#and apparently they’re actually a british invention

[pitconfirm]

lance kind of reminds me of a little french fancy

[paragonrobits]

come to the Discworld fandom, we have:

a book that sets off a series-wide sub-plots of sapient automatons laboring to have themselves freed in a socially responsible way and fantasy dwarfs embracing being openly feminine in a way that comes off as extremely trans subtext

Death, as in the personification of the process of death and a literal psychopomp, is a recurring character. he really likes cats, is a very dorky grandpa, and really likes being a fantasy pastiche of Santa Claus because people were happy to see him for once

there’s a book series about reviving the postal service, introducing paper money into a city whose reliance on the gold standard is resulting in regular financial decline, the invention of the printing press that in turn leads to journalism, and these are some of the most interesting books in the series. There are multiple murders, attempted murders, an extremely routine-oriented cat, and the first one has an antagonist that is almost certainly a very blatant ‘FUCK YOU’ at the works of Ayn Rand.

there is a Once and Future King. he has actively declined all opportunities to actually become the king because he thinks its better to be a regular guard because that’s a job that’s of actual value to the city

the power of stories and tropes is an active, though non-intrusive, phenomenon in the books that multiple characters actively strive against or worry about in the sense of what it says about free will. Various attempts to weaponize tropes like ‘its a million to one chance’ tend to backfire hilariously

there are trolls who have computer brains and bodies of living stone, gnolls that are implied to be like trolls but made of refuse, the most pitiable and tragic goblins you will ever see, a heavily autistic-coded orc, adorable sad dragon puppies with a tendency to explode, and... Nobby Nobbs. Just Nobby, no one is sure what the hell he is. Death doesn’t know what he is. NO ONE KNOWS WHAT NOBBY IS. Some speculate the only way to portray him accurately in movies might be some kind of trained chimpanzee. Odds are he might actually have some goblin ancestry but that’s the best we got.

there’s vampires. their need to feed on blood is a literal metaphor of ‘aristocrats eat the poor’ and socially conscious vampires switch this fixation for a more socially acceptable one, so in this setting vampires become better people by voluntarily assuming some kind of hyper fixation.

in one book there’s a plot point that it is more potentially embarrassing and destructive to your social life to come from a lineage of professional clowns than it would to be a vampire.

there is a guild of assassins. Unlike most fantasy series where this tends to be regarded as threatening or scary, here they are largely regarded as a bunch of pompous windbags and rich kids who are completely harmless outside of the extremely specific circumstances in which they may assassinate people. (If you’re not wealthy enough to afford an Assassin or protection from them, they’re obligated to not do anything to you.) Their guild is furthermore a parody of British private schools, with the knobs turned up to 11 and a resounding vibe of ‘these schools are awful’.

One time someone asked Sir Terry Pratchett if he got the idea for his wizard college from Hogwarts even though the first appearance of Unseen University (the Discworld’s wizard college) is probably dating back to 1986 and thus at least ten years before the first harry potter book, and so Pratchett sarcastically replied something to the effect of ‘Not only am I a plagiarist, I apparently also own a time machine”. This is not strictly relevant and does not show up in the books except for the Art of Discworld i think but i like this story anyway

at one point there is a tyrannical dragon doing standard evil dragon things who looks into the mind of a human who tried to control it and is horrified at the unspeakable cruelty of human history and gives a harsh remark about how dragons were SUPPOSED to be evil and terrible but at least they never tortured and ripped each other apart and called it a moral thing to do; this is later brought up in the book as the populace of the town allowing the dragon to eat people and do whatever it wants as long as its not THEIR family being killed by it, leading to a recurring character making a defining speech about how it is the most ordinary and banal of evil that happens because people don’t care enough to say no. Each book is guaranteed to have at least a few of these moments that punch you in the face and it’s a good pain.

the most uncompromising and righteous Lawful Good characters in the series include a crabby old lady who yells at actors for lying (because she doesn’t like the concept of a theatrical performance) and a guard who likes to wind people up by saying deliberately weird things and also doing the EXACT same thing to the point that people genuinely can’t tell if he’s pretending to be dense as a joke or he honestly is a bit slow on the uptake.

[theoppositeofprofound]

Scientific Fields Sorted By How Easy It Is To Directly Apply Them To Tolkien Fanfic

Math: Math is apparently the purest science which sounds like elitist nonsense but I will give them credit for the fact that old Johnny never dropped any lore disproving calculus. Math is presumably exactly the same in their universe as it is in ours!

Pure Physics: Just math wearing a silly hat, works mostly the same way with the caveat that the god of evil did invent thermodynamics. Seriously, just ramble about photons for a few paragraphs and throw in a line about how this proves that Varda is a most powerful of the Valar at the end. You’ve just written an elven term paper. 

Linguistics: You are not only encouraged but required to do linguistics in your Tolkien, with the caveat that some of these losers exhibit linguistic drift at a glacial pace thanks to the whole “immortality” thing. 

Applied Physics: It starts to get shaky here! Manwe’s eagles must fly on the power of prayer because they’re not airborne on their own two wings, not in this atmosphere. Also Frodo and Sam were pretty convection proof on Mt. Doom

Structructural Engineering: Pretty safe, mostly because it doesn’t get a lot of attention. Moria and Barad-Dur might be stretching things but they do have magic. 

Chemistry: Solid, apart from mithril which defies the periodic table and also god. 

Zoology: Ponies are real but giant wolves and dragons are not. However they’re handled impressively realistically. Bonus points for the first attempts at dragons not even having wings, that’s the sort of real representation of the scientific process we like to see

Astronomy: To apply astronomy to the Silm you must accept that the world functions in a dual reality where the sun is both a gaseous celestial object and an immortal woman carrying some fruit, where the earth is both round and flat and some people can still sail off the edge it does not have. Once you get that though it’s jolly good fun.

Applied Engineering and Chemistry/”Tech”: I do not know how the Silmarils work, I don’t think I’ll ever know how the Silmarils work. Whenever I try to design a model for how the Silmarils work it looks like I’m making a magic potion out of stardust and diamonds. But all the magic is underpinned by a respect for craftsmanship that allows your to throw in lots of nerdy forging facts so points for that.

Geology: Again, the Mithril Issue, closely related to the Arkenstone Issue and the Silmaril Issue. Lots of potential for fun times at the jewelers bench with elves and dwarves alike though, so it gets a pass. 

Biology: I hate some of the concepts raised by this old British man! How do trolls work? What is Gandalf made of? Hobbits and dwarves, okay, manageable. I can even tolerate elves and Western men, mystical and immortal-ish as they are. But what the HELL is an orc?

Botany: You get a magical flower that cures everything! And you get a magical flower that cures everything!

Geography: Mountain ranges don’t work like that.

Neuroscience: JRR said “the soul influences the body not the other way around” and I said “okay, that’s a worldbuilding choice but this does mean that I have no chance of using anything I’m actually studying while writing for your work, you understand this right, John? John, look at me.”

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

Bridgerton & Selective Justification: A Rant

With a Particular Aside in Which This Author Questions if There Isn't a Double Standard at Play in Televised Historical Fiction.

Ok so the other day i posted complaining about how ludicrous the "Will Daphne marry Prince Friedrich?!" Plotline is to me and i referred to Daphne as a "commoner". I got two comments on that post of people saying Daphne *isn't* a commoner because she's a Viscount's daughter. I did respond but I'd like to go a little more in depth into it my thoughts on why this plotline verges on abject silliness to me, based on my (i will freely admit) *limited* knowledge of British aristocracy and the source material itself.

So if anyone reading this has a more detailed knowledge of the Peerage and how it relates to Bridgerton please correct me I'm eager to know more.

So to start out my understanding of the pecking order goes like this:

DUKE/DUCHESS = Highest ranking title in the peerage. Often bestowed on important members of the Royal family not in direct line for the throne. Worth noting is the fact that a Duke in British peerage is different than a Continental Duke. On the European Continent title Duke/Grand Duke can be associated with sovereign rule of an independent state, which has never been the case in England. Dukes and Duchesses are addressed as "Your Grace"

MARQUESS/MARCHIONESS = English equivalent of Marquis/Marquise. Very high ranking in the peerage, closely related to Earldom, but more important  since it has it's roots as the title of border (marcher) lords instrumental in a country's defense.  

EARL/COUNTESS = Referred to as a "count" everywhere else. The difference is the heavy germano-scandinavian influence on early medieval England. "Earl" is derived from the Nordic term for what could be considered a chieftan. Earls being only slightly lower in rank than a Marquess could be very rich and very important. The Earldom of Northumberland was one of the richest in 16th century England.

Now at this point we start to get into the lower peerage.

VISCOUNT/VISCOUNTESS = Addressed as "The Right Honourable". Viscountsies in England tend to almost exclusively be secondary titles held by Marequesses and Earls and passed down to their sons. Any son of a Marquess or Earl is a Viscount. The oldest son inherits the title of Earl plus all subsequent lands estates and incomes. The younger sons could also be viscounts wherever there are titles enough.

BARON/BARONESS = lowest rank of the peerage.

BARONET/BARONETESS = The only British title that doesn't land you in the peerage, the rank of baronet is (as I have heard it described) the barnacle on the bottom of the British aristocracy. It's basically a weird limbo between a Lord and a Knight that was invented by King James I in 1611 primarily as a way to jack up taxes so tbh its kind of a joke.

So Daphne's brother Anthony is a Viscount. He inherited this title from his father which likely means that their father was a second son. As you can see from this ranking list I just did, in marrying Simon, Daph married up. Way up. Not unsusual, given that her family has money and is well regarded.

Now clearly Bridgerton works differently than ACTUAL Regency England. Here, APPARENTLY if you just make a good impression on the Queen she takes a VERY PERSONAL interest in your life and she will marry you off to whatever Foreign prince she's related to who happens to be visiting. But here's where it's a bit wooly for me because there are two different contexts for the term "commoner" in England.  I think we all pretty well know how the European Royal marriage market  worked up through the 19th century, since we all like to make fun of them being inbred. Because there's a bit of a hang up not just about "Royal blood" but also Diplomatic marriage.

In the context of people with titles or peerages being nobles/aristocrats and any one without being a commoner then of course, Daphne is a noble. HOWEVER the context in which I used it in my previous post was ROYALS vs NOT ROYALS. It's perfectly acceptable to refer to someone not of Royal Blood as a commoner. In my replies I used Elizabeth Woodville as an example of a commoner. Now she DID marry a royal (Edward IV) and of course this was a few hundred years before Bridgerton would be BUT EVERYONE thought Edward was crazy for marrying her and she was not well liked because she was seen as at worst a gold-digger and at best an upstart. It was not only an uneven match but a purely domestic one which cut of England from potentially politically critical strategic foreign marriages. This is how royalty worked.

Naturally the strategic aspect of marriages was *slightly* diminished in the nineteenth century, but not really and it was still considered extremely important. Usually a young royal looking to get married was doing so at their family's behest and had a pre-determined pool they more or less HAD to choose from. Marriage to commoners of course  DID happen. It was called "Morganatic Marriage". Prince Augustus of Prussia had a morganatic marriage to a Polish aristocrat. One of Charlotte's own sons, Augustus Fredrick, had TWO morganatic marriages which kept him away from court because his wife could not be recognised due to their having married in defiance of the Royal Marriages Act of 1772, which requires all members of the  British Royal family to obtain the monarch's consent before marrying.

So I posed the very realistic question of "how would this choice to marry Daphne affect the Prince?" I don't know how morganatic marriages were looked on based on Prussian law but it seems likely, especially since Prince Friedrich is the direct heir that this marriage would have caused problems and i find it doubtful that Daphne would ever find herself addressed as "Princess".

I know that Bridgerton is fiction and that in being fiction it is pardoned  for not following courses that would be realistic in actual history. But at what point does "it's fiction" become an excuse for sloppy execution of world building?

The show takes the time to explain to the viewer (in one of the precious few moments of actual exposition) why there are black aristocrats [because the king married a black woman and things changed - which JUST IN CASE anyone is wondering, no Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz was not in any meaningful way "bi-racial" irl, based on the research I've done.] With this kind of deviation from history in a Drama that does, without any official caveats in the marketing, claim to be set in England in 1813, the writers recognised that this needed to be qualified. And in qualifying it, they justify it. They take it beyond fiction into fantasy, but it is justified.

The reason they recognised it had to be justified is because they know that most of the viewers know this is not how it went in history and would hold them to account. So why isn't more care taken to qualify the Liberties taken with the REST of Recency Society?

They talk repeatedly about "Coming Out" into society, particularly regarding Eloise. And Eloise wears her hair down and wears shorter skirts because she's still considered a child because she isn't out. But the IMPORTANT, PRACTICAL parts of not being "Out" are COMPLETELY IGNORED. She and her younger siblings are OUT at SOCIETY EVENTS. CONSTANTLY. Eloise speaks when not spoken to. She speaks DIRECTLY TO THE FOPPING QUEEN (TO WHOM SHE'S NEVER BEEN PRESENTED, BUT I GUESS IF YOU'RE DaPhNe BRiDgErToN's sister you can do whatever you want). There are BABIES at BALLS in this show. For a story that's trying to sell you on the Strrrrrrictures of RRRegency Societeh they're TOTALLY NOT INCLUDING MOST OF THOSE STRICTURES except when the plot demands it.

Why, I ask, is this? Perhaps it is pure ignorance on the writers part. They don't qualify it because they don't know rules like this existed. In which case its just bad, sloppy writing.

OR

They do know about it and ignore it and don't bother to qualify it with a "Oh Daphne a match with Prince Friedrich is so advantageous how marvellous Prussia has recently accepted Morganatic Marriage ahahaha" because they think we a) don't know or b) don't care and ITS STILL SLOPPY WRITING. Which hey, most Bridgerton fans who swallow any swill where hot people catch feelings probably don't care, but that doesn't mean its not careless writing and it doesn't make it NOT condescending. Never write DOWN to your audience.

This show approaches (but by a hair's breadth doesn't reach) REIGN levels of bad in terms of historicity. And the writers of Reign, like the writers of Bridgerton never claimed to be making an authentic representation of history. But perhaps it's because BTon only has 2 actual historical figures (one of whom is SO UNRECOGNIZABLE from her historical counterpart in countenance and personality that they might as well have just made a composite character - "How much can you change a thing before it isn't that thing anymore?") Or perhaps it's the inclusivity shield  but it seems like Bridgerton is getting a lot more leniency than Reign did.

The pass I see given to Bridgerton is "its frothy fun" (and yeah okay these costumes are worlds more realistic to the claimed period than Reign was even with the jacked up, flat bustlines) BUT. SO. WAS. REIGN.

I don't even like Reign but I do think there's a double standard here and I would like to know why.

[princessmadafu]

37 bleedin’ pages!

I have condensed them for you and left out most of the bits that the nasty evil British Press have already covered. Feel free to skip any boring bits.

Dax Shepard: Welcome, welcome, welcome to Armchair Expert's Experts on Expert. I'm Dan Shepard. I'm joined by Monica Mouse.

Monica Padman: Hi.

[...]

There follows some heavy marketing of towels and stuff...

DS: Now please enjoy Prince Harry. We are supported by Brookelinen. My favourite hotel quality sheets to get into and writhe around in the nude. [...] They're impeccable. They're decadent, they're soft, they're absorbent. Brookelinen was started to create beautiful high quality home essentials that don't cost an arm and a leg. They're so confident in their product, they come with a 365 day warranty. So give yourself that comfort refresh you deserve and get it for less. Go to Brookelinen.com and use promo code 'expert' to get $20 off with a minimum purchase of $100. That's Brookelinen.com and enter promo code 'expert' for $20 off with a minimum purchase of $100. That's Brookelinen.com, promo code 'expert'.

