#LIKE I GUARANTEE THAT MY ORCHESTRA DIRECTOR DID NOT NEED TO KNOW

[swanlake1998]

Article: Moving Over: A Powerhouse of Black Dance Is Retiring (Mostly)

Date: September 2, 2021

By: Charmaine Patricia Warren

Joan Myers Brown, the founder of Philadanco, is stepping back if not quite away from her duties. She still goes to the office every day.

Rushing to our Zoom interview from an in-person audition at the Philadanco studios, Joan Myers Brown opened the conversation by making me laugh. She asked for a reminder of what we were doing and then said, “What an honor, you want to talk about me — only thing I usually talk about is Philadanco.”

Myers Brown is the keeper of all things Black dance, and Philadanco (or, the Philadelphia Dance Company) is the troupe she founded in 1970. Now, after more than 50 years, she’s “moving over,” as she calls it, stepping back but not quite stepping away from the daily work of running the company.

At 89 (she turns 90 on Christmas Day), she is full of energy, and her memory is impeccable. Given the floor, she will share her love of dance, especially Black dance, for which she has been a champion and an institution builder.

True to her Philadelphia roots, in 1960 she founded the Philadelphia School of Dance Arts, for African American children; then Philadanco in 1970; in 1988, the International Conference of Black Dance Companies; and then in 1991, the International Association of Blacks in Dance (I.A.B.D.), which supports the Black dance community through gatherings, presentations, education and career guidance.

Of course, none of this existed when Myers Brown started studying ballet at 7 with Essie Marie Dorsey, whose school catered to Black children. (Dorsey, who passed for Spanish, had studied ballet with whites.) At 17, in the segregated 1940s, Myers Brown got the bug to become a ballerina from a white teacher, Virginia Lingenfelder, and was the first and only Black student in Lingenfelder’s ballet club.

Later, she studied at the Ballet Guild, where she was again the only Black student, and was spotted there by the British choreographer Antony Tudor, who invited her to take his class. “He was coming from England, so he didn’t have that American prejudice stuff,” Myers Brown said. “He taught me like I was the same as the others and not like an intruder.”

She never became a professional ballerina. “Other than Janet Collins, Blacks were not hired at that time,” she said, referring to the first African American prima ballerina with the Metropolitan Opera. But because of Tudor, Myers Brown performed in a community production of Michel Fokine’s “Les Sylphides” with the Ballet Guild and the Philadelphia Orchestra. At 19, Tudor encouraged her to move to New York; instead, she commuted to study with the dancer and anthropologist Katherine Dunham. “I would’ve been afraid to go to New York and live alone,” Myers Brown said.

She became a successful revue dancer and seized every opportunity to take class on her travels. “I read every book on ballet and dance, and then I chose to teach because I didn’t get the opportunities I wanted,” she said. “That’s when I started my school and tried to teach what I remembered.”

The Black dance community reveres her, and the world has been noticing. She was the subject of a 2011 book, “Joan Myers Brown and the Audacious Hope of the Black Ballerina,” by Brenda Dixon Gottschild. And in 2012, President Obama presented her with the National Medal of the Arts.

I met Myers Brown, or Aunt Joan as she is known to those close to her, when we were both instructors at Howard University in the early 1990s. Like me, those who’ve walked alongside her know that she is a powerful force, a leader who has set the tone for Black dance organizations to follow. And though Myers Brown is stepping back from her role at Philadanco, make no mistake: She still goes to the office, and is very involved.

When talking to Myers Brown, you bring your best because her presence demands it. She is always dressed to the nines, but her elegance is balanced by her lack of pretension and her quick, sometimes sharp, tongue.

“You didn’t ask me any questions,” she said near the end of our talk. I did, but they flowed organically because Aunt Joan made it so easy. 

Below are edited excerpts from our conversation.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: So, what made you decide it was time to step away?

Joan Myers Brown: Guess, just guess! I’ll be 90 years old. I have four dance companies, two dance schools and six grandkids. I’ve been working 15-hour days for 50 years, plus my school will be 60. I’ve given enough of my life to this, but I don’t own it.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: What do you mean you don’t own it?

Joan Myers Brown: Founder’s syndrome. After a while, the founder don’t mean anything because the company and organization have outgrown them.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: How are you feeling about moving over, as you call it?

Joan Myers Brown: I’ve settled on moving over, and I appointed Kim Bears-Bailey as artistic director. Now I have to let her know it’s OK to do what she thinks and let her make mistakes. But I need a managing director, someone who is committed to moving something other than their own aesthetic forward.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: Kim was first at Philadanco, in 1981, as a dancer. Did she make an impression on you back then?

Joan Myers Brown: She did. She was one of those girls that I don’t think ballet companies would have liked. You know how they do us when we are Black and we just don’t look the part. She wanted it, and was willing to put forth the work, and I said, “Why don’t you audition for Ailey?” She said, “Everything I need is here.”

Charmaine Patricia Warren: Was there a search for an artistic director?

Joan Myers Brown: Not artistic, managing. I’ve had three white girls come into my organization with all the qualifications, but there was a sensitivity chip about Blackness missing. They have to think differently about how they treat Black people and know what we need. When I was looking for a development director, I hired a company of three ladies.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: Are they Black?

Joan Myers Brown: No. White. I had to school them.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: Does Kim run the school also?

Joan Myers Brown: Well, the school is not part of the company. The first 10 years the company was housed in the school, but when we purchased the building, we reversed the roles. The school pays rent to the company. I kept the school for profit so I would be guaranteed an income as a single parent.

You know, the String Theory School wants to build a new location, a charter school, and call it the Joan Myers Brown School of the Arts.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: Wait, they’re naming a school after you?

Joan Myers Brown: Yes, and they want me to develop a curriculum, so I put Ali [Willingham, artistic director of Danco3] there because he teaches the way I like people to teach — know the craft, break down the movement, demand growth and not show off. Our youth are caught up in getting the applause and not learning the craft, so when I find the ones that really want to learn, they have someplace for classes and performing opportunities.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: The Black Lives Matter movement isn’t new to you, is it?

Joan Myers Brown: I experienced that in 1962, 1988 and 1995. Every time white folks in charge throw money out there and say, “Y’all got to help Black people,” they help us, but when the money’s gone, they’re gone. Have you noticed how every ad in Dance Magazine has a Black person? It’s like they are saying, “Look, I got one!”

Charmaine Patricia Warren: Did you envision I.A.B.D. conferences as a home base for the Black dance community?

Joan Myers Brown: You know, the first few conferences we were a mess, but we were happy to be together. Cleo [Parker Robinson] is from Denver; Jeraldyne [Blunden] was Dayton; Lula [Washington], Los Angeles; and Ann [Williams], from Dallas. And each time we learned something about our own organizations, about others doing the same thing, and how we can help each other. Mikki Shepard pulled us together, and people said we set the plate for DanceUSA. I was on the board of DanceUSA then. I said, “I got to get away from here and start my own thing because this ain’t helping Black people at all.” 

The younger members want to ignore the things we learned, and their opinions are valid, but I say experience teaches you something. I.A.B.D. was a gathering to bring us together and share stuff, now it’s a full-fledged service organization.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: Do you miss the early gatherings?

Joan Myers Brown: It wasn’t like, “Girl, you got to come,” but more like, “let’s be together.” And when Jeraldyne died, we were a mess. Debbie [Blunden-Diggs] is stepping up to the plate now.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: The Philadanco family is huge, isn’t it?

Joan Myers Brown: We have a saying: You “gon” — without the “e” — but you’ll be back. A girl from my summer program told her mom, “I want to go back to Philadelphia because they give the training I need.” And her mother said, “I used to be in Philadanco 25 years ago, I’m going back with you.” She moved back, and I put her in charge of my minis.

I’ll give you another example: My first company was football players. I had no big boys in the school, saw them playing at my old high school and asked them to be in a show. They were more interested in the girls at first and refused to wear tights. I couldn’t pay them, but the Negro Trade Union Leadership Council was paying Black boys to learn trades. I told them to go in the morning, learn the trade, get that check, and then come for class at night, and they caught the bug. One of the boys owns a company and does my renovations now.

Everybody can’t teach or choreograph; I encourage all of my dancers to have a second career so that when you stop dancing you can do something else.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: What do you wish for?

Joan Myers Brown: Well, I’m wishing that people would understand that I need to shore up this organization. So, if I drop dead, the organization won’t be saying, “Aunt Joan ain’t here, what are we going to do?” I want them to say, “Do this, and take care of that.”

Charmaine Patricia Warren: You always have a Plan B, so what is it?

Joan Myers Brown: I like living alone. I like being single. I had three husbands, I’m fine. My Plan B is to do nothing, but I realized that people pay me to talk so I might do some more of that.

Charmaine Patricia Warren: Did I forget anything?

Joan Myers Brown: No. Well, yes, I do what I do because it needs to be done. And I believe in helping people that need help, and if they don’t pay back, it’s OK. The last thing I can say is that being Black in America is being Black in America, and it ain’t easy.

[cunningambitousdetermined]

ingenue (a random thing i wrote)

hi guys! so idk if anyone remembers but a long time ago i just kind of randomly posted this random little blurb and not long ago @rorybutnotgilmore reviewed it and im so so glad she liked it. i was messing around the other day and decided to rewrite it and make it longer with more background and... NAMES!! so here it is...

ingenue: an innocent or unsophisticated young woman

It wasn’t the first time he’d been her target. Katana hoped that it would be the last. The orchestra’s music cascaded through the doors of the great ballroom, like a tsunami ready to swallow her whole. As Katana slid her hand over the handle of the great oak, her mind sharpened to a point as sharp as the dagger strapped to her thigh. She let the door slide open and let herself get lost in the swarm of people.

“Prince Charles is our target for next week's mission” Katana had let a smile spread across her face. "He is attending a ball next week on Friday. We will be sending in one agent to take him out. As you all must know, we have been trying to take Charles out for quite some time. He seems to be smarter than we originally anticipated and has lots of luck on his side. But, despite that, I trust that this will be our last ‘attempt’ and rather a success.” The Director had clasped her hands together, eagle-like gaze cutting through the room of girls. Katana’s flutter of hope pattered out at the Director’s words. They seemed to be directed at her, though the Director’s cold eyes never found hers. The prince had slipped out of her grasp too many times to count and it infuriated her to no end. She would’ve liked another chance to put his arrogant, smirking face away for good. Sighing, she guessed it was probably for the best. At least this time she wouldn’t have a chance to screw it up. The girls all around her stood up at once, filing out of the room, whispers of who was to be assigned flitting from each of their delicate lips. Katana stood to go as well when she heard her name. “Katana,” She turned slowly, grimacing in apology. As predicted, the Director stood behind her, looking regal as always.

