#MARY CARUTHERS

[legend-collection]

Bodach

A bodach (Scottish Gaelic pronunciation: [ˈpɔt̪əx]; plural bodaich "old man; rustic, churl, lout"; Old Irish botach) is a trickster or bogeyman figure in Gaelic folklore and mythology. The bodach "old man" is paired with the cailleach "hag, old woman" in Irish legend.

Bodach (Old Irish also botach) is the Irish word for a tenant, a serf or peasant. It is derived from bod (Old Irish bod) "tail, penis".

Pic by Mary-Ann Caruthers

The word has alternatively been derived from both "cottage, hut" (probably a borrowing from Old Norse, as is English booth). The term botach "tenant farmer" is thus equivalent to a cotter (the cotarius of the Domesday Book); a daer botach was a half-free peasant of a lower class. In either case, the name is formed by the addition of nominal suffix -ach ("connected or involved with, belonging to, having").

In modern Gaelic, bodach simply means "old man", often used affectionately.

In the Echtra Condla, one "Boadach the Eternal" is king of Mag Mell. This name is derived from buadhach "victorious" and unrelated to botach in origin. However, the two names may have become associated by the early modern period, as Manannan is also named king of Mag Mell, and the bodach figure in Eachtra Bhodaigh an Chóta Lachtna (17th century) is in turn identified with Manannan.

*Buzdākos is the reconstructed Proto-Celtic form of Old Irish Botach and an element in the name of the Badacsony wine region in Hungary. The name dates back to at least 1000BC but is likely much older.

In modern Gaelic (Scottish and Irish) folklore, the bodach or "old man" becomes a type of bugbear, to the point of being identified with the devil.

In the early modern (16th or 17th century) tale Eachtra Bhodaigh an Chóta Lachtna, the bodach is identified with the Manannán mac Lir. This identification inspired Lady Gregory's tale "Manannan at Play" (Gods and Fighting Men, 1904), where Manannan makes an appearance in disguise as "a clown ... old striped clothes he had, and puddle water splashing in his shoes, and his sword sticking out naked behind him, and his ears through the old cloak that was over his head, and in his hand he had three spears of hollywood scorched and blackened."

In Scottish folklore the bodach comes down the chimney to kidnap naughty children, used as a cautionary tale or bogeyman figure to frighten children into good behaviour. A related being known as the Bodach Glas ("Dark Grey Man") is considered an omen of death.

[hunters-house]

Official H.O.U.S.E. Handler Message

Subject: Additional Information and Cover Identities

Handler: Mr. Button

To: Casper Cade, Mackenzie Thorns, Niner Zed

Good afternoon, team. We've got 72 hours until the Summer Ball. Now, you're no strangers to having alternate objectives, but this is one of those times: Our objective has changed from broad intelligence gathering to targeted intelligence gathering. Our goal isn't to simply inform MVS, but to convince them of the truth: That they have nothing to fear from Eath.

That's not all: You should know Eath has a guardian. MVS is working on a dossier on this individual, codenamed “Sting.” They are a shapeshifter, and are fiercely protective of Eath. They pulled a gun on me when I went to talk to them, so keep an eye out for signs of shapeshifters in the area.

Your cover identities have also been included, and I've ensured they are cover identities you've used before.

I'd wish you luck, but I know you've never needed it.

- Mr. Button

Attachments:

Casper- Jasper Caruthers

Mackenzie- Mary MacLyman

Zed- Zulus Ua Versa

[clancarruthers]

CLAN CARRUTHERS - CARRUTHERS IN TEXAS

CLAN CARRUTHERS – CARRUTHERS IN TEXAS

CARRUTHERS IN TEXAS

  As the United States expanded and families continued to migrate Westward, the vast Mexican  territory promised tremendous opportunity to those seeking land.  Several Caruthers / Carothers / Carruthers individuals and families helped pioneer this land.

Early History

In the “New World”, while the English and the French claimed the Atlantic coastal land from Georgia…

[animationgirl89]

All Dogs Go To Heaven/Adgth Supremacy! ✨💜

(These Were All Made By Me, And I Decided To Make Another Set Of "I Believe In Supremacy" Meme, Adgth Edition. Wanted To Make This For My Good Friend @bluestar-of-thunderclan And Others Who Like All Dogs Go To Heaven, And To Those Who Find Enjoyment And Comfort In Any Of The Characters. Feel Free To Reblog, Guys!)

[feuillesmortes]

— Cathy Caruth, "The Wound and the Voice"; Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History (1996)

[dweemeister]

All Dogs Go to Heaven (1989)

When Don Bluth and eleven other animators resigned from Walt Disney Productions in 1979, the defection was so stunning that the development was headline news in Hollywood. Bluth’s group (also including Gary Goldman and John Pomeroy) had been with Disney through the 1970s, working on the Winnie the Pooh short films, The Rescuers (1977), and Pete’s Dragon (1977). The defectors chafed under producer Wolfgang Reitherman’s leadership on The Fox and the Hound, accusing Reitherman (one of the Disney’s Nine Old Men, employed by the House of Mouse since 1933) for exerting too much control over artistic decisions cutting costs for training newer animators. Within a year, the defectors��� breakaway studio, Don Bluth Productions, was at work on The Secret of NIMH (1982) – a financial failure for various reasons little to do with the quality of the film itself. With funding from businessman Morris Sullivan and artistic collaborations with Steven Spielberg, the studio reformed as Sullivan Bluth Studios (often referred to without Sullivan’s name). Two animated features later (1986’s An American Tail, 1988’s The Land Before Time) and fatigued with Spielberg increasing control over all creative aspects of these movies, Bluth inked a deal with independent British studio Goldcrest Films to craft three animated features almost entirely free of outside interference.

