#This was at the camping area of a music festival so he was at risk of being trampled

[newkiqx]

Look at this large man i found last weekend, confused in some wood chips that had been recently applied to a large mud patch. Easily the largest beetle I've seen in the wild and also probably the most beautiful

I think he's some kind of european rhinoceros beetle but I'm not sure which one exactly. Since they reproduce in and around decaying wood I'm guessing he was attracted to the wood chips

He had very grippy and sharp little hands but he was terrible (lovingly) at walking on anything even slightly smooth, like skin. I put him back, but (hopefully) out of harms way

[oceanmusings]

Immortality

Pairing | Prisma Daerel & Astarion Ancunín (platonic)

Content Warning | Drinking a lot of wine, this is set at the epilogue party, Prisma is emotional and Astarion comforts her for once. Or at least tries to. Talk of death and the cons of immortality.

Word Count | 1.5K

Summary | Prisma realized how she's going to outlive the love of her life. This fact tormenting her at night. Astarion was the only person who could understand and share some words of comfort. (Tried to make this as neutral for whatever love interest route Prisma goes on. So this could be her with Gale or Shadowheart!)

A letter from Withers was surprising for Prisma when it arrived. Mainly for the fact that Withers knew where she was, she’s not sure how he knew, but he has shown he has his own mysterious ways for her not to question. Reading the contents of the letter it seemed to be an invitation to get all together again to celebrate the 6 month anniversary of them defeating the Netherbrain. When she arrived at the location Withers had written down, she smiled when she realized it was their first camp. The exact spot where their journey would begin.

It was lit up with many torches and candles, plus the little fire that was set in the middle where they all usually slept around. Cute little banners hung around making it feel more festive. Music from a bard standing on top of a rock drifted across the whole camp area and settled a nice warmth in Prisma’s chest.

It was nice.

But despite how nice the party Withers had put together was, a cloud still seemed to follow Prisma around. The looming cloud did not leave her alone despite how much she smiled and felt happy to see everyone. She tried to ignore the cloud as best as she could. But slowly it would become too much, the wood-elf could only think of one solution.

Sitting at the long table that was covered in wine and food Withers had provided, Prisma grabbed one of the wine bottles to pour herself some in a goblet. Quietly Prisma nursed the wine by herself as she watched everyone enjoy the party for themselves. Taking this moment to be alone for a few minutes. Unfortunately, for how big their was. Prisma had forgotten how little privacy all of them had.

“I haven seen you look this upset since the Shadow-cursed Lands, darling.”

The wood-elf looked up from pouring herself some more crimson red to see a familiar pair of crimson eyes. White curly hair shining in the moonlight and pale skin reflecting back the many lights Withers had lit. Of course her vampire friend shows up as she opens a bottle of wine to drown her anxiety with.

“Hello, Astarion.” Prisma greets him as she sets down the bottle. “I’m fine.”

“You should know better by now. It’s better to not lie with me.” The high-elf slid into the seat next to her, taking the goblet she had just filled. “We both know you are a terrible liar.”

Prisma hums in agreement, not able to deny it from the history of her terrible lying abilities. Astarion had seen first-hand how bad it always goes for her. She watched the vampire take her wine and drink it, she then took it back when he set it down. She swirled the liquid in the cup. The movement was weirdly comforting at keeping her hands busy.

“C’mon, tell me what’s going on in your head.” Her friend urged her on.

Prisma was quiet for a moment as she contemplated if this subject was worth the time to talk about. If resorting to pushing it down and drowning it with wine to save from bringing everyone down was worth the risk. Everyone was so happy, she didn’t want to ruin it because some thoughts plague her at night. She took a glance at Astarion - who was patiently waiting for his friend to speak up - and realized he may be one of the few people here who would understand. Maybe it would be worth it?

“You can’t make fun of me, okay?”

Astarion feigned offense while exclaiming. “Darling, I would never!”

Prisma’s voice died again as she tried to collect her words together. She was thankful Astarion wasn’t pushing her to speak. Taking the time for her to collect herself to pour himself his own goblet of some wine sitting on the table. Grumbling to himself quietly about Withers not getting any blood for him.

Once he began to take a sip is when she finally spoke up. “There’s a vendor I’ve gotten to know. Her and her wife are an elf and human. The human died last week.”

When she didn’t continue, Astarion pushed with an “and?”

“It’s just… It’s made me realize I’m going to be in the same boat. I’m-” she paused as her throat closed. Drinking some of her wine to hopefully calm her nerves and open her throat. “I-I’m just realizing I’m going to watch everyone here die. And I’m going to end up a-alone.” Tears filled her eyes as she squeaked out the final bit, fighting with her throat to be able to push out the final words. “Watch the love of my life age and die before me.”

Astarion hums, sitting back as he took in her words. “You know there are ways to live longer, right?”

“Yes, I know. But I can’t ask my love to do that. It won’t fix anything, just prolong the inevitable instead. Besides, I’ve seen the corruption that can happen when you stretch out your life unnaturally. I would hate to be the cause of witness of that happen.” Prisma states, running her finger around the rim of her goblet. “Death is a part of keeping everything in balance. I can’t stop death for my own selfish reasons.”

“All druids worry about is the damn balance.” Astarion scoffed, waving off the idea. Prisma just rolled her eyes to her vampire friend, but a genuine smile etched across her face. “I do understand those thoughts. Realizing immortality isn’t that great once you know you’ll watch everyone around you fade away while you… stay the same.”

Prisma realized with a horror that not only was Astarin in the same boat as her, but he was in the worst case. While Prisma’s life was prolonged by her druid powers. His were prolonged from being a vampire. Prisma could die from old age, Astarion couldn’t. How shitty was it of her to talk about this here? To sit here whining about it and remind him of his own fate. What a friend she was.

“I’m so sorry- I didn’t me to-”

“Don’t.” Astarion interrupted her with an exasperated expression, looking a little annoyed at her apologizing. “It’s been 200 years and I’ve long since accepted it. You know what I’ve dealt with for the past 200 years, I’ve come to not focus on those little woes since.”

Prisma swallowed her embarrassment, trying not to cry. She tried to hide her embarrassment by drinking the rest of her wine. The quiet that fell between them felt uncomfortable, maybe only on Prisma’s end as Astarion continued to drink his own wine like nothing big had happened. She really has to stop worrying about offending the vampire next to her so much.

“How do you do it?” She finally asks as she taps her finger against her cup. She turned her gaze to Astarion, tearing her eyes away from Karlach trying to convince Wyll to dance with her. “Handle that pain?”

“Honestly, darling? I’ve just finally gotten to live. The love I have may feel short and that hurts to know that, but the love I feel outweighs the ache. Instead of worrying about some heartache in my future, I focus on remembering this love I’ve finally gotten to feel.” He turned his red eyes to look into her purple ones, a serious tone in them that made Prisma’s stomach churn uneasily. “Is this love worth the heartache?”

“Yes.” It surprised the wood-elf how easily it was to find that answer.

“Then focus on that.”

Prisma nodded, swallowing thickly again at the emotion that tried to bubble up. She really didn’t want to cry right now, this was not the place to do that. Nor did she want any more attention on her either, trying to mask all her emotions by the protection of her goblet. “I didn’t know you had it in you to become a poet, fang boy.”

“I’m still full of surprises.” the vampire grins. “But don’t you dare tell a soul. I have an image to uphold!” He exclaimed, gesturing in a way like he was presenting his image that made Prisma let out a laugh before she could stop herself. Smiling to herself at the offended look on his face.

“I promise. But… Can you promise me something?”

“Depends.”

“...Will you be there? When I am alone?”

Astarion paused and went quiet when the question left her lips. Prisma was ready to take it back when the silence went too long, her heart hammering in her chest uncomfortably before Astarion finally spoke up. “Of course, darling.”

Prisma breathed a little more easily. The air surrounding the two elves settling into one more comfortable and light compared to the dark cloud looming over Prisma earlier. A warmth spreading across her chest was a welcomed change for the wood-elf. The two watched their friends in the silence that had fallen over them. It didn’t feel uncomfortable this time, just easy to sit with each other and not need to say anything else.

[parricider]

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ✮ ⧽ 𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐋 (@timelocker):

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ✮ ⧽ she had given him a pamphlet two days earlier, and he recalled her words as she had put it in her hand, now as he stood in a crowd.

❝ dress up, ❞ she said, playful smile on her face. music festival in town, and she was excited to take the stage for herself.

❝ not gonna be a time-out concert, but hopefully whatever bozos i end up with can play a few good notes. ❞ rascal snickers, grin showing off a few teeth. ❝ you gonna be there, right ? when i take the stage. ❞

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ✮ ⧽ the lights of the stage move, pointing center. there's confusion, there's whispering and hubbub, confusion on the elevated scene. rascal stood there, guitar in hand, as the rest of the band that had just closed their number stare at her in disbelief -- their leader literally pushed off the stage.

❝ i want you to see. ❞

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ✮ ⧽ the mic pics up, causing mobians to cover their sensitive ears; it brings silence all around. rascal's foot slams on the ground, her fingers playing the first notes of her tune.

❝ MOBIUS !! ❞ gloved fingers keep playing, the intro getting longer. ❝ you callin' THIS a concert ?! where i come from, we call this a FUNERAL !! YOU ALIVE OR WHAT ?! ❞

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ✮ ⧽ the crowd bursts in response, the leaderless bandmates share another look. the drums begin to join in, then the bass. how easily she brings groups together. ❝ life's short, so spend it HAVIN' FUN ! spend it in EXCITEMENT ! spend it DEFYING what you know, make it SHORT, make it QUICK, make it WORTH IT ! so, together -- ❞

❝ LET'S BE ALIVE !!! ❞

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ♛ ⧽ HAVOC’S FUCK SAKE . . . NO. he sure as hell was NOT having even a lick of ‘ FUN ’. he wasn’t exactly having a chipper ol’ festive time being nauseatingly-carouseled around in some WILE E COYOTE x RUBE GOLDBERG TORTURE MACHINE COLLABORATION thrown in as a 100000x bonus points area in some LAUGHINGSTOCK PINBALL GAME, where he was the ball. nope. his minds cape was already retrograding into completely-losing-his-shit-mode; already scheming up a whole arsenal of oh-so persuasive sick-note excuses for being M.I.A from ras’ stage-heist that she has been giddily conniving for the past two days. . . a performance that he had PROMISED he’d be there for. for her. for the first time, as a friend, but . . .

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ♛ ⧽ HE WAS THIS CLOSE. THIS CLOSE TO SPIN-BARRELING THROUGH HIS BRITTLE THRESHOLD OF PATIENCE. . . some fucking boozy meathead gator dude had already unknowingly ka clinked their elbow-épée hard, brain-schismingly hard, against the hedgehog’s forehead when they had dipped down to slabber drool all over their girlfriend, & oh-ho. oh yeah, that slug definitely knocked out a pretty hefty glass CHIP out of one of the lenses of his favorite pair of shades. YAAY. . . FUCKING EN GARDE. CHEERSH.

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ♛ ⧽ quills bristled the fuck up as scourge excruciatingly attempted to quash the spumous urge to grab that gator by the tail & slam them hard against the ground, & knock a chip of bone out of their horndog cranium, because. . . he. . . didn’t want to risk siphoning away any lick of attention from HER. but at the same time, he was admittedly. . . getting more & more antsy about being here ( he felt like a malignant, pustule-ly GREEN CYST jutting out like a sore quill in a leaf pile on the curbside of some cul-de-sac nestled somewhere within the seventh layer of prime paradís– or wherever the fuck– whatever. WHATEVER. HE DIDN’T BELONG HERE. )

BUT SHE DID. SHE BELONGED EVERYWHERE.

. . .

SOMEONE’S REALLY EDGIN’ OUT HER USUAL ‘ PUNCTUAL ’ SHOWIN’ UP UNINVITED. SOMEONE’S REALLY TAKIN’ HER SWEET ASS TIME FOR ONCE, HUH ?

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ♛ ⧽ when the hell was she. . .--

MOBIUS !!

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ♛ ⧽ NOW THAT’S THE CATHARTICALLY EXHILARATING ENTRANCE HE’D BEEN CAMPING OUT FOR LIKE A MIDNIGHT RELEASE. . . the stage lights almost sentiently illuminated the moebian savior; the liberator, the deus ex machina, the interdimensional defender. . .

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ♛ ⧽ JOT THIS DOWN IN YOUR COUNTERFACTUAL HISTORY BOOKS, MOBIUS. moebius isn’t  irreparably far gone, because WE HAVE HER. get schooled.

´ ･ . ✶ ━━ ⧼ ♛ ⧽ a single gloved fist is pumped up into the air, thumb & pinky fingers sticking out to resemble devil horns as scourge’s gaze locks with rascal’s.

HE WANTED HER TO SEE THAT HE DID SHOW UP

HE WANTED HER TO SEE THAT HE WAS LOCKED & LOADED TO FEEL ALIVE

TO REALLY FEEL ALIVE. FOR THE FIRST TIME.

[nerdbee]

Sunshine and Shadows- Chapter 5

The infirmary was suddenly busy with demigods wanting to see the piano. Will shooed them away, telling them that they would be more useful looking around the camp, in order to see if there were any more unwanted additions to the scenery.

Although everything had by then calmed down considerably, Nico pulled the blue curtain around to cordon off his little area. Sitting on the bed, he tried to block out all the hubbub of outside by taking a pen he always kept with him, and clicking the clip at the top, focusing on the steady clicking noise. He wasn’t sure why, but the combined sound and action of clicking a pen clip always allowed him to get his thoughts back in line.

He stayed like that until Will gently pulled the curtain back a little, and came through with a tray of food, letting the curtain close behind him. Nico blinked and turned to the clock on the bedside table. Lunchtime already, he realised with surprise. He must have zoned out again.

Will took two folding chairs, and sat opposite him on one of them, using the other as a table for the tray. He inclined his head towards the tray, indicating for Nico to eat something. Nico picked up a packet of crisps, trying to hide his disappointment when he realised that they were just dried vegetables. Upon trying one, he found that they actually weren’t that bad.

Will took a bite out of his sandwich, before fixing his gaze on Nico.

“So I’ve realised that I don’t actually know you that well. So I’ve got some questions here”

he paused to take an actual notebook with writing scrawled all over the first page out of his pocket.

“And I thought maybe we could take it in turns to ask each other questions.”

Nico nodded.

“It was your idea so you can go first”

Will looked down at his list and read off the first question

“We’ll start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

Nico furrowed his brow as he thought.

“There’s a time of day when everyone is still asleep. I used to find the tallest hill in the area wherever I was. Just before sunrise, the sky sort of is this purply, bluey colour, paler than the night sky, but not quite light. I think that’s my favourite colour.”

Will smiled at Nico’s answer. He often smiled, Nico thought Will had probably smiled more in these few days that Nico had done for the past year. Nico had a very strong urge to protect his new friend, he didn’t deserve anyone hurting him. Of course, he said none of this, and instead asked

“What’s your favourite animal?”