“Yes, ma’am?” Katana kept her eyes trained to the ground but she could feel the Directors stare burning a hole through her forehead.

“The mission is for you.” Katana’s head snapped forward in shock, meeting the eyes of her superior. “I want him out. I want a clean, perfectly executed extraction and lights out. I know what this mission means to you, but he is too important to the bigger picture to let him get away when we cannot guarantee his silence. This is your last chance.” Katana couldn’t find it in her to shut her mouth. She gaped, open-mouthed, as the Director swept from the room. As her footsteps faded from the hall, Katana had felt her mind begin to race. There was so much to do.

The ball was in full swing as Katana swept down the staircase. She was a vision in a stunning red ball gown, hair was done up in a sort of a braid crown. She looked every bit like a princess. But if anyone had paid attention to look closer you could see the glint of malice in her eye. A small hint of the black band that held her knife peeking out from the slit in her dress. People danced, girls spinning, the music rising and falling, but Katana’s eyes sought out just one figure. Her gaze locked onto him. Charles. He stood at the back of the room, his black suit cut perfectly to frame his toned body. He threw his head back in laughter, his eyes lighting up and a smile overtaking his sharp features. Katana shoved down the little flutter her heart did at the sight. This was not the time to lose sight of her mission. He was a target. A tap at her shoulder made her flinch, ready for battle. The man standing behind her jumped, startled by her reaction.

“So sorry, madam!” he apologized, reaching his hand to rub the back of his neck in a very boyish gesture. “I was only wondering if you would like to dance?” Katana affixed an easy grin to her face and took his outstretched hand. He led her to the floor, taking her waist as they started to dance. “I’m Michael,” he said, “and you?”

“Ka-” Katana’s mind raced, a name, she needed a new name. “Kourtney!” she nearly yelled, “My name is Kourtney,” she repeated, softer this time. He smiled and as he did, his eyes scrunched up just a bit. The music rose and his grip tightened on her hand as she spun. She played along with him, smiling and laughing, but she kept her eyes trained on how much closer they were getting to the prince. She glanced back to the prince’s corner once more, calculating the distance between them. She was lost in thought, plotting her escape from Michael when the prince’s gaze met hers. She watched in horror as his eyes widened in surprise. She wrenched her gaze away, quickly letting Michael spin her away and praying he didn’t recognize her.

“I’m so sorry, Michael,” Katana spread what she hoped was an apologetic look across her face, “I’m getting a bit thirsty, can we take a break?” She bats her eyelashes at him and he smiled even bigger.

“Of course! Silly me, I should’ve asked that first. I’ll go get us drinks.” He led her to a table and set off to find a waiter. She waiting until he had rounded the corner to turn away and quickly make her way toward Charles. His black tux came into view as he began to walk toward a table. Katana quickened her pace to catch him, nearly tripping over her heels. He was just an arms reach away now and she let herself fall forward, crashing into Prince Charles’s back. He whipped around, arms swooping Katana up and holding her by the waist.

“Your Highness! I’m so sorry, I- I must’ve tripped. Please forgive me, I am so sorry your Highness!” Katana didn’t have to fake her blush, she could feel the redness heating her cheeks at his large fingers gripping her sides.

His eyes widened for just a moment and her heart stopped. He knows, she thought, of course, he knows. But then, she blinked at it was gone. A charming smile spread across his face as he continued to help her up to standing. “No, no. It’s fine. You know what they say, the ladies all fall for me,” he smirked and chuckled at his joke. He looked up and started, confidence falling for just a moment. “Do I know you?”

Katana let her gaze drop bashfully, “No sir, I’m sure I would remember. But I am very sorry, your highness. Sir.” Katana felt her cheek flush darker as she faked the awkwardness that she hoped came off as charming. She knew it worked as the prince’s grin grew and his eyes scrunched up.

Charles cleared his throat, “Well, now that you’ve so elegantly fallen for me, I’m sure you would like a dance?” He let her waist go and extended a hand forward, gaze boring in on her.

Katana’s eyes pinned a corner on the other end of the room where you couldn’t be seen except for guests who would find themselves in the coat closet for the night and knew that that was where she had to end up. Ignoring the reflex to roll her eyes, she took a deep breath and put her hand in his. “It would be an honor,”

He led them onto the dance floor, hand tightening on her waist. The people swirled around them but Katana could feel his eyes trying to catch hers. Finally, as he twirled them around, she let her eyes meet his. The music seemed to slow, his eyes were so pretty, had they always been that way? He smirked at her in the cocky way that made Katana want to roll her eyes. The people around them had become blurs and Katana let her mind wander, get lost in the daze of the ball. The first time that she’d seen him was 10 years ago. He was in the royal portrait that was hung everywhere. She remembered thinking he looked very sad and that night she had prayed that he would be happy. The next time she heard about him was 3 years after that. His face was cut off on the side of the screen that displayed the king. The king had been the target that night but Katana didn’t know what that meant. She knew that the king was evil. He tore families apart. Families like hers. But when she found out they killed him, it didn’t seem fair to leave the boy all alone. This time, though, she didn’t pray for him. The first time she met him, he was her target. Her first assignment. It was just information gathering. She went on a date with him. Despite heavy makeup, a wig, and a fake name, she found herself forgetting that this was a mission. He was nice, gentlemanly, and funny. She liked him and that terrified her. But he was the enemy. It was easy to hate him when his council was still tearing families apart. It was easy to hate him when you saw him on tv with a smirk on his face and 3 girls on each arm. She watched as the charming boy she had met, put on a mask, and became what the people thought he was. And now, Katana liked to believe that the mask never came off.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Charles’s deep voice broke through her train of thought and as she met his gaze, she could see the wall of the secluded corner over his shoulder.

“Oh, nothing. Just admiring the ball,” she said hoping to add some wistfulness into her tone.

“It is very beautiful isn’t it?” he replied, following her gaze to the crowd. She at him questioningly. That wasn’t something that he would say normally. He should’ve said something like “Oh, well you must know, I’m so rich and I have many balls” but he didn’t. He caught her gaze and chuckled. “You must think I’m going soft in the head,” he looked almost embarrassed. It wasn’t a normal expression she saw from him. But then he looked back up and any softness had vanished. The corner was there, she just needed to seize the opportunity. She stepped forward but her foot slipped on the prince’s shining shoe and she fell again into the circle of his arms.

“Oh god, I’m sorry” This time Katana was very genuine about it, “you must think in such an ingenue!” Katana gathered herself quickly and led them toward her targeted spot. This was perfect. What she didn’t see, was the widening of the prince’s eyes.

“Oh- I- it’s fine- ingenue?-” Charles stumbled over his words and his feet but Katana already had him pinned against the walls. “What? Oh, hey…” The smirk returned. I get it, but let’s- ARGH” His voice was cut off with a choke.

“Oh princey, your the only ingenue around,” Katana smirked, letting her awkwardness slide off her and the adrenaline rush through her veins as she wrapped her fingers around his blue tie and yanked it. She let her other hand fall to the small bulge in her dress where her dagger rested on her thigh. Her fingers brushed the metal of the hilt and a small part of her ached to stop. She shouldn’t. She had to. But in her moment of hesitation, she felt the metal slip from her grasp.

“Oh, babe, my little ingenue” Katana’s heart stopped, his hands. They held her dagger.

“But- how?- I- how did you know?” Katana choked out. Ingenue. God, she was so dumb.

Prince Charles grabbed Katana by the waist and flipped her, pinning her to the wall. Her dagger in his hand went up, killing position. Aimed for the heart. Katana stopped breathing. Her blood ran cold, the pit in her stomach larger than life. She closed her eyes waiting for death’s cold fingers to take her away. A sickening crack resounded in her ear and her chest stilled, waiting for the pain. She let her eyes crack open and she found Charles’s eyes on hers. He turned his gaze to the side and she followed it to her dagger. It was embedded in the wall. He smirked, a Cheshire cat, His hands copper her cheeks, leaning in close, warm breath whispering against her ear and down her neck. “Darling, why must you always kill the mood?”

if you are reading this... thank you for reading this far!! i hope you liked it? tagging some people i hope don't mind even to i tag them a lot to see if they like this thing: @iamninaanna @voidmalfoy @pad-foots @le-weasley-simp @ravenclaw-reblogs

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

You’re My Bodyguard, Not My Owner. (Chapter 9) (Brendon Urie x Reader)

“I’m going.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Gladly,” you said through gritted teeth as you cracked your knuckles, glaring evilly at your bodyguard.

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Is that supposed to make me feel threatened?”

“You can’t stop me from going.”

“Of course I can,” he said cockily, and you could see his muscles tense through the thin material of his black v-neck, “And I will. Even if I have to throw you in a cell and handcuff you to the bed.”

“Kinky,” you smirked, knowing your comment would irritate him, and judging by the way his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed, you could quite clearly see that you were correct. “But as fun as that sounds, I’m still gonna go.”

“(Y/N), there’s no way in this lifetime or the next that I’m letting you go.”

“I don’t need your permission,” you sneered, “You’re my bodyguard, not my owner.”

“Exactly. I’m your bodyguard,” he snarled while advancing on you, making you take an involuntary step back; you were never one to step down from confrontation – especially not with someone you loathed as much as the man in front of you – but Brendon was quite easily the most intimidating person – sorry, walking talking pillar of stone – that you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. His eyes alone gave off a stare cold enough to freeze your soul. “And being your bodyguard means that I have to protect you. Which is what I’m trying to do.”

“You can protect me there, can’t you?” you questioned, beginning to grow bored from the pointless argument you were currently having. You were going, and there was nothing he could say or do to convince you otherwise. “Well, can’t you?” you pressed when you didn’t receive a response from the brooding agent in front of you. “Or are your abilities limited to one continent only?”

Brendon let out a low growl in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You stepped around him and walked over to the table, snatching up the tablet. “Now, I need to find a dress.”

“That won’t be necessary, because you’re not going.”

“I thought we settled this,” you rolled your eyes. “I. Am. Going. Whether you like it or not.”

“(Y/N), if you go, the prospect of you getting attacked is almost guaranteed.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ll have my bodyguard with me, then.”

~

Stuttgart, Germany.

Brendon stood in front of the gold-framed mirror, fixing the bowtie situated around his neck. The in-ear in his left ear let off a succession of five short beeps, indicating that he, along with several other agents, were now connected to SHIELD’s communication network.

A moment later, The Director’s voice spoke. “Agent, is all well?”

