of the shittiest weeks ever but at least I managed to do something with this. Yay me.

ps. when I said this was an AU, I really meant AU. Also: this is still a mess but I still hope you like it.  here’s part 1 in case you missed it/can’t remember what’s about lol 

That’s all, ily.

Stares.

She could feel them from all over the place; some heavy and lingering and some flittering, quick ones. Was there something on her face? On her clothes? Had she mismatched her outfit? Ámbar frowned before looking down at her white shirt and blue skirt, checking to see if everything was in order, but nothing was out of place. She wasn’t going crazy, she knew that. They were definitely, shamelessly, staring at her.

She huffed, glaring and rolling her eyes at everyone who was looking on her way to one of few the tables available; her mom had borrowed her car that morning without notice, leaving her to take public transportation to the faculty, which made her arguably late for her first class (she was ten minutes early for her teacher to arrive, but she was late to grab one the best seats in the room) and annoyed with the world.

She tried distracting herself by pulling out her cellphone to check the Fab and Chic’s comment’s page; Delfi and Jazmín’s interviews with Simón and his band had been posted the night before, making the blog explode with views, likes and comments. Ámbar had to admit she was not expecting those results; she had barely heard about the guys before she met Delfi and Jazmín in their Digital Communication class last year, their constant humming to the RB’s latest single was all she could hear when they studied for an exam, and it was so catchy even her mom became a fan that day.  

She, however, never really saw the appeal. Sure, 2/3 of them were good looking, and they weren’t talentless, but there was nothing about their music that made them stand out for her then. Even after seeing them two nights ago, she still couldn’t fully comprehend it but she’d be lying if she didn’t say there was something about their guitarist that made her curiosity peak.      

“What are you wearing?” Gastón’s voice sounded from her right, making her turn around quickly, tearing her glance away from her phone. He had a funny look on his face, his mouth forming a funny ‘o’, his eyes glued to her head.

“Clothes,” was her obvious reply. She arched her brows, daring him to clarify his point.

He took a couple of seconds to respond, - “no, no, no. I mean, what’s with the beanie?” he pointed to her head, where the black beanie she had decided to wear this morning was currently on. She knew she could’ve easily put it in her purse and keep it there until she saw Simón later that day, but she had tried it on after getting dressed and her judgment told her it looked cute enough to wear it for the day. So, she did.    

“What do you mean?” Ámbar tried her best to sound as nonchalant as she could, even if her brain was sending warning signals all over her mind, which was very ridiculous, honestly, since there was no way Gastón or anyone for that matter, could relate it back to Simón since only Delfi and Jazmín appeared in the video the latter posted (Jazmín had been very careful not to mention her in any way, shape or form, still bitter about her 1 on 1 with her favorite band member).  

“It’s spring, Ámbar.”

Ah, so that was what the stares were about.

“So?” she shrugged.

She wasn’t as strict with fashion as Jazmín was, which was why she barely posted on the Fab & Chic after their A was granted last year; and even then, she didn’t give it the same attention as her casual friends did, since the class had been an optative one for the Law student that she was, instead of a required one for their Communication career.  

Gastón’s voice was disbelieving, “so you wear warm hats in a warm weather, now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry mister I-wear-Leatherman-jackets-in-summer, I didn’t know it was illegal to wear warm clothing after winter. Are you going to call the police on me?” her tone was sweet, yet coated with sarcasm. Gastón raised his arms in mocked surrender.

“Point taken.” Ámbar rolled her eyes, but made no further comment. The teacher was to arrive any time soon, and she didn’t want him to give her any negative attention; the old man would surely put her on the spot at a point in the class, most likely to answer a question only he knew the answer to; he was that kind of asshole. Her stupid friend didn’t get the memo, because just as their teacher was walking in, he decided the blurt the most incriminating words one could say in a classroom. “Let me copy your homework?”

Professor Asshole’s glare was enough to make her groan in frustration.

It was going to be a long day.

Lunch couldn’t have come soon enough.

Professor Asshole not only embarrassed Gastón and her in class, but refused to grade her homework too. She protested -quite loudly, actually- and it got her another essay due before the end of the week, as if the four she had already for Thursday wasn’t enough. By the end of the reprimand, she was ready to kill Périda the next time she saw him; the idiot was smart enough to flee as soon as the teacher dismissed them.