All Dogs Go to Heaven is the first of these three movies, and the first Don Bluth movie where almost all of the animation took place in Ireland. The film, with a screenplay by David N. Weiss (1998’s The Rugrats Movie, 2004’s Shrek 2), is Bluth’s directorial vision unvarnished, without an esteemed producer there to overrule him. As such, All Dogs Go to Heaven boasts animated sequences unlike anything seen in prior Bluth movies, but suffers in its second half due to narrative indiscipline.

It is 1939 in New Orleans. German Shepherd Charlie B. Barkin (Burt Reynolds) and Dachshund Itchy Itchiford (Dom DeLuise in a fantastic performance and the film’s second best – more on the best later) explosively escape from a dog pound to return to the bayou. There, they head straight for a casino riverboat owned and patronized by dogs. The owner of the establishment is American Pit Bull Terrier/Bulldog Carface Caruthers (Vic Tayback), who orders his assistant, Killer (Charles Nelson Reilly), to intoxicate and execute Charlie. After a macabre execution – the fateful moment thankfully not shown – Charlie, despite his vices, finds himself at the pearly gates of heaven. He learns from a Whippet angel (Melba Moore) that all dogs, regardless of their life’s sins (and because dogs are naturally good and loyal), are guaranteed a place in heaven. But Charlie attempts to cheat death by stealing a special watch that allows him to return to Earth. The angel warns Charlie that this gambit may cost him his heavenly entitlement and that, when the clock stops ticking, he might find himself in hell. Charlie does not pay this much mind and reunites with Itchy, and soon hatches a plot to exact revenge on Carface. Their lives (but not necessarily their plans) change when both of them encounter a seven-year-old orphan girl named Anne-Marie (Judith Barsi), a human slave to Carface.

Just skimming the above synopsis make clear that this is not a children’s movie in the strictest sense. All Dogs Go to Heaven ends as one might expect, with Charlie’s earthly redemption. But the route to that final destination is abound with terrible moral choices from our canine protagonist and grim moments not appropriate for the youngest of children. The film’s first half illustrates the morality play that follows with clarity and narrative flow. Bluth and Weiss wisely keep the focus on Charlie and Itchy and their selfish, materialistic, and hedonistic ways. Even after coming into contact with Anne-Marie, there are aspects to their treatment of her that directly echo Carface’s. Can the audience forgive Charlie and Itchy for their behavior, given the rough-and-tumble (or perhaps, “dog-eat-dog”) reality of the bayou? The value of kindness and reciprocity is foreign to both. Abuse and exploitation are the near-sum of their life experiences. Credit to Bluth and Weiss for not allowing Charlie any simple redemption, even though one could credibly have questions about how the character arc transpires. Without the first half’s emotional and moral intimacy, All Dogs Go to Heaven might otherwise lose its way in its final stages.

A major factor keeping All Dogs to Heaven from crumbling due to its narrative cracks is Anne-Marie. In American animated features and television from the 1970s onwards, too many of these works have their child characters appear too cloying and cute, their eyes and usually-upturned mouths taking up far too much space on their faces, overdone cheek colorations, bodily movements exaggerated to an excessive degree – sometimes averted if the animators intentionally wished to provoke such a reaction (see: Elmyra Duff in Tiny Toon Adventures, Dee Dee in Dexter’s Laboratory). Anne-Marie feels like a throwback, a suggestion of Snow White from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937). Her rather limited movements, slight hesitations in her bearing, and smooth transitions from one expression to the next (whether radical or subtle in emotional change) is a masterstroke of animation. From the moment Anne-Marie appears on-screen, the viewer empathizes with her – a tribute to the one of the best-designed characters on Bluth’s roster of characters in his filmography.

Much of the genius of her character lies in Judith Barsi’s voice performance, which quivers with youthfulness and vulnerability. Described by Bluth as a natural voice actor who could intuit complicated voice direction and having starred as Ducky in The Land Before Time, Barsi delivers the performance of the movie. For Barsi – abused and later murdered by her father at home – this is her final film. With the foreknowledge of what happened to Barsi before, during, and after her recording sessions on All Dogs Go to Heaven, it paints her turn as Anne-Marie in an agonizing, but soulful light. A heartbroken Don Bluth had Anne-Marie’s physical mannerisms based on Barsi to cope with the loss.

For the remainder of the cast, All Dogs Go to Heaven has some of the most expressive canine anthropomorphisms not seen since arguably Robin Hood (1973). The dogs quaff beers out of glasses, wave their paws in frustration as their rat race bets lose them their steak bets, and hold submachine guns like a person trained in firearms. But unlike Robin Hood and several other films from that period in Disney animation history, Bluth and his animators did not recycle any animation effects from a previous film. Directing animator John Pomeroy (character designer of Fievel from An American Tail and Elliot from Pete’s Dragon) designed Charlie, Itchy, Carface, and King Gator. And with Charlie, Itchy, and Carface in particular, Pomeroy sets the balance the canine and anthropomorphic. That style defines almost the remainder of character animation in All Dogs Go to Heaven – never off-putting, and supremely engaging.

Pomeroy also happened to design King Gator, a character who, despite their comedic value, threatens to steer All Dogs Go to Heaven off-course, also representing another glaring weakness to the film – a poor soundtrack. All Dogs Go to Heaven, with music by Ralph Burns (music supervisor on 1972’s Cabaret and 1977’s New York, New York) and lyrics by Charles Strouse (the musicals Bye Bye Birdie and Annie), T.J. Kuenster, Joel Hirschhorn (1972’s The Poseidon Adventure, Pete’s Dragon), and Al Kasha (The Poseidon Adventure, Pete’s Dragon), makes the mistake of having Burt Reynolds sing four times in this movie. This is not saying that Reynolds is terrible (“inoffensive” and “vocally limited” are how I will describe his singing), but he is no one’s idea of a musical star, despite what King Gator says about his howling. With no disrespect intended towards Ken Page as King Gator, King Gator’s song, “Let’s Make Music Together” is a momentum-stopper, screeching the brakes on the narrative at an inopportune time. Yours truly is no opponent of diverting (perhaps even time-wasting) Esther Williams homages, but not when they appear at critical dramatic junctures in the plot. The few songs of note include “Soon You’ll Come Home” (the most organically-placed song in the soundtrack; sung by Lana Beeson for Judith Barsi after the latter broke down during her audition) and the end credits’ “Love Survives” (sung by Irene Cara and Freddie Jackson, composed after Barsi’s death and dedicated to her). Otherwise, too many of the soundtrack’s numbers are plagued with dull melodies that neither do narrative or musical justice to the film at large.