“So far,” Brendon replied, breathing out, “But it’s still early. Anything could happen.”

“Here’s hoping it doesn’t. Good luck, Agent.”

The conversation ended, and Brendon crossed the room to the drinks trolley standing next to the antique oak dining table. He wrapped his fingers around the neck of a bottle of Jameson, gazing thoughtfully at the alcohol, internally debating whether or not he should have a glass. He never drank while on a mission. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a drink that was something other than water or crappy coffee. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he continued staring at the bottle. Ah, what the hell. If he was going to make it through tonight, he’d need the extra kick.

His slender fingers unscrewed the cap of the bottle, and he decanted some of the liquid into one of the glasses. He brought the glass up to his lips and was about to take a sip when he saw something that made him freeze in his tracks.

Setting the glass back down onto the tray, he furrowed his eyebrows and parted his lips slightly as he kept his eyes trained on you, as you took slow steps out of the bedroom and into the conjoined living room and dining room, your hands grasping onto the pleats of your dress as you lifted the material slightly, in order to avoid it from dragging along the ground.

The dress was a striking red one, made from silk and lace; it wasn’t the most extravagant of ball gowns, but it was beautiful nonetheless, and complimented you perfectly. You’d done your hair similar to how you usually wore it, and your make-up was fairly simple and natural, bar the red lipstick your wore that matched your dress. To you, you didn’t look that special; you were certain that you’d be unnoticeable in the crowd of stunningly attractive women that would be attending the gala tonight.

Brendon still looked at you with narrowed eyes, and you shifted uneasily. “I know I don’t look as good as-“

“You look beautiful.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. Brendon’s expression hadn’t changed, and although he’d just said the nicest thing he’s said to you since you met, he still radiated coldness.

Then why the hell did you feel so damn warm?

~

You gazed in awe at the surroundings as the car rolled through the city of Stuttgart. It truly was a remarkably beautiful city; it was so rich in culture and history, and it demanded your attention as soon as you stepped off of the plane.

Of course, this wasn’t the first time you’d been to Stuttgart. You’d been here with your parents, when you were about six or seven years old. You were much too young to appreciate everything the city had to offer back then, but now, every miniscule detail drew you in.

“It’s not too late to turn back, you know.” Your bodyguard’s chilly voice brought you out of your appreciative gaze, and you rolled your eyes as you turned your head towards him.

“I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Would definitely make my job a hell of a lot easier if you weren’t setting yourself up to be attacked.”

“You and I both know that I have to be here.”

“No,” he argued, shifting his body slightly towards you. “You and I both know that an agent could’ve retrieved what we’re here for perfectly fine on their own, while you were safe at HQ; the only reason you’re here is because you wanted to go to a ball.”

“It’s not a ball, it’s a gala,” you corrected. This time it was Brendon who rolled his eyes. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the only one who knows how to open the safe. It’s very necessary for me to be here.”

True, it would’ve been immensely easy to just pass on the details of your ‘mission’ tonight onto one of SHIELD’s agents and let them retrieve whatever it was that your father had hidden, but you needed answers, and you knew that whatever you would find tonight would offer you some. You wanted to be the first one to get your hands on it.

Brendon let out a light scoff, and you knew that he knew you were talking bullshit, but he never commented on it, and the rest of the ride to the gala was spent in silence.

The sleek black vehicle you were occupying came to a smooth halt outside Stuttgart Museum and Brendon exited the car. Walking over to your side, he opened the door and held out his hand to you. You were a bit taken aback at his sudden display of chivalry, but then remembered that he was only doing it for the sake of remaining as inconspicuous as possible, not because he wanted to.

Tentatively, you accepted the offer of his hand, placing your much smaller one in his before using your other hand to lift your dress as you climbed out of the car.

“Remind me what your plan is, again,” he said lowly, offering you his arm.

You linked your arm with his. “Find whatever it is my father has hidden,” you said simply as the two of you began up the stone steps of the museum. “Before Hydra does.”

“Before Hydra does,” Brendon chuckled lightly. “You are aware that they’re probably on their way here as we speak, right?”

“I’m aware,” you inhaled and exhaled deeply. “We’ll just have to be incredibly quick.”

You entered through the giant threshold of the lavish museum’s double doors, and the impeccable sound of the featured orchestra flooded your ears. It was a beautiful gala. Although, considering you’ve never actually been to one before, you were sure the dullest of galas would’ve seemed wonderful to you.

Your eyes scanned the huge room, taking in everything from the guests, to the food, to the musicians, to the exhibits, to the architecture of the building, and your mouth fell open in awe.

“Come on,” Brendon spoke, leading you towards the crowd.

“What are you doing?” you furrowed your eyebrows as he led you onto the dance floor. “Shouldn’t we be looking for… well, whatever it is we are looking for?”

“Not yet. Everyone is still socialising, which means that the guards will be patrolling everywhere. We have a better chance of getting around unseen if we wait until the speeches, when the excitement dies down,” Brendon explained. His eyes were subtly scanning the room for any potential threats, the way they always do when you’re around. As much as you despised him, you had to admit that he was a damn good bodyguard, and you always felt safe when he was near.

You nodded. “And how long will that take?”

“Shouldn’t be too long.”

“So what do we do in the meantime?”

His right hand slowly made its way to the small of your back, pulling you towards him gently, while his left lifted your hand up to clasp his just above the height of your shoulder. A gasp escaped you when he pulled you closer, and a tingle spread over your body at the sudden close contact. “We dance.”

Now, from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him, you had very strong opinions of Brendon. Strong, fearless, arrogant, cocky, brave, determined, stubborn, cold… the list goes on and on. You also knew that he was completely impossible to crack, and there were a lot of things he was able to do that you’d never have guessed. But dancing… that was something you’d never, ever had guessed he’d be able to do.

Oh, but he could.

He danced with such perfect form and elegance that you weren’t sure if it was actually your stone pillar of a bodyguard you were moving in such perfect sync with.

He spun you around and away from him, before swiftly pulling your back into his hard chest. His arms crossed over yours on your chest, and you swayed side to side for a little bit. You were pressed so closely together that you could feel his breath on the side of your neck, and you shuddered.

“Where did you learn this?” you asked breathily, your voice wavering, much to your annoyance.

“In a violent assassin cult in the Alps. It was part of our control regiment.”

“Seriously?” you scoffed, turning and lifting your head slightly so that you could look at his chiselled face.

“No. But admitting that my mother forced me into dancing lessons is so dull, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t stop the light giggle that escaped your lips, and you turned your face forward again so that Brendon couldn’t see the smile on your face. But in the millisecond between your laugh and you turning away, you could’ve sworn that the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the sound of a man’s heavily German-accented voice cut through the crowd, as the music ceased and the guests turned to face the podium. “Please welcome Doctor Jacob Ross.”

The room erupted in applause, and Brendon leaned down to whisper in your ear. “That’s our cue.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading x

Taglist:

@avangardv

@arosebyname

@avengertrash21

@ryan-ross-that-fucking-gay

@azumitoshiki

@tiffisnotnormal

@darknessdancing

@raversam

@theieroenthusiast

@the-ghost-of-hemingway

@laerkers

@peters-vlogs

@brendon-is-my-daddy

@hockeyswag-boll

@gutsbonesandbeauty

@username-number-01834

@moosesmoose

@underscoredarcy

@aminasmells

@becausebands

@converseskyline

@opheren

[2bstudioblog]

Thoughts on Composer forums, no more negativity...

But before we begin, let’s make it a straight and clear... I don't want to out anybody, but I guess it isn't news because we are all aware that these community/forum problems/people exists, no matter the content or platform.

In the community of film-composers, game-music composers, Audio-directors, Sound-designers and perhaps music supervisors, the film-composer forum/community has been one of the first stepping stones to help and most of all build new relationships with people in the industry.

I’ve always had the image of this community to be about being equal, nobody was above or below, but talking to each other on the level. All that was required to enter was 1 IMDB credit (Internet Movie Data Base), get it verified and then you were in this very exclusive groups.

But so far, the idea was sound, we started to establish a group of a mix of westerners and Japanese composers, and the idea was to share ideas, help people who wants to break into the Japanese scene and the AAA-gaming industry. However, we only had a few meetups and 2 of them happened in a very interesting place in Korean Town in Tokyo. We ended up in the home of former On Tour QUEEN Keyboardist Morgan Fischer, who in turn was one of the first names I remember on an instruction manual for the Yamaha DX7. The first gathering brought about 7-8 members and we talked, showed each other what we do and then we enjoyed general talk, jamming and had a lot of fun. There I also ran into another young guy, who just scored an iPAD app. Let’s call him R2.

A few months later I was contacted by someone from the U.K community chapter, a young lad, with ideas on how things should be and he asked me if we should meet up and talk a little bit since he knew I’ve written music for Resident Evil 6 at this point, so I felt honored and thought let’s help each other out. Let’s call this guy D2.

D2 is now at first glance, I thought he was an OK guy, and I showed him around the city, we talked a little about ourselves and then I had to get back to my ordinary job as a teacher afterwards. He’s very focused on keeping up a fashion and to look cool... all the time. At this I didn’t really care, but I told him that if you want to have a chance at pitching to get into the industry, perhaps he should meet one of my agents. So I arranged that, brought him over to the agency, took about 1 hour, sitting down talking to one of the toughest and impressive women in the industry. She asked about his ambitions and why he was in Japan for a casual tourist visit and in the end the question came: - “What game would you like to write music for in the future?” -”Metal Gear...” was his answer.

He already told me before the meeting that he always wanted to work on a MGS project but I felt a little bit guilty but I told D2: -”I can’t guarantee anything about the chances of getting that kind of gig as a first from that agency. But they’ll try to find something up your alley.” The agent said that would be hard one to get him into because they only like to work with established artists on their MGS franchise, so getting it would seem to be impossible at this point, since we didn’t know that it was being developed at the moment, or so it had been in secret.

He returned back to Europe and I was on my own again. But we promised that we’d follow each other on the platforms and he said he’d try to promote me to get a few more followers on twitter (Duh, he didn’t, naive as usual.) and give a shout-out on his “incredible” YouTube channel devoted to his brand of a software/kontakt library creator. Nothing came to fruition on that front. I sure did give him a shout-out and told people about him, but I got nothing in return.

A few months later he returns and he decides to meet with me again, so I thought, what is it this time? Well, turns out he was back in Tokyo again for a business meeting or something, however he also met someone last time he was in Tokyo and decided to say hi to his girlfriend.  So we all 3 went out to a cafe in Shinjuku area and we sat down and talked about film, games and music since we all were kinda in that industry. But since I know he is passionate about “EPIC” music as he would call it, we (me and his girlfriend) started to talk about Star Wars and he was .... incredibly ignorant. I told him, if you want to hear EPIC music, these are the films you have to see.

