#Like I get it when people say that if they allow decals and flags like that into the game then maybe more insidious people can

[some-pers0n]

They removed the trans and bi flags from the Engie cosmetic it's so over

[yuzukult]

crush 02 | jww & oc/reader

title: crush 02 / part of the attacca series pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader/oc (ft. seokmin) rating: 16+ (mentions of sex, but no act of sex) genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, racecar driver!au, mechanic!au wc: 5.2k summary: all he knows are fast rides, drag-strips, and speed ovals until he meets you, someone that’s got his heart racing instead of his car. warnings: explicit language, smoking, suggestive content (but nothing follows through), mentions of sex a/n: yes i know im better at updating this than ybny but what of it

You could almost feel the piercing glare that lasers in the direction of Wonwoo from Seokmin.

They exchange glances, both adjusting the shield attached to their helmets in unison. Hopping in, they both start their routine the same: pulling their seatbelt over themselves, clicking it into the plug connector—the front clip, rear clip, and middle section for security.

While Wonwoo’s car has a matte black body with a white circle decal of his designated number five, Seokmin sports a flashy lime green with a three spray painted on the side. Their vehicles are slimmer than the ones on the streets; there’s barely room for another passenger, the roll cage taking up majority of the inside, nose of the car tapered and pointed for the best aerodynamic features, and the suspension is low to allow less air to allow them to stick to the ground.

Or so, that’s what Seokmin says.

You don’t really understand the mumbo jumbo about racing.

But what you do understand is that everything happens quickly. 

Their engines start with a roar, a soft rumble following, with smoke puffing out of their exhaust pipe like a bull kicking their feet against the dirt with a bellow and gruff, except in lieu, it’s on an asphalt road with drivers. The crowd goes wild, waving their banners and flags, displaying visuals of their favorite racers and teams on their attire, tearing up the merchandise stands and tossing their money in the sellers’ way. You never really understood the temptation to overly purchase on celebrity goods, but with the smile that stretches across the audiences’ faces, it’s hard to argue why not to.

The cars begin to leave their pits, one by one, and into their grid positions. You recalled a time where a guy who competed against Seokmin had been running late—apparently from stumbling out of a hook-up’s apartment the night before, realizing she lived across town which was a hike to get here. That’s when you guiltily learn about how when cars don’t leave their pit on time, the drivers have to start from there… after the field completed their first lap.

The personnel finally shuffle off the tracks when they complete their final touches, and that’s when you spot Seokmin in the midst of the chaos. He does a slight wave, and it brings warmth into your chest until you realize the girl in a neon yellow crop top that stands beside you who waves back. 

What’s the human traffic cone doing here?

You want to be mad, you truly do, but there’s always a part of you that remains soft for Lee Seokmin. The way he drops the shield of his helmet, attaching his steering wheel into its slot, and doing that shoulder raise of his that becomes habitual, everything about him makes you feel vulnerable.

But your thoughts and feelings are immediately interrupted at the sight of Jeon Wonwoo waving to you instead.

He’s… infectious, you’re slowly beginning to learn. When he smiles, it’s enough for the people in proximity to imitate. His eyes curve into half moon crescents, shining brightly just as they do in the night sky, and when you don’t immediately return the greeting, he chuckles in amusement instead of annoyance. He treats his team like they’re his friends, pointing at them prior to getting into his car earlier, teasingly saying, “No modding, right? It’s a stock car, gotta be built just for this. It ain’t supposed to be like those machines you’re ridin’ on late night cruises with a babe in the passenger seat,” as the boys laugh in unison before shoving him away. 

You slowly wave back.

Wonwoo only grins wider before popping down the cover of his helmet.

You notice the lineup—as the cars begin their positions one by one, you realize Wonwoo’s vehicle is placed last and Seokmin is located in the top five. With a nudge, you gesture with your chin to the cars on the speedway with your tongue poking your cheek. “Chan. Why’s Wonwoo last?”

“He didn’t race in the tournament two weeks ago,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wonwoo only qualified because one of the sponsors for the cup saw him race in the streets that same week. But because of the rules, that means he can’t be placed anywhere near the top.”

Nodding slowly, you open the lid of your thermos. The steam fills the air, brushing against your nose, and you tap your pointer finger against the stainless steel. Impressive, you think, because you’ve heard of the stories of how difficult it was for Seokmin to get his way here. The constant begging, the bugging, and the praying—he had to find people that had even an ounce of belief in him to invest in him so he could get to where he wanted to be.

But Wonwoo didn’t jump those same hurdles as Seokmin.

Seokmin knows the deal. He memorizes the track like the back of his hand; where the tight turns are, when the perfect and exact moment to drift, and how to move just close enough to his opponents to intimidate them. He’s known to be able to determine the required timing for every motion, down to the second of when he’s supposed to have his foot pushing down the accelerator. 

Seokmin was a professional.

His favorite thing about driving a stock car is the only thing he loves about driving stock cars. The way the gearshift falls into the palm of his hand is swift—there’s no hesitation and the evident comfort is there. It’s his strongest suit, behind the wheel of a vehicle with a manual 4-speed transmission, switching gears when he knows right when the perfect millisecond would be. 

It’s not the same as riding on the highway, wind blowing through his hair with the smell of the ocean salty air infiltrating his senses, and it’s not the same as weaving through the traffic of a busy city. He gets to push his limits here, see how far he can go, and the rush he gets is one that can’t be replicated. 

The car is heavy duty—engines 3.5x faster than regulation cars. He can accelerate the car from 0 to 60 in the matter of seconds; the sound of the soft zoom from the engine revving, the stiffening of his body, and tightened grip on the leather steering wheel has become a feeling Seokmin has grown addicted to.

It gives him a blast from the past. Speed had always been a priority; recalling how his onyx grease stained hands were from all the constant modifications on cars in a garage. He could hear an older male, around his early thirties, yelling in his ear about how fast he needs to go, and that it was Seokmin’s job to make it happen.

Now? He’s the one demanding it.

On the oval track, he’s so used to his competition’s habits. They’re repetitive, he learns, all his opponents seemingly never finding themselves in a situation where maybe they should change their tactics. They’re the same. They never change.

And honestly? It gets a little boring.

Releasing the pressure on the clutch, he pushes the sole of his shoes flat against the accelerator. He shifts the gears readily, weaving through the crowd of cars that he “allows” to pass him initially, letting himself fall behind just so he could catch up. A little bit of entertainment doesn’t hurt, right? Notably when the trophy isn’t up for grabs for anyone else anyways.

Lee Seokmin is made for racing. A smirk pulls on the side of his lips, eyes darken and zeroing onto the end of the lap when he notices an unfamiliar car in his side view mirror.

Jeon Wonwoo.

His skin burns—and it’s not from the sun piercing through the window. Every time he sees—no, even hears Wonwoo’s name, he can’t help but seethe with anger. How dare he enter the tournament, especially all that he’s said about those with money and race professionally? The audacity of Wonwoo, stepping onto Seokmin’s turf, like he owns the track when this is merely his first taste of professionally racing.

He’s good, Seokmin admits. Wonwoo expeditiously glides between the cars fluidly, no hesitation with each move, turning and drifting at the right parts of the oval tracks. He doesn’t let the competition scare him, in fact, he looks… comfortable behind the wheel. The expression on his face doesn’t display anything concerning, and if he was anxious, he was good at keeping a facade. 

Seokmin inhales deeply. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.

Seokmin snatches onto the clutch. His brand new shoes lay flat against the metal pedal; eyes narrowing in onto the finish line. Freshly painted and he could almost smell the chemicals from the spray can, his chronic need to inhale in that scent of victory, the sound of the crowd cheering his name, as the flag waves behind him after he crosses the line. He doesn’t just want it–he needs it. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, the heat gusting over his shield that nearly blinds him for a brief moment. Switching the gear quickly, he does it automatically as if the car is one with him, an extension of his arm. “Jeon Wonwoo can’t fucking win.”

Here’s a thing about Lee Seokmin.

Whatever Lee Seokmin wants…

Lee Seokmin gets.

“Fuck off,” he growls under his helmet, moving side to side to block off Wonwoo from cutting him off. 

It doesn’t take long for Seokmin to pass the finish line as the flag waves down.

He sucks in his cheeks in content, a smirk tugging on his lips as he eases into his station, slipping out of his seat and tossing off his helmet. He waves to the crowd who cheer his name. 

Body shot with a wave of dopamine, he feels like he’s conquered it all. All the rejections, the doubters, and his haters—they used to fuel him with rage but they now give him a sense of relief. Without them, he wouldn’t be where he is now, arms up and encouraging the crowd more. This is it for him. Everything he has ever wanted, all in one stadium.

When Wonwoo hops out of his car, his eyes meet with Seokmin’s.

Expecting Wonwoo to be pissed, Seokmin has his fists resting at his sides, but when he sees that gratified smile on his face, confusion washes over his face.

Is he really satisfied with losing?

Seokmin will never understand Wonwoo—from the past when he went by Dokyeom up until now, he can’t loop his head around the fact that Wonwoo race but at the same time, he doesn’t understand why Wonwoo still preferred to keep his hands stained with black while underneath a car.

Deciding to shove the thoughts away, he turns back to the sea of people calling his name. Wonwoo doesn’t matter now, especially since Seokmin won the tournament. Nobody is better than him.

“I didn’t know you were a racer racer.”

“I didn’t know you were a Kyeom stan. Seems like a lotta info was missed over our text exchange,” he grins with a playful tone, hands in the fronts of his pockets. “I don’t judge. Kinda wish you were on my team though.”

He’s out of his overalls by now, in the comforts of his blue jeans and black t-shirt. Wonwoo looks more like himself; the ruffled hair, metal rim glasses that sits atop the bridge of his nose, and the genuine smile on his face is welcoming. Being behind the wheel of that car didn’t feel like him—the look he’s sporting  while standing beside his Prius feels right.

“Are you disappointed?” You ask teasingly–what was that? Was that… an attempt at… flirting? This isn’t like you, and the fact that Wonwoo effortlessly pulls you out of your comfort zone without you noticing is appalling. It’s barely been a night. “I um,” you clear your throat, straightening your posture when you catch yourself in the midst of the act. “I um, I didn’t really want to be here, I was requested to be.”

“Mm, possibly,” he answers, pearly whites all out on display. “But I think with a lil’ convincing, it won’t be too hard to get you to come over to my side. What do you take for bribes? A sweatshirt? I can whip up one.”

“Hm, I’m thinkin’ socks.”

He nods approvingly. “Socks, socks. I think I could do that. What do you want on it? My name, my car? Or what about my face? An iron-on picture of my face on your ankles?”

You quirk a brow.

Wonwoo laughs, shaking his head. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But, I gotta admit that I am a bit disappointed that you’re Kyeom’s lucky charm.”

“You want me to be your lucky charm then?”

“Nah, I just want you to be a cheerleader in the stands for me. I’m already winning if you’re on my side.”

Oh. Is that heat rising to your cheeks? Touching the side of your face, you feel the warmth radiating despite the cool air hitting your skin. “I–Oh. That…”

“I’m kidding,” he reiterates, the soft look on his face is enough to cause the butterflies to release in your stomach. “So… did Kyeom come and thank you yet? You know, for being here and helping him win. For someone being their good luck charm, he seems to be taking you for granted.”

You wave him off–it’s almost an instinct to defend Seokmin even when you don’t have a good reason to be. “Oh, pft. Please. He doesn’t need to thank me. I… I came willingly.” Not a lie–you did come willingly. But, what… is a lie is that you sorta… feel like you want to be thanked. Not with a huge extravagant gift or a heartfelt card, but a simple “thank you! You coming means so much to me,” would’ve been nice. Acknowledgement! Any kind. Watching him walk off with a girl after every event wasn’t really making him feel appreciated.

“Mm,” he hums, nodding slowly. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he doesn’t probe any further. “Well, I thank you for being in the audience today. It was nice having a familiar face around, especially since this is new for me.”

Your lips curl up unconsciously. “You're welcome, then. Glad I could be that for you.”

As the two of you walk outside of the arena, a bright yellow car is parked by the curb. “Well, this is me.”

Startled, you point at the car then at Wonwoo. “This… This neon yellow Prius–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he whips out the key fob, and with a click of a button, the Prius’ lights go off with two beeps. “This lovely, cute car with a great personality is mine. I know what you’re thinking—”

“This is so funny.”

“It’s such an attractive–what? Funny?” You know that he’s joking when his lips curl up. “Well, maybe next time I can show you around with my whip. It’s not necessarily a Corvette, but I’m sure we can have just as much fun as some other racer with a flamboyant car.

“Mm,” you hum in response teasingly, eyes narrowing as you cross your arms and tap your chin with your finger. “We’ll see. I may have to up your offer. What other cars do you think you can show me that in?”

Wonwoo smiles sweetly, hopping into his car with a wink. “I got a Ford F-250,” he says, shutting the door before rolling down the window. “See you later then, yeah? Since I don’t think that Kyeom would let me drive you home.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you feel the heat rush to your cheeks. “I don’t think ‘Kyeom,’”—the name is unfamiliar when it falls off your tongue but the context remains the same—“determines who I can hang out with.” Why are you flirting so boldly? This doesn’t feel like you. 

“Really?” Wonwoo says, a brow raised in amusement. “So… it wouldn’t be a bad thing if we went on that date soon?”

“I… I’m not sure if–”

“She’ll go.”

Both you and Wonwoo turn your head to the culprit of the voice, only to find Lee Chan standing there with the brightest grin plastered across his face. “She’ll go, and if her car breaks down, I’ll even pick her up to meet you.”