Will wrinkled his nose as he thought.

“I like most animals, but I’d say that dogs are my favourite. There’s a farm near my grandparents’ house and their golden retriever had puppies two years ago and they gave one to me for my birthday. I can’t keep him at camp, sadly, although I did try. He’s called Cooper and he’s a big softie.”

Nico had a sudden mental image of Will playing with tiny puppies and suppressed a little smile. Will moved on to the next question on his list.

“What’s on your bucket list?”

Nico tilted his head. He had no clue what a bucket list was. Thankfully, Will seemed to notice this.

“A bucket list is a list of things you’d like to do at some point in your life. For example, I want to travel in Europe, because I’ve never been outside the States. You know what, scrap this list of questions, let’s make a bucket list.”

He carefully folded over the top page of his notebook and wrote NICO’s BUCKET LIST at the top, double underlining it. Nico glanced up at Will.

“ It would be weird if we just made one for me. Let’s make a joint one. It’d be lonely if I did it all by myself.”

Will’s grin widened as he added his name into the title.

“Alrighty. What should go first? What have you always wanted to do?”

Nico replied after some consideration

“I want to learn to play an instrument. You said you didn’t have any musical skills so we could learn together.”

Will wrote it down on the list, chuckling.

“My grandparents once hired a guitar teacher for me. I was awful. I think that they were surprised that someone from such a musical family could be so musically incompetant.”

Nico laughed. Will looked at him for a few seconds, before quickly turning his head to finish writing it down. Once he was done, he suggested

“We could go to Iceland. Or France.”

“We could go to both of them.”

Nico responded.

“If we time it right, we could see the Northern Lights.”

Will nodded, and wrote France and Iceland on the list.

“Also, I’ve always wanted to go to a concert. Like a proper one, not one of my mom’s. Or maybe a music festival.”

“That sounds fun”

replied Nico.

“What kind of music would we want to see? I don’t know many specific musicians, I kind of just listen to whatever happens to be playing.”

Will looked up from where he was doodling pictures in the margin. From where he was sitting, Nico could see stars, moons, and squiggles that were possibly clouds.

“I was actually talking to Percy and Jason about that. They wanted to share some of their favourite music and films with you. They said they’d set up a sleepover type thingy in Percy’s cabin. Jason didn’t want to host it in his. Something about a hippie Zeus, whatever that means. I’ve told Chiron that it’s not healthy for you to spend so much time alone, Doctor’s Orders.”

At this, he winked at Nico and Nico found himself laughing again. Something about Will made him feel safe without any risks of being judged. Will spoke again.

“You’ve actually only got until tomorrow in here, so I thought you could maybe come to the pavilion for dinner today? I could maybe sit at your table, but only if you want.”

Nico was surprisingly excited by this, yet there were also some nerves about eating lunch with so many people around after so long travelling. He also worried about if people would accuse him of not telling them about the Romans. Sure, everything was friendly now, but the war between the two camps had distracted from the main problem of giants destroying the world. Nevertheless, he said, in what was either an act of bravery or stupidity,

“Alright then.”,

and so the rest of his day was spent wondering what would happen.

Taglist:

@rainbow-sheepofthefamily

@emava04

@percabethfangirl

@nightmareghosts

@luna0713hunter

@seven-halfbloods

@my-apollo-gies

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Also posted on Ao3

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Fireworks, paper lanterns, and glittering stardust

The Sea of Lights is so beautiful! Lanterns and fireworks decorate the sky like constellations, little specks of stardust scattered about. I enjoy taking the time to craft a lantern, make a wish, and watching the lantern float away until it's nothing but a little speck in the sky.

Prepping for the Sea of Lights was a lot of work. Once again, the camp has held the honor of hosting a big event so naturally, we had to go all out. Luckily, we have some friends helping out with the festivities - two who happen to be a part of the committee.

Rika and Elowyn have been part of the Sea of Lights crew since last year so they pretty much know how to make the festivities a hit. Alma and Milana aren't directly part of the crew but they've been to the festival a few times so they were also able to chime in.

Elowyn hopes to get the couple to volunteer for next year but since they have to do a lot of work for the annual cherry blossom festival at their hometown, I don't think they're too interested in helping run another big event. Let's be honest, Alma and Milana are mostly here for the food - I mean, who isn't? That, and also the fact that they're finally visiting the camp after all this time!

Things have been pretty much the same at Corentine, well for the most part. Alma said there's some new guy who's been scouting the outskirts of the village due to rumored abnormal supernatural activity. It's not unusual for them to have strangers walking around these areas though it's frustrating for everyone - especially the stranger - when the mission's unclear. Despite suspicions nothing's been confirmed so the poor guy's been scouting the woods for weeks with absolutely no progress or direction. And since he's gonna stick around for a while, the town council insisted on providing him a place to stay so he's staying in Alma's old room.

Rika hasn't had too much of a chance to get to know the guy but from what she and the others learned, he acts all tough but gets startled easily. Knowing these girls, they've been messing around with him quite a bit. Alma says he's cool, probably a bit shy and prideful, but once his guard's down he has a good sense of humor. Milana wants to use him to test out her latest contraptions as she's in need of a newbie to critique her inventions. RIP (or good luck?) to the new guy.

Alma and Milana are enjoying their new house, which is only about five minutes from Alma's family house. They both figured that now they've been married for over a year, it's probably time to leave the nest and finally give Alma's father some peace of mind. However that still doesn't stop Alma from using him to occasionally get away with chores. Milana says that if Alma keeps this up, they might as well hire him as a housekeeper and pay him by the hour. Then Alma promised that she'll try to do her share of the chores so they could instead use that money to either dine out in a fancy place or go on a fun vacation.

There's never a dull moment with these two. They can be a bit much, especially when you throw in Rika, Elowyn, Emerald, Jade, and Kei into the mix. It's been forever since I've seen the latter three - last I've heard, they joined Rika in Jamie's entourage for a bit before it disbanded. I think all three transferred to Seashore Path so I guess Emerald and Jade probably graduated or will be soon by now while Kei's probably got another year to go.

Rika's been working on some new projects, teasing us as usual. They're always up to something. As of last week Rika now goes by she/they, which feels right for them. The elders are a bit out of touch but they try to be supportive. Ojiichan started complimenting Rika by saying they look gnc af and now all the other elders are saying it, which is sweet! The big mystery though is who taught Ojiichan that and whether or not he fully knows what it means. Still, it's nice to hear how supportive everyone is.

They have also taken up pickling veggies, which sounds kinda surprising but isn't at the same time. Given how much she loves kimchi, it makes sense that she'd want to make her own. My mom sometimes makes her own kimchi and she says it can be a hit or miss. It also looks like a lot of work so kudos for Rika for being successful! It also takes some patience and even then you never know how they'll turn out until they're ready. They plan on doing beets next. After that it's daikon and carrots, and then garlic - all which sound good.

As for the kimchi, it's great! They like it super spicy though so I was only able to eat a little bit before I couldn't handle the heat anymore, but it's tasty. The veggies are perfectly crisp and it's not too liquidy and salty. Rika plans on refining the recipe as well as make a mild version for those who can't take the heat - she means a weakling like me - which is something to look forward to, Buuut Rika's definition of mildly spicy and mine's is probably very different so either way I'll be chugging a lot of water or tea between every bite.

Rika's also been helping Elowyn start her own Patreon, which is exciting! A friend's friend of theirs is also gonna launch a Patreon too so I'm gonna keep an eye out for that as her work seems interesting. The friend had just moved from Japan a few months ago and she's an artist who has an ongoing manga/webcomic about a high school girl who becomes bonded with a young ghost whose job is to keep order between spirits and mortals. According to Rika and Miki - who knows her as well - the story's inspired by true events that happened to the author.

The premise sounds interesting and an english translation by a friend of hers who also serves as an editor/beta reader is usually uploaded the day after so when I have time, I'll definitely read it. From first glance, the art style looks nice so I'm intrigued. It definitely has the vibes of a deceptively cute and lighthearted story that's complex and tragic underneath. The manga's ongoing and usually updates twice a month.

Elowyn's also gonna be in a short fantasy murder mystery film directed by her brother called The Scythe. A few weeks ago she appeared in a music video as a backup dancer for Avery Ronnie. In between gigs Elowyn practices magic with Rika by going on various missions. Though Elowyn says it's no different than being an unpaid intern, except with an increased risk of dying and things going terribly wrong.

Rika and Alma are alike as they're hard working but also kinda lazy. Without prompting they can accomplish something cool and badass but ask them to pick their things up from the floor or do some cleaning around the house and they'll make up some excuse. We roast them for it but at the same time we get it - and it's not like they can't take care of themselves but sometimes they do need a bit of prodding. Both also have this charm that let them get away with it half the time so it's kinda on us too.

We've been hard at work setting up the stalls and decor as well as making lanterns and planning out the fireworks show. To our surprise, Rika and Alma have been pulling their weight, though I think bribing them with food helped with that.

Rika got some glittering stardust from a friend and wanted to put that to good use by adding some spark to the lights. We tested out the fireworks with it and it produced some dazzling effects. Problem is that glittering stardust is super flammable so we have to be super careful. So that's why I left fireworks duty to Rika while the rest of us kept our distance.

Making lanterns was a lot of fun! A while back Pai and Connie sent me a lantern they made for a similar festival in Bonsai Harbor. Apparently the two really got into making lanterns so they started giving away a bunch of them to friends.

Yeah, I think we also kinda went overboard with our lanterns. But they're so much fun to make! Well, I could just give them away too - I know a bunch of people who would love to have a souvenir from a festival. I'm gonna keep a bunch to decorate the camp and cabin when we're in a festive decorating mood. As for the inevitable surplus - I'll figure that out later.

The fireworks and lanterns were easily the highlights of the night, second to the food. Thankfully there were no incidents with the glittering stardust - we did a bunch of test runs to make absolutely sure that there's no chance of the lanterns and fireworks colliding to create a possibly catastrophic explosion as glittering stardust is dangerous around anything that involves flames.

(I mean it turned out to be a great idea, but why the hell did we take such a risk by using flammable stuff around fireworks? Then again, it's Rika and when they overlook something, we tend to follow suit too because it's too easy to get caught up and carried away. It's not our fault that she makes it easy to get away with a lot of dangerous stunts - but it all worked out for the better so it's good.)

Being surrounded by fireworks and lanterns, I feel light on my feet. Wishes floating up in the sky, finding their way into the black night sky. I wonder how far will the lanterns fly before their lights go out.

I wonder how many wishes were released throughout the night.

[werosy87posts]

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[lastfrontierh]

Heli-skiing Season Begins In Rize With 19 International Thrillseekers Türkiye News

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The following year he left to take a job in Alaska the place eventually he worked as a ski instructor at Alyeska Ski Area. Sandahl later returned to Alta, Utah and was employed because Heliskiing the US Forest Service Snow Ranger in 1964. The helicopter has been known as “the God Machine,” for its capacity to fly, hover and land on almost any type of terrain.

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[etaeternum]

The Huntress

Mother of Griffons CH 13 Hale’Harel. Nate gets to know my Hale.  Find it on AO3 or read the rest on Tumblr This is actually one of my favorite chapters from MoG. I did some updates to it a while ago and I like how they initiate things between Nathaniel and Hale. TONS of internal dialogue from Nate.

Panting, each Grey Warden’s legs clung to the saddle of their horse, sore from the repetitive impact. The trees blurred together and the sound of swift hooves stomping on dirt and dead leaves blended to a steady roar around them, pushing them all onward despite the cold. Earth, dampened by melted frost, kicked up and caked on their boots and their horses sped through thickening forest, dense with barren trees; the absence of foliage gave truth to the harsh and frigid temperature as they skirted the edges of Emprise du Lion.

Nathaniel Howe led the stampede of Grey Wardens as they raced the fall of night. The Wardens were driven to cover as much distance as possible before the denseness of trees would prevent their ability to navigate in the dark and ultimately to escape the icy climate of the Emprise. At the last viable moment, when each rider could only see as far ahead as the horse in front of them, Nathaniel lifted his arm to halt the band. Riders mimicked the motion in succession so that they ceased movement with fluidity, the wave of hooves' vibrations ebbed into the silence that reverberated around them. Their breath was audible and seemed to echo through the surrounding forest.

"Here," Nathaniel said firmly. The first of their party willing to break the eerie stillness. They had stopped at a clearing, a gap in the trees with enough room for their tents to fit within a relative proximity to each other with a campfire in the middle. Self-directed and eager for warmth, the Wardens dismounted their horses and set up their camp in the darkness. Nathaniel pulled a blond Elven man to the side as they worked.

"Scout the area for threats. Then find the highest point and look west. I want to know how far we are from the Graves. Take someone with you." Nathaniel gave orders to the archer. Hale watched in detached observance, curious of the interaction. Isenam was to be their guide through the Arbor Wilds, Hale remembered. Though he was now frowning, she noticed the wrinkles around his eyes indicating frequent laughter.

Isenam nodded to Nathaniel and grabbed his bow. "Val!" He barked the Dwarf’s nickname, startling Valum from where he secured the post of a tent into the earth. Isenam followed the call with a whistle and an arm gesture for Val to join him. The two secured their weapons and set forth from their camp to survey. Through laughter at the Dwarf's expense, the Elven man patted the Dwarf on the back while they walked.

Between the nine remaining members, the encampment was quickly erected and a campfire lit. Unlike the previous night, the Wardens crowded together around the crackling heat. The intensity of cold hit them suddenly as the exertion from riding and setting the camp had ceased. Even Hale did not isolate herself, joining the group around the fire with the same desperation as the rest. Nathaniel stood slightly removed, looking over his shoulder for the return of Isenam and Valum.

"So…" Hale chimed in as they held their gloved hands over the campfire. "Fuck this shite."

The group turned to her with surprised, questioning glances; one eyebrow raised inquisitively, Nathaniel's sight shifted to Hale, his arms crossed with authority. Her long, assertive strides exuded confidence as she smugly drifted from the seven other Wardens standing directly around the fire back to her horse, tied near some tents. She was all too comfortable- as if the forest was her home, and her Warden brethren had come for a visit. A moment later, she returned with a drum. It had a single flat, circular surface and the wood sides angled inward before flaring back out. She casually flipped it over, holding the weight of the drum in one hand, and pulled a flask from the body. Delicately, she set the drum down in front of her feet. "Let’s warm things up, yeah?" She said with a grin, bowing her head behind her flask and taking a sip. She hissed after she swallowed, her grin remaining as she offered the flask to the person to her left.

The Wardens were stunned. Some peeked over their shoulders to Nathaniel to see his reaction. His face remained ambivalent, and he did not intervene. There was nothing that said Grey Wardens were not permitted to drink during their quests, but typically they waited for permission from their acting leader, after duties were assigned. Since Nathaniel did not seem opposed, the next person in the circle shrugged and took the flask. She took a sip and coughed.

"Maker's beard, Hale. What is this?" She asked through coughs.