I told him: -“John Williams is the reason I am here. The reason I started to do film-scoring and bringing that into cinematic games like Resident Evil 6.” -”Who's John Williams? Never heard of him...” was his response.

Me and his girlfriend were completely flabbergasted of this guys total ignorance of a film-defining classic that changed film-music for science-fiction, approaching it with an operatic execution, giving characters themes, music that flowed with the action like those old golden-era film styles, but modernized for a new generation of movie-goers. It was the biggest risk, bringing in an orchestra for a sci-fi fantasy, but it paid off. Orchestral music was COOL again. Without John Williams, we wouldn’t have one of the first hybrid-action scores in Return of the Jedi with big thick synthbasses in Jabba’s Palace for that ominous uncertain character that turned out to be Leia unfreezing Han Solo from his carbonation chamber. Minimal amount of synth, but it was there.

The ignorance of D2 started to show. But I didn’t want that to be the moment, so I told his girlfriend to sit down and watch those films together. Not sure if they did, but it was here I started to feel the “British twit” mentality, the “I am better than thou”, the “I’m in my 20′s and I have already figured out the meaning of life...” All he had was his own business back home generating the dough in making sample-based kontakt-libraries. Good on him.

Then a few month’s later, I saw something on his YouTube channel that really started to kill my vibe for the dude. Whenever when I work for big companies like Konami, Capcom or Sega, I always sign an NDA. That mean’s I’m not allowed to record or show off my work for projects that are in progress. But here he is, talking about his cues he’s composing in real-time on YouTube. My first thought was, maybe I should tell anybody about this, but I don’t want to be a buzz-kill. I decided I didn’t want to butt in. Perhaps he would learn something from that mistake. Or did he?

A few months later D2 came back, now the game was pretty much in it’s final stages and he decided to meet me up together with R2 and we went out to yet another cafe, talking about software and stuff. Before we even met up with R2, D2 started to ask me if I had any registration keys for some software he didn’t own... I’m now getting even more confused. Is he asking me for pirate copies??? I just can’t make this one slide, so I’ll just stay quiet. R2 shows up, they start to make fun out of my English, my use of words in fun ways. I know the Britt’s and the Australians share the dry word humor, but I told them that I really like to perform on real hardware and twisting knobs for cutoff filters and stuff. All they wanted was to make fun out of me using the words “I like to turn knobs” (English slang for wanking off people, not my intention since we are talking about synthesizers...) R2 however was sucking up to D2 due to his huge following on YouTube and Twitter, so my point of view was completely irrelevant for R2. I had made valid points, but D2 shot me down, R2 is right behind him like a narcissists flying monkey.

This was the moment where I felt I should distance myself from D2 for trying to acquire pirate software keys, asking me if I had any cool software etc. He’s bloody rich. He should buy the software like everyone else, especially guys like me. I pulled a small ploy and pretended I got a phone-call from an agency going;

*hanging up the phone* -”...Sorry guys, it’s seems to me something important has just landed in my lap and I have to leave you here, but I wish you all good on your ventures. Take care and talk to you guys later.”

From that moment, I was just exhausted from R2 and D2. They are a perfect fit for each other. But the ignorance and bluntness from D2 lost all of his credibility for me and I just said to myself quietly I just have to keep fighting my own battle in an uphill, serving D2 with the best kind of courtesy I’ve learned from the Japanese and being shit on in the process. He doesn't respect many of us, so I’ll now don’t give a damn.... I need closure. And with a snap of my fingers, all the bad went away.

After leaving these thoughts to you, I’m ready to let go and start a new future in the land of music production. But one thing is for sure, I'm done with the charade.

Of course there are times when enough is enough. And I've had enough.

[recklesstreacherous]

Oh my gosh, Rebekah Harkness had such a messy and sad life www(.)nytimes(.)com/1988/05/22/books/is-there-a-chic-way-to-go(.)html?pagewanted=all

Thanks for linking this article! I love reading about her… and yes, she did have a very unique and tragic life. I’d love to watch a documentary about her.

_______________________________________________________________________‘IS THERE A CHIC WAY TO GO?’A week after her death on June 17, 1982, the mortal remains of Rebekah Harkness were toted home by her older daughter Terry in a Gristede’s shopping bag. The ashes were placed in a $250,000 jeweled urn made by Salvador Dali. They didn’t fit: “Just a leg is in there, or maybe half of her head, and an arm,” said one of Rebekah’s friends. Several hours later, the top of the urn - called the Chalice of Life - was somehow, by unknown agencies, uncovered. “Oh, my God,” said a witness. “She’s escaped.”        

This post-mortem mischief was going on at Harkness House, the East 75th Street town house headquarters of the Harkness Ballet Foundation, which Mrs. Harkness had modeled on the St. Petersburg Ballet School. The building, according to Craig Unger, the author of this rich-man/eye-of-the-needle biography, was in a state of putrefaction, “crumbling like Tara after the Civil War.” Meanwhile, in her apartment at the Carlyle Hotel, people who called themselves Rebekah Harkness’s friends were pillaging, “grabbing things right and left.”        

Rebekah’s younger daughter Edith, a failed suicide who had spent many years in mental institutions, took only her mother’s pills: Seconal, Nembutal, Valium, Haldol, Librium and various painkillers - 40 vials in all. Allen Pierce, Rebekah’s son by the first of her four husbands, was unable to be present. Convicted of murder in the second degree, he was behind the bars of a Florida jail. Bobby Scevers, Rebekah’s lover, 25 years younger than she and a self-declared homosexual, pronounced her children ���the most worthless, selfish, useless creatures I’ve ever seen.” (Mr. Scevers has a stunning way of placing himself squarely in the center of every sentence he utters; he appears to believe that Rebekah Harkness’s death happened more to him than to her.) If I report on the demise of the multimillionaire patron of the dance dry-eyed, it is because I am confident in the belief that nothing we say about the dead can prejudice the Defense or tip the Scales of Judgment. I myself wouldn’t give the time of day to anyone who cleaned her pool out with Dom Perignon, put mineral oil in the punch at her sister’s debutante ball and (all in the middle of the Great Depression) got tossed off an ocean liner for shouting obscenities, throwing dinner plates at an orchestra of Filipinos gamely playing the American national anthem, and offending the sensibilities of her fellow passengers by swimming nude - for which actions she counted herself witty. (I do admit, however, that I’d go a long way to read a sentence like this, spoken by Bertrand Castelli, the co-producer of “Hair,” about the time he made love to Rebekah Harkness in her office: “It was as if we were two camels in the desert who suddenly know that the only way to make an oasis is to really talk sense.” After his brief interlude in the oasis, Mr. Castelli was made the artistic director of the Harkness Ballet. “Kiss me,” she commanded. “The others, they just know how to bite.”) Craig Unger, a former editor at New York magazine, appears to be dazzled by all this, although it is sometimes hard to tell whether his breathlessness arises from approval, disapproval, sadness, awe or simple bewilderment. Mr. Unger, who records interviews uncritically and unreflectively, does not permit us to know exactly how he feels about his subject.        

Rebekah Harkness was born in 1915 to a rich, emotionally frigid St. Louis family. She was brought up by a nanny who was chosen because she had worked in an insane asylum. She went to Fermata, a South Carolina finishing school that had sheltered Roosevelts, Biddles and Auchinclosses. There she delighted, as she wrote in her scrapbook, in setting out to “do everything bad.’'  After her divorce from W. Dickson Pierce, an upper-class advertising photographer, she chose for her second husband the Standard Oil heir William Hale Harkness, who enjoyed a lofty social status, as her own family did not. He appears to have been an embarrassing sort of man; he wrote and privately published a book called ’'Totem and Topees,” which he described as a “conglomeration of uninteresting misinformation,” and followed that with a book called “Ho hum, the Fisherman,” which, he said, did not “have the excuse even of literary merit.” We are told by Mr. Unger - who is an uncomfortable stranger in the world of the rich, unused to deciphering nuances of caste - that the Harknesses’ seven-year marriage was a happy one. Little evidence is given in support of this thesis except that the two wrote a song together called “Giggling With My Feet.”        

After she was widowed, Mrs. Harkness renovated her Rhode Island house; she installed 8 kitchens and 21 baths. This arrangement effectively kept her from having to see her three children on anything like a regular basis. She had a salon of sorts. She traveled a lot.        

She fancied herself a composer.        

She acquired a guru, also a yogi.        

She married again. And again.        

She was surrounded by a group her son Allen described as “all the fairies flying off the floor, the blackmailing lawyers, the weirdos, the people in the trances.” “We were the favorites,” says a dancer. “We were the loved ones.” In 1961, Rebekah Harkness became the sponsor of the late Robert Joffrey’s small ballet troupe. She did this in grand - if occasionally Marie Antoinette-ish -style. Generous, wasteful, willful, demanding and delusional, she broke with Joffrey to form the Harkness Ballet when he refused to perform the compositions she insisted on writing. In the eyes of many, she had betrayed him. “Costumes, sets, musical scores,” Mr. Unger writes, “many of the best dancers, the entire repertory - even the works choreographed by Joffrey himself - were owned by her foundation.”        

“You see,” she said. “Money can buy anything.” It bought her the services of George Skibine, Marjorie Tallchief, Alvin Ailey, Erik Bruhn and Andy Warhol, but it did not guarantee her success. Mr. Unger tells us that under the direction of the dancer-choreographer Larry Rhodes the company began to garner critical raves - whereupon Mrs. Harkness fired him. Soon Clive Barnes was writing that the Harkness Ballet had “descended beyond the necessity of serious consideration,” and in 1975 it folded. She had spent the 1987 equivalent of $38 million on a failed enterprise.        She rang J. D. Salinger’s bell dressed as a cleaning lady, having conceived the harebrained scheme that the reclusive writer’s short stories be put to music.        

She dyed chocolate mousse blue. She dyed a cat green.        

She moved hundreds of thousands of dollars from one bank to another for the pleasure of confusing her accountants. She believed in reincarnation. She filled her fish tank with goldfish and Scotch.        

Her daughter Terry gave birth to a severely retarded and disabled child. For a time, Rebekah Harkness appeared to be enamored of the passive child, called Angel. Her passion, such as it was, burned itself out quickly, coincidentally with the baby’s pulling a ribbon out of her hair. Bobby Scevers, Mr. Unger writes, “had no sympathy” for the child. “So absurd,” Mr. Scevers pronounced. “When they started talking about putting the nursery over my room … I just hit the ceiling. I don’t want this screaming baby over my room! … Let the little creature die!” When she was 10 years old, she did.        