All Dogs Go to Heaven possesses some of the most beautiful animation in the Don Bluth filmography. A vibrant waterfall of colors, the film’s classical backgrounds recall the mastery of earlier Disney animated features. The scene where Charlie dreams he is in hell (the provided link provides a rough cut of the entire scene; MGM/UA trimmed the scene for its theatrical release to avoid a “PG” rating from the MPAA – the film should be rated “PG” anyways) outdoes the demonic art Disney cooked up for The Black Cauldron (1985). Those few minutes are unadulterated nightmare fuel – a breathtaking demonstration of animation effects to flaunt the techniques that Bluth accused Disney of abandoning.

After handily defeating The Great Mouse Detective with An American Tail at the 1986 box office and with ongoing turmoil at Disney, it seemed – for a brief moment – that Don Bluth might become the premier name animation in the United States. Upon the release of All Dogs Go to Heaven and The Little Mermaid to American theaters on November 17, 1989, that possibility became undone. Bluth, who had left Disney after justifiably accusing the studio of deserting its creative foundations, was correct in his assessment when he left Burbank ten years earlier. The Little Mermaid was an instant classic; critics, comparing the two, eviscerated All Dogs Go to Heaven. In the following years, Bluth was regarded as a foolhardy Judas to the House of Mouse – harmful hyperbole that has not helped the reputation of his movies. Interestingly, the legacy of All Dogs Go to Heaven is mostly thanks to home media. The film had one of the highest-selling VHS releases of all time. Its success there and repeat showings on cable television (Bluth films aired on Cartoon Network with regularity in the ‘90s and 2000s) prompted a 1996 sequel (Bluth was not involved, Dom DeLuise was the only cast member reprising his role, and there is no Anne-Marie) and a TV series.

With the exception of Anastasia (1997), All Dogs Go to Heaven – a film that beautifully, though imperfectly, reflects Bluth’s represents the last commercial success in Don Bluth’s filmography. Animation in the 1990s belonged, once more, to Disney, despite the mostly-dismissed incursions from Japanese animation into international markets at this time. One wonders how Bluth perceived the irony of Disney returning to its origins of innovation and cut-no-corners artistry during that decade – a change that might not have happened if Bluth and his fellow eleven other animators never left the studio in protest. Of course, the Disney Renaissance did not last, and Disney shows no indications of returning to hand-drawn animation. Once more, Don Bluth’s vision of hand-drawn animation is dormant at the studio he idolized during his El Paso childhood. Yet his vision persists, shared by more people than he might have realized. Perhaps not in the form or in the places (Cartoon Saloon’s Tomm Moore, Nora Twomey, and Paul Young may never have made The Secret of Kells or Wolfwalkers without first meeting at an animation program set up by Bluth in Ireland) he imagined, but that belief in hand-drawn animation’s expressiveness, versatility, and timelessness survives.

My rating: 7.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[princetonarchives]

Throwback Thursday: To conclude Women’s History Month this year, we thought we would share this photo we found this photo of a group of collegiate women ca. 1910 in a scrapbook made by James McKinley Rose, Princeton University Class of 1913. On the back, one of the women wrote: This is our crowd taken in one of the girls’ rooms. The girl under the State pennant is Dorothy Knight, a cute little girl from Wyoming. Beside her is Josephine Young, then I, Hazel Myers, Mary Caruthers, and Edith Steele. The two girls sitting down in front are Ira Byers and Lorena Young. This is a mighty jolly crowd even if five do all look pretty sober here.

Rose has many photos of women, some with accompanying notes, in his scrapbook.

Scrapbook Collection (AC026), Box 274

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 38

Filming for The Cameraman wrapped in late June and to Buster’s surprise the M-G-M brass allowed him to cut it without much interference. He spent July snipping and pasting, then running the edited reels again and again until he was satisfied with what was on screen. He previewed a few rushes for Irv Thalberg and other bigwigs that month. When it came to the dressing room scene, every one of them howled until he thought their sides would split. Irv pumped his hand before he left. “It’s a guaranteed hit,” he said effusively. 

A couple weeks later, he cornered Irv at his office, positive that he could leverage the success of The Cameraman for a new picture with Marie Dressler he’d been brainstorming. At the height of the Old West and in search of better opportunities, Marie would make preparations to join a wagon train, but an unfortunate delay would leave her at the mercy of her nincompoop nephew (him) to navigate her west and protect her from wolves, treacherous crossings, and marauding bands of thieves. He hadn’t gotten to the middle or the end yet, but it was a sure winner. He could just see them now, Marie with her stout, imposing figure wrestling a mountain lion into submission with her bare hands while he, the weakling, all but fainted.

Irv heard him out, but Buster realized sinkingly that none of his own enthusiasm was being reflected back at him. He promised politely to give it some serious thought. Buster knew the answer, though.

You’ll lose, Harold Lloyd said in his head. 

He gave in and moved into the M-G-M compound after filming at the beginning of August. Partly he was hoping that being an obedient little movie star would convince them to let him do the picture with Marie Dressler, partly he was just sick of locking horns with Louie Mayer over the Grant Avenue bungalow. The new house was a shotgun shack built specially for him. It had white clapboard siding and was only wide enough for a double window and a door. It was sandwiched between Rehearsal Hall A and the Short Subject building where until recently John Gilbert had lived. He had only to walk a few yards and he could see the rear of the buildings in the New York City backlot where he’d filmed that spring. Perhaps the idea was that he couldn’t get up to much mischief in such a little house in the view of so many eyes, but if that was the studio’s thinking, it was sorely mistaken. 