Her next class wasn’t as bad; however, her mood had been ruined already and couldn’t pass as quickly as she hoped it would. By now she was hungry as well as pissed, and in need of a cup of coffee and a sandwich to at least calm one of her burdens.

“Well, don’t you look dandy, my love.” Her best friend greeted her as soon a she stepped in front of their table, smiling sarcastically when she responded with a scowl.

“I’m in no mood for that shit, Em.”  

“I can see that. Are you even going to tell me, or should I ask my crystal ball?” Emilia arched her left brow, sipping her cup as soon as she asked her question. Ámbar flipped her off.

“Mom took my car this morning, I had to take the stupid bus and was late for my first period, Gastón was a dick on Roman’s Law class and got me an extra essay for Friday. Happy?”

Her friend nodded, “I am, actually, because my day has been fantastic, thank you for asking. Yours, however, sounds shitty as fuck.”

Ámbar rolled her eyes, “don’t remind me, I still have IPL to go through; but whatever, I’ll survive. What about you? Didn’t you have a test today?”

“I did, and I totally murdered it. Wanna go with me and Benny to celebrate after class? He brought his car today, we can pick you up and drop you off, too.”

“Can’t. I have a thing to do for Fab & Chic after class.” Ámbar took a bite off her sandwich, ignoring when Emilia almost choked on her bagel.

“You’re kidding, right?” Ámbar shook her head, “you already accompanied them to that stupid bar on Saturday, what more do those pink princesses need from you?”

“They? Nothing. This is all me.”  

Emilia scoffed, “stop talking on riddles, A, what are you planning?”

She took a sip of her coffee, “you know how we met that pop band at the bar and Delfi and Jazmín interviewed them, posted the video last night?” Emilia nodded, “well, I met the guitarist and got him to agree to give me an interview today. I’m meeting him after class at the same bar.”

“Why?”

Ámbar could tell her friend was confused. Truth be told, so was she. Journalism was nowhere near her ambitions -or dreams-, but something deep within her thought it was a good idea. She always followed her instinct, and most of the time (if not all, as they have never failed her) she was right, so this wouldn’t (couldn’t) be an exception. She was more than confident that this would benefit her somehow.

Who knew, maybe this would be what could finally put Fab and Chic (and consequently Delfi and Jazmín) up there in the spotlight of Journalism.

“Publicity, attention. This could benefit me in the future, y’know.”

“Your future isn’t in Journalism, though.” Emilia pointed out, arching her left eyebrow again.

Ámbar shrugged it off, “my name would still be out there.”

“If you say so. Well, are they giving you a ride?”

“Who?”

“Jazmín and Delfi, duh.”

She sipped on her coffee, “they don’t know anything about it. I told you, this is all me.”

Emilia’s face was disbelieving, “so you’re meeting this guy, alone?! What the fuck, Ámbar?”

“The guy is a softie, Emilia. Honestly, I don’t think he’d hurt a fly, he seemed very… I don’t know, weak?”

“As do most serial killers, Smith.” Emilia rolled her eyes, not yet convinced that it was a good idea. Ámbar waved her off with her hand.

“I’ll text you if it makes you feel better.”

Her best friend huffed, “fine. Now, why in the fuck are you wearing a beanie?”

If she hadn’t been pissed before, she certainly was now.

Not only was he 20 minutes late, but the stupid bar that had taken her one full hour to get to was closed. Had the idiot had really dare to trick her? Who the hell was he anyway? A stupid, barely talented guitarist and singer from an even stupider, not even that famous wannabe boyband. He couldn’t have stood her up. She was Ámbar Smith, not once in her 21 years had she been stood up in a date- appointment before. And she wouldn’t allow it; if she had to search for his stupid ass all over the city and drag him to make sure he kept his word, she would.

That insensitive, stupid, good for nothing of an idiot. The nerve of-

“I’m here! I’m here! I’m so so so so so so so sorry I’m late!” the idiot wheezed out as soon as he was near, almost knocking into her when he stopped running, “Nico forgot to do the laundry, so I had to do it myself since my clean t-shirts were -1 and then Pedro kind of made the microwave explode when he put a metal spoon with his popcorn, not sure how that even happened to be honest and then-”

“I don’t care! Do you know how frustrating it was to endure one freaking hour in public transportation to be here in time and then wait half an hour more to wait for his majesty to arrive?! And for what? The stupid bar is even closed!” She was fuming, gesturing wildly to the building.

