#and i still might go to denver for the friday game and fly back for sunday’s in tempe…………..

[joeydaccord]

realized my taylor swift concert is the weekend before the yotes avs game and idk what i would have done if they were on the same night

[ghstandpucks]

Nothin’ Like You ~ Cale Makar

In honor of reaching over 200 followers, here is a song fic based on Dan and Shay’s Nothin’ Like You. I have a few requests in my inbox that I will be working on. If you have any, feel free to send them in using this prompt! Thank you for 200!!!

Master List

I remember when I first met you Sipping coffee in a corner booth You were twirling your hair And I just had to stare For a minute or two

Cale was with Tyson and J.T. after practice one Wednesday afternoon. The three of them decided to stop and get some coffee as it was a cold winter day outside. They were waiting in line talking about something E.J. had said earlier that day when Cale’s eyes landed on you in the back corner by a window. You had a cup of coffee and were staring at your laptop, completely oblivious to the world around you. He couldn’t help but stare as you wound and un-wound a strand of hair around your finger, every so often stopping to type something. Tyson kept talking as J.T. realized their defenseman was completely distracted by something. Following his line of sight, he chuckled. “See something you like? Or someone?” he chirped his teammate. Cale started to turn red as he looked away from you.

“I thought maybe I knew her,” he muttered. Tyson had stopped his monologue and was paying attention also now. He looked over as you had your head buried in a book, slowly typing something out.

“How did she carry all those books?” he asked with a slight laugh. Cale had noticed the numerous books you had scattered around the table. Didn’t people just do their research online now? “You like studious girls Makar?” Tyson elbowed him.

I was laughing at your stack of books Then you shot me that smile Hey beautiful girl, in your own little world Let me in it

“Man shut up,” Cale said turning on his friend. Unknowingly to them though, you had actually heard all the commotion. It was why you enjoyed doing your research in coffee shops; the garbled noises made it easier for you to concentrate. This doesn’t mean that you had heard what they said exactly, but who could really miss three hockey players walking into a small coffee shop in the middle of the week.

You looked up right as Cale was glancing back over at you. As you locked eyes, you sent him a shy smile and looked back down, trying to focus on your work again. Of course you knew who they were, all of Denver practically did. You were just an overstressed grad student with too many deadlines coming up though; he was probably just looking around the place.

The three of them ordered their coffees, and Cale noticed that you had looked sadly at your cup after taking a sip. He walked up to the counter and got the attention of the barista. “What did that girl in the corner order?” he asked, and was told it was a caramel latte. “I’ll take one of those too,” Cale said, paying for a second coffee. J.T. gave Tyson a look before he could say anything as they watched Cale walk over to you with two coffee cups.

You got all of my attention And you ain't even trying Yeah, you're my kind of different And I never seen nothin'

Nothin' like you

“Um hi. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought you could use this,” Cale said, announcing his presence at your table. You looked up, slightly startled as you had been engrossed in a thought you had while typing out your research. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled nervously.

“No, you’re fine! Sorry, I had a train of thought going,” you sputtered out just as nervous as him. “Thank you, that’s very kind. What do I owe you?” you asked, instinctively reaching for your wallet. Cale shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said, trying to think of what the guys on the team might say in this situation. “Your number maybe?” he made a face like he couldn’t believe he just said that, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Um, sure, yeah,” you squeaked out, writing your number on a piece of notebook paper and ripping it out to give to him. “I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself.

“Cale,” he said, taking the paper from you. He was about to ask what you were doing when Tyson called out to him.

“Makar, are you coming?” Cale turned toward his friends who had big, goofy grins on their faces watching the interaction. You blushed slightly at the thought of others watching you.

“I’m sorry. I’ll text you,” he stuttered out, putting your number into his pocket. You smiled softly at him and nodded.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you said and he smiled at you.

“My pleasure.”  

Shades on spinning in a summer rain Dancing when there ain’t no music Just the right kind of crazy, baby

           Cale had texted you like he said he would that same evening. You honestly weren’t expecting it, but felt completely giddy when you saw the unknown number and read his message. He explained that he would be gone on a road trip with the Avs for the next week, but would like to take you to dinner when he got back. You accepted and plans were made; the two of you talking regularly throughout the week getting to know each other better.

           The Avs returned home on Thursday, and a few hours later Cale was at your apartment knocking on your door. He had brought you flowers and you couldn’t help but smile at the kind gesture. The two of you made your way to dinner, talking the whole time. He had just finished telling you a funny story from the trip, beaming at the giggle he had enticed from you when your food arrived. As you looked down at your plate, you started moving your head and shoulders in an excited fashion. “Are you dancing?” Cale questioned you with a chuckle. You stopped immediately.

           “Oh my gosh, sorry. I tend to have a happy dance with food. It’s a weird family thing. I don’t even realize I do it until it’s pointed out to me,” you rambled on, face turning red. Cale shook his head.

           “Don’t be sorry. I though it was cute,” he said in a low tone. You smiled and giggled nervously; Cale deciding then and there that he wanted to continue seeing that smile for as long as you would let him.  

Something about you Rocking that rock 'n roll t-shirt Whole party dressed up But you just doin’ your thing Ain't nobody ever seen nothin' like you

           You were working on your research the following Friday night, having the game on in the background. Cale had taken you out to dinner once more since your first date, and the two of you had been nonstop texting. The Avs had won, Cale scoring that night. After the game you were about to text him a ‘congratulations’ when your phone started to ring, the caller ID showing it was him. “Congratulations!” you said as you answered and heard him chuckle on the other end of the line.

           “Thanks Y/N. Hey, what are you doing tonight?” he asked, and you heard a few wolf whistles behind him with muttered ‘shut ups’ coming from the defenseman.

           “I’ve just been working on my research since I got out of class earlier. Why?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

           “Come out with us. We’re all going out to celebrate,” he said in a more hushed tone, and you could imagine him trying to avoid the whole locker room from hearing.

           “Cale, I would love to but I’m not dressed to go out,” you said.

           “Who cares. Please? I would like you to come,” he pleaded with you ever so slightly. You looked down at your outfit, deciding it wouldn’t take much to put on some jeans quickly. Your Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt didn’t look terrible at least.

           “Text me the address,” you said into the phone, and you could hear the excitement in Cale’s voice as he said he would.

When you're wearing them worn out jeans Purple untied shoestrings You're a light in the dark And you're stealing my heart like a gypsy

           Showing up to the bar, you became a little self-conscious. Maybe you should have changed? The second Cale spotted you though, he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the room. The front of your band tee was tucked into your ripped black jeans, your white converse showing years of wear as they were no longer exactly white and the shoelaces were frayed at the ends. Cale knew you were probably stressed with your research, and yet you still had the softest smile and a sparkle in your eyes when you found him in the crowd. “You made it,” he whispered into your hair as he hugged you close. He felt you giggle into his chest.

           “Couldn’t let you down,” you answered simply. Cale smiled at you and took your hand, leading you over to a table where some of the team was sitting.

           “Coffee shop girl!” A slightly tipsy Tyson shouted.

           “Oh my God,” Cale muttered as you giggled. You were introduced to everyone as you took a seat between Cale and someone he called Gravy.

           “So what is your research on?” Gabriel Landeskog asked when you said you were a grad student at the University of Denver.

           “The archaeology of Zoroastrianism,” you said, and caught many blank stares.

           “Zoro what?” Andre asked.

           “It’s an ancient Persian religion. Today’s modern practices of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism all have common ties to it,” you briefly explained.

           “Wait, that was the religion Freddie Mercury practiced,” Sam Girard commented, looking interested. You nodded.

           “That’s how most people have heard of it now,” you responded.

           “What is your research trying to say about it?” he asked.

           “So I’m basically writing a big literature review to make sure it is preserved in the archaeological record. It was the first dualistic religion in a time where civilizations had their pantheons to believe in. It spread with the Persian conquest, but no one they conquered was ever forced to convert to it. Now it’s a rare religion to come across, and their numbers keep getting smaller. With it being one of the oldest organized religions, it needs to be preserved and the traditions documented before we lose it all through modernization attempts.” To you, your explanation was simple and one that you had said many times whenever asked what you were studying. It seemed you had impressed the table though, and you slightly blushed as a few questions started flying your way. You didn’t notice Cale softly smiling at you while you talked about a topic that you loved so much; he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. His teammates noticed though, and boy were they going to give it to him at practice.    