Within two days, he had tracked down Gabe and had a sign carved and hung between two porch beams: KEATON’S KENNEL. If they were going to keep him penned inside their fortress like a dog, he wanted it known that he didn’t care for it. He started spending more and more nights away from the Villa and half the time didn’t bother telling Nate what he was doing or when he would be home. At times, the activities keeping him away were innocent enough, bridge games long into the night with the liquor freely flowing. Other times, they weren’t fit to talk about in front of polite company. He didn’t even have to go looking for the girls anymore. Sometimes they’d be waiting on his front steps, other times lingering in his dressing room without any clothes on, such were the perks of being part of M-G-M’s stable. 

At first he liked the bungalow. The flow of friends and fellow stars was constant and there was never any shortage of diversions. With Caruthers there to whip up whatever cuisine or drinks struck his fancy, all his needs were taken care of. He got to liking it less, though, when a girl he was petting with on the sofa one July evening in the sitting room pointed to the empty glass-fronted bookcases lining all three walls and said, “You should put some books in there.” Thereafter, he hated the sight of them but couldn’t put his finger on why. 

On a night in late August when the party at the Villa was breaking up, he decided to follow Buster Collier back to his house for a nightcap. Louise Brooks was waiting there, her ban from the Villa still effective. She and Buster had started going together again—or so he’d been made to understand by Buster. As far as he had been aware, she was still seeing George Marshall.

“You coming?” he said to Cliff, who was having trouble figuring out which end of his hat should face forward. “Don’t forget this.” He nudged the ukulele case at Cliff’s feet with his toe. 

“Am I coming?” Cliff said, his face red with effort. He finally got the hat pointing the right way.

“Where are you going?” said Natalie, appearing in the foyer.

“Uh-oh,” said Cliff. 

“To Buster’s place,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at her. She was the color of Cabernet Sauvignon tonight, Cabernet lipstick, Cabernet beaded dress. Even if he hadn’t been in the middle of a comfortable drunkenness, he wouldn’t have been able to figure out why she cared if he stayed out late. Even when he was home, they rarely took breakfast together anymore. He slept late on the weekends and she was always out for afternoon teas or Sunday lunches when he finally pulled himself together.

“At this hour?” she said. 

“At this hour,” he confirmed. He turned to kiss her cheek and a spiteful impulse seized him. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like sleeping without me.”

Her frozen look might have chilled him in the not so distant past. Now he found he didn’t care at all. 

“What was that all about?” Cliff said, settling into the passenger seat of his Lincoln. Without waiting for him to answer, he said, “Irene gives me the same grief. Women, though. What can you do about ‘em?” He was having problems with the missus too, Buster knew.

He turned the key over in the ignition and steered the car southeast, then west, then southeast again. In five minutes, they had arrived on North Bedford Drive. He parked on the street near a knotty-trunked palm tree on the boulevard. 

Buster Collier and Louise were already inside. A phonograph was playing loudly in the sitting room just beyond the foyer. Louise greeted them with some Gin Rickeys. She was wearing turquoise satin pajamas, the top long-sleeved and the trousers wide-legged. 

“Kill that,” Cliff said, uncurling his forefinger from his glass and pointing at the phonograph as they walked into the sitting room. He sat down on the sofa opposite the armchair where Buster Collier was sitting and unlatched his ukulele case. Buster sat next to him and Louise sat on Buster Collier’s knee after obeying Cliff’s request to turn off the phonograph.

“Aren’t we just a merry bunch?” Cliff said. 

Buster felt merry enough. He was warm, carefree, and serene. 

“To dissipation!” Louise said, raising her glass. 

He didn’t know what she meant, but he tapped his glass against Cliff’s and downed the contents. Like a good girl, Louise was soon back with another for him. 

One o’clock came and went. They discussed the latest gossip, Frank Urson’s drowning, Joe Schenck predicting that talkies were a fad, an all-talking horror picture being put out by Warner Brothers in September. Marie Prevost was back with her husband. John Gilbert was going with a new girl, an actress named Ina. It was rumored that Jack Barrymore would soon marry Dolores Costello. Harold Lloyd’s mansion was almost completed. Cliff sang in between lulls in the conversation—

“One of the days when I would yell and cry, my Lovey went away …” And Louise read from a volume of poetry—

“Oh, is it, then, Utopian,

To hope that I may meet a man

Who’ll not relate, in accents suave,

The tales of girls he used to have?” They laughed and drank. And Cliff strummed his ukulele and sang—

“I’ll let her take it right in her hand,

‘Cause I know she’ll stroke it so grand …” And Louise read—

“The ladies men admire, I’ve heard, 

Would shudder at a wicked word. . . .

They do not keep awake till three,

Nor read erotic poetry …” And Cliff sang—

“The captain said to me, ‘You’re just a little runt.

As long as you’ve been playing you’ve never touched a cunt.’ ” And Louise read and Cliff sang and two-thirty was not very distant when Buster stumbled outside to take a long leak into the bushes, laughing to himself over the bawdy songs and poetry. He was seriously drunk.

Louise slipped out the back door as he was buttoning up. The moon was a little over a quarter full and beaming whitely through the palm trees. The air was warm and sweet. He hoped vaguely that she wouldn’t try to kiss him. He’d gotten the sense before that she liked him, but she wasn’t his type. She was too young for one, but more than that she was an intimidating combination of sophistication, jadedness, and naïveté he wasn’t keen to get mixed up with. 

“Are you okay?” she said, laying a hand on his arm. Her palm was soft and cool. 

He risked a look at her. She seemed genuinely concerned and he decided she probably wasn’t trying to seduce him. “What do you mean?” He’d been singing along with Cliff and guffawing at the poetry.