You turn to glare at Chan – the lasers darting from your eyes could pierce through his skin and burn it with a hiss, but he could care less. To Chan, if there’s a sliver of hope for you to move on, to find anyone else that isn’t Seokmin, he wants you to dive for it. 

“Chan –”

“Hear me out,” he begins, showing his hands. “What’s wrong with a harmless date?”

Looking over at Wonwoo, he only cheekily smiles as he rests his chin on his car door. “What can I say? People like me. But regardless of that, don’t feel like you gotta accept a date from me if you don’t wanna. No pressure–I know that there might be somethin’ between you and Kyeom, I just didn’t know if it was somethin’ you were plannin’ on pursuin’.”

Inhaling in a deep breath to calm your nerves, you pick at your fingertips. It’s true, there’s nothing wrong with going on one date with Wonwoo. Plus, just the last thing he says alone gives away that he’s exactly that–respectful, honest, and… it’s harmless. It’s not like you’re committing to be his long-term girlfriend or are agreeing to wed.

“I–Okay. I’m… I’d be interested in a date.”

That stupid grin of his grows even wider. How’s he this adorable without even trying?

“Great! Then… I’ll text you then?” 

“Sounds good,” you reply back before you exchange your goodbyes and he drives off in that traffic cone Prius.

“You realize you’re only causing trouble when you tell me that I should date Wonwoo, right?”

Chan freezes before the loaded hot dog—cheese, relish, ketchup, mustard, and the shack’s famous in-house chili to top it off—reaches his mouth, and he blinks blankly at your question. “I… What?”

You swipe your finger on the droplet of chili that falls into the red striped disposable paper tray. Slipping it into your mouth, you pull your lips into a straight line. Salty. “Seokmin, you know. He doesn’t even like Wonwoo, and if he ever found out that you were trying to nudge me in his direction, you’re fucked.”

Chan rolls his eyes, saying his final words so he could shove a portion of the hot dog into his mouth. “Not like he’s seeing other girls or anything.”

Stealing the fry that sits in the basket at the center of the table, you let out a heavy sigh. There’s a part of you that still clings onto the what-ifs when it comes to Seokmin, but when Chan is here, attempting to lure you into another man’s arms, you’re not sure if this is the right thing to do. 

“Do you really think I should go through with the whole Wonwoo thing?”

Chan looks at you with disbelief. His cheeks are full like a chipmunk’s, but he still reaches for a fry and stuffs it into his mouth. “Seokmin scares me, yeah, but I'd rather you be happy. So, if Wonwoo is that potential case, I’ll be here to back you up—even if I lose my already ‘special privileges’ with Seokmin.”

You eye the younger male carefully. He makes a statement when he declares something like that, and you wonder with all the passion he feels for you finding someone new, if other people saw it from the perspective he does. “Is it really that bad?” 

He sighs, pulling his lips into a straight line as he slowly nods his head. It’s not the answer you were expecting, but it’s one you’ve gradually come to accept. “I want you to be happy,” he reiterates once more. “And Seokmin can’t do that for you.”

So, maybe you’ll go on this date with him. One time wouldn’t hurt, right?

Seokmin is the main reason for your hesitance and he always is. But when you get a glimpse of him from across the stadium, arm around the flag girl with a smirk dressed upon his lips, your reluctance dissipates and reality sinks in once again.

If Seokmin isn’t ready for you, then you wouldn’t be ready for him either.

The taste of victory permeates all his senses; each time he crosses that line with the pretty gal in a short skirt while waving a flag isn’t the only benefit of racing, but the amount of zeros behind the first digit that gets cashed into his bank account is the fundamental cause.

For Seokmin, this lifestyle is a dream. The days where he laid underneath a car, sliding in and out on a creeper with grease stained hands and soiled clothes are long gone–he could recall those moments he’d pull his clothes out from the wash and question where the origins of the blemishes were. Some new, some old, he didn’t quite remember, but what he knew was that he couldn’t afford to buy a new wardrobe. He didn’t own a single spotless shirt.

And here he is, present day, at a private table of one of the most expensive clubs in the city with a Huge Boss suit and Gucci black leather oxfords. Seokmin only purchases top shelf liquor; swirling the drink in his hand, the ice clacks against the glass adequately as he watches a pretty girl dance on the main floor with eyes glued onto him. 

He brings the cup to his lips, the cool whiskey on the rocks reaching to his lips, sweet when it hits his tongue and smooth when it slides down his throat.

The quick arch of his brow is an invitation for her introduction.

“Hey,” she says, voice silky as she slides onto the couch beside Seokmin. “Rumor has it, you’re a racecar driver.”

Of course he’s a race car driver—he loves hearing the saccharine words of achievement leave from people’s lips. He’s a professional, accomplishing a goal that people consistently told him would be hard to reach. Now with his arms resting on the back of the sofa at a high end club with girls practically lining up to sit on his dick, he’s gone beyond what he chased for.

He couldn’t ask for anything more than this — other than more money, of course. 

“I am,” he smirks, patting the cushion beside him. “Want me to order you a drink? In exchange, you can tell me your name.”

As she giggles over a fancy mixed drink (he doesn’t even know what she got, all he knows is that it’s pink with an orange slice on the rim and it’s making her eyes swirling with intoxication), he tells her about driving on the track and how it feels to have a crowd of people cheering his name. 

Then the thought of Wonwoo appears in his mind.

It wasn’t always like this—the sharp eyes, fire burning in lieu of the chocolate irises; Jeon Wonwoo was a friend he admired in the past. They both worked together—in a body shop that seemed simple on the outside, providing service for regular people and nothing more.

But there was definitely more beneath the surface.

All the illegal activity that went on behind the scenes is what made Seokmin leave. He was welcomed into the car shop and stayed when they offered him training, learning so much from a team that he looked up to, only to realize that he’d been a part of a scheme he never wanted to be in. Wonwoo was one of the guys who held the information back. And Seokmin swears he won’t forgive Wonwoo for that.

Truthfully, he should’ve suspected something when on the first day, one of the mechanics named LNY (which Seokmin later learned wasn’t even his initials, it fucking stood for Lunar New Year and he would never learn that guy’s real name) advised Seokmin to come up with a pseudonym for working hours and any association to the auto shop. That’s when he came up with Dokyeom. Realistic enough, but far from his birth name in avoidance of putting his family in danger.

“Mm, I looooove peaches,” the girl sings, and honestly, he already forgot her name but he knows what flavor her drink is. 

“Sweet,” he grins, thumb pressing against the corner of her lips. She doesn’t have anything there, but it’s rather charming for a guy to pretend to wipe something off a girl’s cheek, right? “Kinda like you. Can I call you that for the night? Peaches.”

Her cheeks flush pink as she nods slowly.

Hook.

Line.

“I bet your lips taste like them too.”

Sinker.

Needless to say, Seokmin can report the next morning that her lips were indeed sweet like peaches.

He admits he doesn’t think of you on these nights; his thoughts are disgusting and disrespectful for someone who promised himself to end up with another. Fumigating his head would be the only route in making himself even remotely good enough for you — even he knows that.

But nonetheless, there’s something in him that plagues these ideas that this is what he wants, despite the empty promises he makes you. In his mind, there’s this fucked up mentality that you��ll stay, regardless of what decisions he’s made and what girls he picks up because that’s just it—he knows you’ll stick around.

The girl in his sheets that night creates a temporary bliss for him. It’s exhilarating, being able to swoon a woman into his home on a late night out with words and touches as intoxicating as the alcohol she indulges in earlier that night. Just like driving on a racetrack, it has his adrenaline rushing, and he craves for more.

“Gasp!” she exclaims in unison with the drop of her fork. It clangs against the porcelain plates, and you’re just grateful that she didn’t chip or break anything. “You’re joking. You’re going on a date?”

“Would you hush, P?” You shoot back, grabbing her utensils and pushing it far from the other dishware on the table. “I know you’re shocked, but you don’t gotta be dramatic.”

P’s your best friend–P being the initial of her legal name that she forbids anyone from using. She’s told you at least once before what it was, only because on a trip to Cancun, customs yelled it out when she filled out the form with the duty free limit nearly reached. “P****?” you recalled reiterating, and P was so quick to hush you. (Yes, you realize that every time you try to censor her name, it just looks like you’re redacting genitalia. But that’s besides the point). P works for one of the biggest luxury designers in the world–attending parties, runway shows, fashion weeks–name it, and she’s done it all.

Except design her own line and bring her boss the correct coffee order. “Who the fuck orders a matcha latte with six pumps of vanilla, two scoops of protein powder and three egg yolks? Of course I fucking get the order wrong. I don’t think any local coffee shop even has raw egg yolks on hand.”

“No, no no, I-I think P’s got the right reaction,” your other friend says, patting P’s back in assurance. “Last week, you sighed so hard that the lettuce in my salad blew out of my bowl because Seokmin was talking to you while checking out a girl from across the room. You wouldn’t stop gushing over him and now suddenly… there’s a new guy? Where’s you even meet him?”

P slams her elbows onto the table. “I’m with Sunny on this one. Tell us more.”

Sunny is also a nickname (now that you think about it, does anyone go by their actual name?) She earned it for her bubbly nature; generous, bright, and warm, she exhibits behavior that would be like a boost of serotonin or the equivalent of vitamin D for people (or eggs. You read somewhere that two eggs a day provides at least 82% of sunlight for the average person–makes sense why P’s boss is so insistent about getting it). You and P met in high school, friendship lasting up until… well, now, and Sunny was an easy and seamless addition when she got stuck rooming with you and P freshman year.

Rolling your eyes, you plop back into the booth seat. “I just wanna make it clear–it’s just one date. Nothing crazy. Not like he can swoon me off my feet in seconds and all of the sudden I forget everything I promised Seokmin.”

“Promised Seokmin?” P scoffs, waving her pointer finger dramatically. “Mr. Seokmin promised you a handful of things. I don’t see him following your agreement. So why should you? Go on that date with ummm…”

“Wonwoo.”

“Yeah, yeah, with Wonwoo. Speaking of, you got a pic of him?”

You furrow your brows. “What? No. I don’t have a picture of him. What year is it? Why would I keep a picture of him?”

“No, you idiot,” Sunny chimes in, whipping out her phone to open Instagram. “Like, do you have a picture of him on Instagram. Facebook, Twitter–all the social media platforms. Sure, you know he’s real, but is he a psycho?”

“He’s not a psycho,” you add, shoulders slouching in annoyance. Well, you’d hope he isn’t a psycho. The only red flag you saw was that Seokmin doesn’t like him but to be fair, Seokmin himself is a walking red flag. “But… Seokmin hates him.”

P and Sunny’s full, undivided attention is on you. 

“You’re kidding.”

“Why does it matter what he thinks?”

You shrug. “I mean, that’s the one thing I can think of that would be considered a red flag. Seokmin doesn’t like him–but mostly because Wonwoo street races and now he wants to do it professionally.”

P turns back to her own phone and taps away on the screen.

“Okay, but that’s not really a bad sign. So what if Seokmin doesn’t like Wonwoo? Get a taste of his own medicine. We’ve been telling you for what feels like forever that you gotta move on. Like–there are so many candidates out there. Have you even checked dating sites yet? Maia from my International Business Master’s Program met her husband on Tinder. Now, they have a house in the hills, two kids–”

“--Found it!” P interjects, shoving her phone in both your faces. “Jeon Wonwoo. Mechanic–a detail you failed to mention, by the way–and he’s 26, likes KBBQ and oddly enough, for a car guy, doesn’t obsessively post cars.”

Sunny snatches it out of P’s hand. “Oh my god, he’s so cute.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” P exclaims, flailing her arms theatrically. “If you don’t go out with him, I will.”

You let out a sigh. It’s almost equivalent to the one you exasperated at the last outing. “I already told him that I would, so it’s not like I can back out. Plus, Chan was pressuring me! For someone whose eyes practically sparkle when they see Seokmin, he’s so anti-Seokmin when it comes to me.”

“Yeah, because even though he looks up to Seokmin, it’s for racing. That’s all it is. He’s been treating you like shit, love. This story you think will have an ending might not exactly have the word happy in it.”

It doesn’t matter how many times you hear it, it never gets easier with each reminder. P and Sunny have good intentions, Chan does too, but you’re not ready to raise a glass to this so-called tragedy that’s known as you and Seokmin.

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[alicethemasked]

22/23 - Lock/Door

Labyrinths are strange, they come in all shapes and sizes and well, if you think about it what is a labyrinth if not an escape room, of course a lot of people hear me say that and give me a deadpan look, but seriously think about it they are similar interactive puzzles that have the goal of escaping. So when I heard about the place that decided to combine the two to an extent I was fascinated.

It sort of worked as a horror game simulator where you were put in a hallway filled with doors of all kinds, only some were locked and you had to find the keys to them. And some doors lead to dead ends even after the puzzle. It sounded so much fun, and it had good reviews so I knew I had to try it. It was a one person only escape room which was strange given the huge size but hey, who am I to judge? though it was a pain to get a reservation but eventually I managed it. 

The place was normal, a building between a bank and grocery store, I wondered how a labyrinth of that size would even fit into it, but seeing the stairway down as I entered the building answered some of my questions, still strange but an underground room wasn’t too farfetched to me, a part of me wonders if that was my first red flag but this place had glowing reviews even before it made this escape room (escape hallway?) so I feel like my lack of caution was understandable. 