I love the way that you kiss me In front of everybody So baby come and kiss me They ain't ever seen nothin'

Nothin' like you

           The following day at practice, the guys were giving Cale crap for how head over heels he seemed for you. The fact he hadn’t kissed you yet was another source of ridicule. Everyone who had met you ended up adoring you within the time span that you spent with them at the bar; and they could easily see that their defenseman was taken by you as his cheeks would turn red at the mention of your name. They were all happy for him, but that didn’t mean the chirping would stop.

           They had another home game to play the following day, and Gabe convinced Cale to invite you and have you sit with Mel and Linnea. Later that day Cale went to your apartment and handed you his jersey, asking you to be there for the game. You couldn’t say no to him, not that you wanted to anyways. That Sunday you put on the jersey and headed to the stadium. Meeting Mel at the front, you quickly got along and enjoyed the game. The Avs came out victorious again, and you followed the captain’s wife to the locker rooms. You stepped aside as Gabe made his way over to his wife, feeling a little out of place. Luckily for you, Cale wasn’t far behind.

           He didn’t know if it was from the guys comments or seeing you in his jersey, but one second he was smiling widely at you, then the next his lips were on yours and his hands on your waist. Without a second thought, you kissed him back, your hands holding his face to yours. You were both grinning ear to ear as you separated, chirps flying all around but all in good nature. Giggling, you hid your face in Cale’s chest as his face turned bright red.

Shades on spinning in a summer rain Dancing when there ain’t no music Just the right kind of crazy, baby Something about you Rocking that rock 'n roll t-shirt Whole party dressed up But you just doing your thing Ain't nobody ever seen nothin' like you, yeah

           A year had passed and you were at the end of your grad program. You were set to present your research at the graduate fair, having been selected to present your research on behalf of your department. The Avs were scheduled to be flying back home that day, but Cale wasn’t sure if he would be there in time to see you present. You told him that it was fine, that you understood; and you really did. He was hell bent on making it though. You weren’t that surprised when you saw Cale sneaking into the back of the auditorium. What did surprise you was that half the team had followed him in. Having become good friends with them, they wanted to be there to support you too. As your name was announced, you swear you had the loudest applause.

           You calmly presented your research, smiling at Cale when you finished and a few questions were thrown your way. Having worked so hard, the questions were simple to answer. Finding Cale afterward, he took your poster from you and the two of you made your way to his apartment so he could unpack from the trip. Changing into some leggings and one of his shirts, you showed him the bound copy of your 105 page thesis. He was so proud of you and couldn’t help but share the cover on his Insta story. The two of you cuddle and slept better that night then you had in a while. For him it was being back home with you, and you finally had the stress of your research gone since the first time you met him.  

Nothin' like you Shades on spinning in a summer rain Dancing in the rain no music Nothin' like you Rocking that rock 'n roll t-shirt Whole party dressed up But you just doing your thing Ain't nobody ever seen nothin' like you, yeah

           Once you graduated, Cale asked you to move in with him. You had secured a job at a museum as a curator in their Antient History section. Setting up an exhibit all morning, you met up with Cale at the same coffee shop you had met at two years prior later that day. “Sorry I’m late” you muttered to Cale as you found him. He smiled and gave you a quick kiss.

           “You have nothing to be sorry about. I already put your order in,” he said as you sat across from him, taking a sip of the coffee he got you.

           “You know me so well,” you hummed with a giggle, the caramel latte tasting sweet. Cale grinned at you.

           “Technically, your coffee order was the first thing I learned about you, so I better get that right,” he chuckled. “That and you seemed like a huge nerd.” You faked offense, but laughed anyway.

           “It was all those books that got you. I knew my tactic of sitting in a coffee shop would work for me one day,” you winked at him.

           “It did. I’d never seen nothing like you,” he grinned, reaching into his pocket to take out a small velvet jewelry box.

Never seen, never seen nothin' like you Ain't never seen anything like you Mmm Never seen nothin' like you

Tagging: @yeahcalesy @avsfans95  @tysojost​ 

[reesewestonarchive]

chapter four / rem belongs to @forlornraven / masterpost / mature content

Music pulses through Nakoa’s legs, and Jenna’s body sways against Nakoa’s, pressed against him as close as she can go. She smells like mangoes, like sweat.

Nakoa inhales against her neck, licks a long line up to her jaw, sucks against it. She shudders underneath him, and Nakoa grins as she takes his hand, presses it beneath her jeans. She turns her head, pupils blown wide, and she says, “Wanna go back to mine?”

Yes. Absolutely. Nakoa feels a buzz in his veins he hasn’t in a while at the prospect, and—”Yeah. You bet.”

He’s not sure where Rem is, but he’s been gone all day. left that morning, didn’t come back, even though the car still sits in the parking lot at the motel. At least, it did, before Nakoa took to the streets to find something to take his mind of it, off of wondering where Rem was.

Probably wasted in the back alley of some bar, still downing a bottle of whiskey he’d pilfered off of some unsuspecting bartender.

Or—maybe he’s doing exactly what Nakoa’s doing now, finding somebody to bury his dick into, get off without the mountain of complications.

It’s been three days, and between sightseeing and sleep, they’re only just west of Denver, in some shitty small town that reminds Nakoa of Withervale just a little too much, but the girls are attractive, and the guys look like they could punch Nakoa out if he stared a little too long, and Rem’s been in a bad mood since Baldie.

Nakoa’ll take his chances, he thinks, with Jenna. He asks, “Are you far?” and grins when she shudders as he touches her.

He goes home with Jenna, and tries not to think of Rem when he comes.

Jenna offers to give him a ride back to the motel, but in the aftermath Nakoa really just wants a fucking shower, to wash what feels like a layer of filth off of him, and some awkward fifteen minute drive across town isn’t going to make him feel any better.

And it’s not cold out, anyway. “I’m good,” he says, as he tugs on jeans. Jean covers herself with her sheet, cocks her head to the side.

“You okay?” Her tone is just this side of concerned; she’s being polite, but Nakoa can tell she’s not really interested in the answer.

“Yeah,” he says, then, for a reason he doesn’t know, he says, “just complicated.”

“Aw,” Jenna says, sitting at the end of her bed. “I know complicated.” She gives him a glance, then says, “You a cool guy?”

Nakoa’s a loser. Unemployed and homeless and traveling across the country without any kind of a fucking plan, in search of a better life he’s not sure he’s ever going to find. Mediocrity feels less like a shadow hunting him and more like the prize at the end of the race.

Is he running away from it, or running towards it?

“I guess.” She can’t be talking about that.

“My girlfriend and I are kind of on a break.” She shrugs. “And it’s so stupid.”

“Relationships are complicated,” Nakoa says. He pulls his shirt over his head. “My…” but the word doesn’t come. What is Rem? His best friend? It’s not untrue, but he’s reasonably sure most best friends don’t fuck.

Most.

Is there a word for something in the middle, between romantic and friendly?

As she watches him, Jenna seems to pick up what’s going through his head. “Oh,” she says, pointing a finger at him. “You got it bad.”

“I do not.”

“And I thought me and my girl were complicated.”

For some reason, that pisses Nakoa off more. “There’s no girl.”

It’s the first time he’s even come close to saying the word out loud. Nakoa knows there’s a word for who he is, but it still feels wrong when he says it, when he thinks it. Not the attraction—there’s merit in sleeping with all kinds of people—but the word. The way people see it and think disgusting. Heathen.

“Oh.” Jenna’s voice is soft, and she stands. “So. Same boat.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

They kiss before Nakoa leaves, just because Jenna enjoys it, just because she asks, and Nakoa agrees because she showed him a good time, and it’s the least he can do. He wishes her good luck with her girlfriend and stomps back to the hotel room.

Where Rem sits, outside of it, empty fifth clutched between his knees. He doesn’t hear Nakoa approach, but he does react when Nakoa touches his shoulder, jerks away like Nakoa’s burned him.

“About fucking time,” he says, and his voice is like a river, watery and rushing, tripping over itself in his eagerness to speak. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“Sorry,” Nakoa says. Doesn’t point out that Rem has a key, too. He unlocks the door. He tugs on Rem’s arm, and the whiskey bottle falls to the sidewalk, crashes and breaks. Nakoa leaves it. “Did you drink all of that?”

“It’s—” He hiccups. “Bottom shelf, don’t get hissy.”

Nakoa took… something, at the club, earlier, before he went home with Jenna. He’s awfully fucking hypocritical if he tells Rem that he can’t do this. At least he came back. At least they got away from Baldie. From Withervale.