“You just seem a little—” She felt for the word. “Saturnine.”

“Satur-what?”

“You know, melancholic. Down in the mouth.”

He was surprised. He hadn’t been aware of moping. 

“Is it Nate?” she said. 

Ah. So the rumors had begun. He smiled grimly, thinking of the Talmadges’ publicity campaign. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.” She linked her arm in his and looked up at the moon. He dipped into his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter and she kept her arm there, friendly, but not flirtatious. He didn’t know what to say. He lit his cigarette. 

“Want one?” he said.

“No thank you.”

The breeze carried the smoke backwards. In the thick of his inebriation, he was aware of a heavy sadness somewhere within him. He was impressed by Louise’s powers of observation.

“It’s not as hard as you think, divorce,” she said. “I guess it’s hard enough, though. Not as hard as staying.”

He remembered that hers had only recently happened, June maybe. Her ex-husband had played one of the cops in Tillie’s Punctured Romance. “That so?” he answered. 

“How’s Nelly? I thought you would pick her up tonight.”

At her name, a jolt of anguish licked through him. He didn’t know what to say. “She left town,” he said eventually. He took a long drag of his cigarette. 

“Why?” She didn’t seem to care that she was prying. 

“ ‘Cause of me,” he said. He was too drunk to beat around the bush. “Norm and Constance found out, ratted me out to Nate, blackmailed us, and that was the end of it.”

“I’m sorry.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I liked her.”

“Me too.”

There was nothing more to say on the subject, but that sad place in him sagged like a physical weight now. He had been trying so hard to forget. As he smoked, Louise kept her arm in his and hummed. The door opened behind them and they turned. It was Buster Collier. “I was wondering where you’d both gone off to.” “Buster had to pee,” said Louise. “And now we’re being mooncalves.” 

He walked over to them and kissed her cheek and stood and watched the moon with them as Buster finished his cigarette.

They went back inside, but the gay mood had changed. Cliff was strumming mournfully on his ukulele, singing the saddest version of “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love” that Buster had heard yet. “Who knows? Someday, I will win, too. I’ll begin to reach my prime. Now though I see what our end is, all I can spend is just my time.”

“You pick one to read now,” said Louise, setting a book in his hands.

He sat back on the sofa looking at it. The tan cover had a burgundy pattern like veins or thin, ropy spatters of blood. He turned to the title page, which told him the collection was Enough Rope and the author Dorothy Parker. He flipped to the contents, looking for a title that stood out and discovering it on the second page of contents. He flipped to page sixty-three.

“Out loud,” Louise prompted. “You have such a nice voice.” She was sitting in Buster Collier’s lap in the armchair.

“ ‘Day-Dreams,’ ” he said. “We’d build a little bungalow, / If you and I were one, / And carefully we’d plan it, so / We’d get the morning sun. / I’d rise each day at rosy dawn / And bustle gaily down ...” He shut the book, realizing what he was reading. For a moment, he felt dizzy. A strange sense of being outside himself struck him. It was as if Louise had scripted it, never mind that she had no way of telling which poem he’d choose or that he was remembering with fierce pain about Nelly’s castle in the air. 

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“Nothin’ ,” he said. “Just don’t feel like reading’s all.”

“Dream awhile, scheme awhile, we’re sure to find happiness and, I guess, all those things you’ve always pined for …” sang Cliff.

“Give it a rest, Cliff,” he snapped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Louise and Buster Collier exchange a look. 

“Do you want another drink?” she said. 

“Let’s have one at my place. The bungalow,” he said, standing up. His head was reeling. 

They piled into the Lincoln, Cliff in the passenger seat again holding his ukulele and Louise and Buster Collier tumbled in the backseat. It was a half-hour crawl to M-G-M. He wasn’t quite sure where he was at times and twice turned down the wrong streets. Cliff was still moaning in song, “I can’t make her happy, but I’d love someone to make her happy—that old girl of mine.” 

“Can’t you sing something else?” he said, turning so sharply to look at Cliff that the car veered to the right and nearly hit the curb. 

“Watch out,” Louise said in the backseat, her voice small and scared, as Cliff shouted “Hey!” in alarm. She put a hand on his shoulder and it brought him back to himself. 

“Sorry,” he said, training his eyes back on the road and slowing down. His heart was pounding. It was best just to take it slow. 

Obligingly Cliff started scatting and swung back into song. “Oh boy, my Lovey came back. I feel so good I wanna knock wood! Oh jiminy gee, my Lovey came back to me.”

Buster joined him. “I don’t know where she hid or what she did, all I know is she was breakin’ my heart. She returned, her kisses burned, somebody else made her terribly smart …”

A ghost of the good feeling returned and on the next chorus they all bellowed, “My Lovey came back …!”

The night watchman let them through the M-G-M gates, waving them on looking tired and unamused at their revelry, and Cliff began a new song. “Love, love, love, love, what did you do to me? The things I never missed are things I can’t resist,” his cheerfulness restored. Buster hummed along, steering the car southeast along Washington Boulevard. “Love, love, love, love, isn’t it plain to see? I’ve just had a change of heart; what can it be?”

As he slowed the car, scanning for the narrow facade of his bungalow, Cliff’s song hit him like a good one-two punch. “She’s got eyes of blue, I never cared for eyes of blue, but she’s got eyes of blue …”

He pulled the car over and threw it into park, jarring them all forward. 

“Easy, Bus,” said Buster Collier. 

“Oh my, oh me. I should be good, I would be good, but gee. She likes to bill and coo …”

He slammed the car door behind him, blind with feeling. It was such a strong feeling, he couldn’t even tell what it was.

Louise jumped out of the car, followed by Buster Collier. “Ooh, it’s so cute,” she said, heading up the sidewalk toward the house. She was still wearing her pajamas. Overhead, the moon shone bright as a streetlamp. The ground tilted like the floor of a funhouse as he trailed Louise. He was deeply, deeply drunk . His eyelids felt very heavy. Buster Collier and Cliff’s footsteps sounded behind him on the sidewalk. 