Pretty ironic really, as Harry wades into fake news and how advertising algorithms are ruining us...

DS:...It's like the algorithms on the internet. You can't compete with that, a human.

PH: You can't if you have the awareness of what it's doing to you. And the fact that it's learning, which is scary. And advertising has been going on for hundreds of years, but done really responsibly. The difference here is targeted ads. If ads have always worked for companies, you can put on the TV, you can walk away, you can come back, your involvement is switching on switching off or changing the channel. Whereas now with algorithms is there, it's just feeding your habits. And it's also reading through your emails and everything else. So it's getting to know you, like, it gets to know the decisions you're gonna make before you make them, then it creates this echo chamber of no pushback, of no context of nothing. It's just perpetuating and feeding the bias and the habits that you already have inside of you, which is terrible.[...]

Harry needs to learn about AdBlock and Ghostery and VPNs and Tor and DuckDuckGo and Smartpage and all the other clever little ways the computer-literate have of ridding their lives of unwanted advertising. I haven't seen an ad in years. The only person feeding my habits is me. It’s called personal responsibility. Maybe Harry still needs a Nanny but most grown-ups don’t. Oh wait, I forgot, the “Meghan&Harry Show” fans are all kids.

PH: [...] It's a computer. It's like, who wrote the algorithms? You guys did? Probably all male and all white.

Oooh, let's be sexist and racist, Harry! Did you ever hear of these women or are they too scary?

https://biztechmagazine.com/article/2012/05/mothers-technology-10-women-who-invented-and-innovated-tech

Then they discuss Naked Vegas (this guy Dax has a thing about nudity) and Harry in Afghanistan. And discuss a calendar of naked men that DS and MP put together - their favourite male bodies. What a good job it's only gloating over naked male bodies and not naked female bodies. It's apparently acceptable, for some reason. Harry doesn't know who the guys are.

DS: Monica makes this for me every year and it's a calendar of all my favourite bodies of friends.

MP: And they're all men.

DS: They're all men.

MP: And they're all gorgeous bodies.

[...]

And is Harry nervous talking about mental health? He shouldn't be, he's been banging on about it for years.

PH: Yeah. Was I nervous? No. Not so much nervous. But I guess on this particular subject around mental health. Yeah. For me, it's always a, unfortunately, today's world is quite a sensitive subject, not just for the people who are sharing. But ultimately, the subject matter itself has to be handled with care. [...] It ends up getting weaponized by certain people.

Weaponised by certain people? Like him and Markle, for instance. Neither of 'em has any talent so they weaponise their mental health. Big big mental health bombs loaded with word salad to lob at their own families and cause huge distress. Not nice, Harry.

PH: That's how I've always felt when it comes to projection. I mean, hatred is a form of projection, right? [...] We're not born to hate people. So it manifests itself over a period of time. And of course, it can come from unresolved pain, or being hurt continually, as a young kid or through adult life. But ultimately, there's a source to it. There's a reason why you want to hate somebody else.

Like his dad, his brother...

PH: And actually have some compassion for them. Which is really hard when you're on the receiving end of this, like, just vile, toxic abuse. But the reality is, is you say, flip it. [...] Every single one of us wherever we are, wherever we come from, there will always try and find some way to be able to mask the actual feeling and be able to try and make us feel different to how we are actually feeling, perhaps having a feeling. Right, because so many people are just numb to it. That was a huge part of the beginning of my life, which was like, I rejected. I said, there's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine.

And now he's moved on to promoting his new mental health stuff with Oprah, The Me You Can't See...

PH: So if you are making that conscious decision to say: You know what, it's not self serving, but I want to share my story. I'm being asked to share my story to hopefully help someone or loads of other people. I'm probably going to get trolled. I'm probably going to get attacked by the same people that were doing anyway. If I'm willing to make that decision, surely that comes from a place of courage rather than weakness?

Or possibly naivety. Harry is only wanted for his money-making title and royal status; he has no mental health qualifications, he's not a mental health professional, he's not an expert, all he brings to the table is the glamour of being a prince of the BRF. Which he quite clearly hates. Markle is lining her pockets from their self-indulgent mental health whinge fest and he's too dim to see it. There follows the bit about the spectrum of upbringing that the press is covering nicely so I can skip the next few pages - the bits where Harry says he doesn't see that talking about his own issues is complaining, and “it's the job, right”, how he never wanted the job of being royal, and his therapy and how “massively self-critical” he is (yet still can't see that he's not being honest with himself), ooh and sharing his hatred of the British press - that's a good bit, let's skip to page 18:

PH I think the biggest issue for me was that being born into it, you inherit the risk, you inherit the risk that comes with it, you inherit every element of it without choice. And because of the way that the UK media are, they feel an ownership over you. Literally like a full on ownership. And then they give the impression to some of their, well, most of the readers, that that is the case. But I think it's a really dangerous place to be if you don't have a choice, but then, of course, then people quite rightly will turn around and go. So what if you didn't have a choice? It was privilege? [...] Page Six of the New York Post, they took pictures of my son being picked up from school on his first day [...] But I guess my point is the way that I look at it, especially now living here one hour outside LA. Like it's a feeding frenzy here. We spent the first three and a half months living at Tyler Perry's house. You let us stay. And the helicopter helicopters, the drones the paparazzi cutting the fence like it was madness. And people out there -Their response was, Well, what do you expect if you live in LA? It's like, Okay, well, first of all, we didn't mean to live in LA. This is like a staging area before we try and find a house. And secondly, how sad that if you live in LA and you're well known figure, you just have to accept it. The first security we had, I said, Well, where's the safest place? Inside. Just because I'm a well known person, you can't go outside anymore. [...] it's really, really sad. And of course, their argument is - the paparazzi and everybody else - is like all if you're in the public space, then it's absolutely fine for us to do it. So what is our human right as an individual and as a family, you're saying that if the moment we step foot out of our house, that it's open season and free game? What? Because of public interest?. There's no public interest in you taking your kids for a walk down the beach. Nothing...

And on and on it goes... He should've stayed in the UK then. The Cambridges are managing very nicely, thank you. They take their kids for walks on the beach, and we'd never seen them until they released their anniversary video the other week. Harry's clearly envious of William; Harry's mad wife is vitriolically envious of Catherine. Oh and I’m pretty sure it’s the mad wife who keeps phoning her go-to paps when she needs to be in the news again.

PH: [...] I believe we live in an age now where you've got certain elements of the media redefining to us what privacy means. There's a massive conflict of interest. And then you've got social media platforms, trying to redefine what free speech means. Why - I wonder why you're doing that. And again - so this has been happening for 15 years now. And we're living in this world where we've almost like all the laws have been completely flipped by the very people that need them flipped so they can make more money and they can capitalise off our pain, grief, and this sort of general self destructive mode that's happening at the moment [...]

He doesn't get how hypocritical this is, does he? The Markles are the ones capitalising on their grief, pain and the rest of it. And no-one would be interested in them without the royal bits because they have nothing else to offer. Failed actress and used-to-be-a-soldier wrapped up in festering bitterness.

Blah, blah... went shopping in a supermarket... saw lots of chewing gum... blah, blah... Archie on the back of his bicycle... girls want to be princesses... You don't need to be a princess, you can create the life that will be better than any princess or it's something along those lines... she said she expected [the press] to be fair... Pages and pages of how he hates the British press...

PH: [...] And especially when you can't defend yourself so yes, I think when you marry into it, especially when it's one Princess Diana's sons there is a certain amount of 'okay what I'm actually letting myself in for?' But very few people actually know - apart from the Brits - how toxic that element of the of the UK press is.[...]

We're up to page 24 now, if you're still with me. Oh here it is, Harry's unconscious bias... What’s the betting the mad wife has scripted this bit for him?

PH: [...] So going back to the whole sort of travelling around the Commonwealth, I thought I knew, right, having been able to travel that much and meet so many and such a diverse group of people. I thought I understood life. Especially bearing in mind most of the countries I was going to were, most of the communities are going to were people of colour. But then I was really shocked once I started doing therapy. And that bubble was burst. And I started doing my own work, really - a lot of work - and started to uncover and understand more about unconscious bias. And I was like, wow, I thought since I screwed up when I was younger, and then did the work. I thought I then knew. But I didn't. And I still don't fully know. It's like a constant working progress. And every single one of us has it. [...] Everyone has biases, of all sorts. But I think it's a really important point, especially now, after everything's happened in the last year and a half, like the world is changing, the younger generation are driving it. And you've got to like a multi-racial, cultural sort of movement happening, which has never happened before. But unconscious bias is the way that I understand it, is, again, it's not something that's wrong with you. Right? And you don't have to be defensive about it. That's the thing. No one's blaming you. But the moment that you acknowledge that you do have unconscious bias, what are you going to do about it? Because if you choose to do nothing you're continuing to fuel the problem, which means that you're then heading towards racism. Whereas unconscious bias is actually something that is inherent, unfortunately, in every single one of us. But that it is possible to educate yourself to be more aware of the problems and therefore be part of the solution rather than part of the problem.

Markle's got him well-trained on this one, hasn't she. I wonder if he's read anything critical of the unconscious bias movement, or just repeating what he's been told to. Oh and then he goes off about being in the army...

PH: I loved it. I love wearing the same uniform as everybody else. I love being treated the same. I love the expectation of if you want to get that job, or you want that promotion, or you want to finish this race, it's all on you. There's no special treatment, you're not going to get any help. If anything, you're probably going to get treated the opposite because everyone thinks that you've had an easy life. And everyone's always helped you get to where you are.

But...but...but, Harry wasn't treated the same, there was special treatment, he was helped to get to where he was. He scraped a couple of poor quality A Levels and got admitted to Sandhurst because he's a prince. Good old Wikipedia says:

In June 2003, Harry completed his education at Eton with two A-Levels,[22] achieving a grade B in art and D in geography, having decided to drop history of art after AS level.[23] He has been described as "a top tier athlete", having played competitive polo and rugby union.[24] One of Harry's former teachers, Sarah Forsyth, has asserted that Harry was a "weak student" and that staff at Eton conspired to help him cheat on examinations.[25][26] Both Eton and Harry denied the claims.[25][27] While a tribunal made no ruling on the cheating claim, it "accepted the prince had received help in preparing his A-level 'expressive' project, which he needed to pass to secure his place at Sandhurst."[25][28]

PH: And then suddenly, like - while I was at school, I hated exams. And I promised myself I'd never do exams again. Then I joined the army of which is full of exams. I still promised myself I'm never gonna do it and then I end up flying Apache [...]

Gods, it's getting boring. Even the interviewers are zoning out. Still ten pages to go. Wish I hadn't started this, I could be out weeding. Weather's nice, not too windy... Do I deserve a quick G&T yet?

PH: Or worse, was they turn around and say, right, because last week, you're out the front. This week, you got to carry his bergan, I'm like - what, 30 extra pounds? Nooo. But it was, it was the most normalising experience or job that I could have ever hoped for. And then going to Afghanistan twice [...] And someone said to me very recently, from the moment that you're born into today's world, life is trauma, so the sooner that we actually acknowledge that but but [...]

A-a-a-a-and he's back on the mental health thing, PTSD or PTSI,

PH: Post Traumatic Stress Injury is like: Well, that makes sense, because I just saw my mate get blown out. But the other piece of this is, what we need to remember is, the lot of the recruiting that we do in the UK, comes from certain cities and certain homes, where there's childhood trauma. So what we collectively have already got inside of us, the trigger of seeing something happen in Iraq, Afghanistan can be the trigger. So everyone goes: Oh, it's because they were on operations, and because they saw their makeup blown up. It's like, no. [...] So that's what I've been working on for years, for the last five years, which is like, and it started in therapy of like, I don't want to lose this thing, because I think it's, I feel so connected to my mum. [...]

They move on to parenting, which the press is rubbing its hands over... Harry blaming everyone but himself and his saintly mother - Charles, HMTQ, PP... "They f*ck you up, your mum and dad". But not the mum bit. He can't push his mum off her pedestal.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48419/this-be-the-verse if you don't know Larkin's poetry. How much more? Nearly there. Monica loves The Crown and doesn't realise it's fictitious.

DS: [...]Well, Harry, I've really really liked talking to you. You're very charming. You're very intelligent. You're handsome, and I can't wait to see your torso.

MP: Thank you so much for coming.

DS: So I just want to remind everyone that May 21 on Apple Plus, you should check out Oprah and Prince Harry's 'The Me You Can't See'. I have to imagine it's similar to her book, which I just read, which is absolutely incredible 'What happened to you?' So everyone should check out 'The me you can't see' on Apple plus May 21.

And still Harry won't shut up... Shut up, shut up. Cut his mic. You don't have to read this last bit, they've already wound up the interview...He still won’t shut up.

PH: Yeah, we're moving from the physical to the emotional, right, physically. At the beginning of this pandemic, people were panicking. And there was that fight or flight like, ahh what do we do like lockdown, survival? Yeah. And now that the vaccines have been sort of, we're getting to the point where more and more people are being vaccinated, we're now in the emotional phase of what I read in the New York Times article was called languishing, which is really interesting. It's like the is the middle child between flourishing and depression. You just feel flat, and it's not depressed. It's definitely not flourishing. You lack the energy and the will, the motivation, all that kind of stuff. Because you're kind of sitting there going - Well, what happens next? And I think it's really important that we talk about languishing. And it was coined by someone I can't remember who but I think it was the journalist who wrote the story was Adam Grant. No, he didn't come up with it. Someone else came up with him, he wrote this, the most amazing article about languishing and the fact that how important it is to be able to talk about it because - look when it comes to mental health, we need to realise and accept that every single one of us have mental health. There's varying degrees, as we said, you've got the mental illness, and then you've got the sort of the awareness and the work that you can put in, like, Where do you want to be that we shouldn't just sit there and go: Oh, mental illness is once we are literally on the floor crawling around in the foetal position needing help. But for me, I don't think I need therapy anymore. But I wanted. And when I say therapy, I mean, actual therapy, sitting down having a discussion with someone. But I also mean like, nature, like going for walks, like throwing the ball for my dog down the beach and stuff like that. There are certain things around the world that are free, some you have to pay for, but ultimately go searching for the things that make you feel good about yourself. Like that's the key to life, get rid of the bad stuff, get rid of the hate, and just focus on the good. And your whole life turns around from that. I hate this idea. And I was one of them. I fell for it. Right? I didn't acknowledge that clearly what happened to me when I was 12 years old, losing my mom and all the other pieces that happened, the traumatic experiences that happened to me since then, I didn't acknowledge them, when perhaps - maybe I need to deal with this because if I don't, how the hell am I going to be a decent father to my son and my daughter? Like that awareness, I didn't have then. But again, we've got what - 40 experts as part of this series, and the Surgeon General, Dr. Nadine Burke Harris, she's absolutely fantastic. And she was talking about this concept of mental health being sort of public health, right. Because the services are so limited. There's not enough money. The problem is actually immense. How can we all help each other rather than this: 'Oh, once I'm broken, or once I'm suffering, I have to go here.' And there's not enough rooms or spaces for the amount of people or the for the need, when actually you can get ahead of it, and work on the prevention by sharing and being more vulnerable with each other, and being able to process this grief or this loss, or this trauma that every single one of us have experienced and will experience. So anyone who's sitting there going: 'I don't have a problem, and I never will have a problem.' Well, you probably are already contributing to the problem, because you probably got your blinkers on, you probably created your own echo chambers. So I think it's a that, that's certainly what I've experienced for my own process, my own journey, my family and my friends and everybody else is. Anyone who thinks, oh, we're fine. You're the one who's like, willing to talk about it. It's like, yeah, I'm willing to talk about it and talking about it. And the financial element as well. We're pouring money into on the downsteam, when it's like, Can we just focus upstream? Yeah, we focus on one thing, like to me listen to Oprah was what was one of the reasons that this whole thing started was two of the biggest issues that we're facing in today's world, I think, is the climate crisis, and mental health. And they're both intrinsically linked. Basically if we neglect our collective wellbeing, then we're screwed. Basically, because we can't look after ourselves. We can't look after each other. We can't look after each other, we can't look after this home that we all inhabit. So it's all part of the same thing.