Drunk and alive is better than the alternative.

He draws Rem into the shower, starts taking off his clothes, and Rem says, “Ooh, am I gonna fuck you over the counter?”

“Keep dreaming,” Nakoa says, as he pulls off Rem’s jeans. He’s cold, so Nakoa warms the water and shoves him under the stream. Rem yelps, but relaxes into the hot, if lacking pressure, water. His entire body goes slack as it cascades over him.

Nakoa turns away, doesn’t watch, as tempting as it is. “You get back okay?”

Rem laughs. “Please. Liquor store’s not that far away. Where’d you get off to?”

“Girl I met at the club.” Nakoa pitches his voice higher, to be heard over the water. “You have a good time?”

“Better when you’re there.”

But he didn’t ask. He’d blazed through cities, the last forty eight hours, taking small roads instead of highways, getting lost and debating over the map with Nakoa multiple times, and.

“Missed you,” Rem says, his voice quiet. Nakoa wonders if he even said it at all. If maybe he imagined it. He’s been wanting to hear Rem say it for so long. Hoping for some kind of sign.

But no.

The water shuts off, and Nakoa makes his way back out into the room, digs in Rem’s bag until he finds something suitable for bed for him. The idiot’ll pass out on the bed, if he doesn’t, and Nakoa’ll end up with none of the blanket instead.

Rem stands in the threshold to the bathroom, though, and Nakoa glances up at him, just once, before turning back to the task at hand.

“I mean it,” Rem says.

Means what? “Sure.” T-shirt, underwear. It’ll work. Someday, when Nakoa’s not counting every penny, he’ll buy Rem some new clothes, fi him back in with the style.

Nakoa, though. He needs a job, first. Something simple, something under the table. A stable place in LA, or somewhere else, because he and Rem are living off of gas station snacks and Nakoa’s stomach is protesting bite of food he eats.

But every mile between him and Withervale feels a little more like flying

He gives Rem his clothes, and before he can turn away, Rem’s fingers reach out, wrap around his wrist. His voice is soft, unlike him, when he says, “Nakoa,” and Nakoa looks up, studies the lines in Rem’s face, the curve of his cheekbones, the arch of his eyebrows.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he lifts a shoulder in a shrug and holds uncertainty deep in his chest like an old friend. Rem strokes his thumb down Nakoa’s wrist, and there’s a short glimpse of a smile before he lifts one hand, the one holding his towel, and pulls Nakoa in, forehead to forehead, whiskey strong on his breath.

Nakoa breathes it in, lets his eyes fall close as the towel unravels at Rem’s feet, as Rem closes the distance between them.

Rem tastes like whiskey, like freedom, like betrayal, but Nakoa can’t complain if he tastes like someone else. He accepts the kiss for whatever it is, and pulls back. Taps his fingers against Rem’s chest and says, “I’m pretty tired, man.”

It’s not a denial, but Rem’s different, shitfaced, whiskey heavy on his lips and in his limbs, and Nakoa likes him normal, likes him sober, likes the way he lingers. Often, Nakoa wonders if he imagines the lingering.

He doesn’t question it. But the stark difference between sober and drunk feels like night and day, and Nakoa would rather not.

If Rem asks, the answer is yes. But Nakoa prefers not giving him the opportunity to ask. It’s easier to deny him.

Sometime in the night, Rem wakes and vomits over the side of the bed. Nakoa m, eyes heavy with sleep, says nothing. Presses himself against Rem’s back when he’s done, wracking his brain for a song. Settles in on “Friday I’m in Love” after he decides The Clash might be too fast.

His forehead is sweaty against Rem’s shoulder blades. But he doesn’t pull away, keeps humming for Rem well after the song is through, continuing with Modern English and Simple Minds.

“You don't have to do this.”

Nakoa doesn’t falter in his humming, just drops a hand over Rem’s waist and tugs him in.

He pressed his mouth against Rem’s skin, not like a kiss, bur as much like one as he dares. He hums, holds Rem’s denial behind his teeth, doesn’t answer.

-

“Clutch,” Rem says, pressing on Nakoa’s left knee. “Middle is brake. Right’s gas.” He taps the gear shift. “So, driving. Ease off the gas a bit, onto the clutch, shift, off the clutch, onto the gas.”

Nakoa blinks. His heart beats, strong and steady in his chest. “And to move?”

Rem’s voice holds its tone when he speaks, walks Nakoa through the steps. The car stalls under Nakoa’s guidance the first three times, but Rem pushes him forward, encouragement heavy in his words, and Nakoa’s chest swells with pride when he can finally drive his way across the parking lot.

They traded in the junker for this piece of shit, more torn up than the last. It smells like weed and vomit and pine trees, but it gets better mileage, and the speakers aren't blown out, and Rem won fifteen hundred in a bet on the game two nights ago.

The Earth feels less like Jello beneath Nakoa's feet.

Rem grips his thigh when Nakoa turns through the parking lot, pleased as he lets out a yell, and—oh.

Nakoa kills the engine, and the car comes to a slow stop. “Fuck.”

But Rem waves it away. “It’s great! Shit, I burnt out Billi’s clutch the first time I tried—” But at the mention of his mother, Rem’s expression falls. He shoves open the door, says, “Enough for today.”

They’re in Utah. Have been for a few days, after replacing the windshield in Colorado, after Jenna.

Yesterday, Nakoa got inexplicably homesick, stared at a payphone for five minutes, and convinced himself not to call.

Barely.

They settle into each other’s seats. The beauty of this van, Nakoa realizes, is that it isn’t; an old, clunker of a beast, with the back seats torn out and a sunroof modded in. Except for showers, they don’t need motels anymore.

Their trip got a hell of a lot cheaper. And, heading into LA, Nakoa��s not sure how far their money will go.

Relieved to be out of the driver’s seat, back under Rem’s practiced hand, Nakoa reaches for the cigarettes and lights up.

His voice echoes. “Think we can find a mattress?”

“One that isn’t covered in shit or blood?” Rem shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”

They do; kind of. They definitely find the mattress. An old, stained old thing from an old woman in the city, who’s upgrading for her and her husband. She takes one look at the van, one look at Nakoa and Rem, and pats Rem’s hand with a twinkle in her eye. “I expect you boys will get plenty of use out of it.”

She winks at Nakoa, and Nakoa offers her an uncertain smile. Rem looks like his head is going to blow off if she doesn’t let go of it.

The manhandle the mattress into the back of the van after Nakoa hands over the twenty. The mattress isn’t stained, isn’t old, but it’s floral and weak and smells of mothballs, and when Nakoa shuts the door to the passenger seat, it already reeks of old perfume in the van.

Rem sits next to him, quiet and pensive. Doesn’t start the van.

Nakoa waits, but ten minutes and he’s still sitting there. “What?”

“What’d she mean by that?”

By… what? “Who?”

“Getting use out of it. That’s not fucked up to you?”

For the— “Rem, she probably meant with girls.”

“…Right.”

“You’re really worried about what some random old woman has to say about shit?” Nakoa’s not exactly out and proud, but this isn’t under his skin. Rem picks at what’s left of the polish on his nails, his body tense and unforgiving. “Rem.”

“Never mind.”

He’s ashamed, then; that’s what that means. His mothers, he has mothers, and he still feels shame. Nakoa’s own family makes jokes at the expense of people like them, has told him that if one of their children was queer they’d set them straight, and Rem’s the one sitting here worried about what this old woman thinks of them.

But it’s not anger that courses through Nakoa’s veins, thinking that. Instead, confusion muddles his brain. He tries to think of something, anything, to make him feel better, but there’s nothing. Not words, anyway. Nakoa licks his lips, he’s about to suggest that they go to a park, or an abandoned parking garage or something and they can christen the new mattress, but Rem puts the van gear and drives off.

They hit up a department store for the sheets, and Nakoa spends twenty minutes glaring at on-sale camping gear trying to find sleeping bags that don’t look like shit while Rem searches for pillows, and Nakoa feels the weight of his remaining money in his pocket like a brick.

He’s not sure how much is left. Between the van, the motels, food, Nakoa’s sure it’s dwindling. Rem says nothing, just brings home dinner, whiskey, less and less every day.

 Nakoa buys the blankets. What else are they supposed to do—go back home?

They find a place on an empty road, far from the city, that night, coyotes howling in the distance, a small campfire built out of the back end of the van. Rem hangs his legs off the van, stares up at the sky. A bottle of whiskey sits between his legs. Bowie plays softly in the background.