It took him several tries to get the key in the door. Hazily, he thought that it would make for a funny gag, a drunk trying to unlock a door. Maybe at gunpoint, sweating as he dropped the keys, tried the wrong ones, and couldn’t find the lock. He could work it into the picture with Marie Dressler. 

“She likes rainy days, I never cared for a rainy day …”

They were inside. He flipped on the lights. 

“She likes a vestibule, I never stood in a vestibule …”

His bat was resting against the wall and he picked it up. It felt heavy and good in his hands, the oiled wood shining like honey in the dim light.

“Oh gee, poor me. I can hear the clock strikin’ one-two-three!”

He swung it back and slammed it against the glass of the nearest bookcase. The glass burst inward, making a sound like bells. He heaved the bat into the other door of the bookcase. Again and again, he smashed the bat against the bookcases until, looking at all three walls of the room, he was satisfied that every pane had been destroyed.

He could feel his breath coming fast and hard. Cliff had stopped singing. Glass glittered on the floor. The bat fell from his hand and the room lurched.

Before he passed out, he was aware of Louise guiding him to the sofa and putting her arms about him. His face was pressed into her collarbone. “Oh darling,” she said, stroking his head.

He thought he may have been crying. Notes: Thank you to savageandwise for “previewing the rushes” and helping me work out a couple kinks in this chapter.  I’ve obviously taken liberties with the historical facts here. Buster didn’t move into the second bungalow until 1930. He and Cliff Edwards probably weren’t acquainted until 1929. Although the bookcase scene is based on real events, I don’t know what year or which bungalow they took place in, and obviously Cliff wasn’t there when Buster destroyed them. Likewise, the bawdy songs Cliff sings are later.  The songs that Cliff sings are: -“My Lovey Came Back”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owOSlJKB4_8 -“I’m Going to Give It to Mary with Love”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Bp4ASEm-ys -“I’m a Bear in a Lady’s Boudoir”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKtTo4bm12c -“I Can’t Give You Anything but Love”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fUKmLI9gw6g -“I Can't Make Her Happy That Old Gal of Mine”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TFE4xRSC-Q -“That’s My Weakness Now”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8rI3i0euVU

Dorothy Parker’s Enough Rope was published in 1926. It was a very popular book and I could see Louise Brooks getting a kick out of it. The poem “Day-Dreams” about the bungalow was a beautiful piece of serendipity. Wish I could say it was planned out chapters in advance, but I was reading the collection and it just jumped out at me: https://www.poetrynook.com/poem/day-dreams-2

[rottenpietv]

Southern Pokemon. This is a side project of mine imagining what a generation of Pokemon based on the American South would be like. I couldn’t really think of a full spread of 150 Pokemon designs, so I opted to design the gym leaders and League with two Pokemon for each of them. I’ve always had an affinity for all aspects of Southern culture and its many folk tales and pieces of art inspired by this region of the US.

[intimatum]

intertextuality

desire / eating disorder / hunger: «to be the girl who lunges at people−wants to eat them» (letissier) / «a way to take all hungers and boil them down to their essence–one appetite to manage–just one» (knapp)

trauma / trauma theory / visceralities of trauma

writers

ada limón, adrienne rich, agnès varda, alana massey, alejandra pizarnik, alice notley, ana božičević, anaïs nin, andrea dworkin, andrew solomon, angela carter, angélica freitas, angélica liddell, ann cvetkovich, anna akhmatova, anna gien, anne boyer, anne carson, anne sexton, anne waldman, antonella anedda, aracelis girmay, ariana reines, audre lorde, aurora linnea

barbara ehrenreich, bell hooks, bessel van der kolk

carmen maria machado, caroline knapp, carrie lorig, cat marnell, catharine mackinnon, catherynne m. valente, cathy caruth, césar vallejo, chris kraus, christa wolf, clarice lispector, claudia rankine, czesław miłosz

daniel borzutzky, daphne du maurier, daphne gottlieb, david foster wallace, david wojnarowicz, dawn lundy martin, deirdre english, denise levertov, detlev claussen, dodie bellamy, don paterson, donna tartt, dora gabe, dorothea lasky, durs grünbein

édouard levé, eike geisel, eileen myles, elaine kahn, elena ferrante, elisabeth rank, elyn r. saks, emily dickinson, erica jong, esther perel, etty hillesum, eve kosofsky sedgwick

fanny howe, félix guattari, fernando pessoa, fiona duncan, frank bidart, franz kafka

gabriele schwab, gail dines, georg büchner, georges bataille, gertrude stein, gilles deleuze, gillian flynn, gretchen felker-martin

hannah arendt, hannah black, heather christle, heather o'neill, heiner müller, hélène cixous, héloïse letissier, henryk m. broder, herbert hindringer, herbert marcuse

ingeborg bachmann, iris murdoch

jacques derrida, jacques lacan, jade sharma, jamaica kincaid, jean améry, jean baudrillard, jean rhys, jeanann verlee, jeanette winterson, jenny slatman, jenny zhang, jerold j. kreisman, jess zimmerman, jia tolentino, joachim bruhn, joan didion, joanna russ, joanna walsh, johanna hedva, john berger, jörg fauser, joy harjo, joyce carol oates, judith butler, judith herman, julia kristeva, june jordan, junot díaz

karen barad, kate zambreno, katherine mansfield, kathrin weßling, kathy acker, katy waldman, kay redfield jamison, kim addonizio

lacy m. johnson, larissa pham, lauren berlant, le comité invisible, leslie jamison, lidia yuknavitch, linda gregg, lisa diedrich, louise glück, luce irigaray, lynn melnick

maggie nelson, margaret atwood, marguerite duras, marie howe, marina tsvetaeva, mark fisher, martha gellhorn, mary karr, mary oliver, mary ruefle, marya hornbacher, max horkheimer, melissa broder, michael ondaatje, michel foucault, miranda july, miya tokumitsu, monique wittig, muriel rukeyser