“Well, what did you expect? It’s 16:30, bars aren’t usually opened until 18, the earliest.” His words only infuriated her more.

“Then why are we here?!”

“It’s middle ground for both, and there’s this really good Mexican coffee shop around the corner I really like.” He shrugged her anger off, and Ámbar swore she was surpassing a level of anger she had never felt before.  

“I was wrong, you’re a dick dressed in virginity.”

He blinked a couple times, not quite getting it. “What?”

She huffed, “nothing, whatever. Where’s this coffee shop you’re talking about?”

Simón looked at her for moment, but ultimately shrugged again and motioned for her to follow him. The coffee shop was around the corner, not really hidden but not in the spotlight as it was the bar; but it was pretty. It wasn’t stereotypically decorated as some of the Mexican restaurants she’d been before, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was Mexican-influenced. It gave her the vibe she’s get when she visited Emilia’s or that one time her dad took her to Cozumel for winter vacations when she was 17. The big Mexican flag behind the bar was a clear telling, too.

“What do you want? It’s on me, don’t worry.” Simón asked once they found a booth in the farthest corner from the door. She wasn’t sure if it was conceited or smart of him to do so, but he was paying and, y’know, doing her this favor so she couldn’t really complain. Not that it’s ever stopped her before.

“What’s good? What are you having?”

“Everything, really. I’m ordering the largest hot chocolate and a couple of conchas, though.”

She scrunched up her nose, “a couple of what?”

He laughed, “it’s a type of sweet bread, and it’s delicious. I could give you a taste of mine, if you want.” He offered, but Ámbar shook her head in negative. It really didn’t sound appetizing to her.

“Is Mexican coffee any good? I’m more of a coffee-type of girl.” Again, he shrugged. Either it was some kind of habit, or he really wanted to push her buttons, because it was annoying her to no end at this point.

“Mom loves café de olla, that’s all I know about it, to be honest. Coffee and I don’t get along.”

Ámbar frowned, unsure if she should really order it. She was super picky about food in general, and his unconvinced ass wasn’t any reassuring. “I’ll have a medium of those, then.”

He nodded, “do you want anything to eat? You can ask for anything, remember I’m paying.” Simón joked, shaking the wallet he held in his hand slightly. Ámbar scanned the menu written on one of the near walls, searching for something that could be safe to try.

“Tres leches cake, please.”

Simón saluted her, and went to the bar to order. It appeared he was somewhat of a regular, or that the boy behind the counter was a fan; because he greeted him all excited and not all dead like sometimes baristas did. She sighed, and decided to text Emilia and her mom that she was with him already, adding to her mom that she would probably not be hungry for dinner, and to cook just for herself. If she ended up hungry afterwards she’d make herself a soup or something. Instant ramen could do the trick.

Before she knew it, he was back with their drinks, the barista behind him helping with their desserts, saving him the double trip. Simón thanked him once everything was set on the table, tipping him extra five dollars before he took a seat in front of her.

He smiled at her once the boy was gone, “so, how was your day?”

“Shitty. How was yours?”

“Ouch, I’m really sorry I was late, seriously. It wasn’t intentional, I swear.” He apologized profusely, she just sipped her coffee. And damn it, it was delicious. “My day was mostly unproductive, except maybe for the laundry part. But I slept like a baby until noon and then had to save the apartment from Pedro’s unusual cooking disasters, so could’ve been better.”

She sighed, “it’s okay, it’s just that I hate taking the bus and then this asshole put me in trouble with a teacher and now I have double the work in that class due on Friday.”

“Double the ouch. Don’t you have a car, or couldn’t you take a cab?”

Ámbar arched her eyebrows, “my uni is forty minutes away, a cab would have charged me a fortune. I do have a car, but my mom took it this morning, so I had to take the bus.”

“I’m sorry, again,” he cringed, “I can give you a ride home after we’re finished here, I can’t send you home alone.”