There seemed to be a spooky theme when it came to this place in general which made my assumption of the room being horror game inspired stronger, the reception was gloomy with some cartoony gore decals and some of those sheet ghosts, really the only truly scary thing was the receptionist, they had a mask on it had no real distinct features, no eyes, or anything but a wide smile, it kinda unnerved me, also seemed to have an optical illusion aspect to it as when I entered the hallway it looked like the smile widened.

The hallway itself was… sterile I think fits best in this situation the walls were white and so were the doors and you could only hear the humming of the fluorescent lights, I started trying the doors and lo and behold a lot of them were locked, I’m not going to lie something about all of this, I think they call it liminal? Freaked me out, but hey I spent money on this and the off putting atmosphere felt like it was intentional so I carried on. 

The first room I could actually enter was so different from anything else, you know those christmas movie fireplace living rooms with a large one man sofa? It was like those only without the Christmas decorations of course. I looked everywhere for a key in there, without turning everything on its head of course, that would be poor manners, after all people had to clean this place between guests and a place this big likely required a lot of cleaning. But sadly I found nothing at my first glance, well except for a safe located in the fireplace but I needed the code to it and given the size of the place I doubt that the code was located in that room, so off I went to find another unlocked room.

It was one room after another, all had drastically different themes, even a grave yard one that seemed to actually have a light breeze, I assumed it was an air flowing machine thing, but what did I know, there were obvious keys and hidden ones, what frustrated me beyond end is that despite all the rooms I entered what codes I found or anything like that there was nothing that could be put into the safe I mentioned earlier, I don’t know why that was what I focused so hard on, but I just had to know. 

It was then where I suppose I should’ve noticed that I’d been in the hallways for way longer than I should’ve been allowed to, I mean the website said like three hours, but for some reason I just didn’t, it was strange, I didn’t notice when I got hungry or tired, I know I got like that at some point, I must have. I just needed to find the code to that god forsaken safe, it wasn’t even about the escape anymore.

The longer this journey went the stranger things seemed, everything felt so empty yet all of the different rooms (yes even the grave yard) felt lived in, like I was trespassing, the only room that didn’t feel like that was the fireplace room, that one almost felt like home, which was likely a part of my… I feel like mania is the best word to describe it, was so strong.

It was only when I realized that the hallways had changed where I started to realize that things were not normal. The sterile hallways had turned into what looked like those fancy hallways you see in hotels each door now holding plates with faded out names on them. I could still open some doors but I stopped finding keys to others, it was baffling.

I had also noticed that my arms seemed skinnier than usual, and yes, that I was famished and I was ready to fall asleep like two days ago. It was uncomfortable. I felt like I was dying so I did what felt right to me. I went back to the fireplace room, it still felt homely and I felt like I belonged, I I sat down on the sofa and was ready to pass out, but my brain felt an itch, something felt wrong, but oh so right and I looked back into the fireplace and saw the safe, I had a dumb idea, this place felt like it belonged to me almost so I decided to try my birthday as a code and it opened, and inside was a map and the words “you’re welcome ~The Explorer” written on it.

 I followed the map and found myself back at the reception area of the place, feeling disorientated, the receptionist despite still wearing that creepy smiling mask seemed surprised to see me but I just shook my head and left, I wanted to get home, colour me surprised when I went back to my apartment and found that someone else lived there now, I had somehow been in that blasted labyrinth for three months! It was then I noticed another thing on the map that I still had with me.

A phone number, your phone number, though it did say that the phone number belonged to “the Detective” but given the hostility that name invoked in you I suspect that it has something to do with whatever the hell was behind the labyrinth Miss Olivia, does that explain everything? I know that you’re recording this and I want to know what the hell is going on, I don’t care if I’m in any danger.

My name? It’s uhm… Eli… no Aus… not that’s not right either, what is it… title? Olivia what do you mean I don’t have a title? I’m just a mystery nerd, is that enough of a title for you? Fine I’ll say something ok here we go… My title is the Explorer… wait that doesn’t make sense, that’s the thing on the map here look, it’s what got me out, I can’t have done that! Is this why I can’t enter your apartment? This title thing? I’ll figure this out and you can count on my help ma’m

[dancing-crystals]

The other day, I saw a semi truck with a light-up cross on the grille. And it got me thinking about symbols, and how weird we are about them. I don't know if it's an American thing, or a white people thing, or Christian or Protestant (I haven't noticed it among Catholics, but I'm also not asking random strangers with crosses on their trucks their denomination), or capitalization and commercialization, or some combination of all, but for many people, symbols just aren't sacred.

That cross is meant to be a symbol of Jesus and his sacrifice, a symbol of faith. It is a religious symbol. And the truck driver stuck it on the front of his truck where it will get covered in dirt, car exhaust, and bug guts. I've seen plenty of cars that have a state or national flag painted on their grille. There are religious-themed welcome mats, flag-patterned underwear...it is bizarre to me that people who believe strongly treat their symbols this way.

I think many people consider these not symbols of faith or patriotism, but self-expression. They fall in the same category as a college sweatshirt, a bumper sticker that says "I love dogs", and a baseball cap. It's a way of saying "I am X" or "I like Y". It's a symbol of themselves, some aspect of their personality or background, most likely a mass-produced and inexpensive item that can be easily replaced. The item itself is meaningless, it's advertising the owner that matters.

I think this contributes to the way some people respond to requests to remove Confederate symbols, or to keep Christian symbols out of government buildings. On the one hand, people don't understand why other people are upset, because the group displaying the symbol do not give symbols much weight. On the other hand, it is a symbol of themselves on an individual level and they consider the public space "theirs". So they react like you've told them not to put their college's decal on their car, not to put sports memorabilia in their cubicle at work. The symbol isn't a big deal and removing it is oppression, all in one. And it also contributes to how many people are disrespectful of other groups' sacred symbols. Because why would you treat a symbol you don't believe in any better than you treat your own? And yet, outsiders should not be allowed to treat the group's symbols disrespectfully. Imagine the reaction if a Muslim wiped their feet on the image of the cross. But churches will carpet their foyer with custom-ordered rugs that have the church name and a huge cross, because when they do it, it's advertising their faith.

I'm not going anywhere with this. It just bugs me, and every time I see someone wearing a mask that looks like the U.S. flag or a cross on a dirty car, I'm reminded of it. I'm not religious, I'm not particularly patriotic, and I'm still horribly uncomfortable with the thought of treating symbols this way and cannot understand why people who revere what the symbol stands for are so cavalier about it.

[bonnie-barstow-of-flag]

The Not So Lonesome Knight Part 9:

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X, 

The two human FLAG agents received a cordial reception by Grace Stevens. She was close to Kent’s age by all observational estimates, though a lot shorter in stature. Her kindly face was framed with shoulder-length hair that fell in splendid orderly spirals around her shoulders. Her eyes, though burdened with worry, were a smooth hazel that could almost be likened to melted chocolate. The woman even in her troubled state exuded the kindness of a maternal figure. She refused to rest until Bonnie and Michael had both made themselves comfortable and had accepted beverages.

Once they had all settled into place, Michael makes his move. “Mrs. Stevens, when did you first notice that your husband was gone?” He’d start off with the simpler questions, the ones that stood the least chance of upsetting her.

“Please, call me Grace.” She politely corrects. His question gave her pause. “When he never came home two days ago.” She apprehensively worries her lower-lip between her teeth.

Michael scoots forward in his chair. “Grace, I know this is goin’ to sound cruel and I’m sorry.” He prefaces his next inquiry. “But what makes you think that this was an abduction and not somethin’ innocent like a last-minute work trip or gettin’ away for a day or so?” The curly-haired former police detective hated asking things like this. Often times, it dredged up unpleasant things that couples or families have been denying. Everyone had their dark secrets.

Thankfully, Grace hadn’t taken offense. Dabbing a tissue against her watering eyes, she answers. “Kent is a darling. He never goes anywhere without leaving a note or making a phone-call. He calls me at least twice a day.” Giving a mournful look at the phone she lets out a sob. “Its been silent the past forty-eight or so hours. The only people to have called were Devon Miles to tell me of your impending arrival and the local Police seeking out more information.”

Bonnie feels a lump forming in her throat at the sight of the other woman’s anguish. Delicately, she places her cup of coffee upon the nearest table before crossing the room to sit on the arm of the chair beside Grace. With all the ginger care possible, the brunette allows her arms to encompass the older woman’s shoulders. Her own turquoise hues shown with empathy as they beheld her and then returned to Michael. A silent entreaty lays etched upon her lips for him to get to the bottom of this and end Grace’s suffering.

Michael can read it expertly, that look in Bonnie’s eyes. His heart gives a painful pang against the walls of his rib-cage. He folds his fingers into a pyramid fashion, pressing them to his lips as he contemplated his next question. “Have you checked your bank account for any sudden and large transactions? Or noticed anyone strange observin’ your house?”

Grace’s head lifts slightly. “Why woul... would I need to check my bank account? You can’t be suggesting that my Kent would do something like that.” Disbelief paints her features and she peers up at Bonnie practically begging for an explanation.

While Bonnie was taken off guard, she calmly articulates a reply. “Well, if we look at your account, we can see if anyone is forcing his hand and having him remove large sums of money. If we’re lucky, we might even be able to trace his location off of any recent transactions.” Haphazardly, she flickers her gaze towards Michael.

“Bonnie’s right.” He affirms. A part of him swears he has never been more grateful to have her along on an interview. She tactfully kept open a door that was going to be readily shut on him.

Grace then remembers that Michael had asked about suspicious activity outside of the home and she nearly bolts upright. The abruptness of her movement almost causes Bonnie to fall off her perch. “There was an odd car outside about a week ago. I remember because it didn’t look like any of the ones owned by neighbors.”

Now, they were getting somewhere. A bolt of enthusiasm fizzles excitedly through Michael’s veins. “Good. Can you describe the car?” Dare he hope for a good description of something that happened so many days ago? His cop and army instincts advised him not to. Eye-witness accounts were notoriously unreliable at best. At worst, they wasted countless hours and time was something that just could not be so uselessly fiddled away. His bleeding heart, however, determined that any clue no matter how small or mistaken could be helpful. So he opts to follow his heart.

Grace’s eyes squint, striving to conjure up a picture of the vehicle out of thin air. She supposed that informing the two agents that it was green and had four wheels wouldn’t be of much help. So she tries harder. “I’m afraid I can’t be much help there. It was a hideous shade of forest green with a dented fender. Oh, and it had a Florida plate.” Sniveling briefly she adds, “there may have been a decal with the word Miami on it.”

The word ‘decal’ reminded Michael to consider the lapel from the picture. But first thing is first. He stored away the clues that he had been given. Green, Florida, Miami. None of them made much of an impact as they currently stood. In fact, chances of finding that car again were slim to none. But he couldn’t tell Grace Stevens that and he knew Bonnie understood.

“Does Miami mean anythin’ to you in particular?” Michael pries. His inflection wary of making too many harmful implications without evidence first. “Did he have something goin’ on there?” He’s treading as carefully as possible.

Grace’s eyes round. “I can’t say that it does. But I made a habit of never digging too deeply into his work affairs. Now, I always wished I had paid more attention.”

It was always too late when most people started to care, Bonnie’s experience practically whispered. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know you needed to.” She cooes encouragingly. “But you’re doing the right thing by calling us in. If anyone can find him, we can.” Her words give off confidence. The will to believe that they could successfully resolve the matter.  

“I have one more question before Kitt and I get to work. “Was your husband a member of any specialized society? I noticed a lapel pin attached to his suit in a picture that the Foundation furnished.” Michael prays he is not overwhelming her or startling her more than she had been already. His hands unintentionally gesture to his upper left chest as though, he were pinning one on himself.

“Why, yes, he is. He’s a member of the local chapter of the Free Masons. He was with them long before we were married.” Grace affirms. “Is...is that important?” She ponders aloud.

Standing, Michael answered, “it just might be.” But there was a heavy emphasis on the word ‘might’ as he didn’t want to run the risk of getting her hopes up only to dash them.

Bonnie accompanies Michael on his journey to the door. In a hushed tone, she pries, “you don’t we’ll find him alive. Do you? Is that why you think there hasn’t been any ransom demands or threatening phone calls?”

His sturdy fingers curl around her arm and pull her close. There is a familiar earnest spilling from his azure hues as they sweep over her. He doesn’t want to have to start weaving webs of dishonesty that might come back to bite him in the butt. Especially, not with her. His shoulders take on a faint slump. “We’ve gotta try. But I’m not gonna lie, it doesn’t look good.”

She knows she can trust his answer by the gravity that accompanies it. “Michael?” She debates if this was as good of a time as any to tell him that she loved him. After all, he’s heading in to danger. Instead, she offers, “be careful. We don’t know who we’re up against.”

A smile, genuine and none-too- shy finds his lips. “You too. Wait for the call from Devon with the names of the security crew. If they don’t match the ones given to by the company guys when they arrive, you need to immediately call me and Kitt. We’ll drop everythin’ to get here as fast as we can. If nothin’ excitin’ happens, Kitt and I will return and collect you so we can get back to the motel to regroup.” He lovingly assures her. “Either way, I’ll be back for you. You have my word.”

[vrgamertc]

John Prine was an Army veteran walking a U.S. Postal Service beat in Chicago and writing songs on the side when Kris Kristofferson heard him and helped spread the word about Prine’s gifts. Pretty soon, he resigned as a letter carrier; his supervisor snickered, “You’ll be back.” Nearly 50 years later, this January, he was given a lifetime achievement Grammy for his contributions to songwriting. The singing mailman almost always had the last laugh.