DS: Prince Harry, I don't say this lightly. I love you. Thanks for coming. This was great.

M: Thank you so much.

PH: Thank you very much.

Wish I'd done my weeding.

[poptod]

The Dead Heed No Lies (Ch. 1)

Description: Your job isn't as simple as it was when you first started out. Before you know it, you're hunting down an old God who happens to be a kleptomaniac with an overgrown sense of justice, alongside a 4,000 year old corpse who occasionally commits first degree murder.

Notes: This is an older fic that I’ve decided to continue! I called it the ‘untitled NatM 4 movie’ so think of it like that. I have plans for this and I really hope I do this storyline justice because I just love it so much. Word Count: 2.3k

Chapter One: Life’s a Sham

You loved your job. No, truly, you did - working in a museum was one thing you knew you actually wanted in life. Still, keeping this in mind, you hadn’t exactly signed up for needing to complete a reorganization of every file in the whole goddamn museum within the span of a week.

How long had your boss worked at the place anyway? High time to retire, you thought, heading to the A section. And just because you worked at night didn’t mean he could abuse you any way he liked.

Long night ahead of me, you thought, wishing that you’d bought some sort of energy drink before clocking in. Instead, you took a bite of the scone you’d gotten, looking through the first box.

Aaron Copland, American musician, died 1990. You wondered why that was in there, it was pretty recent after all.

Aaron Burr, you understood that.

Oh, they were out of order.

You fixed them.

Moving on…

A few (more than a few) minutes later, actual exhibits in the museum.

The giant Anubis statues guarding the King Ahkmenrah exhibit, those needed to be reordered. AH came before AN. Even though the Pharaoh exhibit had been moved away.

‘Anubis, an ancient Egyptian deity is connected mainly with the underworld, being the guardian of the underworld, referred to as Duat. He protects the dead, ushering them into the underworld, like a modern day reaper. He is also the god of embalming, and is believed to have invented the process. He has two forms - one, man like, with the head of a jackal, ears alert and sporting a red ribbon. His other form is that of a jackal or a black dog, the fur color a stark difference from the brown of jackals.’

Why am I reading this? I know this already. I have a goddamn major in Egyptian mythology.

American Civil War, that was in the right place.

Ancient Egypt.

Ancient Greece.

Anglo-Saxons, what was that doing there? Belonged in the British museum of history. Though, you supposed it didn’t hurt to have a little European history in America.

Anne of Cleves.

Austro-Hungarian Army.

Bayeaux Tapestry.

Boleyn, Anne.

Booth, Charles.

British Empire.

A wretchedly loud sound came from upstairs, like the stomping of hordes of elephants, all intent on making you crazy. You groaned to yourself, taking a deep steadying breath before continuing. Noises were none of your business. That was the security details’ issue. Though… looking to the side, you found a plastic knife, thinking it couldn’t hurt to be… armed? Could you consider a plastic knife being armed? You grabbed it anyway.

Calvin, John.

Caribbean History.

Castles of Britain, followed by Scotland and Wales.

Catherine of Aragorn.

Cattle Industry of America.

Charles the First.

China.

Civil War, America and English.

Cold War.

Crime and Punishment.

Danish Holocaust.

Dresden Bombing.

A loud honking of a horn, followed by a cacophony of party music. What the hell was going on up there?

You stood, fuming, the papers in your hands falling to the ground you were previously sitting on. Dealing with your lousy job was one thing, but having terrible upstairs neighbors at the same time? That was a whole other deal, and certainly not one you signed up for. With clenched fists still grasping the plastic knife you stormed towards the door leading to the stairs, which would take you into the break room, which in turn would lead to the lobby.

The trek up the stairs took a little bit out of you, but you continued, panting lightly and still fuming with anger. Before you could open the door to the main room though, McPhee entered the break room, laughing to himself.

“Sir?” You stopped, unclenching, hoping to not make a bad impression.

“Oh! Uh, you. What’s - what’s going on?” He asked, fumbling over his words like usual, playing with his hands in a dainty sort of way.

“It’s loud out there, I was wondering what was happening, sounds sort of…” you peeked out the half open door, trying to see what was out there, but he shut it far too fast to be considered ordinary. “Abnormal.”

“Yes, well, um, we’ve got uh, guests.”

“I know. From the British museum? Isn’t partying at midnight sort of… against the rules?” You asked cautiously, never knowing when he’d go full speech without knowing words on you.

“Right, it is, but -“

“McPHEE?!” A loud, female voice you didn’t recognize came from the other side of the door, loud pounding fists as its’ partner. “DEXTER STOLE THE KEYS AGAIN!” She panted for a moment, the pounding stopped. “I can’t find the bloody monkey and now he’s let out all the lions and they’re the only ones I don’t know what to do with.”

McPhee closed his eyes, letting out a quiet, tired breath. His facade, if you could call it that, and been broken, and it only left you more thoroughly confused than you had been  before.

“McPhee, are you in there??”

“Yes,” he hissed, prolonging the ’s’.

“Doctor, could you explain what exactly is happening?” You asked, starting to not care that he was now having two separate conversations with you and the woman behind the door. Apparently, someone had stolen the keys, and you had live lions in the museum which was COMPLETELY against regulations, and why did McPhee know about it? The man you knew would never allow animals into the museum.

“Is there someone else in there?!” The woman from behind the door rapped on it three times, presumably with her knuckles from the sharp sound. In the distance, you heard someone scream ‘goal,’ followed by an uproar of cheers.

“Are you playing soccer in there?” You asked him incredulously, not caring if he was the curator. No matter his rank, no matter how much you needed a job, you couldn’t stand for such misuse of a museum.

“Uh -“

The door opened before he could explain himself, the woman from the British museum stumbling through. She left the door wide open as she entered, keys grasped tight in her hand, letting you see outside.

A whole lot of people in costumes were running about, throwing a party. How in the world had McPhee authorized that?

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said quickly, his eyes rapidly switching between the woman and you.

“Really? Cause it looks like you’re throwing a party in a museum,” you said, eyes wide and your anger fully returned.

“Who are you?” The British woman turned to you, still out of breath and looking just about as confused as you were.

“I’m the archivist, and you are holding an illegal party, you’re not supposed to invite people onto the premises after -“

“Honestly, would you shut up and let me show you? We’re not holding a… party, or whatever you called it, it’s… something else,” McPhee said cryptically, obviously trying to hold back information. You were miffed, crossing your arms, and doubtful at his intentions. Still, he was your boss, and you ought to give him the benefit of the doubt. He hadn’t failed you yet. With a deep breath you slowly nodded, allowing the two of them to lead you out the door.

A dinosaur.

Made of bones.

An actual, live dinosaur was staring at you, and it wanted to play fetch.

“That’s, uh, Rexy, I believe Larry called him. Harmless, mostly,” McPhee explained, waving to the dead yet animate animal. It only stopped for a moment to notice the three of you before continuing to chase after a toy car, one of its’ bones tied behind it. Your mouth fell open in disbelief, eyes wide with a general panic that you knew consciously wasn’t deserved, but you couldn’t convince yourself of it.

The whole room was filled with historical figures, ones whose statues you’d stared at for so long as a child, in wonder and curiosity but now you no longer wondered, you no longer imagined - they were there. Whether you wanted it or not, they were there, and they were loud.

“That’d be the Huns, apparently it took your old night guard for-ever to get them to get along,” the woman said, shaking her head.

“Who… what…” you mumbled, in a daze of disbelief.

“The Tablet of Ahkmenrah,” the woman said in a dramatic voice, using jazz hands to accentuate the wonder, but it didn’t do much for you. You’d heard of the tablet, sure, but it wasn’t at your museum anymore. It had been transported to the British museum -

Oh. It all clicked together, why you hadn’t heard the noise before, why McPhee knew what was happening, what the cause was.

Of course, that’d be if magic was real.

“Show me,” you said, not wanting to completely discount their story. The woman looked utterly delighted, while McPhee looked mostly uncomfortable, fiddling with the bottom of his jacket, an awkward smile on his face. Your eye twitched as the two of you made eye contact. In less than a moment, you turned back, following the woman towards wherever she was taking you.

“What’s your name anyway?” You asked as she led you through a crowd of historical figures.

“Tilly. Yours?”

“Uh -“ You were quickly interrupted by Tilly, who ran into Christopher Columbus.

This can’t be happening, you thought to yourself, as Tilly apologized in Italian to Columbus. Columbus, made fully of silver black stone or steel, bowed his head with a smile, returning to his soccer game with the Neanderthals, who seemed quite excitable in the presence of Tilly.

“I, uh, this is -“

“A lot? I know. My first night taking care of my museum was, well, a disaster,” she laughed to herself, rolling her eyes in an ‘oh, you,’ sort of way. “Anyway, here we are!”

An empty, closed off room. The room mean to house the Pharaoh, who had been delivered to the British - what was she thinking?

“Oh, right,” she mumbled to herself, rubbing her chin methodically as she stared at the ground. You waited patiently, admiring the art of the room.

“Guess we’ll have to find the King himself, should be somewhere,” she said, pulling you by the wrist down the hallway. A few more turns and you were at the balcony of the lobby, and at the halfway point of one of the stairs, on the platform, was a man dressed in ancient Egyptian garb, golden robes flowing in a way unlike any cloth you’d ever seen. After all, a whole lot of old cloth was like that, well made, thin and light yet warm.

She led you down the staircase, stopping behind the King, who was apparently manning a DJ station.

You felt yourself get lightheaded. It simply wasn’t possible. It couldn’t happen, not physically. It disobeyed everything you ever knew, every wish you convinced yourself wouldn’t be fulfilled.

“Oh, hello!” The King turned around, having just been alerted of your presence by Tilly tapping him on the back. His gaze first landed on her, then on you, tilting his head to the side with a curious smile.

“My friend here is, uh, new. Doesn’t believe that all this is real,” Tilly explained, and the King gave her a knowing look, bending down to pick up what you assumed was going to be the tablet.

“I’m just an archivist, I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” you said over the loud music, suddenly feeling quite like you were going to be sick. It felt too much like a fantastical story. You just read and studied fantastical stories. You didn’t star in them.

Yet, here you were, being handed a tablet made of pure gold.

“Uh… cool,” you breathed out, holding something in your hands that costed more than your life. As soon as opportunity let you, you gave it back to the King.

“I am Ahkmenrah,” his eyes flickered over to Tilly before coming back to you, resting soft and welcoming on yours. “What shall I call you?”

“Uh, (Y/N),” you stuttered, blinking furiously, as though it’d wake you up from a dream come true.

“Well, (Y/N), welcome to the party,” he laughed, turning back around to choose another song.

“I’m gonna sit down,” you whimpered, collapsing onto the steps behind you. Tilly looked like she was going to stop you, but decided against it, her hands coming back to her sides.

“I’ll let you catch your breath, okay?” She said with a smile, patting your back and leaving down the steps. You watched as she left, joining one of the Neanderthals in dancing.

“It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” The King said, sitting down beside you. Despite being dressed in royal clothing, and speaking in a rather posh manner, he acted human. In that moment, you appreciated it.

“Yeah… why, um, how do you speak, uh, English?” You asked, turning to face him.

“I went to Cambridge. As a display,” he said, quickly correcting himself. You nodded, turning to face forward again.

“I’ve never been to England,” you murmured. 

“It’s nice. Cold,” he joked, laughing to himself. You joined in weakly, still feeling overwhelmed. You continued staring forward for a while, letting yourself wonder if this was reality, or if you were hallucinating, but he must’ve noticed your silence as he cleared his throat.

“Would you like some water?”

“What?” You asked, turning to him, pulled out of your thoughtless trance. “No, I’m alright. It’s a lot.”

“I know. Imagine waking up in a coffin every night,” he joked, but it fell flat. It sounded flat out miserable.

“I’m going to go lie down,” you mumbled out, your voice cracking as you stood.  He immediately stood with you, before pausing, hesitant to follow you.

“Uh - I hope you, uh, feel better!” He called to you as you left down the stairs. Before he was out of earshot you heard him curse to himself, but you didn’t care to think what he was so troubled with. Was that a little cruel? Sure. Selfish? Definitely, but you’d just found out that all the exhibits were going to come to life at night, and that magic definitely existed and all those fictional Egyptian Gods you’d studied for so long were most likely real.

You needed time to process… and maybe to scream a little.

[pinkysfaultorbrainsfault]

pinky and the brain - s1e6: brainania

i’m running on like the barest dregs of energy let’s fucking do this leeroy jenkins

episode summary: brain needs to build a Very Big Tumbly Drier. he needs a lot of money to build a Very Big Tumbly Drier. he decides the best way to do this is to.... invent a country and scam the us out of a foreign aid cheque.

hm.

the rundown:

it’s acme labs!

there it is.

as we zoom in a little, we hear pinky laughing maniacally at the very mention of tom ruegger, while a couple of women are dead on the floor.

hm.

SPEAK TO ME, PHYLLIS, SPEAK. as it turns out, things aren’t quite as dire as previously thought, as pinky affirms that brain looks “simply fetching.”

narf.

“these are the only garments i could obtain. and besides, you are no helen of troy yourself.”

ignoring the fact that he chose to wear the hat and the gloves as well, brain moves onto explaining his latest plan--

but not before giving pinky a static-y poke for his crimes.

“to generate global static cling, we shall construct a massive clothes dryer.”

BEHOLD.

THE TITANOCYCLE FOUR THOUSAND, WITH THREE SPEEDS AND AUTOMATIC WRINKLEGUARD. this will surely allow brain to.... trap everyone in their clothes via static cling and. uh. allow him to seize power...... somehow......... by putting everyone in a really big tumbledryer?????

it costs fourteen billion dollars.

“oh, i have it!”

“we build a huge tooth, leave it under a huge pillow, and then fairies will leave us lots of money!”

brain tells pinky to stop eating paint chips. it’s a well deserved response to pinky’s insane, bullshit idea, not nearly as dignified and scientific as Everyone Goes In The Big Tumbly Dryer By Brain Age Two And A Half.

as he heads off to ponder an Equally Sensible idea to get a lot of money, pinky assures brain that he will not “be a bother.”

“brain.”

“if i ate a hundred jelly rolls, would i explode?”

i don’t know why pinky is sticking his ass out. maybe that’s where the jelly rolls go, in the sense that whenever i used to eat cakes around my dad he’d often say something like “a minute on the lips is a lifetime on the hips”. (also? pinky is british, so what he actually means is jelly rolls, and that sounds disgusting.)

so anyway brain gives him a piece of paper and tells him to try origami.

BUT WAIT.