Her daughter Edith jumped off roofs, swallowed pills and managed not to kill herself. “How should she do it?” Rebekah Harkness asked. “Is there a chic way to go?”        

She lived on champagne and injections - Vitamin B, testosterone, painkillers - as a result of which her bathrooms were splattered with blood and her muscles calcified. (“She walked,” an acquaintance said, “like Frankenstein.”) One could almost feel sorry for her.        

At the very end, according to Bobby Scevers, as she lay dying of cancer, “It was complete chaos… . It was so wonderful - everybody running around signing wills and trying on different wigs.”      

Her daughter Terry hired Roy Cohn in a (failed) attempt to have her will invalidated.        

Her daughter Edith killed herself. (“I’m glad Edith is gone,” said the unquenchable Bobby Scevers.        

“I can’t believe it took her this long to succeed.”) Her son Allen says the years he spent in prison were the happiest of his life. He likes to talk about blowing people away.       Knowing all this (and much, much more; Mr. Unger withholds no ugly or racy detail), what is it exactly that we have learned?        That money can’t buy happiness? That even the rich must die? These are facts of which we have already been apprised.      

One sometimes wonders if the point of all these poor-little-rich-girl/boy biographies is to lull the rest of us into a false sense of security: She is so unlike us that we are not encouraged to reflect upon our own mortality, the contemplation of which is a healthy and necessary exercise. We are meant to take comfort and a measure of relief from our difference - though, as we know but do not frequently wish to remember, the grave awaits us all.        

It would be interesting to see what a social historian, someone familiar with the hierarchies of caste and class in America - or, better yet, a novelist with a theological bent - would make of the raw material Mr. Unger has gathered. I am beginning to think that biography, especially the biography of such a chaotic personality as Rebekah Harkness, needs to be molded and informed by a novelist’s ordering imagination. It might also have been interesting to see how a feminist writer would have assimilated the facts of Rebekah Harkness’s sorry life. Might Mrs. Harkness be seen as a casualty of her own doomed and defiled expectations? Unfit for mothering, unfit for ordinary love, unfit - untrained - to be the caretaker of a great fortune, was she altogether silly or altogether bad? Was she power or pawn? And how in the world did she get that way?        

It is possible to write an edifying biography about an unedifying life. Jean Stein and George Plimpton did that brilliantly in “Edie,” the biography of poor Edie Sedgwick. “Blue Blood” is edifying only insofar as it raises questions about what a biography should be. A terrible story is told here. It makes no sense - and no sense is made of it.        

[maksnorwood-blog]

TEACHER Turn to any dictionary and it is defined as a person who instructs students. That's it, that's all it says. That's what we thought a teacher was. How wrong we were... This is Scott Beigel, a Geography teacher at the high school in Florida where a gunman opened fire on a peaceful Wednesday afternoon. When the shots rang out he did exactly as he was trained to do, get his kids secure in the classroom and lock the door. But Scott did something else. When he saw other children running in horror from the gunfire down the hallway he put his own life at risk by opening his classroom door and ushering them in. He saved them. Before he could secure his own life however he was hit with a bullet and killed. Make no mistake - he traded his life for theirs. Our teachers have to be so many things. Yes, they have to instruct and teach what's in those textbooks but they are also social workers for the troubled children who need a friend they can't find at home. They are caregivers making sure everyone in their class has the supplies they need to succeed in the classroom and the food in their stomachs to get through the day. And now as we have seen time and time again with these school shootings they have to become the guardian angels to these poor terrified children. Unarmed and in the middle of absolute chaos they have to make split-second decisions that will save those children. That's not what a teacher signs up for but they do it willingly. If you find yourself near a school or dropping off a child and see a teacher tell them 'Thank you.' We ask the impossible of them for too little money. This is Scott Beigel. A teacher. His last moments on this earth he taught his students the most incredible lesson any of us can ever learn. He taught them that he loved them.

John Gray, Journalist & Writer

In the aftermath of the shooting at Majory Stoneman Douglas High School, we view the mass chaos erupting across all formats of social media and news platforms, for some people, the focus is not only on the slaughter of children but that of their teachers as well.

The day after the shooting in Florida, as I was speaking to a high school band director I know, the conversation turned after discussing a Frank Ticheli piece entitled ‘Rest’. The piece had been written for a friend of Ticheli’s, in honor of the friend’s young son who had recently passed away. After talking about that piece, the director’s eyes glassed over, and he refused to look at any of our faces in the room. “You know, I know the band director at that school. I know her. Those are her kids. I can’t imagine what that would feel like as a teacher to lose any of the smiling faces you look for every day as they walk in the door.” Another member of the staff replied, “I can’t imagine if she’d have known any of the teachers they lost. Can you imagine if one of your staff buddies came up to you that morning and said something like, ‘Hey, man, lunch? On me.” And then they’re gone two hours later. I can’t imagine that.”

I have been a student of over nine musical directors for orchestra, band, percussion, and elementary choir. In my family, there are six musical directors (two choir/theater, three instrumental, one general music). Because one of my parents is among those, I am also close friends with over thirty-six music and theatre directors within my home school district alone. In total, among family and friends are over seventy-five teachers, music or otherwise, across the country. At any moment during the school week, here is the list of things those teachers do, all for your students. YOUR. KIDS.

An average of 1-3 hours a night is spent on lesson planning; this entails making it possible for your students to take good notes (if necessary), making it so that your students are engaged, entertained, and excited about what they are learning, and figuring out if homework is necessary to keep on track with the curriculum they are given to teach. Depending on when in the concert season you’re looking, school band, orchestra and choir directors add an extra 5 hours a week choosing music for your students to play. This is based on the level at which your students play or sing (not just at an ensemble level, but at an individual level as well), the director’s ability to create a variety of cultural, literary, rhythmic and stylistic experiences for your student, and making sure that the students are entertained. Cocurricular teachers like theatre, PE, music and some STEM programs also have to make sure that they are within the budgets given to them by their school or by their program fundraising. Many of the teachers I know have to work with a variety of students on an individual basis due to special needs, attention problems, mental illness, IEP’s, ALP’s, etc. They also spend at least two lunches a week (which should be a time away from students for a little while) conducting detention with students who are irresponsible, not attentive to their work (in class or at home), or who have somehow disturbed the learning environment of another. Teachers are friends to students who don’t have any, parental figures to students who don’t have any, families to students who don’t have any, food providers to students who don’t have any. Their job is not to antagonize your child or make them feel worse about themselves or to make their lives hard. It is the child’s decision how they want their education to go.

First of all, I have already discussed how demoralized the debate has become over gun violence - politicians would prefer lots and lots of money to the guaranteed safety of their children and ours. We know this and it’s not going to change. In moments like those experienced in Florida last Wednesday, it is the teachers who will step in front of your students, YOUR KIDS and in all actuality take bullets for YOUR KIDS.

Even more demoralized, based on the facts listed above, is how we, as a society, treat teachers. Earlier this week, the twisting of words committed by middle school students turned into a fight between parent, administrator, and one of my parental units (who is a choir and theatre teacher at a local middle school) about a student being called an idiot by the teacher in his choir class. Every other student in that class has later reported that no such sentence or insult was uttered by the teacher, but the parents are still infuriated and refuse to believe that their child heard wrong. Even after all evidence suggests the teacher’s innocence, they are demanding a three-day suspension without pay for this teacher - a blemish on their permanent record - and have made physical threats in private. One of the threats made over the phone included the statement “If you ever say anything like that to my kid again, I will come to your house and fucking kill you.”

At this particular school, many other such threats have been made against a variety of other teachers, not all of them electives teachers. Though this may not occur everywhere, parents these days believe their child is entitled to more respect, more pampering, and more leeway in their education than the teacher deserves to live. (Do you see a trend? Politicians are to money over children’s safety as kids are to laziness over learning.)

Let me tell you a little something. I have worked very hard for my education because neither of my parents make a lot of money - if we were just on the educational parent’s wages, we would have so little money that we would have to choose between having food and having a house. Everything that I got, I fought for it tooth and nail. I do not have to fear for my life every time I speak with certain people. I am not afraid that someone has a gun or other weapon when I walk into a building. But every day, on my way home, I’m worried that the teacher in my family will not come home, or will come home jobless. I’m worried for the generation that can’t take a few hours of homework - the most homework I’ve ever come home with on a given day is approximately 2 hours, that’s on an IB curriculum, so I don’t want to hear about how much homework you have.

Get over it. Let your kids fight their own battles. If a teacher is genuinely and repeatedly singling out your kid, then make a peaceful confrontation. But don’t make teachers feel low for teaching your student. Don’t make teachers feel low for giving their lives for your student. They’re not paid nearly enough to do everything that they do for YOUR KID. Scott Beigel probably never even made enough money to pay off his college debt, much less support his family.

Taking your education for granted is the reason we do not seem to know the difference between what is right and what is easy. It’s the first thing you learn: “Well, I need this education, but I just don’t want to have to put in the work.” If you give in to the laziness, you’ll never do anything important or necessary ever again - like enact gun control laws that could save thousands of children’s lives, or show teachers the respect they deserve, or hell, even run a respectful presidential campaign. I have met kids in places like Haiti, Spain, the Dominican Republic, and even downtown where I work, who have never seen the inside of a classroom. They are made to feel so low that they believe everyone else is smarter and therefore more important than they are. Those kids would give anything to sit where your child sits in class every day, the very place that your kid would give anything to get rid of. Really?! If you think illegal immigrants or minorities are taking all our jobs, jobs that don’t belong to them, it’s because they’re not lazy pieces of shit like the kids you’re raising right now. They desperately want and need but do not get the things that you and your kids take for granted, and you don’t even realize that it’s just handed to you on a silver platter. If you are raising your kid to think that “Mexicans are stealing all our jobs,” then good for you. You and your families are perfectly entitled to your beliefs. However - if you think that is a serious problem, how about you take matters into your own hands? Here are some steps you can follow.

1. Make sure your child understands that education, though it is a civil right and a freedom that ought to be given to all people, because it is not so in all countries, is a privilege that they have to work for. They cannot take it for granted.

2. Help your child succeed. Don’t leave your child to fend for themselves constantly, but also don’t do everything for them. Let your child gain a sense of self-dependence and independence, let them feel like they did something cool, not something cool was just handed to them. It means that much more.

3. Then your child will grow up to beat out all the others in the job they want - even the Mexicans (if that really matters to you).