She thought about it for a minute, before nodding. A ride sounded much better than losing over $20 for a cab or the bus. Plus, free things were always nice.

“We should start, then. I have a paper to start for past-tomorrow and I’m sure whoever cares about you won’t want you coming super late.”

“Alright, but I do have a few rules.” He parted one of his conchas, before dunking it in his hot chocolate and biting it, “nothing about relationships and all the questions are a game.”

“Hiding a girl, are you?” she inquired, sipping once more on her coffee. Simón winked at her.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Fair enough.” She nodded. “What’s the game about, though?”

He took another bite of his bread before answering, “you have to guess the answer to each question, and I’ll confirm or deny. If you guess right, you can ask another question and this time I’ll have to answer.”

“Are you kidding me? What kind of game is this?” she huffed, angrily taking a bite of her cake. She was almost too mad to not notice its deliciousness. Almost.

“One you have to play with me since I’m helping you and feeding you, for free.” Simón arched his eyebrow, she merely shrugged. It’s not like she was forcing him to pay, he was the one to offer it, anyway; “and plus, it’s gonna be more fun for both. I know it.”

“Fine, let’s do it.” Ámbar sighed. His smirk kind of gave her the creeps, “what?”

“Don’t you want to know what happens if you’re wrong?”

She looked at him dubiously, “you’re not going to ask me to do anything illegal, are you?”

Simón laughed, “no. You just have to answer the question you ask, and I get to ask one that you have to answer.”

“But you won’t answer it correctly?”

“I guess we’ll have to see.” He shrugged, “you can start now.”

Ámbar sighed, and took out her phone to start a voice recording, because she was too lazy to film it or write it all down in paper. She was going to keep it easy on him, to give herself time to think of some-what-safe questions.

She had to give it to him; he wasn’t stupid at all. This little game of him would make it practically impossible for her to guess correctly on deep questions, ultimately turning them on her. The guy wasn’t dumb at all.

“I don’t like you anymore, just so you know.”

“Ah, so you liked me before?” She almost rolls her eyes.

“Your favorite color is blue?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Would you say fame is what you expected?”

“You won’t hold back, will you?” she guessed it was rhetorical, so she didn’t say anything. “It wasn’t. There’s many shades to fame that I never thought existed, that’s all I’m telling you for now.”

Her curiosity was dying to ask what he meant by that, but chose not to dive into it yet. She didn’t think he’d answer, anyway.

“You’re a dog person?”

“Another yes. You know me so well!” he joked, finishing the last piece of his first concha; sipping his hot chocolate afterwards.

“What can I say? I’m a great guesser.” Ámbar was very thankful she’d googled him before coming, “does it bother you when people put you in a category just because of how you’re positioned in the industry?”

“I loathed it. There’s more of me than what I choose the media to see, more than what I let other people around me see.” Simón frowned, his hold on the bread getting too tie and crumbles of the shell (she guessed that’s why they were called conchas) falling down on his cup, “but I’ve thicken my skin, and now I mostly shrug it off.”

“Uh, your best friends are your band?”

He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief; “not quite.”

“What? But goo-” she almost slips it out, “then who?”

“Nope, you don’t get to question me, it’s my turn now.” He teased, shaking his head, “have you always wanted to study journalism?”

She cocked her brow, “I’m not studying journalism.” He seemed to be thrown off by this, and his face was so funny she almost laughs in it. “I’m a law student. A junior, actually.”

“Then why- what?” Ámbar shook her head.

“Nah-uh. My turn. You own a dog?”

“Nope, mom does.” He looked smug, now. “Why did you want to interview me if this has nothing to do with your career?”

Ámbar sighed, annoyed with herself for trusting a stupid google interview. Either they were lying, or Simón was twisting the truth. Whatever it was, she wasn’t happy at all.

“The Fab & Chic was a project I had with Jazmín and Delfi last year, it was an optative class and we had to create a blog to practice our writing, photography, programming and editing skills. I didn’t help that much back then, and they were cool with it, since it wasn’t a main priority for me or my career. I guess this interview is a way for me to pay them back. And, well, it might help me get some recognition later, if it does what I’m expecting it to be.”

“Which is?”

“Don’t you know the rules to your own game?” she snapped at him, making him frown and match her own.