“pinky! are you pondering what i’m pondering?” “i think so brain, but why the bitch stacey foreign aid office is giving chad all the money while i’ve always been a nice guy and showed her a basic level of human respect is beyond me. narf.”

no i’m sorry. he didn’t say that. pinky respects women. also apologies to the residents of the actual country of chad. big ups to all of you. lol. (he actually says “but pantyhose are so uncomfortable in the summertime”, which is wild, considering this episode was aired in november.)

brain doesn’t want to wear the pantyhose.

well, maybe he does, but not right now. instead, he suggests that they form a bogus nation and demand reparations from the united states, which is, of course, easier, saner, and far less work than Really Big Tooth. as he folds the Chad Newspaper into a vague key shape (the Virgin Tabloid never had a chance) pinky points out that, uh

you can’t just invent a country, brain. “won’t people know we’re not a real country?”

“the average american’s grasp of geography is pitiful. they’ll think we’re part of the former soviet union.”

“or canada.”

so they pick a random, tiny island on the label of a Science Chemical and set off on the boat to Being A Coloniser Town.

a long sea voyage awaits us! and at the end, we shall found a nation! and that nation shall be called!

BRAINANIA.

“can’t we call it pinkyland? or eric?”

“don’t vex me, pinky, or i shall turn on you.”

so they get on the S.S FATTY LUMPKIN and bugger off to Island X.

“i haven’t seen anybody yet, brain. i guess we’re alone here.”

“excellent, pinky. it’s time to flesh out the terrain.”

“that volcano will be mount brain.”*

“this clearing will be brain flats,”

“and that water over there--”

“very well.”

“the fjord of pinky.”

and they hoist their adorable, homemade flag, while pinky doots them a little themetune.

(*perhaps when they’re not in the middle of the jungle.)

how lovely!

less lovely.

significantly less lovely. still, it got brain to make the little O:O face, so it’s not all bad.

as the mice are scooped up onto a sphere and presented in front of this presumably-maori gentleman, brain decides to put his White Gay From Los Angeles skills to the test, and reassures pinky that he will communicate with them in the Primitive Argot Of The South Seas.

ME NUMBER ONE FELLA. OTHER FELLA NUMBER TEN. CATCHY ALL SAME SAME. YOU SAVVY?

“good day, mate. d’you speak english?”

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

anyway apparently this has happened often enough that these guys learnt english. from all the times it happened. and then they ate the guy they learnt english from and shrunk his head, but to be honest, i don’t blame them.

this is alan. “hello, alan.” says pinky.

“i would be pinky! and this is prime minister brain.”

“who is IN CHARGE OF THIS ISLAND AND EVERYTHING YOU SEEEE.”

“narf.”

sneaky bastard knows what he’s doing.

alan isn’t too happy with that, because the island belongs to the volcano god, whanganui,

WHO PROTECTS US FROM EVIL AND HAAARM AND WHAT ALL ELSE.

(i can find no evidence that whanganui is actually a god, as opposed to just A Bit Of New Zealand. if they are, i’m more than happy to go back and edit this as would be religiously considerate.)

this is the face of a man who knows he has fucked up.

still, brain decides yet again that his pride comes before any kind of rational decision, so he decides to tell them that whanganui sent him to the island to rule over them,

as proven by his fire powers.

(ETA: i missed this last time. why is brain carrying a lighter around? that episode isn’t for a good few more seasons yet.)

alan is unimpressed.

I CAN TRAP YOUR SOULS INSIDE THIS GLASS

“i can make bubbles with my spit!”

apparently this is a real talent on the island. who’d have thought. (they do not believe it to be a sign of god. it’s just really cool.)

so brain gets a hand building brainania.

it has everything one could possibly need.

actually pretty much as soon as the airport and the gift shop are built, brain heads to washington, so evidently he holds the strong opinion that this is everything a country could possibly need. odd. still, maybe he plans on adding stuff once he becomes world ruler, or whatever.

so with that established, The Most Exalted ned limpopo gets out of the car. hassan lembeck is also here. he is attempting to make an origami bird out of a newspaper.

no bird for you, mr lembeck. no bird for you.

they wander off to go and see mr bisck, who is currently playing with a little toy plane.

he reacts to the news that the prime minister of brainania is here to see him with “oh great, more moochers,”

and does not seem to take kindly to having tiny mice on his desk, even if they are reasonably exalted.

though a quick database search tells him said mice have no record of financial trouble, or, indeed, a credit rating, so. he tells them to go away.

“go away.”

okay. hassan doesn’t take this well.

as Exalted Ned Limpopo gently tries to persuade mr bisck that he could “harm negotations” between brainania and the us (a lot more politely than he usually explains things to people, may i add) hassan chimes in with a haven’t you people ever heard of bold claim that brainania, if slighted, will INVADE YOUR LANDS

GO BOOM BOOM BOOM

AND MAKE YOU ALL OUR PATHETIC SLAAAAAAAAAAAAVES.

mr bisck does not like this idea, it seems.

as he rushes off to tell the UN, brain informs pinky that he has

“just created an international incident.”

“oh, thank you, brain.”

“in the words of the immortal yogi bear, this is dejavu all over again.”

so the boys turn up on PUNCHLINE, WITH FRED FLUBBLE.

there he is. “perhaps you gentlemen would care to climb up on the desk?”

they make it, just about.

and sing a fun little song about brainania’s war victories, i guess.

WE WILL FIGHT AND NEVER QUIT

FIND ME A ROOFTOP AND I WILL SPIT. NARF

this is not well recieved by the us military.

unfortunately, as the US press secretary points out, the us cannot go to war with a country it can’t find,

(wuss.)

so instead the mice are invited to dinner at the white house.

“in a few short hours, pinky, we shall have our foreign aid loan, and then the world!”

“birdy birdy birdy! narf!”

“i sense much of this historic moment is lost on you.”

at the white house, a very bored looking individual introduces The Most Exalted Ned Limpopo (feat. hassan lembeck), and bill clinton shakes his hand.

“me number one fella. other fellas number ten. catchy all same same. you savvy?”

“i speak fluent english.”

“eyyyy. haha. sure you do.”

“all brainania ever wanted from the US was friendship. friendship, and fourteen billion dollars and fifty nine cents. the friendship i will treasure. the money i will spend on polo ponies and cruise missiles.”

brain has a brief discussion with hilary clinton over the advantages of strontium ninety versus uranium two-thirty-eight,

bill clinton pulls this face and tells them it Sounds Smart,

and the mice bounce merrily back to mr bisck to get their foreign aid check.

“you better not lose it, buster!!! i just erased your records!! you won’t get another one from me!!!!”

HA.

“one should be enough. thanks and farewell, “

“you niggling bureaucrat.”

conclusion:

upon returning back to brainania, The Most Exalted Ned Limpopo finds a letter from alan addressed to him. it’s also mouse sized, which is adorable. apparently, whanganui,

WHO PROTECTS US FROM EVIL AND WHAT ALL ELSE

is “blinking mad”, and the volcano is going to explode.

brain, obviously, does not believe in whanganui, and is mostly just mad that he’s lost his workforce. still, as pinky points out,

“at least we've still got brainania!”

“i sense life has taken another sardonic twist.”

still, they do, barely, have enough time to reach the shoreline and start swimming away from the imminently exploding volcano. perhaps it should have been, yknow, a pretty decent sign that the natives cleared out. historically, people who live in these places tend to know about them, but what of that when brain is number one guy same same you savvy.

🙄

anyway the karmatic response to all of that previous racism is that a tidal wave sweeps them back onto the volcano,

which then blasts them into space.

(okay not literally space. but they do end up on a little raft in the middle of the ocean. don’t ask me where the raft came from. i have no idea.)

oof.

“mother nature has slammed her unmerciful fist on our fair isle, pinky.”

“do you know what this means?”

“birdy birdy birdy!!!!”

brain does not appreciate Birdy Birdy Birdy.

“blast it, pinky!”

“i said, do you know what this means!!”

“it means you just ripped up our foreign aid cheque.”

one should be enough, huh?

brain: 7 pinky: 7 outside influence: 13

like, i don’t know. maybe pinky shouldn’t have been making oragami birds out of the foreign aid cheque. but, while silly, it’s not like it did any harm. brain.... brain just needs to chill.

“well, aren’t you the tiniest foreigners i’ve had in here all morning. i’m mr appleby, can i help you?”

“yes. we would like to have relations with you. and steal some milk duds.”

“we wish to establish diplomatic relations with the us. i am the prime minister, and this is my minister of finance.”

“brainania--? oh, i remember you. you used to be a.... suburb of prague.”

“can you prove you’re a nation?”

“yes! we have postcards.”

“that’s the fjord of pinky.”

“you foreign folk sure have your own.... queer little ways.”

[strangeandforlornbooks]

best books with morally ambiguous narrators!

all y’all’s problematic faves and villains! :) also included are third person narrators but in books with morally ambiguous leads/themes 

Sci-fi

Scythe by Neal Shusterman: in a future free from pain, disease, and war, people can live forever. ‘scythes’ are given the power to decide who lives and who dies to preserve the balance. sad and kinda gives of hunger games vibes, if you like that.

Neuromancer by William Gibson: basically invented the cyberpunk genre. strange and removed protagonists. (a team of computer hackers have to face off against an evil AI). you kind of dislike everyone and suddenly you’re crying over them. one of those trippy sci-fi classics.

The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut: very beautiful and very very sad (same author as slaughterhouse five). the richest man in america has to face a martian invasion. more about free will and bad people doing good things than a plot that makes any kind of sense.

The Man in the High Castle by Philip K Dick: set in an alternate universe where the germans and japanese won world war two. not really like the tv show at all- it’s not an action story, and there’s not really the hope to somehow fix the world that drives a lot of dystopia stories. instead its about how people survive and connect to one another in a hopeless society.

The Scorpion Rules by Erin Bow: a supercomputer convinces the leaders of the world to keep the peace for hundreds of years by taking their children hostage and obliterating any city that disobeys. what happens to the hostage protagonists when war seems inevitable? lots of morally fraught decisions and characters slowly losing their identity. (plus a fun lesbian romance)

Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson: a brilliant mathematician and a dedicated marine fight to keep the ultra secret in world war two. fifty years later,  a tech company discovers what remains of their story. one of the most memorable sequences in the book is a japanese soldier slowly becoming disillusioned with his nation and horrified by the war even as he continues to fight.

Blade Runner by Philip K. Dick: another one of those sci-fi classics that’s not at all like the movie. there is a bounty hunter for robots, though, as well as a weird religion that probably is referencing catholicism and a decaying society with a shortage of pets. kind of a trip.

Wilder Girls by Rory Power: girls trapped in a boarding school on an isolated island must face a creeping rot that affects the animals and plants on the island as well as their own bodies. the protagonists will do anything to survive and keep each other safe. very tense (and bonus lesbian romance whoo)

The Fifth Season by N K Jemisin: three women are gifted with the ability to control the earth’s energy in a world where those who can do so are forced into hiding or slavery. some veryyyy dark choices here but lots of strong female characters.

Historical Fiction

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters: two victorian lesbians fall in love as they plot to betray each other in horrific ways. lots of plot twists, plucky thieves, gothic settings, and a great romance.

Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiwicz: a powerful roman soldier in the time of Nero plots to kidnap a young woman after he falls in love with her, only to learn more about the mysterious christian religion she follows. very melodramatic but some terrific prose. 

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr: a blind girl in France and a brilliant German boy recruited by the military struggle through the chaos of the second world war. ends with a bang (iykyk.) very sad, reads like poetry.

Boxers by Gene Luen Yang: graphic novel reveals the story of a young boy fighting in the boxer rebellion in early twentieth century china. the sequel, saints, is also excellent. beautifully and sympathetically shows the protagonist’s descent into evil- the reader really understands each step along the way.

Fantasy

Three Dark Crowns by Kendare Blake: three triplets separated at birth, each with their own magical powers, have to fight to the death to gain the throne. lots of fun honestly

Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo: everyone in these books is highly problematic but you love them all anyway. a ragtag game of criminals plan a heist on a magical fortress. some terrific tragic back stories, repressed feelings, and revenge schemes.

The Dark Tower series by Stephen King: idk how to describe these frankly but if you can put up with King’s appalling writing of female characters they’re pretty interesting. fantasy epic about saving the world/universe, sort of. cowboys and prophecies and overlapping dimensions and drug addicts galore.

The Amulet of Samarkand by Jonathan Stroud: lots of fun! a twelve year old decides to summon a demon for his cute lil revenge scheme. sarcastic demon narrator. lighthearted until s*** gets real suddenly.

Elegy and Swansong by Vale Aida: fantasy epic with machiavellian lesbians and enemies to lovers to enemies to ??? to lovers. charming and exciting and lovely characters.

The False Prince by Jennifer Nielsen: an orphan boy must compete with a few others for the chance to impersonate a dead prince. really dark but very tense and exciting and good twists.

The Grace of Kings by Ken Liu: fantasy epic. heroes overthrow an evil empire and then struggle as the revolution dissolves into warring factions. interesting world building and three dimensional characters, even if they only have a small part.

Circe by Madeline Miller: the story behind the witch who turns men into pigs in the odyssey. madeline miller really said, i just used my classics degree to write a beautiful gay love story and now im going to write a powerful feminist retelling because i can. queen. an amazing and satisfying book that kills me a lil bit because of the two lines referencing the song of achilles.

Heartless by Marissa Meyer: the tragic backstory for the queen of hearts in alice in wonderland. a little predictable but very fun with a compelling protagonist

A Song of Ice and Fire (Game of Thrones) by George RR Martin: ok I know we all hate GRRM and rightfully so but admittedly these books do have some great characters and great scenes. they deserve better than GRRM though. also he will probably never finish the books anyway....

A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket: not really fantasy but not really anything else either. plucky, intelligent, and kind children fight off evil plots for thirteen books until suddenly you realize the world is not nearly as black and white as you thought. 

Classics

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier: gothic romance!! a new wife is curious about the mysterious death of her predecessor in a creepy old house in the British countryside...good twists and lovely prose.

A Separate Peace by John Knowles: not really morally ambiguous but one awful decision suddenly has awful consequences and certain people are haunted by guilt forever.... really really really beautiful and really really really sad. boys in a boarding school grow up together under the shadow of world war two.

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy: while imperial russia slowly decays a beautiful young woman begins a destructive affair. a long book. very russian. the ending is incredibly tense and well written.

Lord of the Flies by William Golding: I think you know the plot to this one. the prose is better than you remember and the last scene is always exciting.

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie: one by one, the guests on an island are slowly picked off. one of Christie’s darkest mysteries- no happy ending here! very tense and great twists.

Contemporary

The Secret History by Donna Tartt: inspired the whole dark academia aesthetic. college students get a little too into ancient greece and it does not end very well. lovely prose but I found the characters unlikable.

Honorable Mentions

The Dublin Saga by Edward Rutherford: has literally a billion protagonists, but some of them are morally ambiguous ig? follows a few families stories’ from the 400s ad to irish independence in the 20s. beautifully captures the weight and movement of irish history.

Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer: how morally ambiguous can you be if you’re, like, eleven? a lot if you’re a criminal genius who wants to kidnap a fairy for your evil-ish plan apparently!

Redemption by Leon Uris: literally my favorite novel ever. the sequel to Trinity but can stand alone. various irish families struggle through the horrors of world war one. the hero isn’t really morally ambiguous, but the main theme of the novel is extremely bad people suddenly questioning their choices and eventually redeeming themselves. sweeping themes of love, screwed up families, redemption, and patriotism.

The Lymond Chronicles and House of Niccolo by Dorothy Dunnett: heroes redeem themselves/try to get rich/try to save their country in early renaissance Europe. if I actually knew what happened in these books I'm sure it would be morally ambiguous but its too confusing for me. in each book you spend at least a third convinced the protagonist is evil, though. lots of exciting sword fights, tragic romances, plot twists, and kicking english butt.