Hale laughed. "Qunari shite. Can't pronounce it." She surveyed the human mischievously, wondering what her reaction would be. "Warmer now though, aren't ya hun? That shite hits the spot."

The woman's eyebrow raised at Hale and she spoke firmly. "It's Damia, and yes. Thanks… I think." She lifted the flask and nodded in skeptical gratitude to Hale before passing the drink to the next person who sipped with a similar reaction.

Time passed as the flask slowly went around the circle and the group grew more comfortable, despite the frigid temperatures. Hale found a log for herself and pushed it towards the fire. The Wardens, including Damia, talked amongst themselves, laughter occasionally floating through the air. She sat down and pulled the drum to her, strumming her fingers on the taut surface. Growing bored, Hale glanced over her shoulder to Nathaniel as Isenam and Valum returned to him, giving him an update on their location and any risks. Listening as well as she could, she heard that they were safe. She took that as a cue.

"Lieutenant!" She yelled to grab his attention. "Fucking sit down and join us!"

Nathaniel smiled back. It was a charming grin, but she sensed something twisted within it. "No," he replied through his smirk.

He offered no explanation to his answer. Noticing some subtle similarities between Hale and Caoilainn, Nathaniel sarcastically thought to himself, This is exactly what I need. Another bossy woman in my life.

Her eyes narrowed to a squint and Nathaniel saw the frustration in her glance. The young Elf so eagerly wanted him to join her. And under other circumstances he would, but for tonight he was dutiful in his work and that included keeping his distance. The light of the fire danced on her face as she glared at him from a few paces away.

"Oh, come on! Warm up and have some fun."

"Someone has to stand watch, Hale," he replied resolutely. As he spoke, Isenam and Valum joined the circle and took the flask still wandering through the group. Though the flushed cheeks of those who had multiple sips of the alcohol were not visible by the campfire, the early signs of slurred speech and swayed movements were plain. The rest of the group found their own logs to push near the fire and sit.

"Fine," she replied curtly, her tone stubborn. "We'll have fun without you." She turned to Damia sitting next to her, laughing lightly, visibly intoxicated. "Hun," Hale called. Damia looked over her shoulder to Hale and squinted, playfully scolding Hale with her eyes for using the nickname. Hale curled her finger to bring Damia closer. Leaning over to Hale, Damia giggled loudly as Hale whispered something in her ear, then she nodded.

Nathaniel remained observant, but his suspicion of Hale grew as he followed the interaction. Before he had a chance to interrupt what he thought he saw, Hale beat her drum once then strummed her fingers loudly on the surface. With another beat, Damia stood. Hale beat again, and again. Then at once, she struck the surface in different locations in rapid succession, creating unique vibrations and notes to the music. It was quick, the beat alluring and provocative. Damia's hips swayed as she understood the beat; she pulled up another friend to dance with her. Hale's grin widened, and she made a high-pitched cry led by a loud roll of her tongue and an upward inflection. The other Wardens cried out, a few of the elves answering the unique call she made with their own. Soon, most of the Wardens were dancing to Hale's drumming, the others pleased with observing, and the flask still making its way around. Victoriously, Hale looked over to Nathaniel.

He was watching the activity around the campfire with mild awe. This was an experience as Lieutenant that he could safely say he never had, nor ever expected to. Under other circumstances, he would shut this party down, but Isenam and Val had reported no activity, not even animal, in the vicinity. His curiosity about the young Elven woman was magnified by her behavior. She was quite talented as a drummer, and even more so at lightening a mood. This is the Warden that started a brawl at Vigil’s Keep? He pondered.

The group didn't seem to notice Hale's drumming gradually fade. Those dancing were now sweating in the cold, the energy effortlessly shifting to laughter and jovial conversation. Nathaniel's glance shifted to Hale when she finished her song. Genuinely impressed with the festivities she had livened, and still wary to stay away from her, he gave Hale a salute.

And as though that were a message, Hale rose from her spot by the fire and walked to him, her drum in one hand. The crackling fire behind her prevented him from reading her expression, but the attractive motion of her hips was undeniable. He suspected she was smiling as she neared. Ever so slightly intimidated by the girl, unsure of what she was about to do, he shifted on his feet. Eyes remained locked, tension building with each slow step she took, until she walked right past him to her tent. Puzzled, he followed her with his eyes as she entered her tent with her drum. A moment later emerged with her quiver and bow instead.

"Good time for a hunt," she said through a smirk as she walked toward him. Then she lightly jogged away from the encampment.

"Wait!" Nathaniel yelled after her as Hale darted off. He glanced at the group by the fire and determined them safe before he rolled his eyes and followed her. Stupid girl. This is not the time or place for a fucking hunt. But concern and duty called him to follow. She was his charge, and he made a commitment to both his Commander and the Inquisitor to keep her safe.

Eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the outlines of trees, and at least a few yards ahead of him. He followed her footsteps, tuning into his senses for the light shifting of leaves, the soft thuds of her boots landing on softened dirt, any sign that she was near. Then suddenly, the sounds ceased. He stopped in a small clearing when he no longer heard her, met with immediate quiet. The activity of the encampment just barely audible in the distance. Damn. I took the fucking bait. "Hale?" He whispered loudly, recognizing that this was some ploy by the girl.

Then he heard a thump behind him. Acting only on reflexes, he swiftly turned around a lifted his hand in defense. Hale's eyes widened in fear before her lips spread to a shit-eating grin. She swallowed. "Yeah?"

Nathaniel lowered his hand quickly and glared viciously. "Fuck Hale. Don't do that. I would hurt killed you."

"But you didn't," she said lightly, crossing her arms as she studied his reaction to her.

"You wandered from the camp without permission," he scolded, just as frustrated with himself for following as with her for wandering off. "You put yourself, the camp and me in danger. I could have you reprimanded."

"But you won't," she quipped.

"But I should," he continued scolding.  "We're going back to the camp. This hunt is over."

Slow steps in the darkness with the distant glow of the campfire their target, Hale and Nathaniel walked in an awkward, weighted hush. The tension was palpable; Hale knew she was not in his favor. Delicate, deliberate, and experienced paces carried them carefully through the dense forest.

Then suddenly, Hale tripped. "Dammit!" She yelled as she grabbed Nathaniel in her fall. He caught her and lifted her forcefully. "Thanks, mate," she said with a friendly tone as she attempted to stand free from him, unable because Nathaniel held her by the wrist.

"Give it back," he said in a firm and impatient voice.

"What are you talkin' about?" Hale replied, attempting to play her innocence from any accusations he might be making. She lightly pulled at her wrist in a lazy effort to free herself from his grasp.

"I said," he restated. "Give it back."

With a huff Hale pulled a small sextant from her pocket with her other hand. Head lowered in guilt from being caught, she extended her hand with the gold navigation device resting in her palm. Nathaniel took it from her with his free hand and put it back in his pocket. "And I saw you steal something from Damia earlier too. I suggest you give it back, even better if you do so before she notices. The Grey Wardens are your family now and that won’t stop them from teaching you a lesson. You're cunning, hunter, but cunning won't save you from those far more skilled in stealth and combat than you."

Hale groaned and rolled her eyes, her lips full in an angry pout. "Got it," she replied stubbornly, glaring at Nathaniel with her narrow wrist still gripped in his large hand. "Let go."

"No," he stated bluntly, determined to finally uncover the mystery of this difficult young woman. "Not until you tell me what your problem is."

"Fuck sort of question is that?" She asked with irritation, clearly not interested in talking about herself, her hand limp in Nathaniel's bind. Her vitriol conflicted with her lax posture, and Nathaniel could not read her eyes as her messy hair cascaded around her face.

"The kind I'm asking as the officer you report to on this mission." Though his grip didn't loosen, he knew Hale could free herself if she truly wanted. Skilled enough in combat and especially evasion, she would easily know how to remove herself from his grasp, but she didn't. It compelled his intrigue.

"What d'you want to know?" She inquired begrudgingly.

She’s like a difficult kid. "Where do you come from?" Nathaniel asked in a serious tone.

He wasn't sure if she was considering her response or passively refusing to answer as a long pause passed between them. The tone of her energy did not match her body language, he noticed as he studied her hostility.

Eventually, she spoke bluntly and spit at the ground. "Go plough yerself."

Lovely, he thought bitterly. Then his head tilted back as his harsh and deep laugh boomed through the quiet. He was not amused. "Insubordination isn’t tolerated, Warden. And discharge is an option. Your conscription can be undone. So should you wish to stay out of jail, I’d suggest you follow my orders."

Resentment and sarcasm coated every word that came from her mouth. "I'm Dalish. The Inquisitor is my cousin, but you knew that. Didn't think I needed to tell you again."

Her reply lacked any information of substance. She was deliberately delaying the conversation. But why?

"I'm tiring of this game," he replied in aggravation. He knew that there was more to her story, though the details eluded him, and he wanted her to explain. "You didn't learn how to pickpocket from the Dalish, and you sure as shit didn't get an accent like that from the Lavellan clan." Nathaniel knew enough about the Lavellan from his time in the Free Marches. They were one of the Elven clans most inclined to trade with humans.

"Fine." Hale sighed. "Grew up in the Denerim Alienage." Heavy silence followed her words.

Nathaniel did not push for her to say more. Well, that explains it. He waited patiently until she sullenly continued.

"My da was a trader from the Lavellan clan. He taught me everything 'fore he died. I got stranded there." She stopped for a moment, staring hard at the ground, teeth clenched. She was seething at the details of the recollection she neglected to share. Her gaze traveled up to Nate's, daring him. "Stealing's handy fucking skill for a street rat, ya know? So's hunting. Made decent money selling what I killed."

They stood reticently; shocked at her story, Nathaniel released her wrist. He had no reply and for a moment he regretted pushing the information from her. But an inconsistency interrupted the regret. "When you saw the Inquisitor, you said 'you know I always come back.' How’s that if you've been living in the Alienage?" He was highly skeptical of the thief's honesty but his tone remained neutral.

"When I's old enough I left the Alienage to find my clan. But it wasn't home no more. I lived between them, but mostly I just stayed out of both. Forest's more home than some slum fucking street or some traveling elven circus. Then I got conscripted, and I guess I figured I owed it to our Bitch Queen Commander," Hale continued. Nathaniel, grateful for the darkness, stifled a laugh by coughing. "Because she killed the fucks who killed my dad. And now I'm a fucking Grey Warden."

Casually, the young Elf reached into her boot and pulled another flask. As she moved to unscrew the lid, Nathaniel saw the glimmer of the container. "Give me that," he said with exasperation, his tone resounding his disapproval. He took it from her hand and glared before sighing and drinking from the flask himself. He did not return it to her. "I’m sorry about all that happened,” he offered, but ultimately had no other words of apology for Hale. “But being a Grey Warden can change your life if you let it. Let's get back," he scolded, motioning for her to keep moving toward the camp and taking another swig from her flask.

"See you're finally willing to have some fun, Lieutenant." As they walked she mocked his earlier decline of joining the festivities she had riled. "Finally realizing yer leash is long enough to let loose?"

"What are you getting at?" Feelings of impatience and annoyance returned toward the young woman.

"Oh, well…" The condescension in her tone was noticeable as she mocked him. "The Bitch Queen Commander. She's got you pretty well trained, don’t she?" Nate did not immediately answer. "Come on mate, it's kind of obvious."

She’s a Nightmare Demon. Hale's humor disregarded the years of effort he had put into following Caoilainn's rules. The Warden Commander dreaded the idea of her army knowing of their dalliances.

"She's my Commander," he explained, glad she couldn’t see his slightly reddening face as they walked. "No, I don't have to explain anything to you. And I'll add a warning: insulting the Warden Commander is also insubordination."

"'Course it is," she nodded her head in sarcastic solemnity, then her tone shifted. "Care to reprimand me this time , Lieutenant? I'm sure you got some clever ways."

"What are you-" he started as his disapproval heightened, but stopped midsentence as he realized the suggestive nature of her tone. She was watching for his reaction with a raised eyebrow, challenging him to respond. He gave a short laugh and cut the line of conversation off. "Hah. No. Nope. We're still on a mission and you and I are not going there."

Did I just say that? Typically he was unopposed to advances from women, but he had been playing this game long enough to know when a woman was not worth the consequences, no matter how outstanding she might be in bed. This was one of those times and this young hunter was far too wild for his taste. Not to mention, the threats he had received from Caoilainn and the Inquisitor compounded the lack of interest in the risk. But he could not deny the magnetism of his curiosity about her and so far that kept him from following through with threats of reprimand or discharge. This girl's playing with fire.

"Oh, come on," she teased. "Aren't you the type to prey on young Wardens, Lieutenant?" Her question danced around Nathaniel’s suspected transgressions with intrigue; the eagerness in her voice was tangible.

He gave the same charming smile as before. I’m not taking the bait this time. "I might be,” he admitted nonchalantly. “But I'm not the one preying here, huntress."

Silence heavily filled the pause between them. When Hale replied, her grin was audible, her tone flirty and tempting. "But Lieutenant, yer girlfriend's not here. You can do what-"

Despite the buzz of the strong alcohol, Nathaniel's agility was not diminished. The sound of shuffling dead leaves, Hale's gasp, followed by a soft thud, concluded with Nathaniel backing Hale to a tree. He didn't touch her, aware the proximity of this interaction contradicted his professionalism. It's difficult to remain professional with this girl. They were still out of earshot from the camp though the activity from around the campfire was discernable. "I mean it, Hale." He said darkly, clearly vexed. "You're treading on thin ice."

She flashed her teeth in a sultry half snarl, half smile. He could feel her breath against him. The clouds of air leaving their mouths in small puffs was visible in the cold. "It's good I'm light on my feet then." Her voice was low, testing, and unafraid.

They stayed like this for many slow, stretched seconds, glaring at each other, neither willing to succumb. Her weight was shifted to one leg, a defensive posture. So use it. React. Yet, Nate noticed again that she did not push closer to him. She had several points from this position that she could overpower him but she didn't. Instead, she stayed passively pinned.

"Fine. Promise, Lieutenant. I'll be on my best behavior," Hale caved first and Nathaniel released her.

"Good," he replied shortly, certain that her words were meaningless, if only because he had prevaricated the same commitment to Caoilainn time and time again. The pair walked back to the camp.

[annwritesstuff]

Bonnaroo - Some takeaways

I’ve been MIA on this blog for a few reasons ... One, I don’t like to create content just for content’s sake. Quality over quantity. Two, I’ve had a lot going on. This includes losing my job, applying to new jobs, dealing with my car getting broken into ... And, on a more positive note, going to Bonnaroo!

^Ya girl getting the obligatory Bonnaroo sign pic.

Bonnaroo was an EXPERIENCE, to put it mildly, but just what I needed. I’ve been meaning for a month now to write this post. I have a job now (thankfully), so before things get too crazy with my schedule I’m going to finish writing this damn thing and post it.

You probably already have some idea of what Bonnaroo is. Put simply, it’s a four-day camping music festival held on a farm in Tennessee about 1 hour south of Nashville. Obviously there’s much more to it than that.