naomi wolf, natalie eilbert, natasha lennard, nelly arcan

ocean vuong, olivia laing, ottessa moshfegh

paisley rekdal, patricia lockwood, paul b. preciado, paul celan, peggy phelan

rachel aviv, rainald goetz, rainer maria rilke, rebecca solnit, richard moskovitz, richard siken, robert jensen, roland barthes, ronald d. laing

sady doyle, sally rooney, salma deera, samuel beckett, samuel salzborn, sandra cisneros, sara ahmed, sara sutterlin, sarah kane, sarah manguso, scherezade siobhan, sean bonney, sheila jeffreys, shoshana felman, shulamith firestone, sibylle berg, silvia federici, simone de beauvoir, simone weil, siri hustvedt, solmaz sharif, sophinette becker, soraya chemaly, stephan grigat, susan bordo, susan sontag, suzanne scanlon, sylvia plath

theodor w. adorno, thomas brasch, tiqqun, toni morrison

ursula k. le guin

valerie solanas, virginia l. blum, virginia woolf, virginie despentes

walter benjamin, wisława szymborska, wolfgang herrndorf, wolfgang pohrt

zadie smith, zan romanoff, zoë lianne, zora neale hurston

[tinydarlingnightmares]

All Monsters Go To Hell! AU

@llamagoddessofficial

For those not familiar with Don Bluth's 1989 "All Dogs Go To Heaven"; here's a link to the movie on YouTube (and yes, it's free!):

https://youtu.be/Xiu62ETFlyk

Here is your cast:

(UF) Red as Charlie B. Barkin: he's suave, charming, quick-witted, but very much full of himself to the point of nauseating arrogance. And of course this lovely personality trait, on top of being a natural-born con artist with a never ending thirst for thrills (and that includes chasing anything with a skirt shamelessly) gets him in trouble a lot with his numbskull schemes; which he shows very little remorse of who gets caught in the crossfire. But he's not completely heartless... uh... soulless... unlike his twin brother that is...

(UT) Sans as Itchy Itchiford: does stray a little from the Canon perspective of the original character. Being that Sans is more passive aggressive instead of just passive; mostly tolerating his antics while giving a backhanded remark in any way he can (total sassmaster), and not as nervous or anxiety-ridden as the Dachshund, but definitely cautious due to the people they deal with; be it monster or human, because as his motto goes: everyone's got guns and teeth.

MC as Anne Marie: is older, of course, but just as sweet and just as gifted with talking to animals and to people's Souls.

She unfortunately has hit a rough patch that left her homeless, due to people believing she was crazy, and unfortunately it only gets worse when her naive and trusting nature lead her straight into the callous phalanges of a very obsessed individual...

(MF) Hit as Carface Caruthers: is the ruthless mobster who controls the city with an iron fist, completely soulless, very~very~very infatuated with MC, and yes! The twin brother of Red (essentially Papyrus does not exist in this universe). He has played dirty all his life to ensure his survival and success. That includes framing his own brother for murder, killing him when Red escapes prison, and kidnapping a sweet innocent girl from the streets because she invades his every thought and, quite conveniently, has a very useful skill he can exploit, just to be the top dog... and nothing, not no one, will stand in his way to keep what he perceives as his.

(HT) Skull as 'Killer'/king Gator: is an odd choice, I know, but I like the idea of our sweet, damaged, giant skeleton working for the bad guy to be closer to MC in an effort to keep her safe. He technically found her first, enchanted by her kind nature and lovely voice, but did not approach; terrified he might scare her away. And since Hit didn't take her forcefully when they first met in that back alley way, he did not go into a Berserker rage in a attempt to intervene. Instead, Hit saw him and made an offer Skull could not refuse: being MC's personal bodyguard and care taker.

(A/N): I would like to actually get into this and make content, but I might need a little help along the way. If anyone has any suggestions or maybe questions; please don't hesitate to ask or speak your mind. Thank you in advance!😊

[mediaeval-muse]

Hi, you wrote something (I think at least it was you) about how Beowulf the epic was very concerned with memory and remembering, and I was wondering if you could point me to some analysis about that which you think does a good job of explicating that theme. Cheers!

Certainly! @isakglaser

I’ll limit my suggestions to essays that deal directly with Beowulf (as opposed to Old English literature more generally). Depending on what aspect of memory you’re interested in, you can get different results: are you interested in history as memory? Beowulf’s desire to be remembered after death? Literacy vs orality (since oral poems have to be memorized whereas literacy records them for all time)? The poetic digressions as memory? Kinship and family dynasty as memory? Objects and material culture as repositories for memory? Here’s a list to get started:

Renee R. Trilling, The Aesthetics of Nostalgia, introduction

Jill Hamilton Clements, Death, Writing, and Remembrance in Anglo-Saxon England (dissertation), chapter 4

Roy Liuzza, “Literacy,” in A Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Studies

Roy Liuzza, “Beowulf: Monuments, Memory, History” in Readings in Medieval Texts: Interpreting Old and Middle English Literature

Nicholas Howe, “Beowulf and the Ancestral Homeland” in The Postmodern Beowulf (reprinted from Howe’s book Migration and Mythmaking in Anglo-Saxon England)

Catherine Karkov, “The Art of Origins” in The Art of Anglo-Saxon England

Victor Scherb, "Setting and cultural memory in part II of Beowulf"

Howard Williams, “Beowulf and archaeology: Megaliths imagined and encountered in early medieval Europe” (also “Monuments and the past in early Anglo‐Saxon England“ but that’s more archaeological)

George Clark, “The Hero and the Theme” in A Beowulf Handbook

Some helpful theoretical/contextual works

Patrick Hutton, History as an Art of Memory

Mary Caruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study Of Memory In Medieval Culture