Bonus: Protagonist is less morally ambiguous and more very screwed up and sad all the time

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt: you know this one bc its quoted in all those quote compilations. basically the story of how one horrible event traumatizes a young man and how he develops a connection to a painting. really really really good.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro: hard to describe but strange... not an action novel or a dystopia really but sort of along those lines. very hopeless.

[96thdayofrage]

Just a theory: the Pan-Africanists who hate #ADOS don’t hate #ADOS because of the latter people’s actual politics. Pan-Africanists hate #ADOS because the people who are involved in that movement are pointing out something that no one else will: that Pan-Africanism in 2021 feels like a response to a question that basically no one really even asks anymore. That for all of their grand pronouncements—the epic and almost mythic sense of their project’s historical certainty—it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore how Pan-Africanism today just sort of feels in a lot of ways like the soggy nub of a joint being passed around at a dwindling party.

Think about it. Does the strangely visceral opinion about #ADOS held and oft expressed by Pan-Africanists really spring from the former’s politics? Yeah? Really? Well, what is it about the #ADOS political agenda specifically that they so hate? Is it that they would like the U.S. government to continue holding onto the trillions of dollars that it owes these people? Is it that they approve of chemical plants and refineries and waste dumps being strewn throughout black American communities in such a way that basically ensures those residents—simply by going outside and inhaling oxygen—contract what are 100% lethal diseases?

Or is it more likely that these people feel somewhere deep down that ADOS are like some kind of apparently lower form of oppressed subjects? And that, as such, they simply aren’t entitled to (or even capable of?) determining their own fate. Is it that they feel ADOS are being insubordinate and unmanageable and refractory and childish? Is it that in their assertion of agency and in their unsparing critique of the international movement that has patently failed them ADOS are hurting the feelings of many people who are—let’s be honest—way too emotionally overinvested in what’s mostly become just a quaint area of scholarship in our universities’ Africana Studies departments?

Just a theory! But doesn’t that seem like maybe a more honest answer?

Maybe those Pan-Africanists just hate that #ADOS has been quite successful in its reparations advocacy despite the movement’s refusal to conform to Pan-Africanist orthodoxy. And maybe it’s that these Pan Africanists have a faint notion that wounded pride isn’t exactly a sophisticated reason to critique #ADOS, so they instead invent some bullshit political pretext about how #ADOS’s advocacy is ‘ahistorical’ or totally reactionary or that those in the movement are corrupted by a strain of American exceptionalism or whatever.

That, anyway, is the basic defensive crouch position from which Broderick Dunlap writes his recent article, “A Dose of Reality for the ADOS Movement”. Adhering tightly to what is now the standard formula for a Pan-Africanist-Critique-of-the-#ADOS-Movement think piece, Dunlap’s essay is deeply fucking boring, stiff, and backward-gazing. It is obsessed with identifying earlier modalities and pointing out the completely obvious fact that #ADOS’s approach does not correspond with them (which, given the failure of those forms of identity and resistance to offer a bulwark against something as basic as inadequate sewage treatment, let alone unify an entire continent, well, duh!). But mostly Dunlap’s essay just aims to persuade the reader that reparations isn’t about money; that the real and most vital question that black people in America need to consider (black people who are forced to live under regularly occurring boil water advisories, mind you!)—is: “what will it take for Black folks to forgive the United States?”

It is true that, in the #ADOS political literature, this inquiry into the capacity of black people to forgive their victimizer is never raised. It also seems true that it is difficult to imagine a less radical and more insulting position than that, but, anyway, I digress. Thirdly, the suggestion that the only thing that #ADOS is concerned about is a simple transaction of overdue funds—after which they just sort of dust off their hands and raise a glass to victory while beginning to contemplate their new investment portfolios—is totally absurd, very easily disproven, and yet another example of the strong tendency among Pan-Africanists to feel that it is their right to define the #ADOS movement however they like.

But if the demand for monetary compensation to be paid to their group is what makes #ADOS a supposedly purely avaricious movement—if that is why they must be vilified and opposed and viewed as a blasphemous and debauched form of a black liberation movement—then what is one to make of similar demands for material redress made throughout the diaspora directly to that nation’s former colonizer? Here’s one such example involving Barbados’s demand for the United Kingdom to pay it reparations. Or when Hilary Beckles, chairman of CARICOM’s reparations commission explains that the organization of Caribbean member states is “focusing [our reparations claim] on Britain because Britain…made the most money out of slavery and the slave trade – they got the lion’s share,” where is the prolonged outrage from the Pan-Africanists who would otherwise decry the omission of other diasporic groups from this one-nation-in-the-crosshairs look at who owes who what? Why don’t the people making the argument for those reparations get accused of merely wanting “crumbs” from the old imperialistic British pie or whatever? Again, we are asked to believe that the Pan-Africanist antipathy toward #ADOS is rooted in a fundamental political disagreement, or like some inviolable set of internationalistic beliefs. But when demands that are analogous to those of #ADOS receive effectively none of the hostility and outright disdain that the #ADOS’s demand for reparations appears to singularly attract from the rest of the diaspora, it sure becomes hard not to see a more cynical motivation at the core of the their ‘critique’ of the movement’s political aims.

Here’s what I think: I think that the refrain of reparations not being about money is a slogan that is 100% designed to sheepdog would-be serious reparations advocates into supporting business as usual forever here in America. I think once you say something like that you have been brought right into the Democratic Party’s orbit and the DNC will make short work of turning your little proclamation of righteousness and purity or whatever the fuck it is into a feel-good campaign of money-free ‘justice.’ I think the accusation that monetary reparations for ADOS are viewed by that group not as the seeds to self-determination but rather as the harvest itself is a lie concieved in malice and spite—that it is a mischaracterization that strives to bastardize a project that has only ever argued the need for a significant restructuring of the (highly group-specific!) maldistribution of wealth in America before their group could ever meaningfully participate in any kind of internationalism. But what I really can’t account for though is why ADOS saying that activates some serious lizard brain shit in a whole lot of people. Or why those people apparently feel the need to gussy up that brute emotional response in some bogus political principle that they can’t really criticize without hypocrisy: it is OK for CARICOM to explicitly exclude ADOS from their reparations claim against imperial powers (and merely refer them to another organization trying to make additional pecuniary arrangements for Caribbeans), but it is a cause for moral outrage when #ADOS tries to take their group’s case to the U.S. government? I don’t know. That sort of unevenness of application strikes me as people who are motivated way less by actual ideas and more by the people themselves who are doing what they’re doing. And what are ADOS even doing that’s so totally unconscionable anyway? Turning to one another and becoming passionately invested in their shared experience instead of performing a committment to something that is no longer really a relevant force in the world but which will get them meaningless approval by lots of strangers? Again, I don’t know. It just seems like a lot of the time that what governs opinion about #ADOS involves a lot more high school lunchroom behavior than what those people would like us to believe.

[raeynbowboi]

Dating Disney: The Little Mermaid

So when I started, Dating Disney, it was with the intention to pin down the fashion validity of Disney’s leading men, but when I started looking at Eric, I found that he’s wearing very hard to pin down clothes. A simple shirt, some pants, boots, and possibly a cummerbund? Or a sash? It’s really unclear. So rather than that, I decided to use clues in the movie to pin down a general historical time frame and location for Disney Movies, and I’m not really going in any order. I stand by Sleeping Beauty being set in mid to late 14th century Italy, but from here on out, I’ll be focused more on history and the movie, using context clues to set a time frame.

Story Origins

Den Lille Havfrue or The Little Mermaid, was written in 1836 and published in 1837 by Hans Christian Andersen, a Danish writer. It was written initially as a discreet love letter to Edvard Collin who had won his fancy. Edvard had gotten himself engaged to then 13-year-old Henriette Tybjerg 3 years earlier in 1833. The story is a highly symbolic depiction of Andersen’s feelings, as Edvard represents the handsome prince, Henriette is the kind foreign princess taking the love of his life, and Andersen is the suffering hero who endures great heartache to be near the one he loves, and is effectively voiceless, unable to speak his true feelings due to the time when he was living in. Henriette was actually so worried that he’d make a scene and declare his love for Edvard at their wedding that they “accidentally” gave him the wrong day, and he missed the ceremony. Thus, Andersen wrote the little mermaid disguised as a wedding gift, which Edvard had little interest in and which Andersen later decided to publish. I won’t do this for all of the stories, mind you, but this one had a very interesting history behind it.

Clothing

The first costume doesn’t appear in the actual movie, but is used occasionally as part of the Disney Prince line-up attire that Eric sports. In this image, he’s sporting a waistcoat, cravat, and tailcoats, all indicative of 19th century men’s fashion. In particular, this look rose to popularity in the 1840s and stayed popular through to the 1850s. Eric’s wedding suit and the engagement suit are both  military jackets that include epaulets on the wedding suit. These are in fact naval admiral jackets, as seen in the below picture.

All of these fashion elements emerged during and following the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815). Most of the men except Eric have buckles on their shoes. Although we might associate the image more with the 18th century and the American revolution or pilgrims, buckled shoes were still a common sight in the 19th century that it’s not out of place or unreasonable for them to worn in this film.

The widely hated pink dress (and quite unfairly I think) that Ariel wears to dinner seems to fit with 1850s fashion although the large sleeves were apparently designed to resemble 1980′s prom dresses. The blue dress Ariel wears for the date is entirely era inappropriate (especially since her ankles are visible during the Victorian Era), and neither hers nor Vanessa’s corset dresses are fitting for their time period. It should be noted that the visible different skirts was not a trend of the 1800s, and this was the closest example I could find, and even then appears to be an outlier in what’s been recorded of 1850′s fashions. Now, it’s possible that this dress could be old and was just lying around, so even Ariel’s dress is not necessarily proof of a finalized decade, since she could simply be wearing an out of fashion gown.

Technology

The Tobacco pipe that Scuttle calls a Snarfblat, seems to resemble a Calabash type tobacco pipe, first invented in 1898, at least according to one source I found. The Calabash is widely recognized for its saxophone shape, and is closely associated with Sherlock Holmes imagery. There are other types called Bent or Billiard pipes that may have existed earlier, but I couldn’t find when those kinds of tobacco pipes would have been invented.

Eric’s Ship seems to resemble a Galleon, mostly in the bent U shape of the ship and the bulky stern. An evolution of the Portuguese Carrack ships of the 15th century, these Spanish ships were invented initially as armed cargo ships, but were also used as warships. In the early 19th century, they were drafted as auxiliary war vessels, dominating naval warfare for most of the Age of Sailing. Although Eric’s ship is not quite a Galleon, given that his ship as a more noticeably protruding cabin on the ship’s stern, it still maintains the unique U-shape of the vessel.

The type of carriage we see when Eric gives Ariel a tour of his kingdom seems to resemble the Phaeton carriage. Both are four-wheeled carriages with a fold-up back and a swooping decal on the front of the vehicle. Shown to the right is an image of Queen Victoria as a child with her mother in a Phaeton. I don’t have an exact year as the link no longer works with the British Museum of History, but Queen Victoria was born in 1819, and she looks fairly young, so I might posit that this might date anywhere from 1822-1834? But I’m legitimately guessing. The point is, this type of carriage would have existed at this time and later.

When we see the town square of Eric’s kingdom, we see a clocktower and gas lamps. While I couldn’t find an exact year of when clock towers became a common thing, the clock that houses Big Ben in Elizabeth Tower was built in 1844, so that’s a least a clue as to when a much smaller clock might have been commonplace. Gas lamps as a public source of illumination began in 1809, as commemorated by a political cartoon of onlookers marveling at the new wonder.

Geography & Climate

Hurricanes - when the sea storm hits, the sailors declare that the storm is a hurricane. Initially, I assumed the movie was still set in Europe, and I looked up and found that there have in fact been instances of hurricanes hitting the western countries of Europe. However, the palm trees kind of debunked that theory.

Yes, you are in fact seeing palm trees. Growing naturally. In the place Eric calls his kingdom. So we are definitely not in Europe. This is further backed by the fact that a hurricane hit only two or so days ago, and hurricane season tends to be in autumn, while the foliage in Eric’s kingdom is a vibrant summer green. This has lead me to the assumption that Eric’s “kingdom” is a colony in either Florida or more likely, one of the Caribbean islands. Which would most likely mean that Eric is a Spanish prince. This is backed up by the simple fact that the general aesthetic of not only the castle, but the kingdom has a very Spanish look to it. But I’m not really at all well-versed enough in architecture to elaborate other than “it looks kinda Spanish to me”. He could be the son of the Spanish king and ruling this local area due to its economic importance and could possibly have a warship to fight off pirates. Eric might also not be the first in line for the throne, thus this is why he’s so far from home and without any parents around. He came to the new world to rule a smaller slice of his kingdom since he’d probably never be king of Spain. And yes, I did find that there are marshlands in the Caribbean, so Eric and Ariel can still go for their boat ride through the bayou.

There’s also a portrait of Phillip and Aurora in Eric’s dining hall, which means he’s probably related to them. Considering they’re Italian and he’s Spanish, it’s extremely likely. It’s not super relevant, but it’s a neat easter egg. Or if it’s not Phillip and Aurora, it could be Eric’s parents, and it just looks a lot like Phillip and Aurora, which could still be a clue that they’re related. Although the painting is rather recent, not like a 14th century tapestry, so it’s probably either a painting of his parents, or Aurora and Phillip are a big deal in Eric’s family, resulting in them getting a more modern portrait made of them.

Verdict

All around, I would have to say that the movie is set on one of the Caribbean islands under Spanish colonialism in around the mid 19th century. Although the pipe might be from a later decade, it’s such a minor detail, and so late in the century that if anything it’s an outlier in the data. Most of the facts tend to point more toward the early and middle of the 19th century, which is why I lean more toward the early-to-mid 1850s as the era of choice for this film. What this means for the world at large is that both America and France have denounced their monarchs. Victoria took the English throne in 1837 and has been ruling for about 20 years. Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species sparks outrage among the public at the notion of being a monkey’s nephew. Furthermore, it pretty much dissolves the Little Mermaid from being connected to the Frozen/Tangled conspiracy at all, as Ariel is all the way over in the New World, while Arendale is half-way across the world. It’s possible that the ship could have been commandeered by pirates who sailed the ship to the Caribbean where it was sank, but that’s adding extra steps and filling in blanks to try and force the theory to work. So there you have it, Ariel married a Spanish prince who was a full on navy admiral living in colonial Caribbean islands in the 1850s. Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are. I would not have logically pegged the Caribbean for the setting of the film. But, that’s where the evidence points.

SETTING: A Spanish Colony in the Caribbean

KINGDOM: The Spanish Empire (1492 -1975)

PERIOD: 1850s (Victorian Era)

LANGUAGE: Spanish

[continuo-docs]

Music reviews by Laurent Fairon, September 2020

Glands Of External Secretion –  Do Not Disturb (July 2020) Christina Vantzou – Multi Natural (July 2020) Mouchoir Étanche – Kommuniqué Zéro (July 2020) Mark Leckey – In This Lingering Twilight Sparkle (August 2020) Lucrecia Dalt – No era sólida (September 2020) Staraya Derevnya – Inwards Opened the Floor (September 2020) .   .   .   .   .   .   .