Prine, who died on Tuesday from complications of the coronavirus, was legitimately unique. He took familiar blues themes — my baby left me — but filled them with whimsy and kindness. He liked a saucy lyric, and wrote movingly, in character, of the quiet lives and loneliness of humdrum people. He seemed like a Zen sage and offered an uncynical live-and-let-live morality in his songs, writing in a colloquial voice that revealed a love of the way Americans speak. He showed how much humor you could put in a song and still be taken seriously. He had less in common with any other songwriter than he did with Mark Twain.

He grew up in Maywood, a western suburb of Chicago, and was reared by working-class parents from Kentucky, where he often spent summers with relatives and fell in love with country music and bluegrass. By 13, he was performing in rural jamborees. When he debuted in 1971, in his mid-20s, he sounded like an old man already, so years later, when he got old and went through two cancer treatments, he still sounded like himself. From his first to his last, he wrote songs that were tender, hilarious, and wise, without grandstanding any of these traits. Here are 15 of the best.

‘Angel From Montgomery’ (1971)

“Angel From Montgomery,” his best-known song, begins with a little declarative startle: “I am an old woman, named after my mother.” It’s an incisive and terrifying look at the dissatisfactions of a bad marriage and a woman’s sense of being economically trapped in her misery. Bonnie Raitt recorded it three years later and uncovered some of the song’s dormant melodies.

‘Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore’ (1971)

Prine’s self-titled 1971 debut album is a playlist all its own; it has more great songs than a lot of respected songwriters have in their entire careers. The moral stance of this sprightly folk-rock ditty is a response to what he saw as sham patriotism during the Nixon years, and it remains relevant: “Jesus don’t like killing/No matter what the reason’s for.” Prine, a former altar boy, stopped playing it live for a number of years, but when George W. Bush became president, Prine said, “I thought I’d bring it back.”

‘Hello in There’ (1971)

Some fans and critics are put off by this song and its slightly lesser companion, “Sam Stone,” which they see as performative displays of sensitivity toward the vulnerable, or what we now call virtue signaling. Yet somehow, we don’t ever criticize singers for signaling vices and meanness. Prine sings in the voice of an old married man with a dead son, who spends his days in silence and loneliness, and who at the end of the song, asks people to be kind to the elderly.

‘The Frying Pan’ (1972)

For his second album, “Diamonds in the Rough,” Prine assembled a small, mostly acoustic band and pursued a front-porch, Appalachian simplicity. Like a lot of his songs, this one takes a lighthearted view of domestic complications: A man comes home and discovers his wife has run off with a traveling salesman. He cries miserably, recounts what he loved about her (“I miss the way she used to yell at me/The way she used to cuss and moan”), and full of pride, comes to the wrong conclusion: Never leave your wife at home.

‘Please Don’t Bury Me’ (1973)

For people who love Prine’s music, there’s some small solace in listening to his songs about death, which have the same sense of mischief and acceptance as the ones about broken marriages. (Try “Mexican Home” or “He Was in Heaven Before He Died.”) The narrator is dead, and as angels explain to him how it happened, they also recap his last wish: to not be dropped into a cold grave, but to be put to practical use, as an organ donor: “I’d druther have ’em cut me up/And pass me all around.” A kind of recycling anthem from his terrific third album, “Sweet Revenge.”

‘You Never Can Tell’ (1975)

Almost like an apology, Prine concludes “Sweet Revenge,” a grieving, downhearted album, with an exuberant Chuck Berry cover, one great writer nodding to another. The Memphis R&B guitarist Steve Cropper produced the record and put together a crack horn section, which pushes ahead of some barrelhouse piano. Prine wasn’t a rocker, but he could rock.

‘That’s the Way the World Goes Round’ (1978)

Prine seemed to have an unlimited ability to expand and vary songwriting structures and perspectives. This track, which has been covered by Miranda Lambert and Norah Jones, has two verses: In the first, the narrator describes a drunk who “beats his old lady with a rubber hose,” and in the second, the narrator gets stuck in a frozen bathtub (it’s hard to explain) and imagines the worst until a sudden sun thaws him out. Both verses illustrate the refrain: that’s the way the world goes round. Even when circumstances are bad in Prine songs, he favors optimism and acceptance.

‘Iron Ore Betty’ (1978)

A lot of Prine songs celebrate physical pleasure: food, dancing and sex, which he gallantly prefers to call “making love.” The working-class singer in this soulful, up-tempo shuffle feels unreserved delight at having a girlfriend (“We receive our mail in the same mailbox/And we watch the same TV”), and wants us to know he and Betty aren’t just friends (“I got rug burns on my elbows/She’s got ’em on her knees”). OK guy, we get it.

‘Just Wanna Be With You’ (1980)

A stomping number from “Storm Windows” in the style of Chuck Berry, with the Rolling Stones sideman Wayne Perkins on guitar. Prine’s lyrics don’t distinguish between reality and absurdity — they don’t clash, they mix — and here’s one more way to say you’re happy and in love: “I don’t even care what kind of gum I chew.” And another: “Lonely won’t be lonesome when we get through.”

‘Let’s Talk Dirty in Hawaiian’ (1986)

Prine had a sideline in novelty songs, which give full voice to his comic absurdity, throwaways that are worth saving, including the 1973 semi-hit “Dear Abby,” and this now-problematic number from “German Afternoons” inspired by a paperback book called “Instant Hawaiian.” Prine and his co-writer Fred Koller began making up Hawaiian-sounding nonsense words full of sexual innuendo, and Lloyd Green added airport-Tiki-bar bar steel guitar for maximum faux authenticity. You can say Prine’s loving disposition makes the song OK, and you can also say it doesn’t.

‘All the Best’ (1991)

After five years away, Prine returned with “The Missing Years,” a Grammy-winning album produced by Howie Epstein, Tom Petty’s bass player. The singer in this gentle, masterly miniature claims to want good things for an ex-lover, but feelings aren’t simple: “I wish you don’t do like I do/And never fall in love with someone like you” twists the knife. Now recording for his own label, Oh Boy Records, Prine was about to hit a hot streak.

‘Lake Marie’ (1995)

Bob Dylan, who was a huge fan, called the haunted, mysterious “Lake Marie” his favorite Prine song, and who are we to disagree with Dylan on the topic of songwriting? Even though Epstein’s booming production draws too much attention to itself, “Lost Dogs + Mixed Blessings” is full of winners: the simple, loving ballad “Day is Done,” the rapid-fire doggerel of “We Are the Lonely” and the calm, ornery “Quit Hollerin’ at Me,” where Prine tells his wife that the neighbors “already think my name is ‘Where in the hell you been?’”

‘In Spite of Ourselves’ (1999)

Prine was diagnosed with cancer, and doctors removed a tumor from the right side of his neck, which took away his already-modest ability to project his voice. But incredibly, his stolid singing was now perfect for harmonies, and he cut a duets album called “In Spite of Ourselves” with female country and Americana singers. On its one original song, Prine and Iris DeMent trade backhanded compliments (“She thinks all my jokes are corny/Convict movies make her horny”) that read like a divorce complaint, but turn out to be only pillow talk.

‘Some Humans Ain’t Human’ (2005)

At seven minutes and three seconds, this track from “Fair and Square” is the longest song on any of his studio albums. A cloud of slide guitar keeps this soft waltz afloat and allows Prine to express his disapproval of, if not contempt for, so-called humans who lack empathy for others. There’s a couplet that is clearly about George W. Bush, and Prine noticed that some audience members were surprised by it. “I never tried to rub it in anybody’s face, but I thought it was pretty clear that I wasn’t a closet Republican,” he told the Houston Press.

‘When I Get to Heaven’ (2018)

In 2013, doctors removed the cancerous part of Prine’s left lung, which sidelined and weakened him. It’s hard now to listen to his final album, “The Tree of Forgiveness,” which was nominated for three Grammys, and not think that Prine heard the clock ticking louder. There’s so much tenderness in “Knockin’ on Your Screen Door,” about a man whose family left him with only an 8-track tape of George Jones, and in the elegiac, reassuring parental entreaty “Summer’s End.” In the last song, “When I Get to Heaven,” Prine describes his ideal afterlife: a rock band, a cushy hotel, a girl, a cocktail (“vodka and ginger ale”) and “a cigarette that’s nine miles long.” He removes his watch, and asks, “What are you gonna do with time after you’ve bought the farm?”

[the-firebird69]

What's upsetting is every interaction with these people is a nuisance there never happy they never satisfied they hardly curious as to what you're doing or why you don't understand why things work and they want to know and they can't figure out what you're saying so I decided when I'm selling these just to say this is what it is you've seen him you see them riding around and probably have a friend who has one that always works scan them put together we say trying to fry it it'll be online buying parts and you won't be able to figure out which one even though it's the simplest thing in history. So I'm laughing because he's making this big deal about going to the stupid post office it's Ken together and gets his bike rides over and he's like smiling like an idiot right now it's kind of a joke we have here we are we can't believe we made it they'll fall for it and people are sickening so even though you think you're tightening the news because he's acting like an ass you're not and you suck so bad but I'm selling tons of these bikes I'm not sending people after you dumbass and it's working and I'm probably selling more than anyone and I sell them right here at the boutique out of Disney world no it's out of our entertainment area Disney kicked us out several times so I'm going to open a goatee down the street s and he's right I could open one down there it's a little closer and people would go there and he says I should open one of these saloons and then I'd have to and then if I did all those other people will suddenly see something it's kind of what we're doing no we're having these people open it so I opened my mouth today and said they're in there running them in this so we went in and took more jobs then we started opening our own and I started it just as he suggested his right there was a real big one has an old guns on the wall and everything and it's up in a kind of a Wilder area tons of rednecks going there we're hoping anyone in Tampa area now asking do and he's like well we're going to open ourselves and grab them in there too so it's going to be in this hoot today cuz they're going around fighting this and fighting that and then up there fighting it and they suck it all of it then they get mad and frustrated trying to build upon they're going to buy those stupid Mercedes kids to make pickup trucks and it's hilarious cuz they suck at it it was like s*** so we're going to sell it El Camino kit what's the whole vehicle in a large motor.

Sebastian looks into expanding his Auto kit car business into El Camino type things maybe even pickups if we made one it might make one but it's going to be a Sim pick up and we're going to make a Sim El Camino first wasn't enough there's off this is a pain in the ass it says the same pickup will look like a kit car cuz he wants to make it cheap looks like a bronco and so what's going to hit the fan

Hera Zues

We're watching him and he's a huge pain in the ass so we know he's up to something so we're going to nail him we need all those back by the way

Thor Freya

About so many of those damn hats this morning we have an alert out because he's taking some time putting them together and it's putting stuff in them and he's wrapping them with something on the inside that makes them stronger and we can't stand him skip this huge attitude so he's going to go around with this illegal hats that's like he did his little biker gang that got wiped out and you're going to see him get his ass kicked

Violator and Demigoddess Wife

We don't want to laugh but we do but what he's doing is hilarious he's got all these programs going and now it says that all the programs have to build up to a weekend party and ultimately culminate in the Saturday through Sunday party in New Vegas's and entertainment centers but the New Vegas will be there the center and we're going to do that because we started to see him doing this strange ramp up thing towards the end of the week and he started doing it with her there's used to it it's American way and everybody is really on Earth so we figured out we're taking over there partying we have so much of this poor pirate whiskey out there it's everywhere and everybody is drinking and all the time I feel much better I love them sound better they die faster but they sound better it's not that bad in the ceiling of the store he wants to get out there and start selling them in boxes he love selling stuff in boxes and he says what are you going to have the drawing on it or you have to have a picture of it the picture works best cuz I saw it working Walmart and we saw that we are doing it we were that's a good idea because people look at it and say it doesn't match and we have people want to look inside and we say well we don't really want to do that but we let him and they say well that's it let me go off and come back and buy it and we say we weren't sure if you're going to buy it and he said why cuz he walked away he said I didn't say anything but no cuz I'm sorry I'll say something next time like I use it right say maybe you should buy a helmet isn't it gratuitous it's not at this price so you'll have since as we can put a decal on it and he says okay so :-) so he put a roadrunner on there and he said it's mine and I said not really it was John C Reilly and he says you're affecting my sales and he said probably not this is great I'm your flagship what do I get as a flagship as you can fly a flag but the Hard knock flag and put flagship store on it because people are up there with snooty want to go to the flagship store and so the East Coast so it was okay that's what you can do for me and this is for Chris and he's saying well and he goes it's a base model 50cc to get around here it goes oh you know what you can do you can drive up that trail and start a trend those two f****** assholes on your bicycles dude that's worse than you buying the products isn't it you're coming endorsing it more or less and it says yeah that's kind of true so he's going to do it and put Wiley Coyote well that's me put one on the other side his wife gets the other pair and they're going to go up the bicycle path probably a bunch of people Tommy f The originals going up there with a Hard knock and you know I wonder is it really a trail or it says no motorbikes and they say it says no motorbikes on it allowed and then went cruising in cuz they're bicycles so if we go whizzing by they'll probably call the cops so we may want to make sure we have permission I'll say it's a charity run don't have to make it a charity run for your molaco can't afford a bike so we're going to do that

Olympus

Hera Zues

[supershanzykhan]

Entertainment for a corporate party for the New Year. New Year's contests for corporate parties

New Year ... Even the name of this holiday breathes an incredible freshness and magic, because we associate new hopes with this holiday, we make new plans, we wait for new gifts and unforgettable meetings. And therefore, many New Year's amusements are directly related to these expectations, with endless riddles and mutual wishes, all the best in the New Year.

