#Icecapades

[the-golden-purple-box]

1947

Ice Capades

[marblecakecait]

Do people know about this?

[vickiabelson]

How fun to sit down with a young old friend and catch up after a long pandemic pause. Olympian, Tai Babilonia, is as beautiful, luminescent, gracious, inspiring, perseverant, focused, and fun as she ever was. The World Figure Skating Champion, and 5x U.S. Figure Skating Champion, was as fearless in retelling milestones in her life as she was living them. From great triumphs to heartbreaks, big and small, Tai’s acceptance of her lot, no matter what, no doubt helped carry her from one victory to the next. Her gratitude for her good fortune, her love, and respect for her parents, her brother, and her son are admirable and enviable.

We talked about Tai’s journey on the ice––thank God for Mabel Fairbanks who took a very young Tai and forced her hand into Randy Gardners––beautiful story there bookmarked with the pages being written with loving care, overseen by Tai and Randy to honor her. From the ’76 Olympics to the 5 US Championships, to being only the 2nd Americans to win the World Championship, to the nightmare that ended their Olympic dreams in ’80, starring in the Ice Capades and working feverishly in the years following… the toll it took, the drinking, the bottom, sobriety, back out there, more drinking, her marriage, her beloved son, her engagement to David Brenner, insights there into her and him, two stories - Bill Cosby and Chris Botti, and the strength in her sobriety that stuck, a show at the forum that led to coaching Jack Nicholson’s daughter and then Denzel’s. No name dropper she, this is all just part of her glamorous story. There’s so much humanity, and hard truth here to balance it. 

Conversing with Tai feels like coming home… comfortable, effortless, warm, and affectionate. I loved every second.

Tai Babilonia Live on Game Changers With Vicki Abelson Wednesday, 12/21/22, 5 pm PT, 8 pm ET Streamed Live on my Facebook Replay here: https://bit.ly/3FQm7Tk

[incidentalblr]

while you were sleeping severely iconic movie. best ever i daresay.

[freepassbound]

41: Do you have any magazine subscriptions?

43: Are you stubborn?

47: Do you sing in the car?

50: Ever used a gun?

53: Is Christmas stressful?

54: Ever eat a pierogi?

56: Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?

61: Wear a bath robe?

63: First concert?

67: Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?

78: Who would you like to see in concert?

83: Can you swim well?

90: Can you knit or crochet?

41: You know, I think it's down to just The Economist and National Geographic. Used to have several more.

43: I certainly can be! 😅

47: Definitely - and very badly. 😂

50: Absolutely not.

53: Really, at this point it isn't really anything - pretty much just another day.

54: I'm half Polish! I have pierogi at least several times a year!

56: Professional athlete, of course; architect, computer engineer, writer... that's all that's coming to mind.

61: I have... not for a very long time, though. Don't think I have one now.

63: Not a clue. The local symphony, most likely.

67: Peanuts, hands down.

78: Sara Bareilles - my favorite musical artist.

83: Well? Nah, not really. Just well enough.

90: Nope. Nor sew. Probably don't have the fine dexterity for it.

[the-golden-purple-box]

1981

[ladyyatexel]

You should know I found this icecapades leotard in my stash and tried very hard to make him something that worked with it, but we don't wear denim and elastic in Patalliro. Or the floral shorts, though they were closest in vibe and shape needed.

Anyway, this is why he is in a random blouse hahaha

[aphony-cree]

Spike would have taken Buffy to the Icecapades for her birthday

[violentdick]

-source: Detective Comics #67-

Weapon of Choice: A few things, 1) They were going to a play. That is not putting on a show, 2) he was upset when the icecapades were attacked, so what is it figure skating>crime fighting>theatre? He is related to Jason and Damian. He can't hate theatre kids. And finally 3) why did twinkling not keep it's fast meaning, so many potential jokes.