Glands Of External Secretion –  Do Not Disturb (Butte County Free Music Society) https://glandsofexternalsecretion.bandcamp.com/album/do-not-disturb The music on Do Not Disturb is made of stuttering interview excerpts, media audio detritus, spoken word, musique concrète, non-descript electronic sounds and loops, plus backward playing guitar or what sounds like studio outtakes. Californian duo of Barbara Manning and Seymour Glass (Bananafish magazine founder), Glands Of External Secretion build their tracks from bits and pieces of found sounds, without progression nor development but with frequent U-turns and aimless sound collages. The collage for them is not so much an avantgarde artistic gesture, as a means to make sense of sound scraps and aural leftovers. They're carving a freedom niche for themselves where they can progress inside a track with a frolic of their own but no apparent logic. Part of the pleasure derived from listening to Do Not Disturb is to experience this freedom other bands usually deny themselves. Glands Of External Secretion are part of this US libertarian tradition including Los Angeles Free Music Society or early Idea Fire Company, the duo of Scott Foust and Karla Borecky.

Christina Vantzou – Multi Natural (Edições CN) https://edicoescn.bandcamp.com/album/multi-natural Full disclosure: I have a soft spot for psychoacoustic sounds – give me howling wolves, children at play, female laughing or sea surf and I'm carried far away from the contingencies of ordinary life. So I might be partial to Christina Vantzou's new album, which has plenty of that. Multi Natural is a collection of remarkably evocative aural miniatures built with the simplest of means – natural found sounds, lonely acoustic instrument or spoken word, associated with basic, reverb-coated synth pads. These are elusive tracks coming out of a haze as inchoate thoughts just before waking up, exploring the liminal state between dream and real life, like Maya Deren's Meshes of the Afternoon movie. Akin to lucid dreaming, the music invites free associations in the mind of the listener as does psychoanalysis or Surrealism. This kind of effect couldn't be achieved with mere ambient music, which tends to focus the mind of the listener on (pretty much) nothing. It requires a talented composer to come up with an aural equivalent of a Dream Machine – just spinning around and creating images in your head. That's what Multi Natural does for me.

Mouchoir Étanche – Kommuniqué Zéro (Dekorder) https://blacktocomm.bandcamp.com/album/kommuniqu-z-ro Mouchoir Étanche [waterproof handkerchief] is a side project of Hamburg-based, German composer Marc Richter, better known as Black To Comm and Jemh Circs. As Black To Comm he released 2 superb albums on Thrill Jockey in 2019. This one-sided 12inch record has one 11mn-track which style is actually typical of previous Black To Comm's loop-based music. In Kommuniqué Zéro, samples of orchestral classical music are looped and left to accumulate over a slow, pulsating rhythm to create a fascinating repetitive, gloomy atmosphere, complete with operatic vocals and spoken word. The entire track can be considered both an homage to, and an update on, Holger Czukay's legendary Boat Woman Song, recorded in Köln in 1968.

Mark Leckey – In This Lingering Twilight Sparkle (Boomkat Editions) https://boomkat.com/products/in-this-lingering-twilight-sparkle https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsFqzj45Llo There's nothing like collage music done right – unrelated sounds bursting out of your speakers at strange angles, inexplicable transitions, sounds jumping from place to place yet not really progressing... what's not to love in this cornucopia? British composer Mark Leckey does it brilliantly on this 32mn album. Using amateur-ish music excerpts, found sounds, street recordings, internet aural detritus, as well as great found vocals by actors, children, video game soundtracks and the likes, all exploited with appropriate sound processing and dramaturgy. There's no irony or mass media criticism in there, just a feast of sounds collected from various sources. The human voice is omnipresent throughout, confering the album a very moving, gripping atmosphere, unusual in collage music.

Lucrecia Dalt – No era sólida (RVNG) https://lucreciadalt.bandcamp.com/album/no-era-s-lida This album represents a kind of departure for Lucrecia Dalt. Gone are the niceties of Anticlines, her previous acclaimed album – gone the sexy voice, the sweet synth sequences and reassuring song form. As far as I'm aware of, No era sólida is her darkest effort to date and her most experimental release, likely to sound rather impenetrable to many. Mostly composed of short, skeletal tracks, the album actually plays like one long suite with seamless transitions and great cohesion throughout. The music is build on simple synth sequences and carefully crafted sound textures with that Lucrecia's sound signature: synth sounds with unstable pitch, like a detuned computer left to rot on loop mode. Except for the concluding track, the music is wordless, but occasional, processed vocal samples emerge here and there. Other than that, this is rather abstract music – no melody, no rhythm, no lyrics. Yet the album is also a reacquaintance with her native tongue for Lucrecia – she once told me she was at odds with Spanish language these days, but here track titles are in Castillan and the last track is a long spoken word piece in that language, delivered over a mesmerizing hushed voice loop. The next moment it is gone, and you're left at a sensory threshold between hypnagogia and bewilderment, with no solid ground beneath your feet – No era sólida, indeed.

Staraya Derevnya – Inwards Opened the Floor (self release) https://starayaderevnya.bandcamp.com/album/inwards-opened-the-floor-2 British-Israeli collective led by Gosha Hniu recorded in both countries with local musicians, some from Russian origin. Staraya Derevnya are allegedly around since 1994, but it's the first time I come across their music. Songs are build on collective live jams performed on traditional instruments like dulcimer, double bass, kazoo, synth or sampler, with homemade percussion, toys and found objects. These are then reworked and expanded in studio to create intense Surrealist excursions propelled by weird arrangements. Occasional vocals by Hniu include lyrics in Russian from the poetry of Arthur Molev, but most of the time consist of spoken word, wordless chanting, shouts or invented language. Staraya Derevnya inhabit a territory between 1980s post-punk and Rock in Opposition, with echoes of Red Balune, UR Kaos, Psi Vojaci, SRP, Metabolists or Zamla Mammaz Manna. Great album.

[cyprinoides]

romeo et juliette costumes

at some point people on the retj discord were talking abt how the costumes are just chucked somewhere in the time space continuum and now I’m apparently analysing where in time those costumes are from so read my findings under the cut

ok so first up we have Guilietta’s white dress from the dvd version.

if we’re going by decade I’d say her dress is 1800s esque because it appears to be made of light, delicate fabric and has a long skirt train. As well as this, the silhouette is slender and the 1790s were a transition period from the wigs and bum rolls so by the 1800s, the silhouette was different. idk if you can see it in the photo but the waist is high and the bodice is short which was also typical for the decade. Of course, there’s many aspects of this costume that doesn’t match up, for example there is no corset and no sleeves. Corsets were still very much a thing as it gave u the nice waist, supported women’s upper bodies and helped their posture (as opposed to the belief that D: corsets bad it crush my ribs :,( bc that was men shitting on women’s fashion choices, a thing that occurred again when the crinoline was introduced) and sleeves were generally elbow length. I’m not even gonna talk about hair or makeup or whatever because that would be d i f f i c u l t

next we got mercuzio also with the dvd costume

alright so i’d place this one like early 1830s somewhere in Europe idk. During this time people were getting a bit more flamboyant with fancy patterns and layered fabric because imported fabric was chic and cool which I guess is represented in this costume (??) Anyway, the collar is high and the waist is cinched which resembles the silhouette for men basically throughout the 1800s, the only differences being length of coats and position of the waist. In the 1830s, the waist was low but still higher than ur natural waist which is the same case in this costume. u cant see it very clearly but the edges of the shirt is padded which also happened in the 1830s but was more common with the hem of women’s dresses. 

in this photo you can see that the trousers are long and bunched at the ankles and the sleeve is thicc at the shoulder which are both accurate to the decade. Now for inaccuracies, uhh there’s only 1 sleeve and he’s wearing a belt which were only created in the 1900s. Also, its a bit too slutty for lack of better explanation and he kinda looks like what movies tell you pirates wore (altho jack sparrows costume from pirates of the Caribbean was tailored to johnny depp’s imagination and flamboyant tendencies).

now we have 2010 Juliette’s costume

I honestly don’t really know but if I had to place it I think her dress is late 1830s in western europe - there was so much shit going on in that decade so early 1830s and late 1830s are hella different. Firstly, the waist is in the natural position which only came to fashion in the late 1830s and the bodice is pointy. Also I think her dress was floor length ish which would’ve been accurate but i can’t remember lmao. Also, its minimalist both in design and colour and has narrow, long sleeves which was a result of Queen Victoria coming to rule in 1837 and making modesty and minimalism cool. And for inaccuracies... there is no corset or big skirt and crinoline and the sleeves are off shoulder ???

onto 2010 and tour Meructio’s costume (the coat stuff goes for Romeo and Benvolio’s long coats as well btw)

Aight so this costume is pretty 1830s but specifically French. The coat resembles the greatcoat - which was a coat for being awesome and to be worn over ur other stuff and another tailcoat or waistcoat - because of the length and lining. The trousers are long and bunched at the ankle which hints at early 1830s and before u ask I’m not gonna talk about colour either because Im lazy lmao. The polo underneath may seem inaccurate at first but it could pass as what men of that time considered to be part of their under wear (similar to a woman’s chemise). The length of the sleeves is correct and the wrists are cinched (altho you cant see it in this picture but look at a video of je reve or smth and you’ll see) the cuffs of the shirt are also longer than the coat and when they’re longer than standard they were considered as ‘french cuffs’. 

here’s a photo of typical french 1830s greatcoats before I get into the inaccuraces. Alright so men’s coats - as you can see in the above picture) have volume to the skirt because that was the in fashion silhouette at the time but in the costume it is flat, the belt is there to perhaps give the waist shape but belts weren’t invented in the 1830s and the position of the belt is lower than men’s clothes were waisted at the time. Moving onto the shirt, it should have ruffles and the collar should be up and the sleeve hole where the shoulders are attached were very low in the 1830s so as to fit beneath coat sleeves but as you’ll notice (if you find another photo where he’s not wearing the coat) the shoulder is not that low. As well as this there’s no cravat and although the sleeves are the correct length in the coat, it has a rly big triangle cut? Also, since the shirt would’ve been considered as underlayers, it was scandalous and improper for those to be seen in public (but does it really count as an inaccuracy if its kinda in character?)

And now we have 2010 and tour Tybalt costume

This costume is 1830s Britain i guess??? So the coat resembles a sporting coat because of the length which was generally around knee height because you’d be hunting or riding horses and stuff in it. British hunting coats in particular were commonly red (I know its bc Capulets but it supports my fashion analysis) so you wouldn’t accidentally shoot ur friend when your out hunting in the woods together. Again the trousers are the right length for the 1830s and the shirt would be the underlayers. The shirt buttons are also the correct size for that time and the weird back collar thing was common for coats bc they were warm and were like very mini capes. And altho that thing on his waist looks weird it could actually be considered as a cummerbund which served the some of the same purposes as women’s corsets but was smaller - here’s a photo of a period accurate one

inaccuracy time! there are no buttons on the coat and no snatched waist. I don’t really want to write it again but its the same case with the shirt and the collar as Mercutio’s costume although in Tybalt’s costume the collar is buttoned up all the way so it looks higher and resembles more 1820s undershirts meaning that the lack of ruffles would be accurate.

And that’s all for now maybe I’ll make a part 2. Hope you enjoyed and plz help me figure out when all these costumes are

[maryanntorreson]

The 12 Days Of Cookiemas: Holiday Pastries From Around The World

There’s something about the holidays that make cookies an inevitability. As the temperatures dip down, baking cookies is an excuse to turn on the oven and fill the kitchen with both warmth and the smells of vanilla and cinnamon. Cookies are a great way to feed gatherings of people, without the need for cutting or slicing. And as the evenings get darker and we start to stay inside more, they’re a welcome escape. Traditional Christmas cookies are nostalgia wrapped in sugar.

Another great thing about cookies is how varied they can be. It’s tempting to always stick with the same pastries your parents made, but that limits your possibilities. To help you diversify, we looked at some of the most popular cookies in other countries. Presenting the 12 Days of Cookiemas, with recipes for traditional Christmas cookies from around the world.

1. German Pfeffernusse

Pfeffernusse are very popular throughout Germany and the Netherlands during the holiday season. The name literally means “pepper nuts,” which sounds far less appealing than they actually are. They’re similar to gingerbread, but thicker, softer and covered with a firm sugar icing. The snowball appearance gives them an extra wintery look. You can buy them in many stores in the United States, but nothing beats the homemade kind.

2. Argentinian Alfajores

Alfajores are kind of like Oreos, but also they’re nothing like Oreos. These pastries are two soft cookies held together by dulce de leche, and the combination is delicious. The origins of this cookie apparently go back to Spain over 1,000 years ago, when a slightly more rudimentary form of the pastry was made. The recipe traveled to South America during the colonial era, and they were really perfected in Argentina.

3. Polish Kołaczki

Photo by Kurman Communications, Inc. via Flickr. License.

Perhaps the greatest feature of kołaczki is that they’re very versatile. The exterior is constant — a cream cheese dough with a nice flakiness — but the inside can be whatever you’d like. Whether filled with almond spread, strawberry or even Nutella, kołaczki are a delicious cookie. Poland, the Czech Republic and other countries all claim to have invented this pastry, but its exact origin is lost to history. You don’t need to know where they’re from to eat them, though.

4. British Stained Glass Cookies

Don’t worry, there’s no actual glass in stained glass cookies. It’s essentially a sugar cookie with holes cut into it, where you add crushed candy that’s heated to turns into a “pane.” So it’s literally a candy window. These cookies are great to eat, but they’re also used for another purpose: decoration. You can put a hole near the top and put string through them. Some people hang them on their Christmas trees or in their windows. Of course, you can also just eat them, because some people might think it’s weird to have stale cookies hanging around your house.

5. Eastern European Rugelach

Rugelach, traditionally a Jewish pastry, is not explicitly associated with any holiday. Yet it seems that as December rolls around, these cookies start to appear. They often makes an appearance at holiday parties, regardless of the host’s religious affiliation. They’re kind of like mini croissants, with dough wrapped around jam, cinnamon, chocolate and nuts. The filling is variable, but the enjoyment is not.

6. Austrian Vanillekipferl

Vanillekipferl are almond-flavored pastry crescents. Their origin is a bit muddled, but they’re popular in Austria, Hungary, Germany, the Czech Republic, Slovakia and Poland. It’s believed that the cookie’s crescent shape is based on the Turkish crescent moon that you can see on Turkey’s flag. They were made like this to celebrate the Hungarian defeat of the Turkish in one of several battles in the Ottoman-Hungarian Wars. This is clearly not the most holiday-friendly story, but hey, they’re cookies. Vanillekipferl are eaten year-round in Austria, but they’re considered a holiday treat in most other countries.

7. German Zimtsterne

Yes, we chose two cookies from Germany, but these are worth it. After all, Germany is famous for traditional Christmases, so it only makes sense they would have the plentiful traditional Christmas cookies. Often called cinnamon stars, these cookies are made from almonds and cinnamon. In the old days of Germany, cinnamon was a rare spice, and so these cookies were considered a specialty item. They became associated with Christmas because it was the time of year when people splurged on the finer things. They’re always shaped like six-pointed stars, so let them light up your dark night.

8. Italian Anginetti

Italy has no shortage of small cookies for the holiday season, but anginetti are a particular favorite. They’re pretty typical drop cookies with a slight lemony taste, but there’s something irresistible about the glaze with the sprinkles. The sprinkles also give them a very festive look that make them a colorful part of any cookie plate. They’re also a lot less heavy than your average cookie, so you can eat more without feeling guilty.

9. Finnish Joulutorttu

This is a treat of many names. Joulutorttu literally translates to “Christmas tart,” but they’re more commonly known in English as prune tarts. Don’t let that name scare you away. Prunes are not always bad, and these cookies prove it. They cookies are also called pinwheels, thanks to their whimsical appearance that is formed by folding the dough in a certain way. They’re particularly enjoyable when paired with a cup of coffee.