  New Year's table games presented here help to immerse yourself in this magical atmosphere.

 1.    Playing at the table "Next year I ..."

At the festive table, you can arrange an auction: who is the last of the guests who comes up with a rhyme to the phrase: "I promise next year ..." - receive a prize. In this case, it is not the truth that matters, but the speed of inventing, the first thing that comes to mind.

 E.g., "I promise next year

I give birth too many children! "

I promise next year

Flight to the Canary Islands “and so on.

The conditions of the game can be strengthened: let the guests who sit at the table to come in turns (for "one, two, three") did not have time, leave the game, the winner is the one with the richest imagination and the fastest reaction - receive the prize.

  If the conditions of the holiday allow this, then predictions can be based on this game. For example, each receives three pieces of paper on which he writes his wish or dream, then all the pieces of paper are collected in a hat, mixed, and what someone takes out will be fulfilled.

 2.    Distribution of gifts at the New Year's table "Lottery win-win"

Each guest draws (or receives for participation in games and contests) a lottery ticket with a certain number, each number being a certain prize.

 List of prize samples:

1. You have a piano in the bushes - a New Year's calendar.

2. If you surprise the whole world, you will receive a souvenir.

3. And you a miracle.

4. And for you what adults and children love, of course, sweet treats

5. And you have a stinging darling, but a useful fork in the household.

6. And with this prize you will certainly not miss, you will carry it with you and you will always be full (give a spoon)

7. Get a place for a spare and something extra useful (socks or socks).

8. Remember us more often, invite us to seagulls (tea pack)

9. It will give a thrill and will be useful to you, no doubt (mustard box)

10. You will be more beautiful with this award of ours (something from cosmetics)

11. Sadness and discouragement will disappear, here is a fun for you all night (bottle) 12. Even if something doesn't go well and doesn't stick, you definitely have something to hope for (glue tube)

13. You have received the main prize - take it and sign (any prize)

14. on any holiday, useful and important, paper towels.

15. Three, whatever you want, it is not a sin, because you have a new sponge.

16. It will help you solve the problem of hair styling (curlers or hairpins)

17. Will Montana envy such a thin body product (family panties?)

1 8. Brush your teeth often, your smile will be great (Toothpaste)

19. To keep your hairstyle, we will give you a comb.

20. We, friends, will not hide - nowadays the fashion of the crystal is, we offer you a chandelier made by Montreal (bulb).

21. You have a rose flower, which does not fade from heat and frost (postcard with a flower)

22. The symbol of the year presented today will help you at any time (magnet or souvenir)

23. Of course, winning a nice Persian rug or house. But wealth has given you a self-written pen (pen)

24. You have an old gadget, the amount of memory is huge (notebook or notebook)

 3.    General toast "New Year's alphabet". To add a playful note to the toast proclamation, the toastmaster in the middle of the New Year holiday may, for example, doubt that amused guests remember the alphabet. Then he invites everyone to fill their glasses and make one toast in the New Year, the first with the letter "A", as: " A x, what a fabulous night! I suggest you drink it, so it never ends! "The second person starts their toast with the letter" B "and so on.

The most interesting thing is when it comes to "Y" or "Y". Here the facilitator can suggest that you start by exclaiming, “Yih! How well! "Or" Oh, what a lady we've gathered here! " Of course, letters that do not denote sounds are omitted. The guest receives a comic book medal, whose toast was especially appreciated by the public.

 4. Decoy for dancing "Both boys and girls are all very good" This drinking game can serve as fun entertainment and a bait for the presenter announces that there is a wish for the New Year, that anyone who celebrates the happy New Year, dances a lot, can "Get out" of all problems and leave them in the past, then suggests doing a little warm-up. As soon as the word "boys" is heard, all the young people get up quickly and spin around their axis and sit down again, and at the word "girls" the girls return, respectively. And so - for every word "boy" and "girl" heard. That's it, it started. On New Year's Eve in our country, everyone gives presents and everyone warms up with fun and love. Young people often give flowers to girls so that all their dreams come true. And the girls kiss them back and say there is no better one in the world. The girls raise their glasses for the young people, wish the young people health. Young men, of course, keep up with them, for today's girls they dance and sing. The girls gathered are very nice. And young people will dance with such souls.

 4.    Activation of the "New Year's Bells" room. Lead.

Before the final summary, it's time to arrange a deafening New Year's sound. (The presenter approaches the first sector.) You will interpret the part of the big bell, preferably ringing low, loud and slow: "Boo-u-um! Boo-u-um!" Repeating ... (The presenter approaches the second sector.) You have a bell part in the middle, your sound is louder and shorter: "Bim-bom! Bim-bom!" Trying ... (The presenter approaches sector 3.) Your part is the part of the small bell, the sound is even louder and more frequent: "Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!" So… (The presenter approaches sector 4.) You also received the party of the bells, the sound is the loudest and most frequent: "La-la! La-la! La-la! La-la!" Image ... So be careful! The big bell starts ringing ... The middle one enters ... The small bell is connected ... And the bells that are ringing flow in ... Each sector plays its part - this is the bell. Option 2. Greetings to Santa Claus. The same game to activate the hall or can be organized before the arrival of Santa Claus and the Snow Maiden, offering to arrange a fireworks in their honor. To do this, the presenter divides the room into three teams, the first, when Santa Claus appears, shouts "Hooray!", The second applauds loudly, and the third steps on his feet. Any game either in honor of Santa Claus or with him will be very useful.

 6. Playing at the table "In the new year without debts". The management of the game is something like this: “Everyone knows a sign that in order to live all year without debt, you have to pay them in the old year. I suggest to those who have not yet had time to do so to conduct a ritual. Here I have a magic box (it looks like a purse or a box). Anyone who wants to break away from their creditors once and for all can throw any amount into it, while internally you have to want very strong and sincere wealth and prosperity. And remember, the more generous you are in repaying your debts, the more favorable your New Year will be! “Then the "chest" goes in a circle to the song "Money, money". When everyone who wants to repay the debts "completes the treasury" and the piggy bank returns to the host, you can arrange an auction, saying that one of the guests will become richer right now, he will be the one to guess the exact amount collected. Let the special people write down all the versions presented together with the names of the "predictors". Then, together, people have to choose a "banker" to "break" the wallet and honestly calculate how much money it actually contains and hand it to the winner (discrepancies of five to ten rubles are allowed).

 7. The "Magic Bag of Fortunes" game. A list of cheap little things that can be taken as gifts from Santa Claus: a box of matches, a ball, an eraser, a tennis ball, a lighter, a chupa-chups, a disc, a brush, a pencil, glasses, an adapter, a package, decals, paper clips, a pack of tea, calendar, notebook, postcard, coffee package, eraser, rotating tip, sharpener, spring, magnet, pen, thimble, toy, bell, medal and so on Choice cards: What will I do with my gift? I'll kiss him I'll powder my nose with this I will eat immediately with pleasure This will become my talisman I will block and admire I will share this with friends I'll fight the fans with this I'm going to comb my hair with this I will ask for this gift I will use it instead of a spoon I will wave it like a flag I'll make beads out of this I'll lick her and beat her I smell it all night I will share this with my loved one I will write letters with this I'll stick it on his forehead, let everyone be jealous I will stick it in my ears and I will be the most - the most This will caress my neighbor's hands I'll call her out loud I'll put it on my hand instead of a watch I'll sprinkle it hot I will use it instead of cigarettes I'll beat my neighbor with this, he'll like it I'll put it in my pocket and take care of it I'll draw a Christmas tree with this I'll make a sandwich out of this I'll make this a snowflake Playing at the table on New Year's Eve helps to distract guests, lift the general mood, overcome the discomfort that many feel at the beginning of the party, energize them for dancing or become a good example for presenting gifts. On New Year's Eve, most companies and organizations hold corporate events for their employees. Someone prefers to go to a restaurant, someone arranges a vacation right at the office and someone really prefers an active form of recreation. One way or another, as a rule, any corporate party is remembered by colleagues not only because of the delicious treats, but also because of the New Year's program for corporate parties. New Year's competitions for corporate parties are the best way to "revive" the holiday, to give each employee the opportunity to participate in the event and even to unite the team, without mentioning a good mood and unforgettable impressions. Also, raise the thematic ones for colleagues. Corporate events In order for the New Year's holiday in the circle of colleagues to pass without hesitation and long thoughts about what to do, it is better to prepare the competition program in advance, as well as the props (if necessary) for contests and games. "Parody" competition everyone participates in the competition. The presenter writes on a piece of paper the names of all the employees in the office. Then, each in turn blindly pulls out a piece of paper with a name. The participant's task is to show the person whose name is written on a piece of paper using pantomime, while others have to guess who the player looks like. The winner is the one who parodies his most interesting and exact colleague. The purpose of the competition Men and women are paired. Each man has an empty belt attached. Women are 10 meters away from men, they are offered 20 moments. The woman's task is to enter the bank with a coin. At the same time, men can help their ladies, for example, rotate their waists. But no participant in the competition can move from one place to another. The winner is the one who manages to toss more coins. Think in advance, like at a corporate party. Noah's Ark Contest The host of the corporate party writes different animals on pieces of paper. Animals must be mated, for example 2 elephants, 2 rabbits, 2 bears. You can make the competition even more themed and make sure you enter the animal symbol of the coming year, the Goat. Moreover, the participants in the competition draw an animal for themselves. It seems like everyone has a partner, but you have to find your own partner. The participant's task is to find his animal with the help of gestures and movements. Speaking and making sounds are prohibited. The first to guess where his pair is wins. To make the competition more interesting, it is better to think of less recognized animals, such as a lynx or a hippopotamus. Beautiful New Year's contests for a corporate party nothing helps you relax like in New Year's Eve competitions. In addition, fun competitions not only create a relaxed atmosphere, but also help employees to relax.

 Courtesy:corporate party venues in lahore

[otc-dramaturgy]

Miranda Monday

This might be the best blog post I make this year, because it highlights the work of one of the hardest working people at Olney Theatre Center, Kate Brittingham, our Props Master, as well as the incredible work of Props Apprentice Grisele Gonzales (G-money, as she is known around these parts) and scenic artist Fred Via. Today, on our second design feature, we’re talking all about props.

Now, I don’t know if you all know this, but there are a lot of props in In the Heights, which Kate and Grisele were working on simultaneously to all three National Players shows. I don’t think either of these women slept for the first few weeks I was here. I had the opportunity to walk the set with Kate and Grisele and hear them talk about the hard work that went into things, as well as some Easter Eggs you might miss. (I’ve broken down the next bit into sections with hopefully clever titles for ease of reading)

"When You’re Home:” A Look at the Apartments

Our set, as featured on last week’s Miranda Monday post, has a second story, in which several apartments and fire escapes are fully functional. At the first rehearsal onstage, Kate and the other designers realized that, from our mezzanine, you can see inside the windows of said apartments, even with curtains. So Kate decided to fully furnish both of these two living rooms. 

The stage right apartment is described as being for a “mid-century young artist.” This person is traveled, as seen by the Chinese dragon on their wall, as well as the books inside their table (see below). Their artistic style is Cubism, as seen by the reproduction of a Picasso painting on their easel. 

The stage left apartment belongs to “an old Brazilian man.” He has a Brazilian flag hanging on the wall, next to a picture of Jesus, because he likes to “keep God and country close.” There are cigarettes in his ash tray and the photo on the table is of his family on the beach. My personal favorite touch is the monkey with cymbals who lives underneath the ash tray. (I’m led to believe, by this description, that the Cosmo on the coffee table belongs to the actress who uses this fire escape, rather than the fictional character Kate created, but maybe he has a penchant for sex quizzes, I don’t know, I don’t judge him)

More seen by the audience is the apartment of the Rosario family, featured in the party scene. This apartment, which coincidentally is right above Rosario’s Car Service (they have the same curtains), shows off the pride Kevin and Camila have for Nina: her Stanford acceptance letter and high school diploma hang on the wall, prominently displayed. Also on the wall are pictures of their extended family (these pictures are in fact of Grisele’s own family) and a lighthouse from the city they lived in before they moved to the United States (I didn’t get a picture of this, but you can see the frame on the edge of the first picture). 

Another small nugget that is hard to see from the audience are the mailboxes in Abuela Claudia’s building. Of course, Abuela lives there, but so do the five members of the creative team, Robin de Jesús, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Kate Brittingham, her sister, and Josiane Jones, our Associate Production Manager/ Company Manager. Unfortunately, these people are all living without air conditioning; a box fan is placed in a window. Perhaps this is why Abuela starts her song by saying, “Calor! Calor! Calor!” (translation: “Hot! Hot! Hot!”). 

Several of the apartments onstage are also for rent, as shown by the “Se renta” signs in the window; these buildings are owned by Latinx landlords, rather than Uptown Investments, who is buying up the block, as seen by the influx of their flyers across the block. 

Stage Business: Working in the Barrio

There are three businesses onstage: Usnavi’s bodega, Daniela’s salon, and Kevin’s car service. Each of these is filled with Easter eggs of their own.

The bodega, for instance, is fully stocked with products, both empty and full, that were provided by the cast, crew, apprentices, etc. The cigarettes on the shelves, for instance, are empty cartons from three different employees, who were having a competition to see who could provide more. One of those same packs of cigarettes is actually full, but sealed shut, because it was accidentally left onstage. Ironically enough, there is an advertisement for Newports on the wall, but there are no Newports available in the store. The baked goods on the top shelf were provided by our finance office, who always have snacks available. Kate, upon watching the invited dress rehearsal, realized that Usnavi talks about Abuela Claudia loving glass Coke bottles, so she bought some to make sure the bodega was stocked with them.