[gwynnew]

‘Thor: Ragnarok’ composer Mark Mothersbaugh on breaking out his Devo keyboards for Marvel

Thor: Ragnarok composer Mark Mothersbaugh. (Photo by Rachel Murray/Getty Images for Guild of Music Supervisors)

Last year, a 13-minute video essay criticizing the music in Marvel movies got more than 5 million views on YouTube. Two of those sets of eyeballs belonged to didrector Taika Waititi and composer Mark Mothersbaugh, who took it as a challenge: Could they make the score for Thor: Ragnarok feel as fresh as Waititi’s zany, colorful take on the characters?

For Mothersbaugh, a prolific musician and artist who has scored hundreds of films and TV shows (but never a superhero movie), the process was a delight. To guarantee that Thor: Ragnarok wouldn’t sound exactly like any previous Marvel movie, Mothersbaugh employed a 50-piece synth band on top of a standard symphony orchestra, even dragging synthesizers out of his basement from his days as a founding member of the postpunk band Devo.

Mothersbaugh spoke with Yahoo Entertainment about bringing electronic music to the Marvel universe, appealing to Led Zeppelin for “Immigrant Song,” and collaborating with fellow comic book geeks. (And true to his reputation for artistic multitasking, he revealed at the end of the interview that he’d been drawing the whole time.)

Yahoo Entertainment: So this is a little different from any film you’ve scored before. How did you end up involved in Thor: Ragnarok? Mark Mothersbaugh: They decided they wanted to use this interesting director from New Zealand named Taika Waititi, and lucky for me, instead of picking somebody off the list of people they’ve already gone with, he gave them my name. I was a fan of Taika’s already, so it made me really curious about working on this.

What did you talk about before you started, in terms of what he wanted from the score? Well, he did not let me down in the least. He really wanted to find some new territory, and we had both seen online disparaging remarks about the lack of creativity in Marvel scores. [Laughs] We’d both been reading that, so we thought, “Let’s take the challenge, see if we can up the ante a little bit.”  And it was pleasant. It was all great. It was my first project with Marvel, even though I think it was movie 201 [that I’ve scored], counting feature films and TV shows and things. But I’d never worked with them. It turned out to be a great experience.

How was it different than you expected? The attention to what was going on, and the hands-on concern about everything, and knowledgeable concern from talented people within the company. And it kind of started at the top. Kevin [Feige, President of Marvel Studios] was a fan before he was head of the company, and you really felt that when he came to meetings. He was very invested in the film in an artistic way. Usually the executives are just all about dollars and cents, they know nothing about making a film. And he was very knowledgeable. And then their music department was excellent, and it was a surprise to find out that the lowly music editor that was working with me on the film also is pretty much the head of the music department. He was very supportive and contributed aesthetically in a really positive way to getting it done. So there were no let downs at all. It was really better than expected.

Listen to the ‘Thor: Ragnarok’ soundtrack:

Did you have a take on the characters going in, any ideas of things you wanted to bring out? Well you know, I’m a comic book reader since I was a little kid, so I was curious to see how the characters were going to get treated. The first thing Taika said was, “Think of it as a road show for Thor and Hulk.” And I just imagined some big Cadillac driving down the Pacific Highway with Thor and Hulk sitting in the front seat. That’s not in the film, but it just got me very excited from the beginning about what the project was going to be. I started in December of last year, and to watch it take form through the months was really interesting. I just had a good time on it. You can’t say that about every film. There’s a lot of films where, as soon as they’re done, you’re really ready to pull the plug on the bathtub and move on to the next thing. But this was one where I felt everybody was putting in the right kind of energy at the right time, and they made something better than expected.

What were some of your musical influences for this score? Taika has a real affection for ’70s-era synth. When he would play me things that he was listening to while he was working on the film, it was music from that era. So I thought, well, we got our hundred-piece symphony orchestra at Abbey Road, and we got a 35-piece choir, and so I put about a 50-piece synth band on top of it and pulled out old synthesizers from the Devo days that I had in the basement, and played them again.

And I wrote the music so that he could have a wide range of choices for any cue. You could almost take a dial and you could turn it one direction and it would be more traditional Marvel with the big heavy orchestra, and doing all the things that you want a superhero movie to do, or you could turn it the other direction and add in synthesizers and electronica that hadn’t been in any of the Marvel movies before. So my goal was to try and give him the best of both worlds and let him make the decisions for how far he wanted to go in each direction on each cue. And I really enjoyed it. And you know, by not working in superhero movies a lot, it was fun when I got to do things like the gladiator coliseum music.

Do you have a favorite sequence or scene? I don’t want to give away any movie things, but there’s scenes where Thor revisits Odin. Some of the music is very emotional and touching and I really liked that. But Alan Meyerson, my engineer, did an amazing job — I told him when we were recording the coliseum music that I really wanted the audience to feel like they were right in the middle of the ring there with Thor and Hulk. He did such a great job of mixing on the film and that particular scene stands out for me.

One thing that’s woven through the film is Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song.” Did you know that was going to be a part of the score? Well, I helped them with some of the lyrics and I played some of the guitar parts — no. [laughs] Yeah, I mean, everybody loved it in the trailer, so we knew we were going to have to talk Jimmy Page into it. And he saw the movie and loved it, so that’s how come he was agreeable to letting it be in the film. And it seemed to really work well. I love that.

I remember when Led Zeppelin wouldn’t let anyone use their music in films. I guess the process is still the same, where you have to appeal to them personally for permission? Oh, yeah. You still do. You still do have to appeal to him personally.

Did they send you to do that? I would have sent you to Jimmy Page’s house. [laughs] We’ve had dinner together, Jimmy Page and I. But no, they have people that are that are professionals at licensing music. And so rather than me coming back and saying, “Hey, he’s great with the idea and it will only cost ten million dollars!” they needed somebody that can say, “He’s great with the idea and we can afford it.”

Tessa Thompson (Valkyrie) and director Taika Waititi on the set of Thor: Ragnarok (Photo: Marvel Studios)

What was your favorite day of working on Thor: Ragnarok? Well, I’ll tell you. I could go to something specific and say, “OK, here’s my favorite day of working with Kevin and Taika,” or “Here’s my favorite day of working with the electronics.” But to be honest, when you write a score that an orchestra is going to play, and especially a 100-piece orchestra, you know that the only time you’ll ever get to hear the orchestra play it is right there in that room that day. You may have worked on that piece of music for four months. It’s one of those things where you just wish you could have all your friends there for that one moment when you go, “OK, we’re doing the emotional scene with Odin,” or “We’re doing Hela and Thor battling,” or something. You get to hear it one time with a hundred people playing it. And then after that you’re hearing it on speakers. It’s electrified after that, it’s on your computer, it’s throwaway. So that to me is the best moment, being there in the room with the orchestra.

Had you ever worked with an orchestra and choir of that size? Yeah, yeah, lots. Because I work in animation a lot, and having humans in animation is really critical to bringing the movie to life. If you go watch animated films with only the dialogue and no music underneath it, it’s very plastic and very artificial. And music, especially a big orchestra like that, even though you’re listening to their instruments, there is this subtle addition of a hundred people whose hearts are all beating and they’re breathing while they’re performing the music, and synthesizers can’t do that. They can do other things that are totally different than what orchestras do, but that’s something that orchestras are so essential for, especially for animation. But in this film it’s the same thing. So I do get to work with big orchestras. I go to Abbey Road a couple times a year, usually. It’s just my studio of choice.

You’re a visual artist as well as a musician. When you’re working on a score, do those things inform one another? Does working on films appeal to that visual side of your brain? It all comes from the same place as far as I’m concerned. I don’t differentiate. I was a visual artist before Devo, I had gallery shows. And then we somehow got a record deal, and then after Devo started to slow down, I got offers to score some things and found out that I really enjoyed writing music for pictures. So I don’t know, to me it’s all part and parcel.

I find often when I’m watching something I enjoy, your name comes up as the person who scored it. I was sitting here drawing the whole time we’ve been talking. I had a museum show that just finished — the last museum it was in was in New York City — it was a retrospective, so it had artwork from the sixties all the way through Devo to the hundreds of art shows that I’ve done since then. I called it Myopia because my vision kind of inspired me to become an artist in the first place. I don’t want to go too far into the story. But I did this piece of artwork with an eye, and I’ve been drawing over top of them and making kind of like my own version of beatnik-devolved-poetry-graffiti. Does that make sense? So I just finished the 400th piece of art like that last night, and then I’m starting on piece 401 right as we’re talking. Every hundred of them go into a book, so there’s like four volumes of this book — it’s just called The Eye Book right now, it doesn’t have a better title yet. So if you see any of these and think of a better title, let me know.

Watch: How Mark Ruffalo gave Hulk a new voice in ‘Thor: Ragnarok’

Read more from Yahoo Entertainment:

Hulk’s got back! How ‘Thor: Ragnarok’ gave ginormous Avenger an incredible new butt

Your mighty guide to all the ‘Thor: Ragnarok’ Easter eggs, callbacks, and in-jokes

‘Thor Ragnarok’ costume designer explains the secrets of Hela’s antlers and Hulk’s too-tight pants

‘Thor: Ragnarok’: Behind the scenes of that shocking death (spoilers!)

‘Thor: Ragnarok’: Inside story on the blockbuster film’s improv, cut scenes, and that rumored 90-minute run time

[trendingnewsb]

The voices of Weinsteins accusers have torn the fabric of patriarchy | Naomi Wolf

Testimonies are pouring out from women everywhere. We must grasp this moment, and never return to the culture of silence, says writer and author Naomi Wolf

There are many shocks following on from this weeks reports of the sexual violations and rapes allegedly committed by film producer Harvey Weinstein. One shock for me is about the language used by the media to describe them. Almost all early reports referred to victimisation as sexual harassment.

Weinsteins alleged acts involved quid pro quo offers, requests to be watched in the shower and for massages, naked pursuits of targets around couches. Such actions are sexual harassment.

But they are not just harassment. These are criminal acts that, if proved, would lead to jail time not just fines and wrist-slapping. Language out of a Henry James novel made it sound as if rape was like using the wrong fork: Mistreatment of women, misbehaviour, indiscretions. Or misconduct, like a bad orchestra. Reporters used episode or the 70s-ish, hot tub-ish, encounter.

Its likely that media lawyers advised reporters to use softer terms. But if you are reporting on a hate crime assault, you dont inform readers accurately by calling it a racial encounter.

Shocking too is how district attorneys have failed to react. The New York Times and New Yorker exposs include reports of many alleged crimes in two jurisdictions: California and New York. I believe that basic information about the laws regarding sex crime and abuse are rarely explained to women, and this perpetuates a situation in which sexual assault is treated as a cultural event blurred lines when in fact criminal law is clear.