10. Scottish Shortbread

Shortbread seems are a pretty lackluster cookie when judged on looks alone, but it’s hard to beat the buttery, crumbly flavor. These cookies are great whether you make them yourself or buy them in a tartan tin. Shortbread also has history: they’ve been around since medieval times in Scotland. Their popularity is sometimes credited to Mary, Queen of Scots, who apparently enjoyed them during her reign in the 16th century. This story, while fun, is probably false. These traditional Christmas cookies predate Queen Mary’s reign.

11. Mexican Biscochitos

Are those wedding bells I hear? Why no, it’s just biscochitos. These are usually called “Mexican wedding cookies” outside Mexico, and they are indeed heavily associated with matrimony. That doesn’t mean you can’t have them whenever, though, and they are a nice treat in cold weather. These tend to be very simple to make. Biscochitos are flour, nuts and a few other ingredients are baked together and then rolled in powdered sugar.

12. French Madeleines

The French consider madeleines to be a small cake, but we’ll call them Christmas cookies for simplicity’s sake. These spongy pastries are not for the novice cook, as the recipe is a little complex. Fortunately, you can also buy them at any French bakery. Madeleines can be made in a few different flavors, like chocolate and lavender, but lemon ones are the most common. Madeleines are some of the prettiest cookies in existence, so they’ll work very well for your Instagram. They’re best paired with a cup of tea and a novel (maybe even French novelist Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, where madeleines play a central role).

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[hms-chill]

RWRB Study Guide, Chapter 9

Hi y’all! I’m going through Casey McQuiston’s Red, White & Royal Blue and defining/explaining references! Feel free to follow along, or block the tag #rwrbStudyGuide if you’re not interested!

Too close to the sun (239): A reference to the myth of Icarus; his father built him wings so that they could escape from a tower they were trapped in. Upon gaining his freedom for the first time in years, Icarus celebrated by flying as high as he could. The sun melted the wax on his wings, and they fell apart, leaving him to plummet to his death.

Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens (239): Alexander Hamilton was an American politician, and John Laurens was a revolutionary fighter and abolitionist. Every biography of either of them is like “yeah wow they sure were GOOD FRIENDS” or “They had a ROMANTIC FRIENDSHIP” (an actual phrase I just read). 

Chernow’s biography (240): The most popular biography of Alexander Hamilton; the one that the 2016 musical Hamilton is based on. He concludes that “at the very least, we can say that Hamilton developed something like an adolescent crush on his friend”.

King George III (242): The king against whom the American colonies revolted.

Eliza (243): Eliza Schuyler Hamilton was Alexander Hamilton’s wife. The pair absolutely adored each other, and according to at least one of Hamilton’s letters to Laurens, she was conscious of and completely alright with their relationship (and also maybe down for a three-way).

Allen Ginsberg to a Peter Orlovsky (245): Allen Ginsberg was an American poet of the Beat movement, which was characterized by a dissatisfaction with 1950s America. Peter Orlovsky was an actor and took up poetry after beginning his open relationship with Ginsberg. The pair continued this relationship until Ginsberg’s death in 1997.

Henry James to Hendrix C. Andersen* (247): Henry James was an American/British writer whose works often explore the contrast and overlap between those two cultures. Hendrix C. Andersen a sculptor (known for a sculpture of Jacob, um... “wrestling” an angel). The two met in Rome in 1899, and James immediately bought a bust sculpted by Andersen, which he placed above his mantle, declaring “I shall have him constantly before me as a loved companion and friend”. (more, including a deeply gay love letter)

“Loco in Acapulco” (248): A 1988 song by the Four Tops about partying in Acapulco, a Mexican beach city. (listen here)

Chambray (249): Chambray is a fabric native to South France, it is lightweight and made of a weave of light colored and white threads.

“Here You Come Again” (249): A 1977 country/pop song recorded/performed by Dolly Parton, about a lover coming back into her life. (listen here)

“Summertime” (249): A DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince hip-hop song from 1991 about how summer is a break from the hectic rest of the world. (listen here)

45 (249): Texas State Highway 45 runs in a loop around Austin.

Mexican Coke (250): Coca-Cola made in Mexico is typically made with cane sugar rather than high fructose corn syrup, and many believe that gives it a more natural taste.

Lake LBJ (250): The history behind this lake is pretty well covered in the book, but it is popular for boating and water skiing because of its normally constant water level (meaning it is not significantly impacted by things like rainfall or other weather issues). 

“Jumbo”** (250): LBJ apparently had a sizeable “little” friend. He tried to have the White House shower altered so to have a stream shooting directly onto it. He would show it to people all the time. He asked to have his pants tailored to accommodate it.  

Henry VIII*** (250): Henry VIII is a British king best known for taking six wives, most of whom he either killed or divorced after they failed to give birth to sons. He invented the Church of England so that he could legally divorce his first wife and it went downhill from there. 

Strawberry daiquiris (250): A strawberry daiquiri is a mix of rum, sugar, and citrus. They are often frozen and are a popular summer drink.

Hacienda school of home decor (251): “Hacienda” is the Spanish word for an estate; this style is typically defined by high ceilings, open, arched doorways, and sprawling floor plans. “Hacienda” homes are associated with Mexico and the Southwest United States, and are generally designed as cozy outdoor/indoor spaces.

Pemberton Heights (252): One of Austin’s wealthiest and most historic neighborhoods.

Chente (252): Vincente ”Chente” Fernández Gómez is a Mexican actor and musician known as “El Rey de la Música Ranchera" (The King of Ranchera Music). He started his career playing for tips on the street, but has since risen to stardom. (listen here and here)

Cotija and crema (253): Cotija is a Mexican cheese, and Mexican crema is a thickened cream often used as a topping for Mexican foods. 

Elotes (253): Elote, or Mexican street corn, is a popular summer dish made with sweet corn covered in crema, cotija, chili powder, and a variety of other toppings.

Candy-ass (254): A wimp or person who’s not especially tough.

“Not bad for a European” (254): The general stereotype in the US is that European folks, especially English folks, are generally smart, but not very tough.

Santa Maria (256): Saint Mary, the mother of Jesus and greatest of all Catholic saints.

Tamales with salsa verde (256): Tamales are a Mexican dish made of a corn dough wrapped and steamed in corn husks, and salsa verde is a tomatillo-based salsa. Tamales are often made with help from an assembly line of family members. 

Frijoles charros (256): Frijoles charros, or “cowboy beans”, are a Mexican dish made of pinto beans stewed with onions, garlic, bacon, and other elements such as meat, peppers, tomatoes, and cilantro.

Sangria (256): An alcoholic beverage from Spain made of red wine mixed with fruit.

Johnny Cash (256): An American musician who began his career as a country singer, but branched out into rock and gospel as well. He was known for his humility and his free prison concerts, and for context within the book, June is named after his wife. (listen here and here)

Selena (256): Selena Quintanilla-Pérez was a Mexican-American singer/ songwriter/ model/ spokesperson who is known for catapulting Tejano or Tex-Mex music into the mainstream. (listen here and here)

Fleetwood Mac (256): Fleetwood Mac is a British-American pop rock band formed in 1967. (listen here and here)

“Annie’s Song” (256): A John Denver song written as an ode to his wife; she described it as “a love song [that] became a bit of a prayer”. (listen here)

Chile de árbol (257): A small, potent chili native to Mexico.

Jazz brunch (258): A brunch with a jazz trio playing in the background. They’re typically associated with older folks on vacation.

Migas (262): Mexican migas is a traditional breakfast dish made of a crispy tortilla with scrambled eggs on top. The Tex-Mex variation includes extra ingredients like onions, peppers, tomatoes, cheese, or salsa.

The heir and the spare (263): This refers to the idea that a king should have at least two sons: one to be the heir to his throne, and a backup “spare” to keep the kingdom from a succession war in case that first died. 

------

*Fun fact; Hendrik Andersen is related to Hans Christian Andersen (the fairy tale author), who was also queer!

** I now know... far too much about this.

*** The musical Six gives each wife a stage to voice their side of the story, and it’s very good.

----

If there’s anything I missed or that you’d like more on, please let me know! And if you’d like to/are able, please consider buying me a ko-fi? I know not everyone can, and that’s fine, but these things take a lot of time/work and I’d really appreciate it!

—–-

Chapter 1 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 10 

[thatsparrow]

(fleabag/priest • read on ao3)

I love you, too.

It'll pass.

Much like God, that last bit turned out to be a lie. 

—

It's two years later and things are—fine, actually. Good, even. Cashiers ask you how you are, and you say, "I'm doing well, thanks," and it doesn't even feel like a lie. The cafe is, somehow, still a success—enough so that you can afford to do things like buy a new awning and replace the linoleum. You even spend a weekend with drop-cloths spread out over your nice, recently-replaced linoleum and give the interior a new coat of paint. You choose this pastel, light-washed teal color that looked cheery on the swatches but mostly reminds you of watered-down mouthwash. Still, when the sun comes in during the afternoons, it looks nice. You get compliments on it.

All the guinea pig pictures are still up, of course.

Both Hillary and Stephanie (who is, you remind people, actually a hamster) are also doing well, which feels like a miracle. A few months back, Hillary caught some sort of guinea pig flu and that had led to an emergency vet visit and several very-panicked Google searches about guinea pig lifespans, but then she'd gotten better and apparently they live for four-to-eight years anyway, so, she'll likely be around for ages yet.

(Hamsters, on the other hand, only live about two. Sorry, Stephanie.)

That banker—or, former banker? You never did find out what his new job was—still comes by. At least once a month, and usually on Chatty Wednesdays. He brings his wife, too, as he'd said he would. She has kind eyes—which is the sort of description you don't use very often, but suits her—and is both soft-spoken and full of questions. You learn that she bakes, because of course she does, and every so often she brings along a cloth-lined basket of lavender cookies or rose-frosted cupcakes or something equally Martha Stewart. They're fucking delicious, too.

Claire still commutes from Finland, but less often, now that she lives there. She has an apartment in London for when she visits that's obscenely beautiful and rarely-ever used—dark granite countertops and these funny-looking geometric sofas and lots of tasteful artwork (though, none of them done by your cunt stepmother). It should all be gathering dust, but Claire pays someone to clean it once a week and to keep the fridge stocked (on the off chance she comes for a sudden visit, which she never does). Sometimes, when you've been out late and your own place is too far away, you stay there for the night. Claire did give you a spare key, after all, and it seems a shame that no one is getting any use out of those million-thread count sheets or the quinoa salads in the fridge. You don't particularly like quinoa, but that isn't the point. 

The two of you don't talk often, but often enough. You know that she's busy, and when she does call, it doesn't feel like an obligation. Like, sure, maybe your sister needs a calendar reminder to phone you, but when she does, she sounds genuinely happy to hear from you. (She also just sounds genuinely happy about her life, which is such a wonderful change of pace.) Tall, blonde, beautiful, Finnish Klare posts pictures of the two of them on Facebook sometimes (yes, you got a Facebook just to friend him)—mostly selfies, all taken by him, of him and Claire in various corners of the world. Stern-looking, northern cities where the sun doesn't rise part of the year, and bright, fruit-flavored beaches where the sun never sets. Claire looks half-annoyed in all of them, but the kind of annoyance that's covering up how pleased she really is. Like she isn't allowed to look too happy about her tall, blonde, beautiful, Finnish boyfriend and how much he clearly adores his tall, brunette, equally-beautiful, British girlfriend.

"If you have a child, will you also name it Claire?"

"What? Don't be silly, we're not having a child. I don't even know if we're going to get married."

(She does, and they are.)

"You could spell it with a ch so it's a little bit different. Something silly and American, like C-h-l-a-y-r-e."

"Stop it."

(She's smiling on the other end of the phone. You expect they'll announce the pregnancy by the end of the year.)

"It's gender-neutral, too, so you're set either way. Come on—you both have perfect bones and perfect hair and it'd be such a shame to waste that. "

"You're ridiculous."

"Always, but I think I'd be a great Aunt to little Chlayre."

"I'm going, now."

Apparently, having sex with someone who has the same name as you is weird, but you get used to it. And, apparently, the sex has been so amazing anyway that it's worth a little weirdness. Good for her. God knows she needed it.

(Speaking of God—)

He moved parishes shortly after the wedding. Not God, of course, but—well, you know. You'd thought it a little dramatic to move entire cities just because you'd had sex, but it was also arguably less dramatic than his leaving the Church, so. Likely he had made the right call. You probably would have ended up hating each other by the end, anyway, if he'd stayed. It wouldn't have worked out, because when do these things ever? It's good that he left. (It isn't.) It is.

Still.

You think about him less than you used to, less than in the days after—I love you, too. It'll pass—the bus stop, when it was all still so fresh and new. When you were feeling dramatic (drunk), you'd liken it to the feeling of having lost a limb, like he'd taken one of your hands or some vital organ when he'd walked away. When you're feeling less dramatic (sober), you liken it to having lost something you'd only been promised—something fanciful, like someone told you that they'd invented the ability to breathe underwater and it had all turned out to be a lie. 

Except it wasn't a lie. He did love you. He just loved God more.

One afternoon, you'd been running errands that had happened to take you past the church (six blocks out of your way, actually, but close enough) and ducked inside—not even to say anything, just to see him, maybe—but it had been empty except for Pam arranging some pamphlets at the front. You'd asked about him, because of course you had, and she'd said he was "gone."

"Gone gone? Like—"

(Dead?)

"No, sorry, my mistake. Moved. This lovely parish on the coast whose own priest passed away a few weeks ago. A little quiet, but he says it's very charming."

"You've spoken to him, then?"

"Yes, of course."

Of course—like it's so simple.

You leave ten minutes later, after Pam's talked you into donating another ten pounds to the collection and volunteering at another church event the coming weekend, but it doesn't really hit you until you're nearly back at the cafe that he's—gone. Not dead gone, but might as well be. That, much like Harry taking that stupid dinosaur toy, he'd wanted to close the door permanently. Maybe he knew you well enough to know that you'd come back to the church someday, or maybe he knew himself well enough to figure it was only a matter of time before he turned up on your doorstep, and so he'd taken the choice away from you both. What a stupid, frustratingly-adult thing of him to do.

You hate him and love him a little bit more for it.

You don't really know what moving on looks like, but you figure it out. You drink a lot, at first, and then a little bit less. You stop feeling weepy whenever you see a Bible, or a G&T, or photos from the wedding. Rebound sex isn't as good as you'd imagined (except with the Hot Misogynist), and so you quit bringing people home quite so often—at least until you can stop comparing everyone to him. You still masturbate over him, of course, but it feels less like a need and more like a way to treat yourself. Like, if you eat all of that kale salad and only have a glass of wine with dinner, then tonight you can wank over his stupid strong arms and his stupid beautiful neck and that stupid little smile of his. If you just make it through a whole lunch with your dad and your cunt stepmother and not say anything too profane, then you get to touch yourself and imagine waking up with him in the morning and him making you pancakes and other sickeningly domestic fantasies.

It's been two years, so of course you've moved on, but you've moved on in a way that lets you keep loving him. Perhaps it's irresponsible, but you're not willing to let him go entirely. Not yet, anyway.

 —

 Then, your cunt stepmother announces that she and your father are adopting a baby.