Nakoa’s not sure of the last time he’d been this happy. In Utah, of all places, so far from home that Withervale feels like a separate fucking planet.

In the clear night, the glow of the crackling fire, Nakoa wonders if Rem would agree. If he seems happy, or if he is happy. Rem never fucking talks to him, tells him to fuck off if Nakoa gets too close. If he missteps. He’s a jackass.

Nakoa’s afraid of how much he likes him anyway. If, once they get to LA, if Rem will enjoy it. If he’ll enjoy it too much.

He reaches for the whiskey, pleased by the noise Rem makes as he goes for it. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Rem’s laugh comes stark and surprising, echoes across the empty space, and Nakoa wants to kiss him until he feels that warmth through his entire body. “Probably the only thing I can get up right now.”

Snorting, Nakoa lifts the whiskey to his lips, savors the taste, the taste, and heat that pools in his stomach. “This is,” he says, but doesn’t know what he wants to say. Captivated by the stars, by the scenery. But Rem’s quiet, comforting presence beside him—

Nakoa wants to kiss him. Press him into the flowery, old mattress behind them and undress him, kiss down his chest and blow him, press into him until Nakoa’s name rests on his lips soft and tense. Until Rem clenches his teeth and his groan comes from his chest and.

Fuck. He wants, so much, to make Rem feel so good that he forgets what the world has done to him. 

“I’ve thought about living off the land before. Away from the city. Own a little farm or something.” An orchard. Some goats. Chickens, the modern dinosaurs they are, and Nakoa presses his finger against the ankylosaurus tattoo on his side. Thinks back to the artist that did it for him, briefly, and what he’s doing.

If he remembers Nakoa at all.

“Get the fuck away from people,” Rem says. He sounds tired, now, drunk. He hops from the van and kicks dirt over the fire. It’s dark enough that Nakoa can’t make out Rem’s features without direct light.

“Yeah.” But not Rem. “Dunno. Don’t wanna get kicked in the head, either.” Doesn’t want to give Rem up. He holds that deep inside his chest, though, locked away where he hopes Rem won’t find it, where Nakoa himself won’t be tempted to look.

When Rem says nothing, Nakoa crawls up the mattress, knees scraping the cool metal of the floor of the van. He tugs one of the sleeping bags over his body, presses his face into his pillow and sighs.

He’s not sure when Rem shuts the door and joins him, but Rem lies there, on his back, until Nakoa’s loopy with exhaustion and alcohol, and on the verge of sleep. Nakoa hears him say, “I—”

And then Nakoa passes out.

[linernotesandseasons]

My 18 Favorite Albums of 2018

Well...Here it is again! 2018 was a...YEAR. One of the toughest I’ve had so far. But full of hard work, growth, challenges, & little victories. Here are some of the albums that soundtracked it. 18 releases that I loved & supported. Songs that helped me make it through. For the seventh year in a row...My favorite albums. Listed here in no particular order (unless you know/enjoy the english alphabet). Top 5 are probably Monae, Rainbow Kitten Surprise, Field Report, McEntire, & Liza Anne, in that order. Music marks time & space. These are the ones for this year. Enjoy! 

AMERICAN TRAPPIST   /   Tentanda Via

       We start our 2018 journey in a comfortingly familiar place with the second official full length album from Toms River, New Jersey’s American Trappist. His self-titled debut made my 2016 favs list and his old band River City Extension (top 5 reunion tour wish list for sure!) were second to Fun. on my list way back in 2012. Safe to say Joe Michelini is one my favorite songwriters of the last 10 years. Lucky for us, 2018 found Michelini writing equal parts depressing & uplifting boardwalk rock & roll for/from the underdog/underground. Tentanda Via (Latin for “the way must be tried”) is a blast of an album; full of horns, drums (both jazzy & rock & roll-y!), inspired piano, & Michelini at the helm sounding altogether confident in his existential breakdowns. To me this reads like a coming-of-age album at heart (the way must be tried!), but a deeper, wiser sort of unraveling. A mid-30′s rock opus about learning to live with yourself. Learning how to make yourself better. These songs are inspiring and mix more than a little Springsteen ethos (maybe it’s the horns?!) with some late 90′s/early 2000′s emo/indie/alternative etc...

The straightforward rockers “Death Wish” & “Nobody’s Gonna Get My Soul” bookend the nine track album with surprisingly nimble & crunchy electric riffs and off-the-charts energy! In between, the mid tempo drive of “Getting Even” & “Don’t Get In” lets Michelini’s emotional writing really shine. The words jump out of the songs, full of passion, desperation, & an urgency that makes me glad people are still making records like this. There’s also a unholy, weird interlude that you have to hear to believe called “Unfresh Dirtwolf.” American Trappist is a band that came from the ashes of another band. A band that seems reluctant to tour West of...Ohio. A band that stays under the radar. Michelini has been writing some of my favorite songs for awhile & it feels good growing older together. Here’s hoping for a new one of these every other (or just every?!) year for me to belt along to with the windows down in my Subaru. Joe, if you’re listening out East, don’t stop. This is why I love music. 

       “Driving through my hometown I feel the peace of the Lord / Ride up behind me on a blind dream from my childhood / Looking back again, it’s hard to understand / Getting older, I guess I do / Waiting on some waking dream like it might find you...”

BLACK BELT EAGLE SCOUT   /   Mother of My Children

       I bought Black Belt Eagle Scout’s debut album at Twist & Shout Records the day it came out. I think I loved the cover art and the idea of Katherine Paul’s solemnly solo rock album, recorded in the dead of Winter in rural Washington, sounding like just what I wanted in my headphones to face the Fall. Then (as so often happens) I got a text a month later from my partner at 12:27am that read simply...

“I’m okay. Going to bed meow. Listen to Black Belt Eagle Scout.” 

From there we took Mother of My Children on a snowy road trip to Durango, Colorado. Crisscrossing mountain passes through snowstorms, & visiting Mesa Verde National Park, we let Paul’s earnest, determined, & emotional songs, sweep us into the gray. All this to say that this album has already marked some pretty specific time & place for me. There is a starkness to these songs, a simplicity that makes the songwriting stand alone. Where lesser lyricists would be revealed as phonies (or simply bad) Katherine Paul’s stark, powerful words are illuminated by her minimalist production. With a rhythmically mournful 80′s/90′s emo touch (for more modern emo fans I might even hear a little Manchester Orchestra) Paul doesn’t pull any punches. The guitar gets delightfully heavy on the outro to six minute epic opener “Soft Stud” and then twirls & spirals with the drums in the entrancingly sad “I Don’t Have You in My Life.” This is an important album for Paul to have written and there is a great power in her words. Oh also... she plays every instrument on the album!?! Guitar, bass, drums, vibraphone, keyboard, organ, various percussion, & all vocals. Very Vagabon. Very Caroline Rose (spoiler alert!)! With our world on fire, and full of threats (from our own government) to native lands & native people, it’s increasingly important to listen to and hear/heed the words and writings of people like Paul; a radical, indigenous, queer, feminist from Oregon. Thanks for speaking out KP. Listen to Black Belt Eagle Scout. 

       “Do you ever notice what surrounds you? When it’s all bright & tucked under / Do you ever notice what’s around you? When it’s all right under our skin...”

CAMP COPE   /   How To Socialise & Make Friends

       Camp Cope is a GREAT band name. Camp Cope is a REALLY GREAT band. Camp Cope has a wit & an attitude that is so punk rock, so genuine, & How To Socialise & Make Friends is a powerful album. Hailing from Melbourne, Australia, Camp Cope rides a practiced garage-y sound and lead singer & lyricist Georgia Mac’s passionate howl and impressive writing. As someone who grew up on early 2000′s pop-punk, emo, & alternative (something I guess I probably regret more often than celebrate. Because toxic masculinity & white male fragility) there is something so bittersweetly nostalgic in these chord progressions, the earnest electric strums, the yell-sing vocals, that takes me back to high school. Georgia Mac has a way with words, sliding them in & out, over cascading, steady strums, & then sometimes building them up to a frantic yelling. These are songs that sound as if they had to come out, had to be sung this way, like no one else could write or sing them. With an equally muscular rhythm section, “The Opener” attacks music industry sexism head on (if you haven’t seen Camp Cope live, it is chill inducing hearing a whole room belt along to every word) with a bass riff that could fly a jetliner. The three members interact so well together musically and everything from the driving “UFO Lighter” to the lilting “Sagan, Indiana” sounds tightly rehearsed. Equally passionate in their social media presence and their willingness to engage and fight for social justice issues, Camp Cope represents the future. Bands like this are changing the game right now and it’s exciting to hear it in real time. 