In New York state, any unwanted sexual contact is sexual abuse. In California, any unwanted sexual touching is sexual assault or sexual battery punishable by prison terms of six to 12 months. In both states, coercing someone into sex is sexual assault. Forcing someone to submit to oral sex, as actor and director Asia Argento alleged of Weinstein, is a felony. When someone chases a target around furniture, while he is naked, with exits from the room locked, this is arguably stalking and kidnapping.

When someone exposes himself in a public place such as a restaurant, and masturbates, as Fox reporter Lauren Sivan recounted, it is public lewdness, a class B misdemeanour. If he or she intentionally exposes the private or intimate parts of his or her body in a lewd manner for the purpose of alarming or seriously annoying such person it is a class A misdemeanour; six months, and usually placement on the registered sex offenders list.

Also, these events have widely been discussed as if they are history. But the statute of limitations is still open. In New York, the statute for sexual assault is five years, but there is no statute for rape. You can bring charges until you or your rapist dies. In California, a 2017 law, passed after the Bill Cosby allegations, extended the statute of limitations to for ever. And to six years for assaults that took place prior to 2017. In the UK, there is no statute of limitations for serious sexual crimes. UK victims can bring charges forever.

Most of these women, in other words, could press charges today, even if their assaults happened years ago.

Ambra Gutierrez, an Italian model, wore a hidden recording device in 2015 to document the fact that an assault had occurred in her previous meeting with Weinstein. In an act of courage, this woman went back into danger. But DA Cyrus Vances office did not then pursue the case because, a statement said, it couldnt establish intent. This week, it was reported that, months later, Vance was gifted $10,000 for his reelection campaign by one of Harvey Weinsteins lawyers.

Had Weinstein boarded a plane to Switzerland this week, as he was reportedly planning to do, that too may have constituted a crime: obstruction of justice. Resisting arrest. Flight. These are felonies or common law crimes.

But because our power brokers want to keep sexual assault in the realm of the uncomfortable or the disgusting, rather than the criminal, Weinstein was not told not to leave town. Only on Thursday was it announced that police in New York and London are taking action following the reports. Meanwhile, Weinstein headed to Arizona, to sex rehab, with yoga and equine therapy. But rehab is a choice, not a confrontation with the criminal justice system.

Another important legal question is what the Weinstein board knew, and when. In a statement earlier this week, the board said it was surprised by the revelations and that, Any suggestion that the board had knowledge of this conduct is false.

But then attorney David Boies gave a painful interview in which, in a lawyerly way, he identified the many things that the board did know. If board members knew about allegations, but continued to do business, without disclosure, this could also have violated codes for public companies.

Bill Cosby, pictured in June 2017. Photograph: Matt Rourke/AP

Yet there are positives to be taken from this eruption of testimony. One is the power of what happens when women come forward, name their abusers and identify themselves. I have been saying for years that anonymity for victims, which is touted as a feminist perk, is in fact a toxic guarantee of rape culture. Change will only happen when women name themselves as victims in public and also name their abusers. Anonymity allows for impunity.

This is not to blame women for not coming forward sooner. The reasons Weinsteins accusers held back are only too obvious. But seeing Gutierrez put herself in danger to report a crime; seeing Argento put online the disturbing scene she filmed for her movie, which is based on her alleged assault, is transformational.

Patriarchy has managed to direct attention always at the victim. What was she wearing? Is she crazy? Is she in love with him? What is her motivation? Why doesnt she just drop it? Is she a good or bad girl? This protects not only rapists but also institutions universities, workplaces in a patriarchy that runs on impunity for rapist and abusers, and for their boards, their deans, their trustees, their gatekeepers.

But when women come forward with their own names and stories something that social media allows in an especially effective way attention can turn to where it should be. We see how common it is for perpetrators to have a modus operandi; how frequently they groom a victim, make sure to get her alone, intimidate and coerce her. We see how a perpetrator creates a situation that a young woman may think she can manage or at least survive, and then suddenly, terrifyingly, he lunges, overpowers, demeans, violates her. Such assaults can result in the death of a young womans sense of self, vocation, possibility, future life and dreams.

An essay this week in the New Yorker by Jia Tolentino speaks about the familiar sadness that almost every woman can relate to, of how a moment in which a young woman thought her talents were being recognised, turns into trauma. And also into a terrible non-choice: speak and be that girl hounded out of ones chosen profession, or else keep a silence about someone elses revolting secret, that weighs on ones mouth and heart endlessly, like stone.

Now, as voices are being raised, the fact that perpetrators stalk and silence, buy off lawyers, intimidate and threaten victims often for decades becomes established. If you are alone and describe this, you are a conspiracy theorist. En masse, though, we start to see a system at work.

There is one answer to this. Move this discussion out of the realm of emotion and outrage and novels of manners, and into the arena of crime. Do it in public. File police reports. Record the calls. After consulting a lawyer in your country, consider naming your assailant online. You may not get a conviction, but you make impunity harder. The next victim will have a paper trail to support her.

Ask the online community to keep pressure on police departments to investigate and be accountable for complaints against alleged rapists and sexual abusers. The rate for false accusations is the same for sex crime as for any other crime arson, fraud.

I actually believe in a Name your assailant day, in which women go to police together, to support one another in filing reports. It doesnt matter if you are outside the statute of limitations. You may not be able to prosecute your own abuser. But the report will be on the record.

Last year I filed a police report about my own long-ago assault, after receiving a threat (not from my assailant), having previously filed a formal grievance at the university where the assault took place. I filed the report at the New Haven Police Department. It was lost. I filed it again in April. There is now an open investigation. I am not saying this process is easy. But it is critical.

The women who have spoken out are so brave. If they can possibly bear to, even just one or two need to call the California and NY district attorneys. It requires a victim to file. They need us to support them, comfort them, listen to them, raise money for their counsel.

Meanwhile Weinstein, in his rehab centre in Arizona, is counting on peoples energies dying down as some new drama takes the place of this rend in the fabric of patriarchy.

But whether he is prosecuted or not is not the only turning point. The turning point will be when every girl and boy, woman or man, who is assaulted, abused, forcibly touched knows the law and know in his or her bones that these actions are crimes. When victims refuse shame and refuse to bear the burden of the perverse and unbelievable things perpetrators have done to them. When victims demand that the criminal justice system hears their complaints and acts on them.

When perpetrators planning to get that next young, hopeful woman alone to hurt her, finally think twice about their demonic business as usual because they know that she has an invisible army, standing with the force of law behind her.

Naomi Wolf is an author and CEO of DailyClout, a platform to make laws socially shareable

Read more: http://ift.tt/2gEz0Fn

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[myviewofstarwars-blog]

Star Wars Celebration 2017.

As I write this, it’s 4 AM on a Tuesday morning.  I should be asleep.  It was nearly a week ago today my great friend, Nat, and I began our drive from Springfield, Missouri to Orlando, Florida. Our final destination of course; Star Wars Celebration.  After 16 hours on the road we arrived in Orlando.  Nat and I picked up the rest of our group, Kyle, Salomon, and Gio from the airport and we made our way to the Orange County Convention Center.

How do I begin to describe such an incredibly special event?  The magnitude of this convention was something I could have never imagined.  The amount of people attending was eye opening.  Sure, we all know how popular Star Wars is, but it’s the fans dedication to it which makes it amazing.

The first big event was the 40th anniversary panel on Thursday morning.  If we wanted to have any chance to watch it live, we had to camp in the convention center the night before. Once we got through security, we were put in massive queue line that was partitioned off in a big left to right pattern.  People camped out with camping chairs and sleeping bags.  In all honesty, it looked more like a refugee camp than a Star Wars Convention.  As 1 AM approached, the party started.  Disney brought out a DJ who played dance music and got the crowd hyped up.  People danced and had a great time.  There was even a “King of the Hill” style light saber fight among those who wished to participate.  Which, by the way, the writer of this article was the winner. Bring it on, Ray Park!  I’m ready to kick some Darth Maul ass!  Did I mention Deadpool was there?

Sadly, the first day, wasn’t without issues.  Before I get too deep into this subject, I’m not going to turn this into a finger pointing rant.  I would not know where to begin when it comes trying to organize a massive convention like this.  As I said, we waited overnight to get into the 40th anniversary panel;, so we would be guaranteed a spot to the stage.  This did not happen for our group.  Although we did get into auditorium where the panel was live streamed.  It was better than nothing.  So, what happened?  I hate to say, but some fans waiting after us figured out a way to circumvent the line. Wrist-bands were handed out and some folks figured out a way to get ahead of those who waited overnight. How this happened, I have no idea. But, there it is.  All I can say is I hope lessons were learned and the organizers can improve things for the next Celebration.

The 40th anniversary panel had so many great surprises.  To see George Lucas, the man who seemed to have sworn off his own creation, happily attending felt so good. Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill, and nearly the entire old cast was perfect.  Of course, the one person we miss so dearly, Carrie Fisher was spoken about extensively.  Her daughter, Billie Lourd, gave an impactful and personal speech that didn’t leave a dry eye in the room.  The last part of the panel was something no one expected.   A huge curtain right of the stage moved away to reveal an full orchestra and a conductor.  The man slowly turned to wave at the audience… It was the iconic John Williams. Never in my life did I think I would see the man play live!  Once the crowd realized it was him, a standing ovation and cheers from the crowd erupted.  What was a crazy sight to see and watch how much control he had over us all the fans.  In the midst of us the cheering, he turned toward us the crowd again, smiling he put his finger to the front of his mouth asking for silence.  I’ve never heard a room so loud, get so quiet in such a short amount of time.  The orchestra played all of our favorite Star Wars music to close out the panel. It was perfection.

We moved on to exhibit floor. The booths, the Cosplay, the droids rolling around as if we were really in the Star Wars universe;  it was nothing short of breathtaking.  There is was so much to do and see, you really do need the 4 days to take it all in.  The area that attracted me most was the art section.  I’m already an art nerd, so I was very happy.  To meet the artists was a real treat for me. If I were a rich man, I would have bought every art piece there.  No joke.  My house would have looked like a Star Wars museum.  The cosplayers not only looked amazing, but were so gracious with people wanting to take pictures and ask questions.  I’ve been seriously considering making some for myself.  Meeting the Mandalorian Mercs has really inspired me to make some Mondo armor.  