I could write several posts about my Bonnaroo experience, but I’ll keep this one brief. Before I went I searched the web for advice for Bonnaroo first-timers. And while I found some helpful articles and message board posts, nothing could have truly prepared me for being there.

As a consumer of online advice, I’d like to contribute some of my own. So, here goes:

I underestimated just about every aspect of Bonnaroo.

My sweet boyfriend who has been to Bonnaroo 12 times tried to prepare me for several aspects of the ‘Roo experience before we went, but in hindsight it’s clear that I accepted his advice with a ton of naïveté. Some examples:

Josh: “It’s going to be hot. Like, really hot.” Me: “I grew up in Texas. I can tolerate the heat!

Oh boy ... Did I woefully underestimate what he meant. Prepare for heat at Bonnaroo as if you’re anticipating getting cooked alive. I grew up in an area that is hot for most of the year, yes. However, I’m used to going inside to A/C when the heat becomes too much. You can’t exactly do that at ‘Roo. If you hold a VIP pass there are opportunities to go into air conditioned tents. BUT, you shouldn’t spend your entire festival experience inside them.

Josh had mentioned to me that he usually wakes up not that long after the sun rises because it becomes so hot in his tent that he can’t stay asleep. THIS IS NOT AN EXAGGERATION! I would say that most nights I was there, I got 4-5 hours of sleep. On these days, I tried to take what opportunities I could to nap during the day.

It rained on Saturday night/Sunday morning, which ushered in cooler temperatures and allowed us to sleep until 10 a.m. This felt amazing!

My advice- Stay hydrated. I brought a four-pack of Hydralyte not thinking I’d actually drink it unless I had a hangover, but I drank it sans hangover and it was a lifesaver! Find and take advantage of the shade. Pace yourself - Don’t stay out in the heat all day and risk becoming burnt out by the time it’s 4 p.m. (more on that later).

Obviously, wear sunscreen. The SPF-30 Target brand stuff I got the day before because it was cheap was really put to the test. I’m a white girl who burns easily, and I’m positive that if I went to ‘Roo sans sunscreen I would’ve come back with melanoma. I didn’t get sunburned, by some grace of god; however I remember thinking I hadn’t been burned but I hadn’t been “sun kissed” either ... It was like I had been aggressively sun hugged. All this is to say that sunscreen saved my skin (pun intended) and anything less than the cheap sunscreen I got wouldn’t have gotten the job done. Next year I’m splurging on Neutrogena SPF-100 with helioplex, baby!

Josh: “There is a lot going on and it’s impossible to do everything.” Me: “OK that’s fine, I don’t have to do everything.”

Do you experience FOMO? Well, if you don’t handle the Fear Of Missing Out well, you will have to deal with it at Bonnaroo. There is always something going on and it’s literally impossible to experience everything; Much less experience as much as possible while also staying hydrated and rested.

The afternoon of Friday, the first full day, Josh was (smartly) napping at our campsite and I couldn’t sleep. Excited and feeling like I had to ~*~*make the most*~*~ of my experience, I headed out to Centeroo, bought a mixed drink and went to see Japanese Breakfast perform.

It was great. Shortly after the set ended, though, I was drunk and exhausted. I wandered to a nearby tree, sat down and decided to close my eyes. I woke up about an hour later. It was 5 p.m.

5 P.M. I still had the whooooole evening and night ahead of me.

Don’t go hard during the day and drain your energy for the night! I would recommend resting during the hottest parts of the day as much as possible, and then venturing to the main attractions once the sun isn’t so high in the sky. Once the sun completely goes down, it’s much easier to be outside. If you’re in Centeroo during the afternoon, don’t feel the need to go hard. Watch concerts from the shade. Don’t overdo it with alcohol. Etc., etc.

Or, you could go hard during the day, then rest at night and miss the headliners. OR, you may be a superhuman who can just do it all. I don’t know your life!  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If you rest at your tent, you are not wasting time or missing out! You are ensuring that you will have a great time later without literally breaking your body!

Josh: “No, you don’t understand, [reiterates point to me about how brutal the experience can be.]”

He was right. While Josh tried to give me a good idea of what to expect at Bonnaroo, there’s no way I could have learned how to deal with being at Bonnaroo until I was in the middle of the shit being forced to adapt to it then and there. I feel like I can give out all the advice I can think of, but it will only get any future Bonnaroo attendee so far.

Apart from what I’ve already said about pacing yourself, staying hydrated and wearing suncreen,

ALL THAT BEING SAID ...

Bonnaroo 2018 was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. It was the right time. It was the right place. It was the right company of folk. It was exactly what I needed at that moment in my life. I know you’re rolling your eyes right now, but I can’t put into words exactly how it made me feel. On Sunday night I sat watching The Killers, and thought “Nothing else matters right now.” And it was genuine.

I have anxiety and depression. I’ve dealt with it for years. When I thought “Nothing else matters right now,” it was my truth in that moment. It wasn’t something I was trying to tell myself, hoping I’d internalize it and actually believe it. It was the truth. Moments like this, as a person in a seemingly constant battle with her own thoughts, are so rare.

So, go. Risk a sunburn, a hangover, shitty sleep, FOMO, feeling ill-prepared for where you are. Go and experience everything Bonnaroo has to offer- the music, comedy, interesting people, crazy moments and everything a blog post can’t adequately articulate. You’ll get it.

^The remnants of the VIP camping section, Monday morning ...

I might write more at some point, but that’s it for this post. Bonnaroo 2019 begins on MY 28TH BIRTHDAY! I’ll be there. As of this writing, it’s only 337 days away 😊

[garden-of-succulents]

Kent Parson and the Comeback Kid - 3

After a week of Kent Parson breaking everybody's hearts I was like I AM GONNA WRITE SOMETHING FLUFFY FOR HIM IF IT KILLS ME. And tonight I wrote 6k in four hours? Which is an amazing omen for the new year, may it prove so in the future?

So this is a new chapter of Kent Parson and the Comeback Kid. It's 2021. Kent's finally gotten Andy from Leave Your Lovers Like Campsites to settle down and have a kid and marry him. They've got an open relationship and he's got boyfriends who don't appear in this fic so far; she's dating Maida Hombrebueno. Andy, who was an elite hockey player in her youth, was out of the sport for many years and just got rediscovered as a talent. She's 32 and just qualified for the US National Women's Team for the first time. Also, it's Round 3 of the Stanley Cup playoffs, and the Aces are up in the series 3-2.

(There's one little sour moment where Andy's dad is mentioned, and general BS of the media being gross, but nothing like the last part. And for people who're wondering: Katie is Kent's sister.)

At the airport, Nick jumped down and ran for her as soon as he got a clear eyeline. He almost got taken out by a luggage cart before getting within ten feet of her, and Andy sent thanks with her eye contact as the man stopped and let Nick blithely swerve around him.

"Mommy! Mommy!" he exclaimed, as she scooped him up. "What did you bring me?"

Andy laughed and rocked him back and forth, pressing her cheek to his hair. "Hey kiddo," she said, heart thudding. "I am so happy to see you. I brought you... a giant kiss. You gonna let me give you a big kiss hello?"

He did, pressing his hand over his cheek afterwards to hold it there. "I'm in pull-ups," he informed her glumly as she walked across the Arrivals area with him on her hip.

"Yeah? You peed yourself a little? Happens to the best of us, buddy," she said, tightening the arm around Nick so she could lift her other one and reel in her girlfriend.

A few years back, Andy ended her twentieth hockey season in a rec league in Minneapolis and hung up her ice skates in frustration. Half her team were skating for their first season ever, and were carried along by the half who'd been playing since they were little girls. They made great drinking buddies, but she hadn't been going anywhere as an athlete, and felt a little burned out by having to coach in her rec time over and above her day job coaching teenagers at a hockey academy.

Roller derby gave her a lot of the same things as hockey. It was fast and fun and violent, and played by women who made her laugh so hard she snorted beer out of her nose. But the player base had a deeply different ethos, embracing the weird and wonderful instead of hockey's straighter laces. When Maida Hombrebueno joined the Sin City Derby Girls, it was the first time she'd willingly participated in a team sport since the age of ten, and Andy might never have met her without it.

Maida spent her summers touring music festivals and New Age gatherings with her boyfriend Luis, a Santeria-practicing guitar player. When she wasn't rehabilitating injured wild raptors, Maida's own interests ran to composing slam poetry in indigenous Mexican languages and occult divination.

She was like water in the desert.

Once Andy got over her sense of disorientation with Maida, the feeling of being so far from any familiar cultural referents she didn't know where she was, she found herself at home. Maida was the teammate she trusted to have her back, the witch who poured blessings on her son's head. As a lover, she was like a stray cat who just walked into Andy's house one day and treated her bed like home, filling up her house with warmth and wisdom. When she left, it was on her own time and for her own reasons, but also the certainty that she'd be back. Maida was the only person Andy would trust to take her two-year-old son to the airport and let him wander freely, risking life and limb in the face of baggage carts and many other unknown horrors. Maida treated Nick with a calm, hands-off attentiveness, knew where he was every second, and could--unlike his grandmother--call him back at any minute.

Maida squeezed her in a hug, and Andy breathed in the jasmine perfume behind Maida's ears, pressing her face into Maida's hair for a minute before letting go.

"Congratulations," Maida said, and twined her fingers with Andy's as they began walking out to the parking lot.

We'll just do the long-distance thing, she'd said even before Andy left for the selection camp. No drama, no questions. Unless you don't want to. But you do what you need.

"Thanks." Andy squeezed her hand. "You coming to the game tonight?"

"Oh, no," Maida said. "You guys have fun. I'll go home when you guys head out."

Andy shook her head, smiling. Kent's friendship with Maida went back almost as many years as he'd known Andy, when he'd started exploring Paganism, and had been lovers with Maida and Luis for years; when he drove out of Las Vegas to their trailer in the desert, it was to escape hockey, to escape being Kent Parson, to escape even the memory of the pressures laid on him in the city. So even after all these years, they never went to Kent's games. Maida might acknowledge that Andy played hockey, but politely treated Kent's hockey career like a hobby that paled in comparison to everything else about him. She'd rather talk to him about music, xeriscaping, statistics, about the progress of Nick's potty-training, than let discussion of hockey pass her lips in his presence. "Series is 3-2 us," she said, just to fill Maida in. "Either they win conference finals and advance to the Cup final tonight, or it goes to another game."

"Karen's been trying to pack when she thinks Kent won't see," Maida said with dry humour. Kent and Andy were hockey-player superstitious, made uncomfortable by words or actions that implied their teams would win; Maida was idiosyncratically superstitious, more likely to believe fate was affected by the phase of the moon and the rains last winter than human actions; Karen didn't think she was superstitious at all, and liked to be well-prepared ahead of time. Karen therefore struggled to reconcile her son's habits and her household management, especially during Playoffs. In her opinion, a week's warning was hardly enough for her to prepare to take Nick to New England so they could be there at the game if Kent won, and the shuttling back and forth between home games and away was a demonic plan specifically designed to torment her. Over the past week Maida had probably been surreptitiously keeping friction between mother and son from erupting, when she wasn't tending to her birds.

"Grandma's gonna be so happy when Playoffs are over," Andy chirped to Nick, who had his arms around her neck and his head against his shoulder. To Maida she asked, "Where's Kent napping?"

"Swoops's," Maida answered. She reached over and rubbed Nick's back as they got to the car. "Though this one's not going to be too loud, I think. He was up at six this morning. Be nice if he could--" she mouthed the word nap-- "this afternoon."

"Mmm," Andy agreed, depositing Nick in his carseat. He clung to her, his eyelids drooping. She was already calculating the probability that he'd fall asleep in the car and stay asleep while she carried him inside.

The odds weren't great, but a girl could hope. It made sense that Kent Parson's son would be a stubborn little motherfucker, though.

"Kent wants to see you before puck drop," Karen said, as Nick dragged Andy by the hand. His eyes had snapped open just as Andy laid him down on his bed, damnit.

"I know," Andy said, as she retreated down the hall. "He texted me." And then she waved as Nick pulled her into the playroom.

She had to admit, privately, that she didn't always understand her son. His noises didn't always resolve into words in her ears, and she frequently relied on Kent and Karen for translation. She didn't understand why he wanted to do something with a train and a Barbie and a spaceship, and just patiently held the spaceship aloft for him until he took it out of her hands and set it to rest on a toy car. She never knew what his scribbles or Play-doh blobs were supposed to represent, and found herself falling back on phrases like, "That's a lot of blue!"

And yet, when she sat back on her heels and Maida brought her a cup of tea and a kiss goodbye, she said, "I've decided? I think I actually am a better parent than my parents were."

"Yeah," Maida said, and squeezed her shoulder. "Karen wanted me to remind you that you've only got two hours before the team goes in for strategy."

"Yeah, I know. I'll get dressed soon." Andy squeezed Maida's hand, and kissed it. "Drive safe."

Kent and Andy had an entire closet for jerseys. It was sentimental and a bit ridiculous, but there it was. Some jerseys got special treatment; his first Olympic jersey, framed with team picture and silver medal, hung in his den. One of her NCAA jerseys, and the award plaque she won that season, had the same treatment in her work office. But after a while there got to be so many--and not all fit for public display, like the All-Star jersey from a few years back with bloodstains on one side and a little penis drawn on the other in Sharpie. This was where her new Team USA jersey went when she pulled it out of its plastic wrapping, buried her nose in the fabric, and then slipped it onto a hanger.

Her chin trembled a little when she indulged in a whim and pulled out one of Kent's IIHF Worlds jerseys. It wasn't the same--different year, old logo, different neck decoration. But both jerseys were the same colour. Same team. PARSON, across one back. SCARLATTI, across the other.

She put them back in the closet and sighed wistfully. There used to be a time when she'd just throw one of them on over a pair of jeans and sit down in the stands with a hot dog and a beer. It was comfortable and familiar. She still did it for a lot of games and tournaments, but not NHL games, especially not Aces games, anymore. Instead she put her curling iron on to heat and stepped into the shower.

Kent didn't care what she wore. Or, that was, when his opinion was a deciding factor he preferred her in a jersey as God intended her. But he was a player, not a fat woman being spectated as a spectator. His fashion choices during a game didn't get dissected the way hers did. When she wore a jersey, his Twitter mentions didn't fill up with messages about her looking ugly and slovenly the way hers did. He didn't have bosses in the Aces Foundation making nervous comments about "professional attire" and "media image" the way she did. So when he was around he didn't comment on it, just helped her pull her Spanx on and zipped up her dresses.

Almost over, she consoled herself, blending her makeup.

Even the lower passages and back hallways of the arena sparked with life. This was an important game, and Las Vegas knew it. Andy waved to familiar faces--parking lot attendants, security guards, janitors in her husband's jersey. As she came down the tunnel the boom of the music playing hit her before the scrape of skates and smack of sticks did.