“The game is off, now we ask whatever we want as long as it the other is willing to answer. Now, what are you expecting to happen?”

“It’s my turn.”

Simón shrugged, “so?”

“You’re infuriating.”

“On the contrary, I’m told I’m a very lovable person.”

“By who? Your mother?”

“And my grandmother. And my friends. And my fans, which are at least a million.”

“Well they’re lying to you.”

Simón leaned over the table, and got close enough so that she could see a small acne scar above his eyebrow. Such closeness made her a little uncomfortable, but couldn’t really move. Instead, her eyes were hooked to his.

“I guess you’ll have to find out.”        

[abdifarah]

Can’t Keep A Good White Man Down

The job was too good to pass up. John’s estranged wife, Holly, took the job and the kids to LA. John stayed behind in New York, unwilling to accept that his wife’s career was on a trajectory as high as the towering Nakatomi Plaza where Holly now works. McClane walks up to the computer directory and says to the guard snidely, “cute toy.” Like his wife’s careerism, the computer age will surely prove to be a fad in the eyes of the luddite McClane. Unable to find Holly in the “M” section, he deflates upon realizing that he must find her under her maiden name, Gennero. McClane takes the elevator to the 30th floor to find Holly at her company’s uproarious Christmas Party. John, a NYPD detective, left a slate of unresolved cases back in the city, but for the Nakatomi company it’s been a champagne year. A tipsy employee plants a sloppy kiss on John’s cheek. Shaking his head, McClane chuckles to himself with tinge of homophobia, “California.” Like Avon Barksdale would say to Stringer Bell, John is looking like a “man without a country.” Left behind by his thriving wife, he visits her in the shiny, technologically superior phallus of the global conglomerate that Holly helps run.

Where does a simple New York City cop fit on an ever-globalizing world economic stage? Flustered by the emasculation of the scenario McClane takes a moment to “freshen up” in Holly’s office bathroom, which looks like a 5 star hotel suite. Looking like Marlon Brando’s ornery Stanley Kowalski, John strips down to his ribbed tank top undershirt, colloquially a “wife-beater.” Apelike, McClane makes “fists with his toes,” bare feet on the plush carpet; a trick that the guy next to him on the plane told him to try to get over the disorientation of air travel. Embracing his primal masculinity, McClane regains himself and sits calmly. He’s ready when he hears the first shots fired. European terrorists (how quaint) have crashed the party and take the guests hostage with goals of robbing the company’s high security vault. Again, what is the place of the blue collar American in the globalizing world? To blow shit up of course when things inevitably get ugly. John springs into action. When Holly is asked by a panicked and skeptical fellow hostage what her husband is doing, she replies confidently and adoringly, “his job.” The outmatched McClane, barefoot and shirtless, proceeds to methodically dismantle the European terrorist cell, with names likes Hans and Karl and dressed in proto H&M cabecord sweaters and tapered slacks, with some good ole American grit, the grit of John Wayne and Gary Cooper, or McClane’s personal favorite, Roy Rogers.

Perhaps culture revolves in 30 year cycles because Die Hard (1988) seems particularly relevant in Trump’s America. McClane is the prototypical disposed white man, stuck in thankless work as city cop, left behind by his wife, skeptical of the promises of globalization, and seemingly proved right by the terrorist cell’s brutal encroachment into the unsuspecting Nakatomi compound. The move to “California” represents the softening of America. Luckily McClane is here to make us hard again. There is a very telling moment early in the terrorist seige. Played by Alan Rickman with an accent that wavers between German and British,The criminal mastermind Hans Gruber attempts to cull out the CEO of the company Joseph Takagi from the anonymous crowd of hostages by listing his accomplishments. “Scholarship student, University of California, 1955; law degree, Stanford, 1962; MBA, Harvard, 1970.” Minutes later upon refusing to divulge the code to the vault Hans dispassionately blows Takagi’s brains across the office carpet as if to confirm that all your hard work, sacrifice, and especially your education are useless in the face of violence.