The next big panel was The Last Jedi Panel. This was another overnight camp out.  So, yes, we lived in the convention center for 2 days.  I will tell you now; it was 100% worth it.  In the middle of the night, Rian Johnson, the director of The Last Jedi, came out and visited all of us staying overnight.  He made the rounds in the line and began to sign autographs.  Here is why this guy is amazing.  A line formed for his autograph and he stayed until every person who wanted one it got it one. Nearly 4 hours later, he made his way out.  That night alone showed the fans that Rian Johnson isn’t just a director, he’s one of us.

In the morning, we made our way into The Last Jedi panel!  I’ll get right to it, this room was alive. Kathleen Kennedy, Rian Johnson, Daisy Ridley, John Boyega, Mark Hamill, and new to Star Wars Kelly Marie Tran, were all in attendance.  Josh Gad made for a smart and hilarious host.  You can watch it on YouTube, so I won’t get too deep into the interviews.  I want to move right to the poster reveal.  What an absolutely beautiful, dark, and meaningful poster.  It’s simple yet says so much. The saber going from blue into red is ominous.  Then, the trailer was shown.  WOW.  “It’s time for the Jedi to end”. What an absolute gut punch to hear from Luke. Go watch it. You will be amazed.  When the lights came up, Rian Johnson came out on stage.  People were cheering, screaming, clapping.  He asked us, “Do you want to see it again?”  Obviously!  So we all watched it again with the utmost attention.  Looking for details we missed the first time.  The trailer did a perfect job of not giving away too many plot details but getting everyone excited for what’s to come.

Other special experiences were meeting Ashley Eckstein, the voice of Ahsoka.  She baked cupcakes and yes, they are as amazing as people say.  I also got to shake hands with Sam Witwer.  We watched the Collider Jedi Council Show live show.  Met and spoke to Perri Nimeroff and Mark Ellis from Collider. Speaking of Jedi council, we made it on the show! You can see us stand up and the Collider crew clapping for us when Sal told them about the Jedi Council Facebook Fan Page hitting over 14k members. Lastly, Sal and Nat getting a signed Timothy Zahn signed Thrawn Poster and Barns and Noble exclusive Thrawn book for me.

Finally, I want to talk about what was the best part for me on this trip.  It wasn’t the famous people I got to see or some piece of Star Wars merchandise, it was the amazing time I had with my friends.  Nat and I have already been friends for years, but now there was Saloman, Gio, Kyle, and Lance with us.  We’re all very different people, with different life experiences.  Yet we bonded and formed a friendship that is hard to come by.  There was one night where we laughed for over 2 hours as some of the stupidest jokes.  The only part missing, was the rest of the Admin Holocron crew.  But damn, what a fantastic time. We were also part of one of the most special parts in Star Wars history, the 40th Anniversary.

I cannot wait to do it again with all of them.

Until next time, thank you! And may the force be with you, always.

John McGrath

[trendingnewsb]

The voices of Weinsteins accusers have torn the fabric of patriarchy | Naomi Wolf

Testimonies are pouring out from women everywhere. We must grasp this moment, and never return to the culture of silence, says writer and author Naomi Wolf

There are many shocks following on from this weeks reports of the sexual violations and rapes allegedly committed by film producer Harvey Weinstein. One shock for me is about the language used by the media to describe them. Almost all early reports referred to victimisation as sexual harassment.

Weinsteins alleged acts involved quid pro quo offers, requests to be watched in the shower and for massages, naked pursuits of targets around couches. Such actions are sexual harassment.

But they are not just harassment. These are criminal acts that, if proved, would lead to jail time not just fines and wrist-slapping. Language out of a Henry James novel made it sound as if rape was like using the wrong fork: Mistreatment of women, misbehaviour, indiscretions. Or misconduct, like a bad orchestra. Reporters used episode or the 70s-ish, hot tub-ish, encounter.

Its likely that media lawyers advised reporters to use softer terms. But if you are reporting on a hate crime assault, you dont inform readers accurately by calling it a racial encounter.

Shocking too is how district attorneys have failed to react. The New York Times and New Yorker exposs include reports of many alleged crimes in two jurisdictions: California and New York. I believe that basic information about the laws regarding sex crime and abuse are rarely explained to women, and this perpetuates a situation in which sexual assault is treated as a cultural event blurred lines when in fact criminal law is clear.

In New York state, any unwanted sexual contact is sexual abuse. In California, any unwanted sexual touching is sexual assault or sexual battery punishable by prison terms of six to 12 months. In both states, coercing someone into sex is sexual assault. Forcing someone to submit to oral sex, as actor and director Asia Argento alleged of Weinstein, is a felony. When someone chases a target around furniture, while he is naked, with exits from the room locked, this is arguably stalking and kidnapping.

When someone exposes himself in a public place such as a restaurant, and masturbates, as Fox reporter Lauren Sivan recounted, it is public lewdness, a class B misdemeanour. If he or she intentionally exposes the private or intimate parts of his or her body in a lewd manner for the purpose of alarming or seriously annoying such person it is a class A misdemeanour; six months, and usually placement on the registered sex offenders list.

Also, these events have widely been discussed as if they are history. But the statute of limitations is still open. In New York, the statute for sexual assault is five years, but there is no statute for rape. You can bring charges until you or your rapist dies. In California, a 2017 law, passed after the Bill Cosby allegations, extended the statute of limitations to for ever. And to six years for assaults that took place prior to 2017. In the UK, there is no statute of limitations for serious sexual crimes. UK victims can bring charges forever.

Most of these women, in other words, could press charges today, even if their assaults happened years ago.

Ambra Gutierrez, an Italian model, wore a hidden recording device in 2015 to document the fact that an assault had occurred in her previous meeting with Weinstein. In an act of courage, this woman went back into danger. But DA Cyrus Vances office did not then pursue the case because, a statement said, it couldnt establish intent. This week, it was reported that, months later, Vance was gifted $10,000 for his reelection campaign by one of Harvey Weinsteins lawyers.

Had Weinstein boarded a plane to Switzerland this week, as he was reportedly planning to do, that too may have constituted a crime: obstruction of justice. Resisting arrest. Flight. These are felonies or common law crimes.

But because our power brokers want to keep sexual assault in the realm of the uncomfortable or the disgusting, rather than the criminal, Weinstein was not told not to leave town. Only on Thursday was it announced that police in New York and London are taking action following the reports. Meanwhile, Weinstein headed to Arizona, to sex rehab, with yoga and equine therapy. But rehab is a choice, not a confrontation with the criminal justice system.

Another important legal question is what the Weinstein board knew, and when. In a statement earlier this week, the board said it was surprised by the revelations and that, Any suggestion that the board had knowledge of this conduct is false.

But then attorney David Boies gave a painful interview in which, in a lawyerly way, he identified the many things that the board did know. If board members knew about allegations, but continued to do business, without disclosure, this could also have violated codes for public companies.

Bill Cosby, pictured in June 2017. Photograph: Matt Rourke/AP

Yet there are positives to be taken from this eruption of testimony. One is the power of what happens when women come forward, name their abusers and identify themselves. I have been saying for years that anonymity for victims, which is touted as a feminist perk, is in fact a toxic guarantee of rape culture. Change will only happen when women name themselves as victims in public and also name their abusers. Anonymity allows for impunity.

This is not to blame women for not coming forward sooner. The reasons Weinsteins accusers held back are only too obvious. But seeing Gutierrez put herself in danger to report a crime; seeing Argento put online the disturbing scene she filmed for her movie, which is based on her alleged assault, is transformational.

Patriarchy has managed to direct attention always at the victim. What was she wearing? Is she crazy? Is she in love with him? What is her motivation? Why doesnt she just drop it? Is she a good or bad girl? This protects not only rapists but also institutions universities, workplaces in a patriarchy that runs on impunity for rapist and abusers, and for their boards, their deans, their trustees, their gatekeepers.

But when women come forward with their own names and stories something that social media allows in an especially effective way attention can turn to where it should be. We see how common it is for perpetrators to have a modus operandi; how frequently they groom a victim, make sure to get her alone, intimidate and coerce her. We see how a perpetrator creates a situation that a young woman may think she can manage or at least survive, and then suddenly, terrifyingly, he lunges, overpowers, demeans, violates her. Such assaults can result in the death of a young womans sense of self, vocation, possibility, future life and dreams.

An essay this week in the New Yorker by Jia Tolentino speaks about the familiar sadness that almost every woman can relate to, of how a moment in which a young woman thought her talents were being recognised, turns into trauma. And also into a terrible non-choice: speak and be that girl hounded out of ones chosen profession, or else keep a silence about someone elses revolting secret, that weighs on ones mouth and heart endlessly, like stone.

Now, as voices are being raised, the fact that perpetrators stalk and silence, buy off lawyers, intimidate and threaten victims often for decades becomes established. If you are alone and describe this, you are a conspiracy theorist. En masse, though, we start to see a system at work.

There is one answer to this. Move this discussion out of the realm of emotion and outrage and novels of manners, and into the arena of crime. Do it in public. File police reports. Record the calls. After consulting a lawyer in your country, consider naming your assailant online. You may not get a conviction, but you make impunity harder. The next victim will have a paper trail to support her.

Ask the online community to keep pressure on police departments to investigate and be accountable for complaints against alleged rapists and sexual abusers. The rate for false accusations is the same for sex crime as for any other crime arson, fraud.

I actually believe in a Name your assailant day, in which women go to police together, to support one another in filing reports. It doesnt matter if you are outside the statute of limitations. You may not be able to prosecute your own abuser. But the report will be on the record.

Last year I filed a police report about my own long-ago assault, after receiving a threat (not from my assailant), having previously filed a formal grievance at the university where the assault took place. I filed the report at the New Haven Police Department. It was lost. I filed it again in April. There is now an open investigation. I am not saying this process is easy. But it is critical.

The women who have spoken out are so brave. If they can possibly bear to, even just one or two need to call the California and NY district attorneys. It requires a victim to file. They need us to support them, comfort them, listen to them, raise money for their counsel.

Meanwhile Weinstein, in his rehab centre in Arizona, is counting on peoples energies dying down as some new drama takes the place of this rend in the fabric of patriarchy.

But whether he is prosecuted or not is not the only turning point. The turning point will be when every girl and boy, woman or man, who is assaulted, abused, forcibly touched knows the law and know in his or her bones that these actions are crimes. When victims refuse shame and refuse to bear the burden of the perverse and unbelievable things perpetrators have done to them. When victims demand that the criminal justice system hears their complaints and acts on them.

When perpetrators planning to get that next young, hopeful woman alone to hurt her, finally think twice about their demonic business as usual because they know that she has an invisible army, standing with the force of law behind her.

Naomi Wolf is an author and CEO of DailyClout, a platform to make laws socially shareable

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