Kathleen Davis, “Time” in A Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Studies

Sarah Semple, “Visions of the Past” in Perceptions of the Prehistoric in Anglo-Saxon England: Religion, Ritual, and Rulership in the Landscape

[clancarruthers]

CLAN CARRUTHERS - STEPHEN BURTON CARUTHERS 1872- 1955

CLAN CARRUTHERS – STEPHEN BURTON CARUTHERS 1872- 1955

STEPHEN BURTON CARUTHERS 1872 – 1955

Stephen Burton and brother  Claude in front of their  blacksmith shop, Cookeville Tennessee.The lower left picture is dated 1922. Stephen was  born: 21 Jun 1872 • Cookeville, Putnam, Tennessee, USA Birth (Alternate)27 Jun 1872 • Pulaski, Giles, Tennessee, USA Death 28 MAR 1955 • Alexandria, Alexandria, Virginia, USA Military 9 Apr 1865  Tennessee

[animationgirl89]

"Happy 32nd Anniversary To Don Bluth's 1989 Classic, "All Dogs Go To Heaven!!" That's Right, All Dogs Go To Heaven Turns 32 Years Old Today. Adgth Was Released On November 17th 1989 (The Same Day As The Disney's, 'The Little Mermaid') All Dogs Go To Heaven Tells The Story About A Selfish, Rude German Shepherd Named, Charlie B. Barkin (Played By Burt Reynolds) As He Is Murdered And Killed By Former Business Partner, Carface Caruthers. (Played By Vic Tayback) He Is Then Sent Up To Dog Heaven, Which Is Absolutely Perfect And Wonderful, But Charlie Doesn't Like It Very Much, So He Escapes Back To Earth And Withdraws His Place In Heaven. After Returning To Earth And Reuniting With His Best Friend Itchy, (Played By Dom Deluise) Charlie Plans To Take Revenge On Carface, But Ends Up Meeting And Befriending A Little Orphan Girl, Named Anne Marie (Played By Judith Barsi) Who Can Communicate And Talk To Animals. Charlie Uses Her Ability, And Exploits Her Talent To Win At Gambling In Races, Only To Realize That There's More To Life Than Money, And In The Process Learns The Importance Of Kindness, Love And Friendship."

(Absolutely Love And Adore This Movie To Death!! And It Still Holds A Place In My Heart, I Remember Being Scared Of This Film When I Was Younger. I Would Go To Say That This Was Don Bluth's Last Good Film Before He Started To Go Down, With His Later Movies Not Exactly Being The Best..Like This Film, Or The Secret Of NIMH. Speaking Of Which, Most Say NIMH Is His Best, Which I Can See Where They're Going From, And I Also Love The Film..But I Kinda Disagree And See This Film As His Best, Maybe It's Because This Is The One I've Watched The Most, Lol. But The Secret Of NIMH And An American Tail Are Ones I Also Love And Adore, They're Both Amazing! 💙✨ But Again, Happy 32nd Anniversary All Dogs Go To Heaven!!)

(@bluestar-of-thunderclan)

[broomclosetbrew]

Moon rise over Veteran's Day evening and I'm enjoying my favorite cigar, The Tabernacle Havana Seed CT No 142 from Foundation Cigars. This is always a solid stick and I've paired it tonight with the fantastic V5 Bourbon from Smokey Quartz Distillery, a Veteran owned and operated distillery out of Seabrook, NH. Happy Veteran's Day to my fellow vets and a toast to Armistice Day which is observed on this day around the world. .... Putting some smoke in the air in remembrance of the crews of the Edmund Fitzgerald, Lightship-82, Plymouth, Leafield, Wexford, Regina, James Caruthers, Henry B. Smith, Hydrus, Argus, John A. McGean, Charles S. Price, Issac M. Scott, William B. Davock, Anna S. Minch, Novadoc, and other vessels lost between November 9 and 12 in major storms on the Great Lakes between 1913 and 1975. During the "White Hurricane" of 1913, 12 ships were lost with all hands, more than 250 sailors, an 7 additional ships were completely destroyed while 19 others were driven ashore. The LV-85 was lost with all 6 of her crew while they remained on station to help guide ships to safety. Only the body of her Chief Engineer Charles Butler was ever found. She was raised in 1915, refurbished and served until 1936. In 1940 the Armistice Day Storm claimed 66 sailors, 3 steel freighters and two fish tugs on Lake Michigan. The "Fitz" was lost November 10, 1975 with her crew of 29 on Lake Superior, the largest ship ever lost on the Great Lakes. .... "Captain Williams and his crew were guardians and they would remain at their station until blown away or ordered to move. I know this because I know the caliber of my husband and the men who served him on the lightship.” - Anne Marie Williams, when asked if LV-85 would have sought safety .... #cigar #CigarLover #CigarAfficionado #cigarphoto #cigarlife #pssita #sailorandsticks #cigarsandwhiskey #TapThatAsh #whiskey #bourbon #whiskeylife #WhiskeyLover #whiskeyphoto #WhiskeyNeat #WhiskeyAfficionado #whiskyandhistory #quote #quotestagram #uscg #greatlakes #galesofnovember (at Coastal San Pedro) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ck2RLyOLsGo/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[glucophage5mg]

Rich Little Net Worth 2022: Age, Height, Weight, Wife, Kids, Bio-Wiki

Rich Little Net Worth 2022: Age, Height, Weight, Wife, Kids, Bio-Wiki

Rich Little Celebrated Name: Rich Little Real Name/Full Name: Richard Caruthers Little Gender: Male Age: 83 years old Birth Date: 26 November 1938 Birth Place: Ottawa, Ontario, Canada Nationality: Canadian Height: 1.8 m Weight: 71 kg Sexual Orientation: Straight Marital Status: Divorced Wife/Spouse (Name): Jeanne Worden (m. 1971–1989); Jeannette Markey (m. 1994–1997);  Marie Marotta…