When I close my eyes for a second, as the title tracks rings out and the gorgeously, lightly sad “The Face of God” ambles in, I’m 17 again. I’m driving for the first time, crying at the moon by myself or laughing with my friends. I’m a freshman in college, skipping my Friday classes (and braving mountain passes!) headed west, headed home. Then I snap awake and I’m 32, it’s Winter here and Georgia bellows “Just get it all out, put it in a song. Just get it all out, write another song!” Thanks Camp Cope. This album is special. 

       “It’s another all-male tour preaching equality / It’s another straight, cis man who knows more about this than me / It’s another man telling us we’re missing a frequency / SHOW ‘EM KELLY / It’s another man telling us we can’t fill up the room / It’s another man telling us to book a smaller venue / Nah, hey, cmon girls we’re only thinking about you / Well, see how far we’ve come not listening to you / ‘Yeah just get a female opener, that’ll fill the quota’...”

CAROLINE ROSE   /   Loner

       It took Caroline Rose four years from her weirdly rootsy-riffy debut album to find her true self, but Loner sounds every bit like an artist comfortable in their own skin & confident in their craft. Dialing up the synths, fuzz, and brilliantly tongue-in-cheek lyrics, Rose touches on all the big topics: drugs, death, sex (ism), and money! with a casual, conversational songwriting maturity that belies her 28 year old sophomore-ness. Favorites include “Jeannie Becomes a Mom” (check out that bouncy organ!), the steady build & twisty, head-turning songwriting of “Getting To Me,” & the electro warp & wend of “To Die Today.” I was finally convinced into falling for this album when my partner played it three times (or was it six?) back-to-back-to-back on a rainy Summer Sunday afternoon drive from Granby, CO back into Denver. Something about the pacing; the complex, yet immediate song structures that leave you wanting more. These are songs of tested confidence. But shining through it all, Rose is a wild card. A red clad rockstar with a palpable spirit, not afraid to wear her heart on her sleeve & laugh a little along the way. Loner is full of dance jams for the cool kids & the loners. At its core it preaches acceptance, and teaches us to love ourselves & love each other for who we are. Go Caroline! See you in a month in LA! 

       “Waitress sets the tables, two & four & six / Laying placemats, knife, fork, spoon, upon napkin / All the counter people, she knows us all by name / A counter people fission, everywhere we are the same... / & so you line ‘em up, a single cell, another one gone / Ostracon vase with your name on the line...”

FIELD REPORT   /   Summertime Songs

       At some point during this year I begin to realize how important beloved songwriters releasing new works is always going to be to me, I was falling (& re-falling) for new works from long time favs Calexico, Gregory Alan Isakov, Florence & The Machine, & of course Phosphorescent. But somehow it was Field Report’s third release Summertime Songs that stuck and became perhaps the most meaningful of all. I fell in love with Field Report in the midst of a hard, hard winter (2012 I think). Their sophomore album Marigolden has been a constant companion since 2014. I first heard this set of songs (the ones that comprise Summertime) in the June of 2017, sweating in the familiar Eau Claire, Wisconsin heat. Hearing a set of 100% new, unreleased material is exciting and also kind of a risk. After the set I wrote that the new tunes “Sound like June. Like wet cement & flash floods. Like swollen rivers & mosquitos full of hard fought human blood. Like growing older & having kids. Intimate details stretched over skittery, percussive thunderclouds. Like grabbing an electric fence. Digging in &...replanting.” I was 100% in it. On a high in Wisconsin & falling deeper in love with music. Then Field Report went mostly silent & we had to wait till early 2018 to get the recorded versions. Adding even more drums (Shane Leonard deserves a shout-out here as a killer pocket player!) some electronic effects, and ramping up on the arm-out-the-rolled-down-window singalongs definitely serves Chris Porterfield (did you know the name Field Report is just an anagram of his last name?!) well. Whoever it was who asked him “why don’t you try Summertime songs” was on the right track. His songwriting is as electric as always on this set of heartbreakers & as usual he follows a lot the same threads. His lyrics here are visceral, wordy, & wise, & i can feel the songs growing up with me. Sometimes I lead, sometimes they lead me, but we always seem to find each other exactly when we need to. 

       “Time is a bird with a mean, hooked beak / & he’s just waiting around to work on you & on me... / Shotgun wedding, black on blue / The river’s swelling like a bruise...”

H.C. McENTIRE   /   Lionheart

       Heather McEntire has been carving out a name for herself in the North Carolina music scene for years fronting old-school punk band Bellefea & more recently, the much loved Mount Moriah. But way way back in January, Lionheart roared in under her own name; all ferocious & tender, confident & wild. A true southern record, Lionheart is vocal & lyric forward. From the Sunday morning hymn swell of opener “A Lamb, A Dove,” to the driving swing of “Baby’s Got the Blues,” & the late night, red wine country of “When You Come For Me.” McEntire enlists all her talented musical friends on this effort. There are co-writes with the legendary Kathleen Hanna of Bikini Kill (whom McEntire credits with helping her find her individual voice), bgvs from Amy Ray (Indigo Girls), Angel Olsen, & Tift Merrit, & inspired guitar work from William Tyler & Durham favorite Phil Cook!

Through it all, McEntire stays true to the thread that made Mount Moriah’s “How To Dance” one of my 2016 favs. Lionheart exudes the smells & scenery of North Carolina and reads like a map at times, referencing points from Stoney Creek to the Green River Gorge. Some of my favorite songs written over the last five years (or ever) have a very strong (& often specific) idea of place. If country music is going to representative of the country that I want to live in, it’s going to be sung by people like Heather McEntire.  A powerful queer southern woman; vulnerable & brave, a true Lionheart. 

       “You’ll find me in the hollow, dosing anything that might / Make the map look any smaller, give me a dog in the fight / So call it off or call it God, call it anything you like / Do you see it in my eyes? / A levee on the rise, do you see it? / The tellin’ ain’t told gently, so pay your tab & pay your dues / The dogwood & the chicory & a silent wood stove flue / Your baby’s got the blues just like you...”

iZCALLi   /   IV

       I was late to the party on Izcalli (a band from my own city!) and when I found them, it was magical, I think they were playing an opening set for Jessica Hernandez & The Deltas at Lost Lake and I probably stumbled in late from PS Lounge or Tommy’s Thai to shredding electric guitar & ska, latin funk, & pure Led Zepplin Rock & Roll. Frontman Miguel Avina was howling & stomping in Freddy Mercury-meets-Mariachi white pants, his long curly hair everywhere, all energy. I was immediately hooked. Calling them my favorite local band and finally getting to put them on this end of the year list. Izcalli joins some pretty good “local band” company here on linernotes&seasons. From Nina De Freitas’ EP last year; Yawpers, Covenhoven, & Rateliff in 2015, to Isakov & Covenhoven in 2013 & The Lumineers all the way back in 2012! Izcalli has been playing around Denver for 13 years and have slowly built up enough of a following to headline the Bluebird Theater last year. Their fourth album (aptly titled IV) comes out swinging and showcases plenty of heavy power chord riffs, violin, horn, & songs in both English & Spanish. Their heavier, more classic rock influenced songs (”Lightning Red” & “Eso Velocidad”) absolutely explode with fiery lead guitar and inspired drumming. When they dial it back and let their Mexican influences show through, like on the eerily crunchy, violin led “Quite de Mas” and the woozy saxophone breakdown of “Solo Se Morir,” they showcase depth and a real songwriting ability. There is an almost Muse-like thunder to the monstrous organ riff of “A New Lie” and closer “Si Estoy Contigo” sends everybody out dancing. With influences from all over (most notably their homeland Mexico City) & a live show that’s not to be missed, Izcalli embodies everything I think of when I think of a true Denver band. 

       “A frozen heart in me turned out to be my one way home / I swear I’ll leave, I’ll drive myself down to Mexico...”