"I'm sorry, what—"

"You've got to be fucking kidding—"

They'd waited until Claire was in town to make the announcement. They'd invited you both over for tea, and you should've known something was strange about that, but then you're sitting in the garden with a mouthful of Earl Gray and your cunt stepmother says she's adopting and you have to flip a coin between spitting out the tea all over her tasteful linens or scalding the inside of your throat.

You end up swallowing the sip, but it's a close call.

"Well, you know, I've never really ruled out having children—it's such a blessed, beautiful part of life—but, unfortunately, I can no longer conceive naturally, and so your father and I have been discussing—"

(It wasn't a discussion.)

"—and we submitted the applications and met with a mother this week. Lovely girl, terribly awful home life, can't afford to raise the baby on her own, but she's just got the most marvelous cheek bones."

(Cunt.)

"Anyway, she's due in a couple of weeks and then we'll be bringing little Felicity home—"

(Felicity?)

"—and we'd just love it if you two were there for the christening."

"Yeah, because this family has such a great record with godmothers."

Your cunt stepmother is still smiling but the look she's giving you is acidic enough to peel paint.

"Oh, look, I don't know." Claire's grip on the teacup is so tight, you're surprised she hasn't cracked the porcelain. "I've just taken time off to come home, and I'm really not sure I'll be able to again so soon—"

"No, but you must—mustn't she, darling? Your father just couldn't bear it if you weren't there for such an important day, and we did so miss you at the wedding reception."

(Two years, and she still hasn't let that go.)

"Say you will, Claire. Please? Promise us you'll be there." How your cunt stepmother manages to look so pleading is a mystery, but fuck her if she doesn't have it nailed. Your father is still mostly silent, as he's been throughout this whole ordeal, but Claire must see something in his expression because she relents with a, "Yes, fine, alright. I'll be there."

For the christening. The christening of the baby they're adopting. Your father's going to be in his fucking seventies at the kid's graduation.

"Oh, how marvelous! It won't be for a few months or so after the birth, so you should have plenty of time to get everything in order. The whole thing will be just splendid."

(It won't be.)

 —

 The day of the christening creeps up like a bad dream.

(You know those events when you think you'd rather get a bikini wax and then take a bath in lemon juice than attend? This is one of those days.)

You found a dress that seems like a good church dress, a boat-neck, sky-blue thing that doesn't really do anything for your figure, but it is a christening, so. You get there early because your cunt stepmother asked you to (demanded it), and because Claire will be getting there early as well, and maybe the two of you can sneak some of the church wine. You figure you'll probably be handing out programs or directing people to their seats or whatever else happens at a christening. It'll last about an hour, and then there will be a tasteful reception with champagne and sparkling cider and your dad and cunt stepmother showing off baby Felicity in her white, wedding-like christening gown, and then you can go home and forget the whole thing ever happened.

That's the plan, anyway.

You get to the church a half-hour before the christening starts (which is still later than you were meant to be here, but fuck it) and your cunt stepmother is already in—well, a tizzy. She's wearing this funny, artsy-looking gown that's patterned like stained glass and you wish it looked worse on her than it does. She's not yet holding baby Felicity (because this day isn't really about baby Felicity) but she is deep in conversation with the priest up near the altar, who's already dressed in his own decorative christening robes. Then your cunt stepmother looks up and sees you standing in the aisle, half-debating whether you could hide under the pews, and she's calling out your name and saying, "Thank God you're finally here—sorry, Father," and, "Oh, do you remember—?"

(It's him.)

"—he's the priest who officiated our wedding. He's not in the parish anymore—such a shame—but when I knew we'd be adopting little Felicity, I contacted him to find out if he'd be willing to perform the ceremony. Such a dear, isn't he?"

(It's him.)

"I do so love the symmetry of it. And it seemed such a hassle trying to find another priest we'd connect with when we already knew such a nice fellow."

(It's him, it's him—fuck me—it's him.)

He smiles when he sees you, a nice, polite, church smile. Of course, he's had however many weeks to prepare for this whereas you've just had an anvil dropped on you like you're Wile E. fucking Coyote.

"Pleasure to see you again," he says. He even sounds sincere.

"Likewise—" you say, but then your cunt stepmother is coming down from the altar and shepherding you into the back and putting you to work folding programs—"Make sure you're lining up the corners, dear,"—and you've never hated her quite so much. Of course, if it weren't for her and baby Felicity and the whole stupid christening, he wouldn't be here in the first place, but you're willing to ignore that for the sake of hating her. Fuck, he'd looked good, too. And here you are in your fucking church-appropriate dress folding fucking programs and by the end of the day he'll be gone back to the fucking coast and—

You need a cigarette, or ten. Fuck the programs.

It's quiet in the alley, enough so for you to take a couple of slow, deep, wonderfully nicotine-filled breaths and get yourself together. It'll be fine. It'll be miserable, but it'll also be fine. You'll sit in the pew, and you'll watch him perform the ceremony, and try very hard not to think about how beautiful he is underneath the fancy christening robes, and tonight you'll drink yourself unconscious and then wake up tomorrow and forget the whole day ever happened. It'll be the worst day of your life, but then it will be over.

(Second-worst, actually.)

The cigarette is nearly burned down to your fingernails, and you're about to stub it out when you hear the side door opening, and you say, "Sorry, Dad, I'll be there in a moment, I'm just—"

"Got a light?"

It's him.

(It's him.)

You nod, your breath feeling very shallow as he comes up next to you, leans in towards you with the tip of his cigarette. The orange light looks like paint on his skin, like he's been pulled from a Renaissance painting. He still smells the same.

"Aren't you worried about ash on your—" you gesture down at the fancy christening robes.

"Not really." He exhales, slow; his hand is shaking a little. "I doubt anyone but your stepmother would notice, anyway."

The thought gives you a sudden rush of satisfaction. Fuck, you do love him.

"I tried to quit for a while," he says after another breath, the smoke hovering in front of him, "then found I didn't really want to."

(You hope he isn't actually talking about cigarettes.)

"Better than me—I've never even tried to give it up."

(You, at least, are definitely not talking about cigarettes.)

"How have you been?" he asks.

(Miserable, then less miserable, then better, and now miserable all over again.)

"Good, actually. Haven't run myself out of business yet, so. That's something. How about you?"

"I was pretty lonely, for a while. New parish and all that. But it's not so bad now, and I quite like being so close to the water."

(You're happy that he's doing well, and also a little unhappy that he isn't doing worse.)

"That sounds nice, actually. And it's good of you, to have come all the way back for the christening. You didn't have to."

He's giving you a look. You hope it's the sort of look that means, yes, I did.

"Well, your stepmother can be awfully persistent."

"Yeah, well, she's a cunt."

He laughs at that, both amused and unsurprised. "I don't think I can mention that during my speech."

"No, probably not."

His own cigarette is nearly gone; you'll have to go inside, soon, and then the moment will be over. You really, really don't want it to be over.

"Do you ever think about moving back?" Your palms somehow feel very dry and very sweaty at once.

"Sometimes. Often, if I'm being honest, but—" he exhales instead of finishing the sentence. "There's plenty to keep me busy where I am now."

"And how's—God?" You're just fishing for time now. Badly. 

He raises an eyebrow at you. "Mostly the same. A bit disappointed in the state of the world, but still filled with an infinite capacity for love, forgiveness, et cetera."

"Right. I think I remember something like that in the Bible."

"Love, forgiveness, et cetera?"

"Exactly."

He laughs again, then pauses. "Do you still have it, then? The one I gave you, I mean."

(You know what he meant.)

"Yeah, I've got it somewhere." 

(In your nightstand, but he doesn't need to know that.)

He nods, then lets his own cigarette fall to the pavement.

"Well, I should—"

"You should probably—"

If you were braver, you might kiss him. If he were braver, he might kiss you. You don't really want him to leave, and he doesn't particularly look like he wants to go, but without being brave, neither of you knows what's supposed to happen next. He'd go back inside and then go back to his new parish, probably, and you'd never see him again. It's painful, how much you don't want that.

"Can I ask you something?"

He looks both curious and a little afraid for the question. "Yeah, of course."

He'll be going anyway, whether or not if you fuck this up. There's no reason not to try—other than that you're a little bit of a coward, but that's not really an excuse.

"You said it would pass." You feel a little dizzy. "Did it?" His jaw goes tight a little, like there's a wire running through it. "I'm just—curious, I guess." You take a slow breath. Fuck, what you wouldn't give for another cigarette right now, or an IV filled with whiskey. "Because it didn't, for me."

At that, he lets go of whatever tension he was holding in his jaw. He lets out a half-laugh that seems—relieved, almost. "No?"

You shake your head.

"No. It didn't for me, either. I feel like I've spent the last few years cheating on God—loving him and loving you."

There it is, in the open then. I love you, too.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You want to kiss him, or maybe have him fuck you against the wall. You think he probably would, too. It's exhausting, feeling this elated and miserable at once; by the time you go back inside, you hope the needle has landed on one or the other, you almost don't care which.

"What does that mean, then?"

He laughs again. "Fuck if I know. Like I haven't wasted two years trying to figure that out." He sighs, impossibly weary. "I still don't want to leave the church."

"Okay."

"But I don't want to spend any more time without you, either."

"Okay."

"It would help if you said anything else."

"I would, if I knew what else to say."

(Kiss me, fuck me, marry me—none of those are particularly solution-oriented, though.)

"It's been a while since we were friends. We might not like each other anymore."

(Bullshit. To the friends part and the not liking each other part.)

"Yeah, maybe."

"We could still end up hating each other."

(We wouldn't.)

"Also true."

"But—I could come back. See you again. See if this is still—"

(It is.)

"I'd like that."

He nods, weighty, like you were just discussing how to solve world hunger instead of whether or not he'll move a forty-minute drive back inland. 

"I should actually get back inside, now, before your stepmother castrates me—"

(Which would be a shame, now, after all that.)

"—but I'll be in touch? If you want?"

"I—yeah. Yes, I do."

He nods, and then he's stepping away, back towards the side door and the interior of the church. You wish he'd moved the other way, wish he'd push you up against the pitted brick wall and kiss you like it'd kill him to do anything else, but he doesn't. He's already in his fancy christening robes, after all, and it'd be a shame to wrinkle them now. Besides, you've waited two years. You can wait a few weeks or months more. You can wait, and then the two of you will figure out what happens next. He loves you as much as he loves God, and that already feels like a better place to start.

You brush the ash from your own dress and go back inside.

(You had said this was a love story.) 

[moviemunchies]

So one day Martin Scorsese, a director mostly known for intense mob movies, decided to make a family film. And it’s great!

Now I realize that I’m apparently the last person in the universe who has seen Hugo, but we’re doing this review anyway. Based on the book The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick, Hugo tells the story of Hugo Cabret, an orphan who lives in a Paris train station and spends all day fixing the clocks and stealing mechanical parts from the toy store at the station while dodging the attention of the station inspector. See, before he died, Hugo’s father was working with him on fixing up an old automaton, a clockwork robot, that he found in the museum’s attic, and Hugo thinks that the machine might still hold a message that his father wanted him to see. Sadly, no matter how hard he works, the machine won’t function because it’s missing a special key in the shape of a heart.

But things get a bit strange, because the owner of the toy store in the station, Georges, seems to recognize sketches of the automaton and it makes him very upset. And Georges’s goddaughter, Isabelle, wears the heart-shaped key around her neck. So Hugo and Isabelle hope to find out exactly what this automaton does and how it’s connected to their lives.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I started this movie. Despite not making that much money, it has a lot of critical praise upon its release, and it was one of the more well-regarded live-action family films of the last decade. I was scared that I’d watch it and it wouldn’t live up to the hype; thankfully that didn’t happen to me. I enjoyed this movie more than I expected.

Though it may not look like it from the trailers, Hugo is a movie about movies. There’s some stuff that’s going to go straight over your head if you don’t know at least some about the history of movie-making. Having been in a basic film class, and working as a TA for a couple of film professors for a couple of semesters, a lot of the references stuck out to me (though by no means all of them), so it worked.

It did feel a bit odd, that Martin Scorsese made a movie about the magic of movies, because he’s not precisely known for that. When you think of Scorsese, as a director, you don’t think of movies that are magic and filled with wonder. But that’s something he’s paying homage to with this film, and despite being a movie mostly grounded in reality (albeit, a dramatic version of it), it still manages to do that.

If you don’t know that this is a movie about movies, then I suspect that the direction that Hugo is going will be a bit of a surprise. Until it gets to that point it seems a bit… well, not aimless, but the characters are sort of fumbling around trying to figure out exactly what’s going on and why. And I understand if that puts one off from the movie. Even if you do know, this movie’s over two hours, and it can take a while for the Plot to really kick off. 

Also this movie has a stellar cast? Mind you, none of them are actually French, which is a bit weird, but it’s common practice in Hollywood to use British actors to play characters of any nationality which isn’t American. And fun fact: Chloe Grace Moretz straight-up lied to Martin Scorsese, claiming she was British because the casting call asked specifically for an entirely British cast. Scorsese didn’t find out that she was an American until she had done several auditions.

Asa Butterfield plays our title character Hugo. And he does well. I have a friend who hates what she calls the ‘precocious child’ character, in part because they’re often terribly-written. Hugo isn’t; he plays a very fine line of someone who is both innocent but also willing to do whatever it takes to do what he thinks he needs to do. So when Georges calls him out as a thief, you know he’s right, but at the same time you feel terrible for Hugo because you know he has a sympathetic reason for it, and Butterfield conveys that balance well.

Isabelle, played by Chloe Grace Moretz is also a bit of a tricky character for a performer. She is someone who desperately wants to be in an adventure story, and wants to push Hugo into letting her into his world. And this kind of character can easily be annoying, because she’s more the tagalong kid than Hugo is. I didn’t find the character annoying, and I thought Moretz did a good job, but I could see if a viewer thought her a bit pushy, especially when it comes to bringing up her godfather’s past.

Said godfather, Georges, is depicted by Ben Kingsley. There is a lot to this character that I’m not going to spoil, even if everyone else I think would care has already seen this movie. He comes across at first as a man who is very cold and uncaring, but as the story goes on it’s obvious that this was born from a very deep trauma that continues to weigh on his mind years afterward. He’s a dick in the beginning, but because Kingsley’s acting is able to show that there’s cause for it you don’t hate him even when he’s threatening to burn Hugo’s notebook (though to be fair, the idea that he would is in probably in doubt as you watch). So when you see the other side of him it doesn’t feel like it comes out of nowhere, it feels like a natural progression of his character.

His wife Jeanne is played by Helen McCrory and she, like her husband, can come across as a aloof and cold, though from her perspective it’s obvious from the get-go that it’s because she cares and doesn’t want to upset her husband, who she knows is in pain. But she doesn’t want to hide this part of their lives and I think that’s evident even from McCrory’s acting even in her early scenes.

And of course, there’s the Station Inspector, who is portrayed in a surprisingly subtle manner by Sacha Baron Cohen. Okay, no, he’s not subtle at all with most of his scenes, as a bumbling but still effective threat, a child-catcher in the train station. But as the film goes on, and especially in the climax, we see that he’s a lot more complex than we thought? And I ended up liking this character much more than I expected. Though to be fair, that’s not a high bar.

There are other jewels in this cast as well. To name a couple: Christopher Lee plays the owner of the bookstore in the train station, and Jude Law plays Hugo’s father in a couple of flashbacks. But while they are very good, they only have a few short scenes, and I didn’t think it worthwhile to talk to in-depth about their performances other than to say: they did good.

So please, if you haven’t already, look up Hugo. It’ll be a fun adventure, though it may be a bit meandering for your taste. And if you’re into film history, it’ll be one of the most rewarding family films you’ll ever see.