The fridge in the corner of the bodega is the old concessions fridge from our Lab Theatre. The cash register, which is fully functional, was borrowed from Signature Theatre. The Slushie Machine and the Pepsi Machine, due to space limitations, couldn’t be fully realized; instead, there are simply wall decals. 

The salon has a sign that says “Cash only,” with a sign directly underneath that says “American Express.” The mirrors inside had to be frosted because of the lights (and because the actresses in the salon kept looking at themselves during scenes). Daniela’s is closed on Wednesdays because the 4th of July, when the salon officially closes, would have been a Wednesday in 2005 (when we had initially discussed setting this show, though we’ve since updated it to 2008). 

Rosario’s Car Service has similar hidden gems. The mail, for instance, is printed and addressed to the Rosarios. The mic, which was bought for $9 on eBay, is actually fully functional, much to Kate’s surprise; this is highlighted in “Benny’s Dispatch.” There are papers on the board detailing shift schedules, as well as notes, etc. 

Paciencia y Fur: A Story in Animals

There are three birds on the set of In the Heights, one of which migrates during intermission. The first of these birds lives on top of the lamp post near upstage center. The second of these birds lives in a “New York” bird’s nest (a bird’s nest made of trash and all sorts of things that don’t belong in a bird’s nest) on a stage left fire escape. The final of these birds, nicknamed Sketch, was backstage when I visited him; he lives on the trashcan near upstage center, but flies away during the riots at the end of the first act. Scenic artist Fred Via really brought these birds to life by adding bird poop on the fire escapes. 

(Yep, that’s me and Sketch hanging out in front of an Uptown Investments flyer)

There is a cat in the bodega, named Fe (as in Paciencia y Fe), who similarly flees during the riot. Fe is electronic and therefore moves at several points during the show. There was a Paciencia, but Marcos Santana, our director, decided that she was “too clean,” saying that she was “an upper East Side Cat.” (Ironically enough, Kate didn’t buy Fe. She was looking at electronic cats on eBay, but didn’t purchase it. Then, several days later, Fe showed up at her door.)

There are also four rats in the sewer. The sewer is in no visible from the audience; there is a grate onstage where subway lights and steam emerge from, but there is no direct line into it. However, if you come to the edge of the stage, you can look in and see one rat sitting atop the hazer, with three rats near him. Kate says, “They are having a meeting to conspire against us all.” 

Also featured on the set are two dogs. No, not real dogs, that’s happening in Annie, don’t get ahead of yourselves now. There are lost dog posters hanging throughout the set: one of these features Kate’s dog, Penny Lane, and the other features the recently-deceased dog of Marcos Santana and Nova Bergeron, our assistant director. 

“She sang the praises of things we ignore:” Other Odds and Ends

There are plenty of other things to note about Kate’s amazing prop work:

- In New York, it is illegal to put plants on fire escapes. Marcos asked Kate for “illegal” plants and she said, “Like marijuana?” Four of these plants can be seen in the show.

- The payphone, which is owned by Olney Theatre Center and has been borrowed by many of the local theatres, is the only push button payphone prop that Kate knows of in the D.C. theatre scene. There is a quarter in this payphone during the show, but it gets stolen by an ensemble member. 

- There are posters onstage for a Dia De Los Muertos event; in the club scene, the eyes on these posters glow.

- The garbage cans onstage normally live outside, in the Bank of America Plaza at Olney Theatre Center

- We set this in 2008, which allows us to use smartphones; the first iPhone came out in 2007.

- The fire hydrant, which is from Traverse City, Michigan, was originally yellow, but Kate painted it black, per Milagros Ponce de Leon’s research; the rusting effect was added by Fred. 

- There are a huge number of flags used in the show: three from the Dominican Republic, one from Puerto Rico, one from Mexico, one from Brazilian, and one from Cuba. Kate provided stage management a “How to fold this flag” guide, to ensure that we are being respectful. The Puerto Rican flag was the hardest to find, because the flag commonly sold in the United States is the wrong shade of blue. These “wrong” flags use the same shade of blue as the American flag, but it’s actually much lighter. The Puerto Rican flag painted on the Piragua cart is the correct shade of blue as well. 

- Speaking of the Piragua cart, there’s a rumor that Marcos said it’s better than the one used in the Broadway production. 

- Two Baby Ruth bars have disappeared from the shelves in the bodega... 

- Fred Via deserves another shout out; his attention to detail is massive. For instance, he painted all the graffiti seen onstage, as well as the “Yo <3 Mi Barrio” on the back wall. His work on dirtying the set, adding dirt to ledges and such and the aforementioned bird poop, shows just how much focus went into this set. 

Alright, I know that was a long post, but I’m so happy I get to highlight these amazing artists. Come see In the Heights to see everything they and the other designers have done! 

[macabrecabra]

Awrigh, since im a fuckin SLUT for racin' gimmicks, how's about Hanzo being a street racer and uses his superb driving skills in a game of chicken with Talon and he saves everyone with the cost of ONE of his non-hover Chevy Impala's (spn impala)

I am not a person who knows much aboutcars or what cars are nice, so I will simply go that a Chevy Impalais a nice car XD I'll do my best to give a racing fic, but again, notsomething I know much about outside Fast and the Furious  XD;

For anon!Title: Pulse Racing atOne Hundred Miles Rating: PG-13Relationship: Hanzo/Hanzo'sfancy car; Shimada Bros being bros

Those who thought Hanzo was without hisvices in his youth did not know him well. True Genji had the bigger,more flamboyant reputation as an unapologetic playboy partying everynight away like it was his last, but that wasn't to say Hanzo merelysat at home and contemplated poetry and life’s big mysteries.

He had his vices and truth be told, hishad been a bit more dangerous. After all, it wasn't as if streetracing happened at low speeds in private venues.

Hanzo though had always liked thatabout the illegal sport. There was a thrill of excitement to be had every time he took the wheel and felt the hum of an engine below himand the roar of adrenaline in his ears. All eyes were focused aheadon the street and every nerve alight with electricity as the flag wasdropped and tires began to screech. Of course he never made it publicknowledge. He hadn't even told Genji of what he did in the eveninghours.

All that his family knew was he he hada particular love for rather expense sports cars. Being the son of ayakuza crime boss had allowed him to indulge in keeping a smallpersonal collection of cars, many of them illegally modified to befaster and more durable for racing. Every single one of them thoughhad been off limit to all but himself, a fact Genji had oftencomplained about.

Back then, Hanzo had merely chided hisbrother on spending his money on women, men, and booze rather than anactual car. Still Genji's need for rides to places and rides homealways gave Hanzo the excuse to jump into one of his vehicles and goout and get a few thrills before showing up.

Most of the cars though had since beensold, although one vehicle, his darling Chevy SPN Impala, he stillmaintained. It had been with great reluctance at the Overwatchmeeting he had put forth that he had the vehicle at all for a missionin Japan and that he would be more than willing to drive.

He hadn't expected to have to comeclean with his past though.

“This car is illegal isn't it?”Genji commented from where he sat in the passenger side, head turnedtowards Hanzo.

“Under the hood yes,” Hanzomurmured tersely, “But that is of little importance rightnow,”“You've had this car since I was twenty-one. Younever once let me ride in it,” Genji's shoulders hunched as hecrossed his arms over his chest, “And you said I was the disobedient son, all these years, and here you are in a clearlychanged car. I feel a little offended brother,”“Not nowGenji. We have a mission,” Hanzo growled out, hands gripping thesteering wheel.

“You were street racing weren't you?”Genji asked, the accusation clear in his tone.Hanzo justscowled, keeping his eyes on the road as they moved along, refrainingfrom answering Genji. He was never going to fess up to that. Genjiwould never let him hear the end of it despite the fact there werefar larger and more terrible crimes wrought against him. Attemptingto murder him was fine and good and forgivable, but withholdingsecrets during their youth was a crime which required the punishmentof ceaseless taunting and snide comments until the next little secretcame out.

“That explains why it always took youan hour to come pick me up,” Genji drawled, “My anija was offracing about like he was in Fast and Furious Two,”“No onewatches those movies,” Hanzo growled out, “All you are doing isadmitting you watch trash,”“And you street race,” Genjishot back.

“And you are an insufferable pain!”Hanzo retorted from between clenched teeth.“And youmurdered me,” Genji said, leaning forward just a bit more,shoulders tensed.That single sentence killed any responseHanzo was about to lash back with and he fell again to silence,gripping the wheel. Neither of them were speaking now and the onlysound was the hum of few hover cars sliding by around them and thetraffic above moving. With most vehicles now and days being up in theair, those that still ran on four wheels honestly got around a lotfaster due to the reduction in traffic. Those vehicles still groundbound were often just ignored and the street racing scene had onlygotten more popular because of it.

It also made it far more easier forsyndicate groups like Talon to move things around below the city.Hanzo's gaze flicked to the side as an all black vehicle pulled upbeside his own car as he sat at a red light and it gave a loud rev ofits engine. Hanzo's hands twitched and he could feel Genji's gaze boring into the side of his head as if daring him to take thechallenge.

Hanzo glanced to the vehicle, frowninga bit at the tinted windows. He reached to press a few keys on thedash to bring up the holographic display, “Keiko, scan othervehicle,” He murmured.“You named the AI Keiko? I am soashamed of your lack of imagination,” Genji commented.

The elder Shimada ignored his brother'scomment, eyes fixed on the display before it chimed, loading up theschematics, “Car is modified but does not have a Japanese streetprix chip embedded. No license place. Unknown emblem detected,”The screen flickered and Hanzo felt himself stiffen as a decal of theTalon symbol was uploaded. The car beside them revved again. A flickof his gaze upwards to the light saw the countdown to when it turnedgreen was now about to hit the ten second mark. Hanzo gripped thesteering wheel tight and beside him he heard the click of a seat beltand the grumbles of his brother.

Hanzo pressed the gas pedal down justas the light hit green, the vehicle shooting forward with a scream ofrubber on asphalt. Beside him, the other vehicle sprung forward andsoon both vehicles were hurtling forward.

Genji was gripping tight onto the sidesof his seat as Hanzo floored it, both hands on the wheel as hetook the first turn, drifting flawlessly around the bend. The othercar waffled on the turn a bit, falling behind as Hanzo sped ahead.The next turn though, it seemed his opponent had decided to changethe nature of the race, coming in a bit closer to slam against theside of the Impala and try and force them off the road.

“Does this usually happen in yourraces?! People try to kill you or is it just everyone knows you are adick?!” Genji shouted, now gripping the dash tight, fingers digginginto the frame.“Its called being a sore loser,” Hanzogrowled back, “Hold on,”

“I already am holding on how-”Genji began only to be thrown back against his seat as Hanzo put onthe gas, surging them forward down a long road.Hanzo tried toignore the rents left in the dash by Genji's hands. He tried really,but still a part of him cried out in mild despair internally. It wasjust another mark he was going to have to pay to get cleaned uplater. The dents and scratches on the side of the Impala from thefirst hit were already going to be bad enough. The Talonvehicle was hot on their trail even as Hanzo swerved and took sharpturns without warning, doing his best to try to lose them in the mazeof Tokoyo's long forgotten underbelly. Genji was clinging to his seatas if he was seeing his life once more flash before his eyes as thecar twisted and turned, speeding through red lights to the blaringhorns of angry drivers. “They are a tenacious one, that isfor sure,” Hanzo growled out as he took another series of sharpturns, pulling into a u-turn and moving to drift into a one waystreet.Genji still had his death gri on the edge of his seat,although his head was tilted up towards the rear view mirror, “Lookslike you finally lost them so you can stop driving like amaniac,”“It is not driving like a maniac. I was incomplete control the entire-” Hanzo's words trailed up as the dimglow of headlights appeared ahead, approaching fast.Everynerve in Hanzo's body was alight and he knew, even before the on boardcomputer chimed in the unmarked vehicle from before was approachingfrom ahead. He didn't take his hands off the wheel as he slammed thegas down, hunching forward, “When I say bail, throw yourself outthe door,”Genji was staring hard at him before letting outa grumble and moving to slide the seat belt up and brace himselfagainst the door, “If I wasn't made of metal mostly, I wouldbelieve you were trying to kill me again,”Hanzo let out asnort as he kept his foot on the gas, eyes fixed on those glowingorbs of light even as the speedometer clicked slowly up. One hand wasat his seat belt, clicking it off even as he swallowed the lump inhis throat.

He was really going to miss this car.

“Bail!” Hanzo yelled beforethrowing open his door and diving out. Genji followed suit,although he was able to tuck into a roll quickly and come up on hisfeet due to his enhanced reflexes, one hand on his sword even as heturned to where the Impala raced onward. The Talon vehicles tiresshrieked as they tried to slow down and swerve out of the way but onthe narrow street there was no where to go, no way to avoid theImpala as it collided head first with them. The roar of the explosionhit first as fire flared up from the battered in fronts. The entirefront of the car was smashed in and the vehicle had nearly flippedbackwards into the air.

There was no movement from within thecrash, only the crackle of fire and rising smoke and the lump inHanzo's throat as he eyed the remains of what once his favoritecar.He rose shakily to his feet, wincing as he felt theslight burn of road rash already forming on his left arm. A glanceover to Genji showed he was fine and already coming over with a terseset to his form but one born more of worry than any irritation.“Youokay anija?”