[fights4users]

Ranking promotional photos, because I can

Also don’t get me wrong. I absolutely adore this photoshoot, I just also happen to think it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. (Terminator and Newsies also have great ones). It’s all in good fun

“We all think this is a different magazine”

9/10 just a good photo

Tron Bigfoot

1000/10

He ponders

10/10

I can’t see without my glasses (but I’m still Inspirational)

7/10

I’m cold and in the icecapades

6/10

About to drop the hottest synth pop hit of 1987

1000/10

[fjotla-vithir]

Never did get to make the glam work for that icecapades theme idea so I hope this works as a replacement

[sercophe-sinderwidth]

Wednesday:

My wife wants to go out so we'll go out. I got us sky box tickets to the Hip Hop Icecapades. There's a booth for pictures and all photos are signed and sold off, proceeds going straight to youth art and dance programs in the neighborhood.

She said she wouldn't get cold, but I brought two burly coats in anyway and lo and behold we're snuggled up by the second performance. Later, the performances amp up and we are up dancing with close friends and family in the booth and the audience below is just as turnt. At the end we are able to come down and greet the new emerging talents and ofc donate to their professional dancing/skating journey.

My wife is still in the dancing mood so we locate a local block party by the water with night vendors serving tacos and ribs and fries. Our outfits don't last but we make do and enjoy the night with the folks we brought along.

She tires out close to 12am (thank goodness) and begrudgingly accepts the end of a great date night out. I agree to a night dip in the Jacuzzi before bed and we toast up above, talking until about 12:55am. Tapering away from one another in our respective towels, she throws a wink over her shoulder and I blow a kiss back.

I turn towards my bedroom door with a smile teasing the corners of my lips when I hear her laugh echo down the hall.

1am.

"Good Morning." 💋

[z-h-i-e]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Finrod Felagund, Orodreth | Artaresto, Angrod (Tolkien), Aegnor (Tolkien), Galadriel (Tolkien), Amarië (Tolkien) Additional Tags: Sibling Bonding, Reunions, Ice Series: Part 97 of Zhie's Bunniverse (AKA The Purple Plot Bunny AU) Summary:

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. But maybe also ice.

[willtasker]

It is September 2007, and the Big Bang Theory has begun. I take the Sig Sauer out of my mouth, but the taste of gun oil lingers. I realize that suicide is not the answer because this show would only follow me into Hell. Something like this does not descend from the afterlife but rises up out of open graves. It is populated by the unwilling, amusing only to the already deceased.

Now: The nerdy roommate who’s not a doctor is made fun of because he’s not a doctor while the other nerds make bad jokes about science that are also not accurate. It is not enough to hate a thing, but those things often do not die by death. They exist because Death is too afraid of its touch; that the soft grace would somehow kill Death its self by inventing a new dying. Death squared. The sort of fate people should wish on Ronald Reagan or anyone who explains details of last night’s dream.

It is September 2010. I am having rough sex with my girlfriend. I look up in the middle of the act, her voice cresting, when I hear the television we left on in the next room. The show is in repeats, and becoming unavoidable. A character I cannot identify but will never forget makes a reference to the physics of Warp Speed. I lose my erection immediately. She asks me what is wrong. I produce a pack of Indian Spirits from the dresser and begin to smoke, the first one I’ve had in 10 years. My hands are shaking. I look at them and think about strangling the writer’s room of The Big Bang Theory, one in each hand, a fury so passionate that the rest realize it is better to wait their turn than to try and flee.

“NO MORE!” is what I scream at the television. “DEAR GOD NO MORE!” But the episodes keep coming, marching like soldiers to the sea. An endless, undulating wave of dullness. Sunlight crushed behind rolling grey clouds. References to 80s movies and science and POP CULTURE ACTORS who are probably paid $10,000 to show up and say HONK IF YOU LOVE WILLIAM SHATNER and then have a weird punchline about particle physics. It is endless. The show’s broadcast signal goes off into the horizon and out into space, following Hitler’s hosting of the Olympics in 1936. An endless fucking current of the slime from a billion emptied septic tanks. It is not shit but what is left over from literal shit. The culmination caked to the inside of the tank walls.