Jorge, the towel boy, nodded to her as she came down to the players' box, but the coaches and trainer there--Harry, Mel, and Luc--were too busy watching the ice with eagle eyes and conferring over their notes. The box was otherwise empty as the team warmed up. Andy went to lean on the boards and look out.

Swoops was still wearing fairy wings pinned to the back of his jersey, the way he had at warmups for the last three games. It was a bet Andy didn't fully understand. Dmytro was lying on his back and cycling his legs through the air, pretending that his jersey totally accidentally fell back and exposed his abs. Gordie's glove hand was still moving a little slowly when he windmilled, and therefore unsurprisingly, the backup kid they'd called up last night was nervously stretching on an empty patch of ice.

Kent was--

Kent skated away from a consultation with a rookie, snatched a puck, handled it over to the lineup to shoot on Gordie. Kent kept drawing her eye, and not just because he was hers. Kent was--

His jersey was missing the Nevada patch on the shoulder, the extra stripe of white at the bottom. Its sleeves were straight, not shaped the way they'd been for the last three years. The sides didn't have the subtly greyer panel the Aces were wearing this season. It looked retro, and it hung on him a little looser than normal, and there were what looked like scuff marks all over it, and--

SCARLATTI, it said. 14

Kent sank the puck over Gordie's glove, shook his head sympathetically, looked over to the callup kid, who looked like he was about to puke. Kent was on his way over to him when he noticed Andy.

Almost a decade ago she'd slept with him for the two weeks between conference finals and Cup final, slept with him a few times after, and then kissed him goodbye and moved back to Minnesota for four years. As a parting gift, he'd asked the team shop to custom make a jersey with her name and habitual number, to remember her year with the Aces by. A lot of the guys had signed it for her.

He'd felt self-conscious about giving her his own number and didn't want him wearing anybody else's, he'd said. But she'd always hugged a secret little hope to her chest when she wore it: that he put her own number on it because he took her a little seriously as a hockey player.

"You stole my jersey," she said through tears when he skated up.

He just grinned and wrapped her up in a hug over the boards, murmuring thanks when Jorge took the stick out of his hand. She hugged him back and gripped big handfuls of the fabric.

"I am so proud of you," he said. "You're gonna get everything you need to play. We're gonna figure it out."

"I'm wearing mascara, you asshole," she sobbed. He let her go so she could turn away and grab one of the bench tissues and turn back to him while she was crying. "I did actually know that."

"You... did?" the man wearing her jersey asked.

"I know, right?" she asked, blowing her nose. "On the plane back I just thought... you didn't actually say, but I just thought. If I made the team, and you were like, no, we can't make it work, your career is more important, after you told me to go? I'd be so fucking angry with you. You'd be an asshole." She sniffed mightily and swabbed at her face. She'd been smart; she'd used waterproof mascara, though she hadn't remembered it at first. "So it turns out I actually have, like. Expectations? And I..." she started crying again. "I actually believed you were gonna believe in me and support me? Even before you said so?"

"Babe," he said, and gathered her in again reverently. She leaned against his chest, holding tissues to her face, even when she felt him slide back on his skates and have to re-set his feet. She thought about the fact that their entire exchange had just been videotaped and clips of it had probably already been broadcast, but wasn't too troubled. Kent was shielding her; her face was safely hidden in his shoulder, and the jersey he'd chosen to warm up in told the story itself. Maybe he'd anticipated that. The media were going to want visuals to go with the story, and there had already been stories about the surprise addition to the roster before she boarded the plane back to Las Vegas. He'd already known they'd have to present an image as a team.

They just moved to the side for the first guy who came skating back to the bench, so he could step around Kent, but when it became clear this was a general exodus Andy sighed and straightened up and Kent let her go.

"I love you," he said.

She set her hands on his chest, gripping her jersey, and thumped him a little. "You make me proud tonight. Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, touched her chin, and she let him go.

Andy blotted her eyes with a paper towel soaked in cold water, and then when she got up to the family box she looked for Valentyna. It was a lively box tonight--all the wives, most of the girlfriends, the callup goalie kid's parents, various friends and hangers-on. Nick and Karen weren't there yet, but Oksana and a couple other kids had pulled out the big Rubbermaid bin of Duplo from behind the bar and started playing with it already.

It took one look--it looked like Valentyna had been waiting for her--before Dmytro's wife was pulling out her glass makeup case and coming up to one of the tables in the back of the box. She adjusted the overhead light to shine on Andy's face, frowning at its inadequacies as Andy meekly sat on one of the tall stools.

"You TV interview?" Valentyna asked, snapping open her case. Before her marriage she'd been a model in Kiev, and worked as a makeup artist when she couldn't get modelling gigs. (Somehow, Ukraine had hundreds of women more beautiful than Valentyna Mykhailuk) She was normally shy around the other Aces wives, partly because of the language barrier, but their children were friends only six months apart, and watching Andy struggle with makeup alone had pushed her past her limits. Before the big games, Andy had to pass Valentyna's inspection before being allowed out to the front of the box.

"No," Andy said, squirming a little. "And no big eyeliner wings, Valentyna."

"Accentuates face," Valentyna said. "National team! Patriotic hero! Ought to interview you."

"My face," Andy said. "My eyeliner." And then, as Valentyna loaded up a brush: "Thank you."

"Will miss you," Valentyna said matter-of-factly, and then had to pause to let Andy wipe away tears again.

She got one interview that night, as it turned out, as well as going down into the stands because a group of girls had hastily written on the back of their posterboard sign, ANDY SCARLATTI COME SIGN MY JERSEY. They played on a U18 team together in Ontario, and got playoff tickets as part of what they described as "the most amazing vacation ever." Then she hustled back up to the press box.

Sam Park was the veteran holding down the Las Vegas Star's sports reporting, which meant he bounced from NHL and WNBA games and the local Little League games and initiation hockey tournaments Andy's office either organized, oversaw, or sponsored. They'd last texted two weeks ago when she'd given him the name of a good local flooring contractor for his house, and tonight he sent, Willing to come down to the press box and talk as a member of Team USA?

An interview with an old friend like Sam was a good starting place. He liked wordy character pieces more than brief sports reporting, so he listened with interest as she threw a new light on their acquaintance--how she worked with the Aces in 2010 because she'd always known she'd have to get a paid job after her college sports career, and left in 2011 in part because of the lack of local women's hockey; the growth of professional leagues for women, and differences between men and women's hockey. How her office at the Aces foundation being literally a hundred feet from the team's practice ice meant she could go out and skate at lunchtime if she wanted, and how those hours and her time playing keep-away with Kent before the teams she coached showed up were often more player development than other women just as skilled as her could afford.

She kept quiet about her speculation about next season, though Kent had already spoken about it. In an attempt to distract the press during the first intermission from the emotional crisis their new goalie was having in the dressing room, Kent had stepped out for a brief media scrum. When asked how Andy's selection to Team USA would affect his plans for next season, he'd shrugged and clasped his hands behind his back

"We haven't settled on any details, but, y'know, I wanna support my wife," he said. "I've had ten years of support to be the best player I can be, best coaching, best training, on the best team in the best league. So I think, y'know what, fair's fair." Then, having done his best to ensure rumours of his retirement would bump clips of the kid having a panic attack on the bench from the reporting, he'd smiled and slipped back into the dressing room.

Sam was softballing her, probably planning a series of articles if the story generated much interest. He wanted to know about her family, her friends, her new teammates.

"Have you seen this?" he asked, offering her his phone.

Lansing Cougars @mi_girlshockey · 2h So proud of my daughter #AndreaScarlatti for being selected to #USNWT #TeamUSA!

For a minute she smiled, under the assumption that someone running a girls' hockey account in Michigan had hyperbolically claimed her as their daughter. Then she read the sidebar with the account information. The realization that it was the team her dad was coaching now--that it meant "daughter" literally--wiped the smile from her face.

She wanted to snatch the phone up in a typing grip and fire back a response. Fuck you, she wanted to say. You don't get to claim any part in this. I did this despite you. This was exactly the kind of bullshit that made her block her father on Twitter every time she figured out what his new handle was.

Instead she let the impulse pass through her, and when she could, she consciously relaxed her grip on the phone. She put effort into breathing normally, sitting back in her chair, offering the phone back to him. "No comment," she said casually.

How like him, he thought, to name an account after the girls he's coaching and use it as his own personal mouthpiece.

Sam's eyebrows flicked up. "No comment?" he asked. "That's... not like you."

She made sure to take a full breath and double-check her response. What did she want to say? This was Sam, right; Sam who was writing a book about the Aces, Sam who hadn't written a word about Vladimir's breakdown despite witnessing some of it himself. Then she smiled, a little strained. "When I'm ready to talk about that? You're one of the people I'll talk to. But right now I think it's wise to leave him out of the story."

Sam looked a little concerned, like he was going to ask her if she was really okay, but Andy was saved by the airhorn. The game was back on.

When the game was over Andy kissed and hugged her son goodbye, and headed downstairs. Nick was under Valentyna's watchful eye, and would be going home with her, Oksana, and Dmytro tonight. Western Conference Finals, win or lose, were Kent and Andy's date night by very ancient compact. The other guys would tease Dmytro about not wanting to go out and party, but the same way they teased Kent: good-naturedly, and without a real intent to make him change his mind. Andy was grateful to the Mykhailuks and said so. Karen split off in the hallway to party with another group of middle-aged "wine grandmas".

When Kent met her in the hallway to the parking lot, his suit was rumpled and slightly damp with champagne spray. He grinned sheepishly and laced their hands together.

"Good game," she said, kissed his cheek and looked up. "Oh, hey Gordie, good effort. Tough luck. Rest that shoulder, hey?"

"Thanks, Ands," Gordie said, dredging up the ghost of a smile, and shouldered past them. Dmytro came out, his phone in his hand.

Then Valentyna came down one of the staircases with the kids and Nick caught sight of Kent and shrieked, "Daddy!"

"Oh, dear," Andy sighed under her breath, as Kent crouched down to receive Nick in a running hug.

"Daddy won!" Nick said, hugging him. "Good game, Daddy!"

"Yeah," Kent said. "Thank you! You gonna go home with Oksana and have a sleepover?"

"No," Nick said.

"Yeah," Kent encouraged. "You're gonna go home with Valentyna and sleep over at our place, and see me and Mommy next morning."

"Don't wanna," Nick said, and then something low and incomprehensible that Kent listened to with a furrowed brow. He scowled when Kent said something softly back, and then balled up one fist and hit his father's shoulder with it.

"Hey, hey, hey," Kent said. "Hands aren't for hitting. Gentle hands."

"Daddy mean," Nick said accusingly. He stopped to consider his actions, weighing righteous fury against fear of consequences, and hit Kent again with his face screwed up for tears.

This is my fault, Andy thought suddenly. I've been away for a week. He's upset because I've never been gone that long. That's why he's wearing pull-ups. He hasn't tried to pull a stunt like this for months. It's because of me.

Kent sighed, hitching Nick up into a surer grasp, and turned to the side to let a few other players by. He took a minute to rub Nick's back and close his eyes. "I love you, little man," he said, and then, muttered to himself under his breath: "I cannot take away your pain. I can only sit with you and teach you how to feel it." When he opened his eyes again it was to meet Andy's eyes with a wry expression. He jerked his head to Valentyna, and they started walking to the parking lot together.

"I don't know what books they have at Oksana's house," Kent said as they walked. "I wonder what you're gonna read together. You've got Goodnight Moon and I Am Not a Chair with you, you could read those. But you might read one of Oksana's books."

"No," Nick whined, but his strength was fading. He was collapsing into Kent, tiredness replacing anger.

"Which one would you rather read?" Kent kept going with that gentle voice. "Goodnight Moon or I Am Not a Chair?"

"...Chair," Nick conceded, as Kent pulled open the back door to Valentyna's sedan. Nick's car seat was already in it so Kent settled him in, while Oksana climbed into hers on her own. "An' also Goodnight Moon."

"Yeah, you want both books?" Kent looked over to Valentyna as she buckled Oksana in. "Do you think you can read two?"

"I think so," she said, and leaned forward as Kent drew back. "We gonna read two books?"

"Yeah," Nick said softly. "I love you, Daddy."

"Love you too, little man. Night, Oksana."

Andy stood back, watching with a sense of wonder as Kent closed the car door. He came back to join her with a crooked smile, and they started walking to their car in the other direction as Dmytro started his sedan. They glanced back to watch it reverse out, then drive away.

"I thought we were seriously done for," Andy said, taking Kent's hand. "How did you do that?"

"I mighta let him come back with us, to be honest," he said. "Even though we've got stuff to talk about. He missed you. Coulda put him to bed first. But then he hit me, and we talked last week about how hitting never gets him what he wants." He slipped into the passenger seat of the car, and resumed once he and Andy had their seatbelts on. "I think as soon as he hit me, he knew it was over. I was gonna have to make a stand. So then he gave in pretty fast."

Andy sighed. "I feel so bad. He was probably more upset because I was away."

Kent rolled his head against his headrest to look over at her. "Babe? Welcome to how I feel all the time."

Their drive home was quiet, nerves on her part and pleasant weariness on his. Because they were old, they changed out of their nice clothes as soon as they got in the door and changed into pyjamas. Kent fed the animals and poured a drink out onto his altar to the gods of luck, then stretched out his legs on the couch so Kit Purrson could have the seat she was actively agitating for. Andy brought him a cold pack for his knee first, and then the homemade pizza the oven had been programmed to have ready for them when they got home, and finally two glasses of rosé. She'd sat down when he said, "I wanna see your jersey," and then she had to get up again.

"Sorry," he said when she came back, taking her hand and kissing it. She let him, and then handed the jersey over and picked up her wine.

"Shit," he said after a minute. He was tracing the number on the sleeve.

"They, uh," she said nervously, twisting her wedding ring. "It got us to list three jersey numbers by preference, and then they got assigned based on seniority. And there's a lot of competition for the lower numbers, and Bri's played under number fourteen forever, so I..."

"Dude." Kent looked up at her, eyes shining, hands still gripping the 90. "You're wearing my number. It's not even your birth year."

"Fair's fair," she finally got out past her tongue.

Then she had to lean forward so he could kiss her, and they both cried a little bit, and then it seemed like they were really talking about how to do this.

"I'm afraid," she said. "I'm afraid like, you'll organize some big trade to another team, and we'll change our whole lives, and move everyone, and then I'll get cut from the team in October." She made a little cutting gesture with her hands. "Whoops! I thought I had a career, but I don't."

"It'd still be worth it," he said. "Even just having that chance."

Andy reached back and wrapped her hands around the nape of her neck. "It would be so fucking embarrassing. It's not us, it's the fucking commentators. They're just..." She rubbed her face. "I don't want to do something we're gonna regret, or that you're gonna resent me for, in case it doesn't work out."

"Okay," he said, like that was easy. "What are our options?"

"I mean like, technically..." she laughed nervously, picking up a pizza crust. "I still have one year of NCAA eligibility, I think? But I mean, that's not..."