“Been better,” Hanzo grumbled,casting one last mournful look over the wreckage, “I will miss thatcar,”“You are one of the few men I know who cares moreabout a car than his own neck,” Genji let out a sigh as he clappeda hand on Hanzo's shoulder, “No offense though, anija, but nexttime there is a driving mission, I'll take the wheel,”Hanzoallowed himself a quirk of a smile and a curt nod, “Fine but Iexpect only the best,”“I'm going to drive like an oldgrandma, follow all the rules and wait my five seconds at every stopsign after this night,” Genji returned with a shake of his head.This time Hanzo let out a slight laugh, shaking his head.

“If you say so, Genji. If you sayso,”

[householdrepaircenter]

Norman family tradition lives on at Bud’s Corner

LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai–Willie Eason is a regular visitor to Bud’s Corner, an oft-overlooked section of North Nashville real estate named for Edward “Bud” Norman, the man who owned this three-block section of the city, putting a firm stamp of family and love on it that continues eight years after his death.

His son, Terry, 63, is the “mayor” of Bud’s Corner, maintaining stability here on Buchanan Street – about a half-block off D.B. Todd ­– even as the neighborhood declined from disuse after many middle-class Nashvillians chased mercantile, educational and residential needs out to the suburbs.LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai

Now Bud’s Hardware & Key Shop is not only the neighborhood “go-to” for toilet valves, drain snakes and the like, it is a literal cornerstone of revitalization as gentrification begins its slow but sure takeover of the Buchanan Street Business District and surrounding neighborhood.

What Terry has maintained here in Bud’s Corner is a neighborhood hub of commerce and good conversation that now is seeing even more traffic thanks to the needs of crews working to revive old homes or build skinny new ones for the invaders not only from the other side of the tracks, but from Los Angeles, New York, Joliet or whatever the latest hipster launching pad.

LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai – “I come in here because he knows how to do it,” says Willie, nodding toward Terry. He is loyal to Bud’s, except for during Sunday night emergencies. For example, the night before Willie and I huddle in the plumbing section of Bud’s, he was forced to patronize a soul-sucking box store.

“I’m a deacon at King Solomon Missionary Baptist Church,” says Willie, adding he only went to the hardware behemoth because Bud’s was closed. (Terry’s monument of screwdrivers, fertilizer and All-American values is open 7-6 Monday-Saturday, 7-2 Sundays.)

Willie was longtime sous-chef de cuisine at what was an outlaw-era, Vegas-flavored Nashville hot spot: Roger Miller’s King of the Road Motor Inn and “The Roof,” its rocking and rolling top floor restaurant and bar. It was not uncommon to come upon the city’s musical elite – Roger, of course, lived there part-time with his family – while the house band, led by sightless and soulful country hero Ronnie Milsap, played long and hard into the night.

A journalist I know too well spent a lot of time, even a New Year’s Eve or two, at Roger’s joint.

Deacon Willie and I both lament what has become of that glitz-and-rhinestone monument, its long decline serving as a stunning example of Nashville’s decades of urban decay and now ­– and it’s about damn time – rebirth.

The Clarion Hotel Downtown-Stadium (inside the old King of the Road shell) is likely a fine place and I’m sure refurbished nicely for the hordes of tourists who add to the “It City” myth by carrying their offerings to the altar – actually the tip jars and beer bars – at Tootsie’s, Robert’s or any of the joints that make up Nashville’s Lower Broad, honky-tonk Disney World.

LG fridge Repair in Mumbai – I’ve never visited the hotel since Roger left town, and, dang me, I should. But the building is no longer the celebratory HQ of Nashville high life. The damn nice guy and witty genius who sang of trailers for sale or rent and the dangers of roller-skating in a buffalo herd succumbed to cancer in 1992. He was 56.

Before retiring to his beloved North Nashville home, Deacon Willie, 72, spent 39 years as chef at the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta’s Nashville Branch.

“Today I’m here with this,” Willie points out, holding up small copper pipe that, when working properly, carries water from beneath his kitchen sink to his home refrigerator’s ice-maker.

“Last night, there was some hissing under the sink,” he says, following up that statement by making the “sssssssssss” sound created by the water leak.

He’s waiting his turn to get Terry to take a look at the faulty connector pipe and help him figure out how to replace it.

“I been coming in here since I’ve been in the neighborhood,” Willie adds. “I remember when Terry was little. Terry’s father was a good, fine gentleman who knew how to treat customers. He knows, too.” He motions his busted pipe part toward Terry.

Indeed, Deacon Willie is just one of a storm of loyal customers keeping Bud’s Hardware not only thriving, but continually busy. At least it was during the three days I spent in those friendly confines where everything from pipe to locks to weed killer and grass seed is easily found.

Terry and his crew also cut glass to order for replacing busted windows.LG fridge Repair in Mumbai

Terry proudly will tell you that pretty much all hardware, landscaping and building needs can be filled here. Heck, there even are fishing rods over on the wall near a rainbow of colors of plastic Weed Eater string.

Bud’s Hardware started its life as an A&W Root Beer stand, but has been Bud’s Hardware since 1965. Terry Norman, who now runs the hardware store, also worked at the drive-in mixing root beer.— Tim Ghianni | The Ledger

Outside, beneath the awning, fishing bait shares space with grass seed. And yes, the American Flag waves proudly above a wall where a 20-foot extension ladder serves as exclamation point.

“Dad started out with Bud’s Curb Market in 1956,” says Terry, after he and long-time employee Gary Floyd find the right parts and try to guide Deacon Willie through the task he faces when working beneath the kitchen sink to reconnect the icemaker.

Gary, who has worked in the hardware store for 25 years, notes that he’s “mostly in sales. … I make sure we’ve got stuff on the shelves. … I also make sure this place is good and clean.” Gary pilots a broom to eliminate dirt that’s invisible to an old, bleary-eyed journalist.

“What’s up, T?” says another man who enters the store in pursuit of some sort of thingamajig. Terry – aka “T” – asks him what he needs and, without a pause, Gary steps in to lead the man to it. I don’t know what it is, as I always try to stay out of the way when I invade someone’s business for a few hours.

But I do see the man smiling broadly as he steps out the front door onto the sidewalk of Bud’s Corner at 16th Avenue North & Buchanan.

He had disappeared into the traffic by the time I made it outside to ask his name. Seemed like a nice guy, though. Happy, too.LG fridge Repair in Mumbai

My time with Terry comes in spurts during my visits, as he’s working hard, along with his son, Jonathon, and with Gary. Got to keep the customers satisfied.

“A lot of people call me ‘Bud,’ and I don’t mind, but that was my dad,” he explains.

“You know what a curb market is?” he asks, motioning through the windows and across Buchanan where he’s now landlord to the folks who’ve been leasing “Bud’s Curb Market” since sometime in the ’80s.LG fridge Repair in Mumbai

“That’s where people drive right up to the curb and you carry their groceries to them,” he explains. “Don’t think there are many around … They don’t do it there anymore, either.”

Amid customers’ testosterone-fueled discussions of “how to fix stuff” and comparisons of their nuts and bolts, Terry tells me that this building once was a teenage haven, an A&W Root Beer establishment that opened around 1960.

Gary Floyd dusts off a display case.at Bud’s Corner Hardware Store.— Tim Ghianni | The Ledger

“You know it was like a Sonic,” Terry recalls. “We took the orders out to people’s cars.”

There also were windows for walk-up service and a few seats inside. “We didn’t do a lot of dining-in here.”

He explains that the A&W was turned into Bud’s Hardware in 1965 or so as a sly businessman’s move by Bud himself.

“My dad had a lot of rental property. Forty-four houses he rented out,” Terry remembers. As a landlord, of course, Bud had to handle upkeep and repair.

He quickly realized that it would be a good move to open a hardware store where he could buy those repair supplies from himself.

Bud’s A&W became just a sweet and frothy memory.

And Bud wasn’t done with his Bud’s Corner business empire.

In 1970, he opened Bud’s Auto Parts just across Buchanan and near the Curb Market. And just across 16th from the hardware store is the former site of Bud’s Auto Repair.LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai

“That was good business,” Terry says. Again, it was one of Bud’s businesses – the parts store – supplying another – the repair shop.

Old Bud, a savvy businessman, gave his wife Daphne (aka “Mickey”) and their family the good life out in West Meade while he tended to this then-thriving, now reawakening Buchanan neighborhood.

The auto parts and auto repair businesses have long been shut down, but I’ve been told by a trio of young, Buchanan-based entrepreneurs that they’re planning to turn the repair shop building into a for-rent party space for receptions and the like.

As Terry answers the phone, his own son, Jonathon, 43 – who one day will take over the business completely – grinds the key-making machine for a customer.

“That’s me there,” says Terry, pointing to an old black-and-white photo mounted on one end of the counter composed of separate islands, allowing customers easy access to hand tools and assorted hardware “smalls” hanging on the wall behind the register and glass-cutting station.

In that old photo – displayed near a long line of FOP, Lodge 5, booster decals – is a young boy whose back is turned to the camera, with bold lettering reading “Bud’s A&W” on his shiny varsity jacket.

“I used to make the root beer,” acknowledges Terry, the kid in that jacket. “You had to mix so many gallons of syrup with so many gallons of water with so many pounds of sugar.”

Terry Norman, right, assists Abraham Ghirmai, making sure glass is cut just right for one of Abraham’s properties.— Tim Ghianni | The Ledger

Bud turned over all the A&W-making to his son. “I was good at it, too,” says Terry, smiling at the snapshot of his past.

Customer Kevin Jones, 55, is another local resident who finds his way to Bud’s neighborhood hardware store instead of pursuing anonymous frustration while navigating box stores. When he was a kid, he came here for root beer.

“His Daddy and him would be here when he was just a little bitty boy,” says Kevin, remembering the teenage Terry making the brew destined for so many floats and frosty mugs.

“I know a lot of the families in the neighborhood,” says Terry. Most know him as well.

A tall working man briefly enters our conversation. “I need a No. 3 bit,” he says, with Terry responding by reaching into his rack of drill bits.

“You want this?” he asks, handing it over. “We don’t sell very many threes.”

The satisfied man pays for the bit and ambles out onto Buchanan as another customer comes inside to take his place.

“I got two toilets that are too slow. I need some Liquid Fire,” he tells Terry, who returns with a fairly large bottle.

“When you put it in a toilet, it’s not like when you put it in the drain. You need to put it in and flush one time. Then leave it. That will get it where it’s needed,’’ Terry says.

The credit-card scanner isn’t working, so the man fishes a dozen dollar bills from his hip pocket and hands ’em to Terry, who makes change.

Robert Buggs, 70, says he spends his free time – when he’s not fulfilling his duties as the maintenance contractor at the House of God over at 26th North and Heiman – refurbishing homes for the hipster invasion.

He says he stops in at Bud’s Hardware on a regular basis, gathering the tools and materials he needs to fix up the houses or perhaps make repairs when on a mission from God.

“It’s convenient,” he says, then points at Terry. “I been coming here ever since Terry was like that.”

He lowers his right hand to about belt-level to illustrate his early memories of the man some call “Bud,” if they don’t know any better. “That man (Terry) is nice and friendly and makes you welcome every time you come into his store.”

Jonathon Norman, Terry Norman’s son, represents the future of Bud’s Hardware.— Tim Ghianni | The Ledger

“Abraham!” comes a “Norm”-like chorus of customers and store staffers as a sprightly 73-year-old enters this place where everybody knows his name. “How you doin’?”

Abraham Ghirmai says he too comes here to get tools and stuff to take care of rental property.

Today, as he waits for Terry, and then Gary, to cut some replacement window glass, he sings the praises of this store and the men who occupy it. “I find what I need here and their prices is fair and they are friendly.”

Another regular, a plumber with no need to waste time speaking with a journalist in a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, rushes into the store, heads to what he needs and retrieves it, carrying it to Jonathon at the cash register.

“I’m trying to fix a sink,” the plumber growls, as he speeds out the door. “They (the customers) don’t call me until after they ‘fix’ it themselves.”

During a quiet moment, Terry turns back to me. “I like all the customers and all the relationships.

They come in here, and it’s kind of cool, because they’ve known me since I was a little boy. They treat me like family.”

All romanticizing aside, Terry allows that in addition to the family tradition, he has one major reason for spending up to 10 hours a day here.

“This is what I do to make a living,” he says. “Eating’s a hard habit to break.”

And, he adds, there never was any question he wanted to keep up the successful business begun by Bud: “My dad gave us a pretty good life.”

He reaches back to his desk and picks up a laminated funeral announcement for Regina “Missy” Peoples, who died this spring of heart woes that occurred after she already had beaten leukemia.

“We sure miss her. She was tough …. She knew where everything was.”

Then he smiles. “She wasn’t just an employee, she was a personal friend. All of us here are like family.”

Jonathon is not only “just like family.” He’s the real deal, Terry’s son. He’s also somewhere between a janitor, a bookkeeper and a customer-service rep.

In short, he does anything needed, including running the store when his pop’s gone fishing or perhaps scouting out real estate opportunities.

In fact, Jonathon’s the future of the store. The father of two children, Jonas 15, and Abby 12, says he never really doubted, even when working on his philosophy degree at MTSU, that “I kinda knew I would” spend life at the hardware store and overseeing the future of Bud’s Corner in general.

“The whole reason I’m here is because of my granddad. He was a hero, so it means a lot to me to be a part of this and keep things going,” Jonathon says.

“I spent a lot of time with him, and he passed on a lot of wisdom. Probably the biggest thing was ‘work hard, go to school and you can do whatever you want to do.’

“I’m doing what I want to do.” He smiles while scanning his store filled with implements of destruction and construction.