JANELLE MONAE   /   Dirty Computer

       Dirty Computer is my favorite album of 2018. Much like my favorite album last year (Lorde’s Melodrama) no one was as simultaneously honest & excavating in their personal songwriting; while still writing such absolutely shredding club bangers, as Janelle Monae. Dirty Computer acts as a coming out party of sorts for the 32 year Kansas City-ian, although, to be fair, her first two albums had already scored her Grammy nominations and the stamp of approval from Prince, Eryakah Badu, & Michelle Obama. Her debut The ArchAndroid and her followup The Electric Lady, found her creating elaborate alter egos, protest songs, and complex, critically acclaimed song cycles about life as a black woman in America. With Dirty Computer she is able to hold multiple titles at once. Schizophrenically on top of her game, tying all her alter egos together with stellar production, monster vocals, and some of the best, most interesting pop songs since...well...maybe since Prince. From the Brian Wilson assisted eerie sci-fi sweetness of stage setting opener “Dirty Computer,” she lets loose on some of her most fun, live-a-little anthems “Crazy, Classic Life,” and “Take a Byte.” Deeply personal, political, & inspiring “Django Jane” is stunning, & sets the stage for mega back-to-back singles “Pynk” & “Make You Feel.” Songs of my (and everybody else’s) Summer for sure. “I Got The Juice,” is light & bouncy, & personal favorite “I Like That” is rebellious & rides an immediately memorable instrumental into one helluva vocal take from Monae. She makes a political statement in closing with the anthem “Americans,” (anybody else think this one especially sounds like a lost Prince track?) but her strength is her ability to be both personal & political; a true diva with a purpose. These songs are Janelle creating and sounding exactly how she wants, pushing the limits of what a superstar can do, Her show at the Paramount in July was a highlight for me, and Dirty Computer is hands down my album of the year. 

       “Box office numbers & they doin’ outstanding, running out of space in my damn bandwagon / Remember when they use to said I look too mannish? / Black girl magic yall can’t stand it...”

LIZA ANNE   /   Fine But Dying

       In a year where I seemed to gravitate to albums & songs about living in, and growing through, mental health issues; Liza Anne’s blistering (and epically titled!) Fine But Dying was definitely a top five album for me. A gifted songwriter, Dying finds Anne finally letting it out with a heavy band, a light touch, & a deep dive into the insecurities & struggles that seemed to be (gulp) some of the same ones I was going through this year. Songs about conversations, relationships (both romantic & platonic), and most importantly, about examining & improving yourself. No one on this list unpacks, observes, and mines their own heart & mind as well or as deeply as Anne does across these 11 tracks. When she really cuts loose, like in the ballistic breakdown of “Kid Gloves,” the fuzzy crunch of “Get By,” or the spiraling, swirling (& also epically titled!) “I Love You, But I Need Another Year” she shines. Fine But Dying is wise beyond its years and a no-holds-barred, place-in-time look at mental health & how we should all be addressing our issues & working things out. Her show at Globe Hall here in Denver back in April was cathartic, thoughtful, & one of my favorite of this year for sure. Yay for fearless songwriters, Yay for rock & roll. Fuck yeah Liza Anne!

       “I ran once, took my flight across the ocean / I thought if I could make my way across the sea I’d find a place / Now I’m swallowed up by a city that doesn’t give a fuck / To whether I am up on time / Or whether if I am, well...alive / & I’m so good - getting too good at hiding / Too good at keeping to myself that I’m spiraling...”

MESHELL NDEGEOCELLO   /   Ventriloquism

       I think it was “Atomic Dog 2017″ that first caught my ear at some point last year. I didn’t know Meshell Ndegeocello, but I knew that what I was hearing was classic. The off-kilter guitar strums slithering into that bass drop, finally settling into a steady groove, that melody appearing (seemingly out of nowhere) into a rolling, & instantly recognizable chorus. Next thing I know I’m googling George Clinton and off into an 80′s funk youtube rabbit hole. A covers album to stand up to any other covers album, Ndegeocello has a masterpiece on her hands in both song selection & creativity. In a year where she turned 50, the sneakily titled Ventriloquism is her 12th studio album, Inspired by listening to oldies radio on car rides to her childhood home, influenced by Prince & Neil Young; Ventriloquism is a super smooth revamp of 80s & 90s R&B. What Ndegeocello does so seamlessly on Ventriloquism is take these songs and make them flow as a part of a whole. There is light in the darkness here. There are threads of continuation here. An appreciation for those who came before, those who paved the way. Ndegeocello is a true artist and these reinterpretations not only nod to classic songs & artists, but dig out their own little important niche in 2019. 

       “Sometimes it snows in April / Sometimes I feel so bad, so bad / Sometimes I wish life was never ending / & all the good things they say, never last / Springtime was always my favorite time of year / A time for lovers holding hands in the rain...”

MIYA FOLICK   /   Premonitions

       Every year I wait till the last minute (and beyond!) to finish this list. I write it up in November & December, agonizing & filling out what I think are my favorite albums (18 this time!) of the year. I enjoy whittling the list down to a manageable number, but I also enjoy reading everyone else’s lists; finding new finds & hearing what other people liked. Then, sometime in the middle of December, I am knocked out by something I missed over all the year of listening & reading. This year it is MIYA FOLICK! I was given a wintry new year’s mix of goodbye 2018 (and F*** you!) tunes from my partner (which I will probably post & write about sometime as soon as I finish posting this because it is goooood), and track 9 of that spotify mix. Bouncy horns, a killer beat, & lyrics that cut right to me but leave me smiling. Rhyming “self home” with “cellphone”?! Singing about leaving the party?! Yesssss!. This is for me! On deeper listens, Premonitions is a goddamn masterpiece. Starting slowly & melodically, openers “Thingamajig” and the title track are captivating, then it unexpectedly explodes into 80′s dance bangers about half way through. Most of the album is deeply personal and self examining, finding Folick digging into to her own weaknesses & fears, without always settling on answers. She is vulnerable yet grand; part Lorde, part Florence, part Stevie NIcks, part Regina Spektor...All Miya. At its core, Premonitions celebrates life, celebrates the little victories. If you want to know/hear what that sounds like, maybe I should let you read from Miya’s bandcamp page...

       “Premonitions begins with ‘Thingamajig’ -- something you can't quite recall the name of, but you know exactly what it means and what it feels like. Like the pull of desire that comes with not quite remembering fully. The magnetism of something just on the tip of your tongue. I wanted the album to feel like that thing.

I think a lot about about memory-making as an act of creation, the words we use to describe a memory give shape to and sometimes mutate the memory itself. I believe that the way we choose to describe the events of our lives is not only a means of creative fulfillment, but an absolutely vital part of creating the world we want to live in. When we are dishonest in the present, we create a dishonest future. When we are honest in the present, we create a more honest future. I wanted this album to be the vehicle for a hopeful, truthful, generous, and loving world. I tried not to posture or pretend. I wrote about my life as I've seen it and how I'd like to see it, as both memory and premonition.

The producers, Justin Raisen and Yves Rothman, and I spent months collecting organic sounds to fill the world of this record. We threw away everything that felt false and tried to keep the soul of each song alive. I hope Premonitions gives you comfort and joy. I hope it feels like all the mysterious details of your lives, all your massive and mundane glories. I hope it reminds you that there is beauty in the details. Rainbows in your sprinklers. Drinking water from a hose. The way it felt to make a friend for the first time. Locking yourself in a bathroom to avoid everyone. Dancing until your shins burn. Leaving your phone in an Uber and making your best friend drive you an hour away to knock on a stranger's door after locating it on Find My Phone. Losing a friend. Losing yourself. Remembering...”

MT. JOY   /   Mt. Joy

I had almost finished making this list and nearly forgot about an album that marked a month-plus in the Spring when I listened to almost nothing else! Philly by way of LA’s Mt. Joy debut with an album that blends sunny California folk & smoothed out east coast pop-emo, into easy listening, easy singing indie rock. Named after a mountain in Valley Forge National Park (SE Pennsylvania); Mt. Joy’s songs similarly find geographic touch points across the US, making this a true road trip record. Multiple California references (San Fran, Mulholland, Hollywood, the ocean), make their way down to New Orleans, and end up on the east coast (”blood on the streets in Baltimore” & “the beaches of Chincoteague”). Without breaking any new musical ground, Mt. Joy sounds comfortable & confident, and their songs play bigger & stickier than your average radio friendly pop-saturated-folk. When the title track hits its festival ready build (”you can’t stop us, feel like Ziggy Stardust”) you’ll have a hard time not rolling down your window and singing along. “Way up over Mt, Joy. Where everyone’s free now. To move how they feel now.”

       “Your life will change straight out of the blue / The clouds in your mind just passing through / Image the horses when you set ‘em free / Go tear down the beaches of Chincoteague...”