“PLEASE JESUS GOD HOLY FATHER KILL ME AND TAKE ME AWAY” is what I cry into the night sky, and in reply, God looks down and in His mighty mercy says

BAZINGA.

It is September 2012. I stare blankly at a drop ceiling in a downtown hotel. I have not spoken to another person in days. The television is off but I hear it through the walls from the next room. BAZINGA. Again, that meaningless word. Trichottillomania rears it’s self, and I slowly begin pulling hair out of my head in handfuls. I feel nothing. There is no pain anymore. Nothing compared to that fucking word. And the laugh track that follows.

I remember I had a gun in my mouth when the TV series started and that I was afraid of the Hell that produced this show, would perpetuate this show. This THING. And now I am afraid that there is no Hell, and that if there was Satan couldn’t keep it away from his own doors. The characters enter the archway of the eternal Abyss, studio audience laughing.

BAZINGA says the awkward man who makes an attempt at a joke about Brownian Motion that’s actually fucking incorrect but haha he’s a nerd and there’s a STAR WARS reference in there and remember that time when the hot neighbor didn’t have money so he was like I HAVE MONEY IN MY SUPERMAN MODEL and holy fucking shit I’ve seen footage of inmates in blackout solitary for weeks on end that come out covered in cockroach bites that is more humane than the humor in that show.

Instead of an eternal lake of fire, or chained to a boiling floor, or forced to watch The Smurfs Presented by The Icecapades - there is BAZINGA. That word that both saturates my brain with an incommunicable suffering and emits a kidney stone’s discomfort from my very soul. The fact I have to share a time and place with The Big Bang Theory makes me want to consider bear hugging JJ Abrams, so I can do the one great good of a doomed life by dragging him into into the 8th Circle Of Hell with me.

I realize I am damned. The freedom of this is that I can now do what needs to be done.

It is now August 11, 1971. I’ve made a time machine and traveled ten years prior from my date of birth to murder my father so I won’t ever exist and hear that FUCKING WORD Bazinga. I’ve decided to use a woodman’s axe to blunt my rage across time because my soul will not be satisfied unless I cease to exist in the most sure way possible. The blows land, a dull thud made wetter with each hit. I must make sure. This isn’t personal. This is just what must be done so I can undo that which cannot be undone.

I can feel myself fading from existence. This post will be my last. Everything is fading. All will be well. I smile in relief at a sky so blue it’s all you can do but wonder at it. Peace lovingly brushes past my cheek with a mother’s pity.

On the horizon, glowing in a blue outline, I see a pale man with a bad hairline wearing a fucking DC comics tshirt, smilingly thinly at me because - you see - he’s pleasantly awkward and doesn’t understand humor and his girlfriend is named Penny. ITS BEEN 45 SECONDS - HERE COMES ANOTHER TOLKIEN REFERENCE FOR THE PEOPLE AT HOME.

I scream. I cover my eyes but cannot unsee the truth shimmering between my locked fingers. My soul launches through the fire of time. Nothing can stop him. He follows me, smiling that trademark smile: only with his teeth but without moving his mouth. His skin stretches taught, his eyes afire. The studio audience, now and forever a chorus of faceless harpies, wings beating, their laughter wounds me like swallowing a box of straight razors fresh with grease.

I do not exist now. I do not remember my name. My parents never met and my soul is scattered on the winds beyond winds, to an everlasting personal horizon that no one will ever know. I do not remember who I was, what I was, or what I did to end up here. I am a ghost without a grave, a soul without an afterlife to turn to. But I do remember him. And I do remember…

BAZINGA.

[the-golden-purple-box]

1981

Ice Capades

[dustedandsocial]

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