Grandpa Bud set the mood and manner that continues at this family business. “He was a very charismatic, very caring person.”

Jonathon sees those same qualities in his own father. “My dad has always treated people kindly and with respect,” he notes.

“We have a lot of the same faces who have been coming in for years and years, little old ladies come in and say they remember when it was an A&W and they’d get their root beer here.”

Course the revitalization of Buchanan Street, like so much of Nashville, is dependent on the contractors who need equipment and supplies. This store, Bud’s, is within a few blocks rather than miles of the north-side building boom.LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai

But Jonathon is looking beyond his own future and into what he hopes will be an endless existence for Bud’s Hardware.

“I hope it lasts beyond me,” he says. “I’ve got a daughter, and since she was little she said she wanted to run the store, so I hope to see it passed through generations.”

Terry is back at the cash register, checking out yet one more customer he knows by first name and whose father or grandfather probably knew old Bud.

A man steps in from the corner of 16th and Buchanan and asks Terry if he can loan him $5.

“I don’t loan out money anymore,” Terry says.

“You know me. You know I’m good for it,” says the customer. “And I’m working now.”

Terry smiles. “If you are working now, how come you need $5?”

The mayor of Bud’s Corner reaches into his pocket, then hands the man a fiver.

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[copperheadbiketales]

The 9/11 Ride and Being a Girl

This was supposed to be fun. I muttered this to myself while we were moving at a snail’s pace on the FDR, a highway that skirts the city of Manhattan. Normally this speedway travels at 40-60 miles per hour, unless there’s a traffic jam. Well. I guess we qualified. 5 mph. The 9/11 Charity Run had, at minimum, 800 bikes – maybe as many as a thousand. We all met that morning at a Long Island casino parking lot, lined up our babies, got off to eat, drink, smoke (there was a cigar truck – of course), and admire each other’s toys. There were show bikes, cruisers, sports bikes and choppers – no two bikes were the same. Individuality was the name of the game, and everyone showed up in spades. That said…There were no women. Well, let me correct that. There were plenty of girlfriends, wives, friends, women riding on the back of their men’s bikes. And there was one woman who rode a CanAm. But women riding their own bikes? I counted three. Three, out of a thousand bikes. Believe me, I was grateful for the three, but… there ARE women who ride in New York City, who weren’t represented here. Specifically, I can think of the Sirens, who always come out for Gay Pride Weekend. On the other hand, considering the rules I was given about how much noise my bike could make during the Parade, this noisy environment might have been a little intimidating. Which is a shame. Because it was for charity. And it was a 9/11 ride. And nobody, mind you nobody, was going to allow anything to happen to any one of us. There were firefighters, police officers, military galore…and the only complaint I really had was that one of the speakers (who was running for Mayor of NYC) was obviously pandering to the worst instincts of the group – leading a chant of “We’ll Never Forget! We’ll Get Even!” wasn’t exactly constructive. Anyway. I found myself going five miles an hour (yes, FIVE) on a major highway in New York City in hot weather – where, I, unfortunately, chose to wear a flannel. Not only were we going through all the boroughs, we were going to make sure that we waved, honked and slowed down for everyone lined up on the side of the road. The beep-beep brigade, we were. The highlight? 42nd Street. The cheers of the crowd, folks who normally would be scared if they saw us coming, was priceless. All of a sudden we were all patriots. And on that note, I got stuck on the outer roadway of the Queensboro bridge with a group of these patriots. A man cut me off riding a cruiser, a big Harley wrapped in decals of the American flag, with a couple of iron crosses on his hard bags for posterity. All the guys in his group had signs on their bikes referring to the aforementioned chant, and I was in the middle of them. A girl (especially a colored girl) could get a little nervous – and I was that colored girl. So when this dude sidled up to my bike, I braced myself. “Say, I’m sorry for cutting you off back there, we’re just trying to figure out what’s going on. Wow…I really love your Honda…how far have you taken her?” In this totally male, mostly white, extremely hot situation, I suddenly felt at home. The shame of it is that this is a rarity at events like these. We’ve gone to demo rides and charity rides where I’ve been stared at, talked down to, and in what I call an ultimate moment of zen, one idiot came up (prompted by his friends) to ask if I had a nice ride. In a very loud voice – as if I didn’t understand English. Stereotypes abound, tons of stereotypes abound, and I suppose while my looks garner a larger share than most people, they abound for others. But they still come out. I still come out. And I suppose that would be my argument, if I were to have one, towards other women who ride. Where were you? I know you exist – I’ve seen you, I’ve heard from you, but I don’t see you at the big things. Of course the 9/11 ride is one of the biggest, but…it would have been nice to have seen a few other women who love and do the thing that I love best. Maybe next year.

[kutee-boutique-fan-blog]

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In her newest Final Thoughts commentary, Tomi Lahren takes on the many NFL players who knelt for the national anthem on Sunday… It’s time for final thoughts. So the Left and overpaid whiny pro-athletes are now all about the constitution and first amendment, yeah so long as the message and speech is their own. See, they keep getting this whole free speech thing twisted so let me help ‘em out.

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First of all, team owners have every right to enforce rules and standing for the anthem should be one of them- if the NFL values money, ratings, and viewership. And Roger Goodell, you disgust me. You’re the same fool who denied the Dallas Cowboys request to wear an arm and arm decal on their helmets in honor of slain police officers. Now you’re about free speech and this is the cause you choose to defend, the hatred of America, the disrespect of our country, our flag and our patriotism? Way to go.

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I will watch only one NFL game this year, and the only reason I will watch that game is to share the experience of watching a football game (as we did back in the day) with my Dad, who turns 88 next week, and my kid brother, a Veteran whose health is in decline. Other than that, I really don’t give two shits about the NFL, or the players who disrespect our country with their arrogant attempts to make themselves out to be champions of causes to which their only link is their ethnicity. So this long time NFL fan is going to take knee “FOR GOOD” and the NFL can go straight to hell for all I care, because I am done spending time and money on a “SPORT” that allows its players to protest my America, when they should be working (at playing a game they get paid millions to play)

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I don’t think anyone on here actually watches her…. she is so wrong. All of the time.

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We are not white, black, or brown, we are red white and blue” Maybe Tammy knows something I don’t because I’ve never seen a blue or red person before. We as White people have the privilege to ignore race because it doesn’t impact us the same way it does minorities. So instead of bashing black athletes for using their platform to protest a system which has failed minorities through out history, maybe you should try and understand where they’re coming from.

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Finally someone who understands & got it exactly right !!!!! I’m sure Pat Tillman is looking down right now in full disgust @ every player who has disrespected him & what he stood for & was willing to leave a lavish life style to serve & protect the country he loved so much & gave the ultimate sacrifice. They kneel on the ground & then afterwards go home in a limo & their multi-million dollar mansions. & lavish life styles . Why don’t they put their money where their mouths are & use the correct platform outside of football to carry on their agenda’s for justice instead of creating more division in America.

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And here’s the thing about the first amendment, free speech and freedom of expression- Democrats, kneelers, and Leftist mainstream media hacks listen up- free speech isn’t just saying what you want to say, it’s also hearing what you don’t want to hear. See problem is, these people think they should be able to do whatever they want and no one should criticize or question it. Wrong. Your protest doesn’t get a safe space, it doesn’t get bubble wrap. You want to get political? Fine. Put it out there, disrespect the country, but don’t for one second think people like me are going to let it go unquestioned. No. I’ll be happy to remind you what that flag and that anthem mean because maybe, just maybe, it’s bigger than you and your temper tantrum.

[kalachand97-blog]

New Post has been published on Globeinfrom

New Post has been published on https://globeinform.com/home-windows-authors-replace-has-come-to-kill-your-apps/

Home windows ‘Author’s Replace’ Has Come to Kill Your Apps

MICROSOFT DUBS THE latest Update to Home windows the “Author’s Replace,” however don’t let the name fool you. Sure, it offers some goodies to crafty sorts, but the Replace is virtually aimed at getting you to move from 1/3-birthday celebration apps like Twitch and Chrome through packing more capability into Home windows itself.

Maximum of the brand new tools is subtle additions to MS Paint, surfing, maps, and gaming. however, they’ll be a center a part of Home windows going forward, building on the same old code base of Home windows 10. Here’s a preview of what you’ll see as soon as Creators Update comes to Windows 10 machines as a free Replace on April 11.

Paint Balls Paint 3D has been to be had as a downloadable beta app due to the fact October, but Creators Update provides it to Windows 10’s widespread set of apps. Consider it as a 3-D clip-artwork generator with higher enhancing tools: You click on a three-D cube at the top of this system to summon a selection of canned 3-D items, fashions, and freeform drawing gear. You could drop in a 3-D model of a man, a dog, or a donut, rotate it 360 ranges on all axes, and visit the city with details the use of standard 2-D drawing tools or “stickers.” Paint’s drawing tools additionally take on three-D traits while you touch up a 3-D object, so if you vicinity a decal on a 3-D version, it wraps across the form like it would in real existence.

constructing, rotating, and painting a simple three-D item is exceptionally clean with the brand new software. I had no problem “portray” things as I typically could in plain old Paint, and the software robotically turns them into three-D shapes You may rotate, expand, and think about from distinctive angles.

That said, it’s still Paint—now not a Photoshop substitute. At great, it looks as if an amusing feature to keep children occupied. If you have a like minded three-D printer, even though, You may turn the one’s 3-D Paint creations into actual-international gadgets.

Residing on the brink Creators Replace also offers some reasons to actually use Edge, Microsoft’s now not-so-popular internet browser. (You may comprehend it from those traumatic “Hey, please use Aspect as an alternative” pop-use you see when the usage of every other browser.) Keep in mind the cool manner Facet now handles tabs: Tapping a drop-down arrow on the pinnacle of a Part window opens a thumbnail preview of every open tab. Simply the factor when you’ve got 13 of them open.

Part still stops brief of OneTab’s tab-sharing functions, but it does let you keep agencies of tabs You can go to later. It’s a capacity time-saver whilst you want to fireplace up a particular group of pages for work, studies, comparing flight prices, shopping, or anything else you do online. It still might not make Edge your default browser, but it does scratch some itches for open-tab junkies.

Twitch Why bother gaming if You couldn’t broadcast your skills? Microsoft honestly wants to offer a opportunity to Twitch by using adding a stay-broadcasting service known as Beam to Windows 10 with this Update. Beam also bridges the gap between Xbox One and Laptop gamers by letting lovers of both systems without difficulty live stream and watch gameplay.

Microsoft says Beam has a few advantages over Twitch, inclusive of the truth that it has practically no lag time. Meaning a better actual-time experience for viewers. Depending upon the game, Beam also gives viewer-controllable functions just like the ability to spawn enemies within the feed they’re looking.

There’s also the brand new “Game Mode,” which robotically optimizes a machine when you’re playing video games, devoting greater processing electricity to the games even as taking cycles far from history device tactics. Like maybe the ones forty-seven tabs you’ve were given openly in Edge.

“Because the Crow Flies” Killer Anybody has a cursed buddy who insists he knows a “shortcut” to anyplace you’re going, even though he’s actually incorrect. Creators Replace brings a clever device to the 7fd5144c552f19a3546408d3b9cfb251 Maps app that may settle those ratings for true. if you’ve got a computer with a touchscreen, You could draw a route and get an instant calculation of the space between two points.

It doesn’t need to be a immediately line both. You can meander down alleyways, thru parks, anything. Simply faucet the pen icon at the pinnacle of Maps, select the “Degree Distance” tool, and draw away. Once you chart a direction, a pop-up flag shows how a long way you’ll stroll.

As for the gap between the Windows 10 Creators Update and the Home windows 10 you know? It’ll be in large part imperceptible for Maximum users. Artists and game enthusiasts will get the Most out of the new equipment, specifically in the event that they need to a few-D print those chess pieces they Simply designed. The additions to Area are sort of handy, and getting on the spot distance data in Maps is cool. however in the end, the additions display Microsoft wasn’t kidding about making Windows 10 a continuously evolving platform. How to Determine Your Platform whilst Growing Your App

“I have an app idea, but I don’t know if it’s higher ideal for the iPad or the iPhone. How do I understand which platform will paintings quality?”

That is a commonly asked query. We’re regularly stressed about whether to increase our app on the iPhone or the iPad. Fortunately, the iPad is designed with cross-platform compatibility in mind. Every iPhone app currently available can also be used on the iPad. This indicates, while you genuinely are not positive what to do, You may begin with an iPhone app concept and turn it into a full-scale iPad app later on.

First, reflect consideration on what your app will do. Is it the type of app people will want get admission to to at the same time as they’re out with their pals and normally being lively? Will your target consumer spend lots of time the use of the app? iPhone apps are normally greater appropriate for human beings on the cross even as iPad apps are better for humans who’ve lots of time to kill whilst in among sports.

additionally, consider the distinct benefits your user will get out of having a bigger display screen. If there are not any apparent answers, you probably shouldn’t develop your app for the iPad proper away. Test it out at the iPhone first, and if it is famous, devote the more assets into making an iPad model.

We recognise there is a lot enthusiasm for the iPad as of past due, and it’s exquisite! but you must in no way allow enthusiasm crowd out your sensible commercial enterprise feel. Always layout in your goal marketplace and you’ll get downloads, iPad or now not.

For greater iPhone Articles.

The Appiction control team is made out of especially qualified and experienced leaders in commercial enterprise, advertising, eLearning, virtual media, method, network engineering, technology development and deployment and have demonstrated abilties in directing media and technology communications.