NONAME   /   Room 25 (& Song 31)

       Room 25 kicks in innocently enough: smoothly humming wordless voices, steady drums, & jazzy piano flourishes. Like a lazy Sunday morning. Noname (Chicago’s 27 year old Fatimah Warner) introduces herself with a laid back, matter-of-fact, stream of consciousness “maybe this is the album you listen to in your car when you’re driving home late at night, really questioning every god, religion...” But then she says something that should make you pay attention. 

“Nah. Actually this is for me.” 

That creative confidence. That freedom, defines the rest of her album. No matter how much critical acclaim Room 25 racks up (I saw this album on a ton of end of the year lists!), no matter how downright fun & laugh out loud funny her breakneck rhymes are, this one is for Noname. I mean, you can still download (aka OWN...like for your ipod!) the whole album on bandcamp FOR FREE! Following in Chance’s footsteps, it’s free mp3s for people like meeee! Raised in Chicago’s slam poetry scene, she dabbles here in downtempo, smoothed out, futuristic jazz & soul. All the while she is unapologetically herself. Her words tripping over each other, too many thoughts, too much energy, too much passion to hold in. A clear blockbuster talent. One of my favorite new finds from last year’s Eaux Claires festival, her late afternoon set up on the hill was radiant & joyful. The artwork I used here is from her early 2019 single “Song 31,” as she has pledged to change the official Room 25 cover art, due to assault charges leveled in October against the artist who did the original cover. “I do not and will not support abusers, and I will always stand up for victims & believe their stories.” Noname said, and she has been proven to be as vocal in her personal life as she is on tape. As she says in the uplifting “Ace...” 

“Globalization is scary, and fuckin’ is fantastic” And yall still thought a bitch couldn’t rap huh?...

       “When labels ask me to sign, say ‘my name don’t exist’ / So many names don’t exist / Moved into Inglewood & the trauma came with the rent / Only worldly possession I have is life / Only room that I died in was 25... 

Medicine’s overtaxed, no name look like you / No name for private corporations to send emails to / Cuz when we walk into heaven, nobody’s name gonna’ exist / Just boundless movement for joy, nakedness, radiance...”

RAINBOW KITTEN SURPRISE   /   How To: Friend, Love, Freefall

       Rainbow Kitten Surprise made one of my five favorite albums this year (and probably the one that I sang along to in the car more than any other!) Imagine Modest Mouse growing up in North Carolina, in the 2010′s, writing smart, anti-lumineers-imagine dragons tunes, and going on to play arenas & rock clubs alike. This Boone, NC (pop. 17,000) five piece crank out catchy pop rock tunes; equal parts funky basslines, ooohs & ahhhs, and deceptively clever lyrics about religion, the south, and relationships both platonic & romantic. Huge single “Fever Pitch�� rides rolling drums, background whoops, and finds charismatic frontman Sam Melo languidly recounting his religious upbringing and sing-rapping about getting to know you better. Other standouts include the acoustic blues (and Aha-Shake-era-Kings of Leon reminiscent!) “Painkillers,” the “Moon & Antarctica” rattletrap sing-song of “Possum Queen,” and the laugh-out-loud funny breakneck alternative pace of “Matchbox.” But it is song of the year contender “Hide” where Melo lays bare his feelings about growing up gay in a deeply religious south, when you get a peek at what Surprises these Rainbow Kittens are capable of. What starts as a bouncy love number takes a turn into some deep songwriting with “I’m running from a place where they don’t make people like me, I keep the car running, I keep my bags packed. I don’t wanna’ leave, just don’t wanna’ leave last.” This is Fruit Bats’ “Soon-to-be Ghost Town” written by someone who’s lived it. RKS packages it all up as emotional anthems, dancey-catchy choruse that stick, & an album that-while serious, is so damn fun to sing along to. They’ll be at Red Rocks next Summer so come hop on the bandwagon and get to know your new favorite band!

       “You’re a master of passive-aggressive magic tricks like “that’s not the card that I would’ve picked, but it’s your life to live like how you’d like to live...’”

SUN JUNE   /   Years

       Sun June’s debut record Years is an album that I never expected to be on this list, but one that pushed its way into my heart, ears, and mind a lot over the early Summer. I kept comparing it to Leif Vollebekk’s gorgeously haunting 2017 release Twin Solitude that made it on last year's list in that it managed to be rhythmically funky & interesting while being mostly SO quiet. Even the more “upbeat” numbers; from the gorgeously, golden swing of “Young,” to the steady backbeat of “Baby Blue” keep their composure meticulously. The writing is transfixing on Years and the band is so tight, with every member adding just the right amount of soft sound. I tried to explain it to somebody as music you have to “squint to hear.” It sounds good in the background, all sweet & rolling. But better up close, turned up in headphones. All together & bright. This is an album I would listen to sleepily, on my way home from work, driving Colfax in the first light of dawn at 5 in the morning. Sun June’s lack of an internet presence is refreshing (is there ANYWHERE I can find the lyrics for this album??!!), I think they’re from Texas, and I don’t think they’ve even played a show in Colorado yet! Regardless, Years is tied together with a quietly tight rhythm section, and Laura Colwell’s wispy vocals, grabbing at the edges of my brain, calmy insisting “Four in the morning, I could get used to this...”

       “I was almost always leaving / Looking for the reason / Bedside hospital daylight / I go with the Southern mountains / Down the 405, I’m coming tell me you don’t deserve this / I was young...”

TIERRA WHACK   /   Whack World

       I love me a good concept album, but even I would’ve thought that the idea of 15 one minute songs(complete with video accompaniment) making up an entire album, would be a tough sell. Whack World makes good on an innovative concept, delivering something breezy, catchy, & lasting, and making Tierra Whack one of my favorite new finds of 2018! My little sister showed her to me on a “Get-your-ass-to-the-gym” playlist and “Fruit Salad” was immediately stuck in my head for weeks. Mostly down-tempo, Whack is clearly a witty lyricist and creative mind, and at 23, a game changer in the music scene. Also an effortlessly cool, musical, badass. With almost no choruses, this is an album you can listen to over and over (and throw any tracks in mixes) without any clear singles. The bouncy gospel-tinged “Pet Cemetery” has hand claps & dog barks, and is followed immediately by the laugh-out-loud vocals of “Fuck Off.” Whack never takes herself too seriously (so many off the wall and laugh out loud funny vocals!) and the Philly native shows that one minute songs can turn a lot of heads and end up on a lot of end of the year best album lists! Whack World!

       “Crispy clean and crisp & clean / For the dough I go nuts like Krispy Kreme / Music is in my Billie genes / Can’t no one ever come between yeah / Don’t worry about me I’m doing good, I’m doing great, alright...”

TYPHOON   /   Offerings

       It seemed like a lifetime since Typhoon released their sophomore knockout, masterpiece album White Lighter back in 2013. I’ve grown a lifetime since, experienced everything since. In the first few weeks of January 2018, out of the darkness, out of the silence: came something darker, weirder, but still magical and at its core, celebratory. Typhoon is one of my all-time favorite bands, one of my favorite live shows, and frontman Kyle Morton writes about memory & loss, life & death, better than anybody in the game. With Offerings they have dropped the peppy horns, slimmed down to (only!) seven members, and zeroed in on the heavy, spiraling folk-rock that hearkens back a little to Bright Eyes or The Decemberists, Broken Social Scene or Arcade Fire. As a loose concept album, Offerings explores in four movements (Floodplans, Flood, Reckoning, & Afterparty) what happens to a mind stripped of memory. Or (side quest/plot/twist) a world willfully forgetting its history. From the hushed chanting that explodes into huge string swells, drums, and shouts of opener “Wake” to the rhythmic, glowing build of the 8 minute “Empricist,” to the mystical picking and ruminating of “Algernon” the first movement could almost stand as an album of its own. The rest of the album unravels at equal parts slow reflection (”Mansion” & “Beachtowel”) and sweeping indie rock (”Remember” & “Darker”). Although a lengthy (and at times not easy) listen, I think Offerings will go down as one of the most ambitious rock records of the last few years. 

       “& so the light fades / It’s still your birthday / So blow out your past lives like they’re candles on a cake...”