"Yeah, no," he agreed, stroking his cat.

"If it were an Olympic year..." she paused. "Well I mean, I wouldn't get on in an Olympic year, because it's just that much more intense. But then the players take the whole season to build together. Whereas now there's a training camp, and then everybody's off to their regular team until the 4 Nations Cup. So unless I wanna stick around here and keep training with you... The N, the C-dub, the Russians, or China. I mean, I could play in Minnesota, but..."

"Everything we're hearing from Patty says their league might not last the year," Kent agreed. "And you might not wanna be around for the implosion."

"Yeah," she agreed. "As nice as it would be to be home. So. Realistically? Um. Because, all of the NWHL teams have expressed interest in me. But then it's like, the two body problem. Boston can't afford you. The Sabres aren't a good team right now. Connecticut doesn't have a team at all so then you're commuting, or I am. And you..." she trailed off when he lifted a hand, asking to jump in.

"I want to retire," Kent said.

She blinked at him, and then reassembled her face into something empathetic and supportive and ate her pizza crust. He smiled and poked her knee with his toes, because he liked to make fun of her Listening Face.

"I might as well admit it," he said. "I did this season out of spite. When I came back after my paternity year, people were just... so shitty. Everything they said or did was like, 'Oh, losing his edge.' By the end of the year I was so pissed I just... didn't want to prove them right with that shitty season. So I came back." His face twisted. "And now Nick has nightmares where I'm dead."

"Honey," Andy said. "He hasn't had those for..."

"Okay, but he did," Kent said. "And I'm just... wondering how many more seasons I might've put him through if I hadn't got that far. But now I'm here, and it's..."

Andy reached out and squeezed his foot while he searched for words, and then topped up his wineglass.

"There's this art studio in Rochester," Kent said. "It's in the building where Katie works. It's like, a family creative space. Child-led play. You take your kid in and there's all these art materials around, and the person teaches you how to make like, a popsicle stick picture or fingerpaints or whatever. But the point isn't the art, it's like... teaching your child to explore. How to let them be creative while you're there supporting them but not smothering or anything. She sends me snapchats about it. I wanna go there."

Andy started on her second crust, puzzled but willing to hear him out.

"I just hate how like... all of my time with him is chopped up and scheduled and he's always tired and we can never just be together. After the summers it's almost worse because then he's used to me being around and he's like, 'Where did Daddy go?' What I want is the time to just wake up and decide we're gonna fingerpaint today, and he never has to worry about when I'm gonna leave."

"You wanna be a stay-at-home dad again," Andy said slowly.

Kent paused to think about that, and then looked at her again with something almost fervent. "There's been so many times since he was born that I've been on the ice and asked myself, 'What the hell am I doing here? I've got important things I need to do!' It's like... being around Nick feels important in a way hockey hasn't in years. Even when he's just sleeping. Something changes about him every day, and I love being able to catch it. It kills me every time Mom has to send me a video of something he learned to do without me."

"Shit," Andy said. "I thought you were doing okay."

Kent shrugged, a little helplessly. "I think I repressed a lot. But also like, he's just gotten so interesting now. He's inventing stuff and coming up with ideas, and more and more I'm like, I don't wanna miss this. I wanna be there for this. I wanna get to know him." He picked at his nails and looked up at her. "I spent all these years wishing I had people who loved me, who took care of me, who needed me. And now I've finally got you and under all the competition there's a little bit of me that's like, fuck, why can't I rest on my laurels? Why do I have to get another season out like I'm wringing out a dishrag?" He rolled his head back and sighed. "I am so fucking glad we won tonight, because that might be the only way I'm brave enough to say this."

Andy wasn't good at accepting the fact that Kent loved her. It was like she was coated with an impermeable resin, and that love only seeped in when it cracked and flaked with age. But she didn't think it was just that difficulty that left her feeling that Kent's love for Nick was so much deeper than his love for her.

She wasn't jealous. It wasn't a competition. In some ways it felt like how the world ought to be. It was just a kind of realization: If Kent and I divorced, he'd hurt a lot, but then he'd live again. If he lost Nick, he'd never recover. The immensity of that secondhand love was so deep that it threatened to overwhelm her, and she was kind of humbled just to witness it.

It's gotta be good, some part of her thought. It overcame his pride and his workaholism.

"So," she said, voice rusty. "Rochester. How far is that from Buffalo?"

[peckhampeculiar]

On shiny dog-poop: gentrification in Peckham

By Rosario Blue

Growing up on the North Peckham estate in the early nineties was fun, exciting, scary at times; it was our tepee, our camp-ground, our empire; it was a jungle in Timbuktu – not knowing of course where Timbuktu was or even if it had jungles. The weekends were the one! Sweet reggae blasting out of windows, the soulful rhythm of Afrobeat playing out of others, cars going by with the best underground stations playing a banging garage or jungle tune.

North Peckham estate was also broken-down. There were a lot of gangs around, there were stabbings and robberies. The estate was designed by some genius in the 60s, which ended up leading to an area that even the police refused to come in. Takeaways wouldn't deliver here because it was too dangerous. There were squatters in a lot of abandoned flats, who, just for the record, were really hot and French – at least the ones who lived near me were. Graffiti tags were serious then, proper Warriors-style gang tagging. People avoided going out after a certain time at night, because it wasn't worth the risk. Peckham was honestly a terrifying place at times, and it was in massive disrepair.

But it was still home. As young as I was at the time, I do remember when the regeneration of the five estates – North Peckham, Camden, Gloucester Grove, Sumner and Willowbrook – was proposed. It was suggested that this would reduce crime. But there were some who thought that this was just making the place look new and would it really reduce crime?

There was a story that went round when we were kids that the architect of Peckham committed suicide. Another was that Peckham was built on a mass grave and was haunted by ghosts. I can't find out now whether or not there was any truth in these urban legends, but that we believed it tells you something about how we felt about our home. We thought Peckham was doomed: so did Southwark Council and the government who were desperate to fix the “problem” of Peckham especially after the tragic murder of Damilola Taylor. “Problem” families were moved out of the estate and new families brought in to replace them. A number of the remaining pockets of woodland on the estates were dug up and built over. The foxes that once lived there are now homeless, you can see them out every night – whether having a lovely chat, or straight-out fighting I can't tell you which, I don't speak fox. My feeling at the time was regeneration meant making everything look nicer while stripping the soul out of it.

It worked, though, because, in 2017 Peckham has become the “place to be”. It is hip, it's happening, it's in fashion, darling. We have new, nicer houses, and new, more expensive shops. We have modern, cool places to go, like the Bussey Building, Bar Story, Frank's Cafe, the Hannah Barry Gallery. We have exciting projects like the Peckham Coal Line. We had the council pouring an enormous amount of money into Bellenden Road and it looks gorgeous. We have an expanded UAL, and so now there are load of students.

What is this, gentrification?

(noun) Gentrification: the process by which something that was seemingly dog-poop gets polished and done up nicely, and new people move in with the money needed to live in nice polished places, and then that nicer polished place becomes a sought-after address, prices hike up on everything and the original non-polished people struggle to live in new shiny parts and have to move away or huddle in the still-poopy parts.

Peckham is definitely experiencing gentrification. But does it have to be a bad thing? When I asked Pete Kyrke-Smith, a promoter who was instrumental in building this new-age Peckham, he said he would like to see a kind of “moral gentrification” of Peckham – a “gentrification”, but (if my interpretation is right) one that doesn't subsume the Peckham culture(s) that is/are already there. Is such a thing possible?

I have thought about this a lot, and I don't think it is possible. The middle-class are the great destroyers of culture. They don't mean to be, but they are what they are and what they are is middle-class. When they come to Peckham, they may take an interest in the place, but they will not suddenly become poor. But I'm not saying I think that Peckham's newfound popularity will be its death. I think it's up to the locals to speak up and take control of their communities.

When I heard about the Peckham Festival I jumped at the chance to get involved. What I wanted to know was how much the festival was by and for Peckham. How interested were the local folk? Or was it just a bunch of white folk doing white-people things? Was it really the Peckham festival?

I was encouraged to hear, when I spoke to the organisers, about how much work was put into involving the community, from local businesses to charities and voluntary organisations, musicians and artists. I was discouraged when I spoke to my family and friends to learn that none of them had heard of it. Though I know it's often the case that arty things go unnoticed by the non-arty. And it’s only in its second year.

But I needn't have worried. The festival was a celebration of everything Peckham. The launch night at the Peckhamplex showed videos of Peckham dating back over a century – very pertinent, considering change was on my mind. The weekend had a strong emphasis on people of colour and Peckham’s LGBTQIA+ community, with the gal-dem Film Fest, and the BBZ installation, which was a look into the lives of some remarkable queer, trans and non-binary people of colour. Sunday was carnival: Holly Grove was transformed into a mini-celebration of Caribbean culture; a day mainly hosted by community groups, charities and voluntary organisations. A day that truly appealed to a lot more indigenous Peckhamites with an even more mixed crowd due to the beauty of the music, and real “community” in Peckham to bring people together. This was the day the Peckham I grew up in was really reflected.

Of course, Peckham means different things to different people and has changed many times over the years. For me Peckham is a melting-pot of culture but in the 90s Peckham was to the country at large a “yoof”-riddled no-go area. A hundred years ago, Peckham was a popular and sought-after location for shopping. In the early 1900s Peckham was “the place to be”! So you could argue that the gentrification of Peckham is really a restoration.

But all those early 1900s people are dead, and we're living here. Let's make sure our voices are heard and our needs are met, because the “gentry” (if you will) in Peckham don't need our input to change the place. To keep Peckham's individuality we must stay grounded and refuse to be displaced. To protect established families and community, we need to speak to the council about upholding certain privileges for people who live in Peckham but may not have enough money to continue to live here.

Despite being such a diverse place, or perhaps because of it, Peckham has always had a strong sense of community. I have faith we will work together to protect it.

[payment-providers]

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Burning Man: Silicon Valley's Hottest Perk?

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As Labor Day 2019 rolls in, the residents of the Eastern shore of Florida are gearing up for what is increasingly looking to be a catastrophic storm in Hurricane Dorian. The nearly universal consensus is that the storm will bring a deluge of water and inevitable floods. It is not an understatement to say no one in Florida is looking forward to the next 72 hours, and our thoughts here at PYMNTS are with them.

About 2,800 miles away on the other side of the country, however, a nearly polar opposite circumstance is unfolding in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert, as over 70,000 people living in a temporary makeshift “city” in the absolute middle of nowhere are all anxiously awaiting a fire they are very much looking forward to.

Tonight, as is tradition, a large wooden statue known collectively as “The Man” will be set ablaze in the desert – the capstone event of the annual Burning Man festival. The annual event, created by Larry Harvey and Jerry James in 1986, is now an international draw for visual artists, social media influencers, tech billionaires, independent thinkers and party animals of all stripes.

Burning Man is always a singular experience in and of itself. Officially a commerce-free zone, it constitutes a gift-driven economy in the most literal sense. There is no buying or selling, no stands, no marketing. There may be smoothie shops and exotic grilled cheese stands at Burning Man, but everything is free – all products and services are offered by burners as gifts. The only things that can be sold are coffee and ice.

But that commerce-free experience only starts when attendants get to the playa and start setting up their tents. The ticket itself is a substantial investment of over $400, and then guests must bring everything they could possibly need for the two-week communal camping experiment, from food and water to toilet paper to sunblock. Not only that, but they often bring enough to share with others. For those bringing elaborate costumes, setting up massive art installations or offering free communal services like showers, meals and drinks, the costs can easily spiral into the tens and hundreds of thousands.

Then there are the always controversial “luxury burners” – billionaires, athletes, celebrities and their guests – who come to Black Rock City and create a private, roped-off area equipped with air-conditioned yurts, spas and gourmet meals on demand, right in the middle of the desert. Building all of that is not cheap, nor is the helicopter ride to access it, nor is the cost of removing every trace of it by Monday (cleaning up and leaving no remnants behind is one of the founding tenets of the festival).

All of that has been the background noise of Burning Man in the last decade – a series of interesting contradictions at an event that is part high-minded experiment in communal living and sustainability, and part isolated bacchanal that stands as a massive cultural monument to excess.

Which is not to say that every year doesn’t have its specific quirks – or that 2019 isn’t packing its share of oddities.

While Burning Man has been informally considered a Silicon Valley networking hub since its inception, some firms are deciding to formalize that a bit.

By making it expensable.

Burning Man as a Corporate Retreat

While many people have taken time off work for Burning Man, more than a few have no doubt bent the truth when telling their employer about their vacation plans. But at least one firm in San Francisco is encouraging its employees to go. In fact, it is actually offering to buy the tickets.

Shane Metcalf, co-founder and chief culture officer of 15Five, a San Francisco-based employee feedback and management system, is a true Burning Man believer, and wants his workers to believe as well. Having personally attended the event 10 times, Metcalf believes Burning Man “brings to the forefront higher levels of creativity than you ever knew were possible,” and he wants to encourage his workers to broaden their minds. So Burning Man tickets are on the company this year – anyone who buys a spot can expense it to the boss.

“We aren’t thinking about this as part of the perk war. I’m doing this because going to Burning Man … continues to be one of the most transformative and beneficial experiences of my life. I would not be the person that I am had I not gone to Burning Man,” Metcalf told Inc.

He views sending workers to Burning Man in the same vein as sending them to a professional development conference – in fact, he noted, there are literally hundreds of workshops offered every day at Burning Man, “on every topic you can imagine.” Granted, the event has more foam parties, electronic dance music, orgies, public nudity and psychedelic drugs than the average professional development conference – but Metcalf says that vision of Burning Man is vastly oversold. And besides, his employees are adults and able to chaperone themselves in the desert for a week.

And it should be noted that without Burning Man, Google/Alphabet might not exist in its current form. According to Alphabet Executive Chairman Eric Schmidt, the event is pretty much responsible for him ending up at Google in the first place.

“We all went to Burning Man together,” Schmidt told Stephen Colbert of the time way, way back when Google was more of an interesting concept than anything else, and the firm’s founders Sergey Brin and Larry Page really wanted to recruit Schmidt. After a week together on the playa, magic happened – though to this day, Schmidt is silent on the details.

And 15Five isn’t the first firm to use Burning Man as an out-of-the-box approach to a corporate retreat. In 2007, the social media startup Faceparty relocated nearly all of their team to Burning Man.

“It was very interesting, being there with a group of people who wouldn’t have been there on their own steam,” former employee Santiago Genochio recalled.

So, is it time to start planning the company retreat to the playa, or allocating the budget to send teams? Is this the best way to get on top of founding the next Google?

Not so fast – there are a few things to consider.

Not Every Group Building Experience Is Right for the Workplace 

Wondering why you have never heard of Faceparty before? Well, about a year after the whole team went to Burning Man, the company went belly up, unable to compete in the rapidly consolidating social media environment. Mark Zuckerberg, on the other hand, didn’t make his maiden (and thus far only) journey to Burning Man until 2012, when Facebook was the dominant player in social media and he was a guest in a camp on “billionaire’s row.” Whatever value Burning Man had as a bonding experience, there might have been something to be said for staying home and building the social network rather than going out and socializing in the desert.