Die Hard, like conservative America today, asserts that a good guy with a gun is the only way to stop a bad guy with a gun. At one point John has one of the terrorists at gunpoint. The terrorist, let's call him Franz, calls John’s bluff and quips, “You’re a cop so you’re not supposed to hurt me.” John replies, “Yeah, that’s what my commander keeps telling me.” John McClane is definitely a shoot first, ask questions later kinda cop. Yippie-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker! What makes Die Hard infinitely rewatchable 30 years later and not simply a MAGA wet dream is that the movie is fully aware of the holes in its own White Jesus with a Gun premise and spends a good percentage of its second half flipping that construct on its head.

Holly Gennero, is the rare 80’s female character in an action movie that is not helpless or hysterical in the midst of calamity. Now the CEO, since her boss was murdered, she negotiates with the leader of the terrorists, Hans, a man not without reason. With a few measured words Holly secures a couch for a pregnant hostage and bathroom use for the rest of the detained employees, all juxtaposed with John repelling up and down the building like Tarzan and negotiating with the bad guys in his own less diplomatic style. The movie further complicates its good-guy-with-gun>bad-guy-with-gun premise through Reginald VelJohnson’s Sergeant Al Powell character. He serves as the cautionary tale to counter McClane’s fast shooting commando cop ethos. An accident in which Sgt. Powell mistakenly gunned down a 13 year old with a toy gun has left him traumatized and no longer able to pull his gun or work the streets, and relegated by his own conscience to desk duty. His remorse for the incident and atoning decision to hang up his gun seemed reasonable in 1988, but in the ensuing 30 years now glows neon, shaming those of the police fraternity of 2018, who rarely think of admitting culpability in instances of excessive or unwarranted force, and would never deign introspection and the possibility of deeming themselves unfit for duty. Thrust back in the action by answering to the emergency at the Nakatomi Tower, Powell steps in as the critical thinking foil to the hotheaded LAPD and hawkish FBI, and as a pseudo conscience and compass for John, communicating with him via walkie-talkie, as he navigates the crisis.

For a chamber piece with a relatively small cast, Die Hard has three black characters, all with a tinge of the stereotypical, but all embodying distinct expressions of blackness. John’s limo driver Argyle is the most stereotypical: with a nonsense name, in a roll of service, slick talking but somehow still airheaded (is that how they see us, cool but stupid?), but even he has a redeeming final scene, reacting quickly and decisively, and is instrumental in thwarting the terrorists’ last chance at escape. And he doesn’t even sacrifice his life, which black characters are disturbingly prone to do in fiction, even in 2018. A continuation of Uncle Tom from Uncle Tom’s Cabin, the selfless martyr, always looking out for the good of those who couldn’t give a shit. In fact, none of the black characters in Die Hard die. The black characters are even positioned on opposite sides of the moral divide. The wise-cracking and self-assured hacker for the terrorists is a bit too gleeful in his love of criminality, cackling joker-like throughout his overly expressive hacker typing, but he does start the still evergreen trend of the black computer genius at the heart of an action thriller. This mantle passed down to Joe Morton’s skynet inventor in Terminator 2, Ving Rhames’ computer genius, Luther, in the Mission Impossible series, Mos Def’s explosives expert in The Italian Job, and Ludacris’ expert of all things electronic for the Toretto crew in the Fast and Furious franchise. I’m not much for positive depictions of black people in the media being essential for collective uplift, finding them often more limiting than empowering, but I do not mind this black computer genius archetype.

Bruce Willis’ Rambo/Tarzan/Roy Rogers schtick ultimately reaches his end. Bleeding out on the floor of a men’s room, picking shards of glass out of gaping holes on the bottom of his shredded bare feet he radios to Al. Taking stock of his life he tells his new friend to relay a message to Holly. He admits that he was jealous of her success and that he felt left behind. The cathartic admission and Al’s challenge to “tell her yourself” miraculously breathes new life into John. He has an epiphany about the actual intentions of the terrorists, and relying less on brute strength (he still kicks a little ass) he begins to strategically dismantle the plans of Hans and his group. 1988’s message to 2018 is that  Holly will not be going to New York with John, just as coal isn’t coming back. Like the computer, progress is never a fad. You either follow the wife to California or you die a bitter man. And it is only when you forget about the age of Gary Cooper and John Wayne and step out of the shadow of Roy Roger’s 10 gallon hat that you can become John McClane, or whatever new man we need today.