And not every Silicon Valley CEO shares Metcalf’s enthusiasm for sending workers into the desert for a week or two of fun on the corporate dime, since it sounds a bit like begging for trouble.

“That’s a horrible idea,” Box Inc. CEO Aaron Levie said. “What about HR?”

A Box spokeswoman later walked back that comment a bit, saying Levi has no problem with Burning Man and wishes all burners the “best of luck.”

And, upon closer consideration, one might wonder if 15Five’s offer to its workers is actually quite the “tech firm makes Burning Man attendance mandatory” story that some new outlets have been reporting.

First of all, 15Five is not buying the tickets for their employees, but rather is letting employees expense their tickets after they buy them. That distinction is important, because tickets can be hard to come by. And the firm is only reimbursing the ticket price – the gas, food, costumes and everything else workers bring for the weekend is wholly on their own dime.

“We’re not building a 15Five camp. We’re saying this is an invitation to go have an experience that’s famous for creating profound transformations for people,” Metcalf noted.

An invitation that, incidentally, not all that many people are actually accepting. After all, 15Five has not had to shut down for the last week and a half – because, according to Metcalf, only about four employees bought tickets. Everyone else is at work.

So is 15Five really trying to build a corporate culture of Burning Man enthusiasts because, as Metcalf said, they bring “a higher level of authenticity, self-expression and creativity?”

It is certainly possible – after all, anyone who has been to Burning Man 10 times in 12 years clearly believes in the mission.

But could it be that 15Five announced their Burning Man “perk” during the typically slow late-summer news cycle, in hopes that they might get some free advertising from all the news outlets?

That certainly seems possible.

But then, that is Burning Man: an expansive, extravagant and over-the-top celebration of communalism, anti-corporatism and living in accord with nature. It’s unsurprising that everything it touches has complicated – and perhaps ever-so-slightly conflicting – motivations.

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[mandssisters]

Laditude - GOTR takeover Latitude 15th July 2017

The road to Latitude was a long road, the 8 hour drive made me feel like I should have been in the states travelling to a local gig!  Whereas in the UK…… a LONG DRIVE!

Arriving Thursday for the weekend, we set up basecamp amongst Waitrose shoppers! (Personally I am more Lidls)  (more Waitrose later)  A great pitch location within short walking distance for the Sausage Pork Shack (that’s breakfast sorted) and loo’s…. close but not too close!  Despite packing lite the load was indeed heavy!

Off to the main festival site for the afternoon evening.  Latitude had a character all of its own.  Delightful wooded areas, the river, the waterfront stage, comedy arena, lake stage, theatre and other music zones.  The main stage Obelisk Arena was set at the bottom of a natural hill so made a great arena, unlike other festivals at the back was a GA set of tiered seats.  Great idea.  

Lots of quirky stalls to spend one’s hard earned cash.  Merchandise purchased.    Finally I get my hands on a Garratt Tee shirt.  Can you ever have too many t-shirts?  We found a tasty food stall making great Tibetan cuisine, a real treat.  

The lockers.  When booking we selected the option of a secure locker, in the mind you see a gym locker, the reality was quite different.  All very organised and secure, but only the size of first edition Harry Potter!  The struggle was real to get all the newly purchased merch inside!  At the cost of the camera, latitude pint glass and knitted cactus…… cannot have everything in life.

Being a tad tired we head back to camp and attempt to sleep……….. The hours between midnight and 7 am can be long can’t they!!!!!    At least I rested!!!!  Such a relief the Scousers next door had a great time……festival life.  

Friday, exploring day.  Pink Sheep, Lakes, river banks, gondola rides, comedy, ballet, music.  We saw and heard it all.  Went to see Charlie Fink in the theatre a very touching play.  Another highlight being the BalletBoyz.

Demonstrating the high end nature of this festival, we browse a “living jewellery gemstone stall” tempted by the lapis necklace should or shouldn’t I spend money…. the lady next to me spots an amethyst lazer cut silver ring, the stall holder points out that it is indeed to most expensive item on the stand, her friend, what £200…. errrr no £2000.  Lady next to me, places it on the hand stares at it for around 30 seconds and says, I’ll take it.  The stall holder close to tears of joy can’t quite #believe.  She pays on her credit card saying I’ll tell the husband later he just bought me a pressie.  When in Rome the Lapis is indeed purchased!  Bargain.

The 1975 were headlining so we decided to sit on the back row, what a great view and great set.  This was the last date of the current tour, hardcore fans had been barriering it all day.  An emotional good bye until October 2018!  We’ve all been there.  It was a chilly evening many layers were on, I was as usual rocking the homeless look.  Back to basecamp to “warm up”.  #fail.

A much better nights sleep, the ear plugs working their magic.  Must have got at least a 6 hour snooze.  The weather looked ok for the day,  warm, but not hot, sunny but not on fire, but maybe light showers in the afternoon.  

Pack a sweater and poncho, don the wellies.

Mixing up the day with a cheese and baked bean toastie for breakfast.  Every night the festival ground itself is vacated and you camped off site.  Festival Gates open around 10am, so we head back down and wander to the Obelisk Arena.  The arena is taped off until the site is declared ready.  It is has been transformed overnight into a GOTR stopover/takeover.  With Willis flags flying proudly around the arena and new stage surround added.  We meet a Nanny that is paid to sit on site over the weekend to make sure her crew are behaving!  This was her 10th year!  Tempted by the offer of a £70k a year job in Dubai we refused!

B, G, S, and F arrive!  Yay!  The gang are here.   A very causal dropping on the tape and the cruise to the barrier is easy. Wot no bag search, hole punching of tickets, queueing for wrist bands, and steps, front row and never had been such a breeze!  

The stage is very high, I guess because of the hill,  also down the front there is an uneven layer of sand/gravel which makes for a messy seat!  Hiding cables I guess but ruining the arse of the trouser!

The very best sound check for a good 30 mins prior to their opening set.  Seye is working with Gorillaz on the Humanz tour.  I think his absence was definitely noted.  Wot no WE OK in Sight! They had a tough crowd, first up, early in the afternoon and to a bit of a lame crowd.  Maybe the Waitrose crowd don’t wake up until after the sun passes the yard arm.  Good set none the less.  

Ben appears on stage to announce Lucy Rose, this was indeed the largest audience she had ever played in front of.  I can’t remember much of her set as I was “struggling”, all I can say is thank god for Tang Tastics.  Never have I needed you more!  Lucy I am sure did a great acoustic set.  #tired.com

It suddenly gets really crushed and tightly packed down the front, all exit plans are now waived from the mind.  Milky chance, nope I hadn’t heard of them, but clearly Waitrose Kid shoppers had.  It was rammed down there with mosh pit circle dances gaps and barrier ramming being undertaken.  Oh it was fun!  They were very good.  Just what the soul need post L.R.

Glass Animals next,  again, crush fest, the stage dressing was a large golden pineapple, this brought a smile to my face…… party like a 🍍 #fondmemories they were really good, a great tonic.  Bashing out tune after tune.  Clearly they were having a great time as well.  The fan base of course bringing inflatable pineapples and pineapple sunglasses, said pair live on in DDD thanks to the careless actions of a fan!  But the careful squirrelling of said DDD fan!  

More peeps than ever now down the front for Two Door Cinema club.  Great stage graphics, great tunes, saw them at Glastonbury last month and they never disappoint.  Surviving all three of the last acts was a bit of a feat of endurance, but we did it.  

The teenage Waitrose shoppers had now dispersed by around 20% so we now had room to dance around again.  Leon Bridges was totally awesome and oh so talented, he had all the moves, very 50s rockabilly but with a modern twist.  Great soul in his voice.  It’s not every one who can carry off the cricket whites look!  He did a blinding set.  

By now it was 2045 hours and only 45 mins until Mumford!  

Throughout the day the stopover was old Skool and used linen fabric backdrops to showcase the artist.  Mumford indeed went old skool and had the same stylish graphic set up.  I don’t think we will see the May pyro stage set again.  

2130 and OMG the boys were right on the button.  They blew me away from the start. Opening with Snake Eyes,   I’m not sure where the bounce came from, (hula hoops) (Capri sun) (Tang tastics) (sesame bars), but it was there from the first chord. Loved this show.  

The tunes flowed, the chaps clearly having a blast and enjoying it as well.  Very much a festival set, mixing it up.  Hearing the songs from Johannesburg again, Baaba Maal throwing his shapes and the beauty that is Si tu Veux, Marcus taking lead on Wona, it was a real carnival set.  I will never tire of hearing those songs.  Love love love.  

Up and coming artist Maggie Rogers and fellow takeover artist joined them for Awake My soul.  Sounding beautiful.  

Too soon it was Ditmas, will he or won’t he risk the Waitrose run…. of course he did!  We did worry about the quantity of inflatable sofas, picnic blankets, camping chairs in the arena! NO one got hurt!  He made it back to the stage!  

Encore to Blind Leading the blind.  Then the gathering of friends and fellow performers for “With a little help from my friends”.  Another classic, spotting JQ, Leon Bridges, Maggie Rogers, The Very Best, Gill Landry. Marcus shaking the life out of a tambourine never fails to make one smile.  What a great takeover.  Latitude loves the Sons.

As per Marcus’s instructions we took the aftershow party to Jack Garratt.  That boy was at the top of his game.  It’s not many that can pull of a matching shirt and shorts combo, but he wore it with pride.  We sang, we laughed,  we dance the sole out of our wellies.  What an atmosphere.  Epic. Blinding. Outstanding!  Can’t wait for his formal return with album two.  I think it’s fair to say Jack loved it as well, doing his mini “celebratory Ditmas” run around the front pit hi fiving everyone.  

Still buzzing from Mumford and Jack, we head onwards to the GOTR bar and the Sunset Arena for a spot of chilling and lounging with HBOV.  It’s a lovely area to chill on a log and to reflect on a great weekend, well done chaps, you pulled off another blinder. High five. 🍹😎🌲🌳

Now nearly 3am we decide to call it quits for the day and head back to the comfort of the tent……. nope we didn’t find it.

Sunday… sorry to have missed you Fleet Foxes 🦊 but homelands beckons.  Thanks to the person who donated the freecycle tent ⛺️ other people’s waste! 🤓

[cannabis-retail-stores-in-c-blog]

Ever After festival reveals cannabis rules, caps pot at roughly 20 joints per day.

It won’t be the first time someone’s smoked a joint at a music festival, but it is the first summer since doing so became legal.

As the first round of summer festivals approaches, Kitchener’s Ever After festival is one of the first local events to unveil its pot plan.

“We’re embracing the new laws, and we are allowing patrons to bring in cannabis both into the festival and to the camping ground,” said organizer Gabriel Mattachione, who is president of Beyond Oz productions.

Festival goers can bring in 10 grams of pot per day, but it has to be pre-rolled. Using standard issue joint sizing, with each joint being about half a gram, that works out to about 20 joints a pop, Mattachione said.

Campers have a bit more leeway, and can bring in as much as 28 grams of pot in either rolled or loose leaf form, he said.

“Because our camping’s not truly inside the festival grounds … we thought, ‘Okay what would you be allowed to bring to your hotel?’ and we used those guidelines as a parameter,” said Mattachione.

Smoking and non-smoking sections

Smokers won’t be able to light up willy-nilly, Mattachione said. They’ll have to stay in a smoking section, which has capacity for about 900 people.

Mattachione said the view from the smoking section is good but ‘not the best,’ and that it’s mainly designed for people to smoke quickly and leave.

There is also a second smoking section in the VIP area, which will have a better view, Mattachione said.

Riverfest Elora, Hillside developing pot plans

Not all music festivals are taking this approach; some — like Riverfest Elora — said they will meet with the OPP, the township and other authorities before making any decisions. Others, like Hillside Festival in Guelph, are planning to rely on the goodwill of attendees.

Due to Hillside’s small venue, there aren’t any designated smoking areas, but smoking is prohibited anywhere less than nine meters or “just shy of a school bus length” from eating or drinking areas, said Marie Zimmerman, the festival’s executive director.

Those areas will be well-marked with signs that say no smoking or vaping of any substance is allowed.

“Most people are aware there’s a spectrum of responses to smoking — especially in public places. So we’re relying on their common sense but also their kindness and their compassion for other people.”  said Zimmerman.

“Our festival-goers tend to be guided by intuitive benevolence, which we truly appreciate.”

Smoking corrals ‘extremely unattractive’

Gary Genosko, a professor at the University of Ontario Institute of Technology who’s studied cannabis, called Ever After’s plan as a “fairly sensible solution,” and that treating cannabis in roughly the same way as tobacco is a popular strategy.

Still, Genosko said he wonders how well the smoking corrals will work in practice.

Organizers say those who try to smoke outside designated smoking areas risk being ticketed.(EverAfterMusicFest/Facebook)

“Let’s face it, smoking pens and smoking corrals are extremely unattractive … it depends on the weather how safe it is to access those places,” Genosko said.

“It’s hit and miss proposal, but now that we have essentially no smoking of anything inside any venue anywhere in most of Canada it’s going to be difficult to find a compromise solution.”

Mattachione said poeple who do try to smoke within the crowd, risk being ticketed. There will be paid police duty on-site, as well as tobacco enforcement officers sent by the region.

“We advise everyone to abide by the rules, but there’s always some rule breakers in every crowd,” he said.

Address: 116 Geary Avenue, Suite #202A

M6H 4H1 Toronto Ontario Canada

Website: https://popcann.com

Email: info@popcann.com

Phone: 647-502-2862

[biofunmy]

Missed Burning Man? Burning Man, or at Least Its Art, Is Coming to You

Ever since 1986, when a small gathering of artists and friends first gathered at San Francisco’s Baker Beach to celebrate the Summer Solstice by igniting an eight-foot male effigy, the art of the Burning Man festival was not meant to be seen by the outside world.

Now held in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert, the event has swelled to some 80,000 people who brave dust storms and furnace-like heat each year to construct, dance and play in a pop up-city of fantastical art installations. This year’s festival featured 408 creations, ranging from a surreal Irish fishing village to a cluttered maze inside a three-story rendering of a human head.

“It was one of the only places you could build these immersive interactive pieces that a few years ago were pooh-poohed by the rest of the art world,” said Michael Christian, a sculptor who has attended 20 festivals. “We never imagined our creations would be seen beyond the playa.”

And off the playa, Burning Man has over the last decade become a major influencer of popular culture, design, music and even business. The most tangible vanguard of that influence are the monumental art pieces, which, instead of disappearing into the playa, have begun to show up in plazas, parks, museums and galleries across the United States and beyond.

Given the rising number of people and art organizations exposed to Burning Man either directly or through the media (all those Instagrammers!), and the rising quality and scope of the artists and art attending the festival, it was inevitable that there would be a buildup of curiosity and funding to give these creations a second life.

“People are now starting to build with the intention of creating pieces that will later be placed out in the world,” said Joe Meschede, civic arts coordinator at Burning Man, who helps artists get their work into public spaces once the festival is over.

Here are a few Burning Man installations to see that won’t require a hard-to-get ticket or camping skills.

Reno, Nev.

“Portal”

If Burning Man is fueling a contemporary art renaissance, then Reno is its Florence. About a 120-mile drive from the Black Rock Desert, Reno has been the staging point for Burning Man’s biggest projects, many of which are exhibited there after the festival. The local airport, Fourth Street and the Riverwalk have been destinations, but the biggest concentration of Burner art is at the Reno Playa Art Park, which hosts a dozen pieces on rotation amid glittering casino signs. Four pieces from this year’s festival are being installed, including David Oliver’s “Portal,” an imposing, multicolored, tiled round gate suspended between two basalt pillars which one steps through, according to Mr. Oliver, “with powerful frequencies.”

This 20-foot tall Afro pick, topped by a hidden platform for a view over the desert, was designed by Hank Willis Thomas, an artist whose work has been shown at the Museum of Modern Art and the Guggenheim.

“Burning Man is a great place to build something big that no one asked you to build,” said Mr. Thomas, who presented the sculpture at last year’s festival. “I was thinking of Claes Oldenburg by blowing up an item that was helpful to me when I was a kid with an Afro, and turning it into something monumental.”

Until July, the comb was sticking out of the pavement in front of the Africa Center in Harlem. Now a replica will be on display until January at the Portland Museum, and will later be exhibited at the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville, Ark., and the Cincinnati Art Museum.

Las Vegas

“Monumental Mammoth”

The scrap-metal “Mammoth,” resembling something Mad Max would have built had he been a zoologist, started out as a Girl Scout project by the 16-year-old Tahoe Mack.

Angered by illegal garbage dumping at the Tule Springs Fossil Beds National Monument, near her home in Las Vegas, Miss Mack came up with a plan to recycle the garbage into a sculpture of a creature once indigenous to the area. Last year she recruited Luis Valera-Rico and Dana Albany, two metal sculptors and veteran Burning Man attendees, to weld together the 16-foot sculpture. (“Who can say no to a 16-year-old Girl Scout with big visions?” said Ms. Albany.)

A steel skeleton covered by discarded car parts, rusting aluminum siding, spinning clock parts and doors that open into secret compartments, the “Mammoth” has been dusted off from its appearance at Burning Man to be permanently installed early next year at Tule Springs.

Arlington, Tex.

“DREAM”

Laura Kimpton has built 17 word sculptures for Burning Man over the past two decades, and many have become some of the festival’s most Instagrammed pieces. Her words, written in what she calls “Playa Font” and stamped out in construction steel and aluminum by her husband, Jeff Schomberg, deal with dyslexia (which she has), aspirations and death symbolized by the bird patterns punched out of the steel that Ms. Kimpton associates with her late father.

This year’s piece, “LOVE,” is, according to Ms. Kimpton, in “final discussions” to be installed at the World Trade Center in New York. In the meantime, her 12-foot sculpture “DREAM” can be visited outside of Levitt Pavilion in Arlington, Tex. “I was inspired to make ‘DREAM’ because, in dream life as in Burning Man, there is no social status beyond what you can create,” said Ms. Kimpton. “But I think the sculpture also fits well into Arlington’s dream of radical transformation.”

Healdsburg, Calif.

“Lord Snort”

Bryan Tedrick welded together this 10-ton, 20-foot sculpture, which swivels on a single axis and has a rotating head, as a tribute to the boars that roam the vineyards of his native Sonoma, Calif.

“It was designed so people could climb all over it,” Mr. Tedrick said. “At Burning Man a few of them were naked and some got pinched pretty badly until they welded the head so it couldn’t move.”

The head rotates once again, but climb at your own risk: “Lord Snort” is now on display at Soda Rock Winery in California’s Anderson Valley.

Toronto

“I.T.”

“‘I.T.’ was born out of love of early childhood sci-fi experiences,” said Michael Christian, about his 40-foot tall alien space insect which Burners (festival attendees) could crawl up, with a ladder into the glowing Cyclops head.

“I constructed it for the playa because I knew it would look amazing in a big flat area,” he said. “When we decided to move it elsewhere I was careful it didn’t just become plop art randomly dropped into a lobby or something.”

The art has found a suitably menacing place — ladder removed — bestriding the central plaza of the Distillery District in Toronto.

Philadelphia

“Bebot”

This 33-foot, cheery, chubby robot sculpture, built out of tubular steel, now waves good-naturedly above Piazza Pod Park in Philadelphia. Though “Bebot” has a prominent copper heart, its devil’s tail, discretely curled out the back, indicates things are not as innocent as they appear.

According to its creator, the London-based artist Andrea Greenlees, Bebot “questions what sort of deliberately engineered high-tech cuteness are we welcoming into our private spaces.”

Wappinger, N.Y.

“Altered State”

From the distance, this installation looks like the iconic dome of the United States Capitol, but as viewers move closer they can see that it is riddled by lacy silhouettes from Pacific Northwest Native American mythology. The two-story steel structure, created by Kate Raudenbush, a longstanding Burner artist, is surmounted by a totemic eagle.

“The eagle for Native Americans Indians wasn’t the raptor bird of our Founding Fathers, but the one that flew closest to God,” said Ms. Raudenbush. Her piece is now installed on the lawn of the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors, an indoor and outdoor public exhibition center.

“Most of us who build at Burning Man do it as a form of self exploration, not to please the art establishment — even though well-established artists are now competing for space out there,” she said. “Sacred Mirrors, like Burning Man, uses art for personal reflection, so it has found a perfect new home.”

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[63824peace]

Tuesday, 11th of october 2005

The usual pain around my shoulder blades ripped through my back at dawn. It immobilized me. I knotted a fist, put it between my back and the futon, and pushed through the suffering.

I endure these spastic attacks from time to time. I can't recall when they started though. I've had them for several years at least. Once an attack starts, I can't move for roughly one hour. Sometimes they occur even while I am at work.

The pain is indescribable. I have undergone several physical examinations, but I have always come away with a clean bill of health. A+. I'm quite healthy. The cause for the pain is still a mystery. At first I thought my pancreas was the source, but there aren't any internal organs at the locus of the pain. The doctors were befuddled. They concluded that stress ignites the attacks.

I glared at the ceiling while I waited for the pain to subside and eventually dozed.

A tropical depression has spun into a cyclone off the southern coast of Japan. On the weather map the pattern of the depression's movement as it gains cyclonic momentum resembles a whirlpool. I visualized the pain in my back as a whirlpool. I felt that the stress of my spastic attack was lending strength to the power building within the cyclone. Of course these things aren't really related in terms of cause and effect... it is just a matter of my associations.

The typhoon and tropical depression advance hand-in-hand from the southern ocean. We can expect rain all week.

Yesterday (the 10th of October) was National Physical Recreation Day. The athletic festivals will continue at schools across Japan until next week. A lot of people must have been disappointed with the rain for interfering with either their attendance or performance at the athletic festival. It is doubtful that my son's school will be able to host the festival at all.

I loved the athletic festival when I was a boy. Other children disliked it though. They often wished, "Please let rain fall during the athletic festival!" These children might not have been good runners. Also, parents wished for a postponement of the festival because they cannot fit attendance into their work schedules.

The majority of people bemoan the typhoon's interference and sigh, "Why a huge storm at this time of the year?" The rest of the people react differently though. What do the people in the minority expect from this northering storm? What are their thoughts? Each person's reaction should be different from the others'.

Yesterday I finally had the chance to go to the HMV music store in Shibuya (a district in Tokyo), so I bought some CD singles. I bought Block Party's new single Two More Years; Editors' bullets; and Starsailor's first release in two years, In the Crossfire.

New Order's single Waiting for the Siren's Call wasn't yet on sale, and I didn't buy Franz Ferdinand's single since it had neither a remix version nor a rare track. I didn't buy the Depeche Mode single since I want to be patient for a few more days until their new album hits the shelves on October 13.

I listened to my new singles on my way to the office this morning. Block Party's Two More Years is really cool. I recommend it. My favorite on the walk to work was Editors' bullets. The single came with a promotional movie, and I could see the band in motion for the first time.

Starsailor's In the Crossfire will touch a listener's heart in autumn. I remember the fall of 2003 when I first discovered them. I'm anticipating the release of their new album.

I would really like to go to HMV daily if that were possible. There used to be a WAVE music store in front of the Roppongi Hills train station. There aren't any big name stores in the Roppongi area that sell imported albums now. I'm rarely able to go to Shibuya though, and that's why I'm always late buying new albums and singles. I hope that either an HMV or a Tower Records opens in Roppongi someday.

I burned a copy of the Existence disc and commenced its final test on the PS2. I first checked the Secret Theater and everything looked fine there. I'm relieved; no worries now. Then I moved on to check the main story. I already proofed the sound in the studio, and today I performed the final check on the DVD.

At noon I ate a fried cake of minced meat at the restaurant Mikawaya. Delicious!

In a bookstore I saw Takuro Nukui's latest novel "Akutou tachi wa senri o hashiru" [The Bandits Run for a Thousand Ri]. I also saw Jeremy Dronfield's latest, Resurrecting Salvador. Dronfield also authored The Locust Farm. I want to read them but I already have so many books backlogged on my reading list. I controlled my impulses and left the books on the shelves.

Unfortunately I'm not in the position to read a lot these days. My situation isn't very flexible. I don't feel like reading on the train, so I naturally take shelter in my iPod.

I bought the October issue of Eureka magazine. It features an article written by Yano, a special feature covering Ghost-in-the-Shell: STAND ALONE COMPLEX. I started flipping the pages. Surprise! Even Miyasho wrote an article.

Kenji Kamiyama is the director of Ghost in the Shell: STAND ALONE COMPLEX. He's an old war buddy of mine. We fought beside each other in a certain hellish affair over ten years ago in Nerima, a district in Tokyo. Mr. Kamiyama was already established as a highly intellectual and talented man. I commuted to work from Kobe to Tokyo back then, so I could talk only about work with him.

Some time after moving to Tokyo I ran into him at the preview for the film Jin Roh by Mamoru Oshii. Not many people in either the game or the film industries possess solid character, and Mr. Kamiyama shares his character with both. He is a rare man: one who possesses talent as well as charisma. I would like to work with him again.

I gave an interview for the new magazine Dengeki Maoh right after lunch. They will publish the interview on October 27. For one and a half hours, I talked about the Metal Gear Saga. They asked me: "How would you describe each game in the Metal Gear Saga, using only one word per game?" I couldn't comment on each of those games using only one word apiece. Could a parent describe each of his children using only one word?

I was intent on watching the third disc from start to finish without breaking for the restroom or a drink of water.

Naturally I didn't allow my email or the documents awaiting my signature to distract my attention. "Right now," I thought, "I'm only living for the third disc of Subsistence."  Even so my mind shuttered through memories and thoughts.

Has it already been one year since the release of MGS3? A whole year!

How have I filled the past year? What has really changed during this time? I risk lapsing into self-pity if I think about this too much.

Yet one year later Snake and the Boss remain the same. They are unchanged. They fight for their survival and their innocence. Their creator has aged but they are ageless and shall not fade.

I think about how we create immortal lives that exist eternally.

I felt the stress dissipate while I thought about this. When I finally reached the end, I heard a noise coming from somewhere.

TAWN, TAWN, TAWN!

Was that a hammer? Perhaps there was repair work going on in the office. But nobody told me about that.

I strained my hearing. The hammer's rhythm was not the rhythm of a professional. Somehow it rang awkwardly: a staccato rhythm hammered from the hand of a man not used to recreational weekend carpentering. I wanted to locate the source of the noise, but I refused to turn my attention away from Existence.

Somehow I managed to finish watching the third disc. Having just sat through the whole thing from start to finish, I concluded that we only need to make a few adjustments to the sound. Existence is almost done.

Emotion overwhelmed me as I watched the credits roll to Starsailor's Way to Fall.

Still… the noise continued endlessly. TAWN, TAWN, TAWN!

"Does it need to be that noisy!?" I flustered.

I finally decided to hunt for the source… and I found one of my staff members grappling pieces of wood.

"What is all this?" I asked.

"This is one of our targets for field training," he said. Toyopy smiled at me as he stopped hammering. "To be honest with you, this is sort of a secret. Doesn't it look nice though?" His face beamed.

Well… if Toyopy says so, I suppose you could call that… "nice."

Only managers like Toyopy and Colonel know the details of our field training. As with Psychological Boot Camp the schedules remain confidential until the very day of field training.

There's a rumor floating around that Mr. Mori and his company have prepared a large variety of weapons and equipment for our field training camp. I wonder what they are plotting. I should approach the training with determination.

I heard that we will split into teams of four people in order to accomplish the training missions. My team's roster reads: Kojima, Shin-chan, Kenichiro, and Murashu.

I'm looking forward to Monday and Tuesday of next week.

I ate Nikujiru Oudon (with two portions of udon) for dinner at the restaurant Tsrutontan. Kenichiro ate Curry Oudon.

A type of Japanese noodle is called udon. At the restaurant Tsrutontan they call it Oudon. Since the dish is the restaurant's specialty they give it an idiosyncratic spelling.

When the letter O is placed in front of udon and soba (two kinds of Japanese noodles), the dish names sound more sophisticated, refined, and graceful.

It seems like putting an O in front of the names increases everything about the food: the taste, the pleasure of the meal, even the price! As I think on it now, anything becomes classier if we add the letter O as a prefix.

Sushi becomes Osushi. Sakana becomes Osakana. Nabe becomes Onabe.

We only need to add the prefix O to transform a simple side dish like souzai into a main course: Osouzai! Even a simple snack like tsumami gains a rank and becomes a side dish: Otsumami! Koge, charred food, becomes Okoge, grilled food. (We could probably find this on the menu right now if we looked closely.) A takeout lunch like bento becomes Obento, as hearty and warm as home cooking.

People tend to dislike vegetables, but when yasai becomes Oyasai, everyone will want second helpings. We feel happier when the celebratory dish sekihan becomes Osekihan.

The fulcrum is the feeling we have toward our food. A meal changes its character according to the attitudes and feelings of the person who is eating. Students eating dormitory food and family men living in another city because of their work ; all of them should preface their foods with O at a lonely table. I believe that even the table will become more luxurious.

Regrettably, ramen is the exception. No manner of spelling will improve its taste.

By the way… why does oden already have an o in its basic spelling? Even with the native o it isn't classy. Things could be worse though: if we removed the o then all we have left is "den."

Den? What does that even mean? Now we can have nothing to do with the dish.

At all costs we must avoid appending an O to nigiri even by mistake. Then our nigiri zushi will turn into Onigiri: our sushi will transform into rice balls!

When I returned home at night I saw that a new tropical depression and cyclone had appeared on the weather map.