VALLEY MAKER   /   Rhododendron

       There is a mysticism buried somewhere in the emotive vocals & break-in-the-clouds writing of North Carolina by way of Washington State’s Valley Maker. Austin Crane is the singular voice behind the Valley Maker project, painting time & space on a dark, slippery canvas, and hiding complex truths in the rhythmic tides of Rhododendron. This ground has been tread before; by countless folk singers & prophets, wailing of death, dark magic, & the myriad mysteries of time, but Valley Maker understand their place in the linear and bring a modern take to ancient stories. Part War on Drugs-highway-drone (check the double yellow rattle of “Light on the Ground”), part Ben Howard’s-foggy-British-countryside (”Beautiful Birds Flying”), Crane writes songs that stick. They claw and seep their way into skin, into veins, and haunt in a way that echoes of the past. This is songwriting as a conduit. These stories are Crane’s, but they are older; tales told since religion begin. From the first lines of the roiling, dark sky opener (”time is just a game I play / it’s written on the ocean’s waves / circling beyond my brain / something I could not contain.”) to the uncertain give & take of the earthy “Seven Signs” (”I’m cutting in line but I haven’t decided...”) the writing is equal to the musicianship Crane and his backing band clearly have in spades. With Chaz Bear (Toro Y Moi) providing stellar percussion and Amy FItchette (who I was lucky enough to see sing with VM at the Doug Fir in Portland) lending absolutely haunting, otherworldly harmonies, Crane has depth beyond his strange tunings and bleep & bloop electric forests. Through it all there is a steady rhythm to the darkness and like in “Baby, In Your Kingdom” when he tops a wonderfully simple, acoustic walk-down with “Baby are you satisfied? Take a decade, take a lifetime, I know we’re always on a one way street...” there is a timeless beauty even in the mystery. Oh, and saxophone. Rhododendron has some great saxophone. 

       “Baby in the next life / I can touch you, I can ride the light / Goddamn I wan’t where I thought I’d be / 29. Burn the world around me & I hide / Baby in your kingdom / Sink my roots in, I’m a tall tree / I know, wind is gonna blow again / I know, when I am with you...I am known...”

[thepatriotsandwe]

Preview: Week 17, vs New York Jets

Sitting at 12-3 on the edge of the playoffs, the Patriots have an opportunity to seize the number one seed in the AFC playoffs with a victory over their divisional rival, the New York Jets.

Recent Previous Match-Ups

The Patriots have achieved victory over the Jets in every contest since 2015, but the Jets have played the Pats tough in that time frame. Earlier this year, Josh McCown and the Jets gave the New England squad all they had and lost a close one 24-17. The contest had shades of the Jets game in MetLife Stadium last season in which a, at the time, struggling Pats offense eeks out a victory (thanks to some late heroics by Chris Long) 22-17.

Other than a week 16 absolute annihilation at the hands of the Pats last year (41-3), the Jets have always put forth solid efforts in recent times against the Pats. In fact, putting aside that blowout, the largest margin of victory the Patriots have had over the Jets since 2013 is just seven points. 

A major difference, however, is the fact the Jets are going with Bryce Petty as their starting quarterback for this upcoming contest. Petty was also the starter during the aforementioned Christmas Eve blowout last season in favor of the Patriots (though he did get injured during the game and did not return) so the Pats must be licking their chops at another shot at the inexperienced Petty.

Current Team Trends

The Jets are not the worst team that the league has ever seen. The hype (anti-hype?) prior to this season ended up about as accurate as the claims that the Pats were going 19-0. The Jets are assuredly not good team, but they’re playing much better than anyone ever gave them credit, sitting at 5-10 entering the contest, and it could have been better than that if not for the Denver game.

Josh McCown played a solid season for the New York team, but his injury in the Denver game thoroughly halted any type of momentum gained from the previous week’s shocking victory over the Chiefs. Petty has looked awful at the position since taking over. He has completed just 47% of his passes for a touchdown and three interceptions. The team has lost their last two contests with Petty starting. Perhaps he just needs longer to develop, but it’s beginning to look like the Bryce Petty experiment was a total failure for the Jets.

For the Patriots, last week was a decisive showing over the Buffalo Bills. The Pats are flying high, and the emergence of the running attack has truly added layers to the Patriots offense. Simply put, when the Patriots are able to get Dion running in open space like last week, their offense is very capable of putting up 30 or more points. The defense being as clutch as they are in terms of scoring means that not many teams will have the ability to match the Patriots scoring in that instance.

Going up against a team not as motivated or as talented as the Bills should mean an easy end to the season for the Patriots, but the threat still must be taken seriously.

Key Players

New York

Robby Anderson - The twenty four year old receiver put together a hell of a season to this point. He’s 61 yards short of cracking 1,000, and has seven touchdown catches. He was a sporadic factor in the Jets offense in the last match up against the Patriots (12 targets, four catches for 76 yards), and with Kearse working through an ankle injury the Jets may be leaning more heavily on the young receiver. The receiver has seen a bulk of the Jets targets this season, and he’ll need a big day to get the Jets offense to open up enough to beat the Pats in Foxborough.

Bilal Powell - Simply put, Bryce Petty is not good enough to beat the Patriots with a pass-first offense. Petty has not shown any signs of being able to orchestrate a consistent drive, and his abysmal completion percentage is a big factor in this. The Jets will need to utilize their leading rusher, Powell, on early downs in order to ease the difficulty of Petty’s throws. If Petty is forced into third and long situations, anticipate turnovers and plenty of three and outs. Powell missed the last match up due to an injury, and the Jets rushing attack suffered because of it, so the 29 year old running back will need to get early yardage against an ailing Patriots linebacking unit.

Demario Davis - The Jets middle linebacker has been the highlight of the defense to this point, but that’s not necessarily a good thing. He’s the sack leader (which the middle linebacker position is typically not known for) with just five sacks on the season. The Jets have struggled mightily with their pass rush, totaling only 26 sacks going into the contest. Davis’ role will be a multi-layered one as a result. It will fall on him to slow down Dion Lewis and attempt to make the Patriots offense more dimensional, and he must get to the QB on obvious passing downs. The Jets simply have to generate pressure on Brady in order to have success on that side of the ball, and Davis very well might need to be the guy to do that.

New England

Dion Lewis - This has been stated already, so I’ll leave out the obvious. Dion has been an absolute workhorse for the Patriots in recent weeks which goes against everything that we saw and heard early in the season. With Burkhead and Gillislee already being ruled out (and the possibility of White missing an additional week), Lewis and Boldin will likely be the two running backs to see serious time against the Jets. Bolden has hardly played at the position this season, so one would anticipate Dion getting the call. 

Brandin Cooks - This may be more “wishful thinking” rather than an actual critical role, but Cooks had a great game against this Jets secondary in the last match up. He hauled in 6 passes for 94 yards including a 42 yard bomb from Brady. With how much the receiver’s production has dropped in recent weeks the Patriots might be looking to try and get him involved against a weaker defense to prepare him for the playoffs. 

James Harrison - This is a bit of a flashy pick, but I’m struggling to come up with members of the Pats that absolutely *need* to have a great game to win. Harrison could be a major factor for the Patriots due to injuries and the subsequent lack of depth at the position. Everyone anticipates that Harrison will be used exclusively as a passing down rusher, and with the injury to Eric Lee it could be the case that Harrison sees a lot of the field in said situations. If Harrison can get going this early, it will bode well for the Pats in the playoffs as pass rush has been an issue at points this season.

Injuries

The Jets have ruled out offensive tackle Brandon Shell, and tight end Austin Seferian-Jenkins has been given the doubtful designation. Seferian-Jenkins could be a significant loss for the Jets as he had success against the Patriots in the previous match up, and Bryce Petty needs all the short range targets he can get.

Questionable includes: Ex-Patriot defensive end Kony Ealy (who was a late addition to the injury report with a foot injury on Friday), running back Matt Forte, and running back Akeem Judd. 

Of those questionable, Forte looks to be the most significant one in doubt. He has not participated at any point this week in practice and is a significant factor in the short passing attack of the Jets.

For the Patriots, defensive lineman Alan Branch, running back Rex Burkhead, and running back Mike Gillislee have all been declared out for the game. Gillislee is a bit of a surprise as an injury was not apparent during last week’s game, but he has missed the entire week of practice with a knee injury.

Questionable includes: wide receiver Chris Hogan, defensive end Eric Lee, safety Devin McCourty, special teams gunner Matthew Slater, linebacker Kyle Van Noy, right tackle LaAdrian Waddle, and running back James White.

Eric Lee is trending towards not playing after missing practice on Friday with an ankle injury. The only other surprise is Devin McCourty, but it would appear he should be able to play after participating in practice all week (albeit limited). One would hope the Kyle Van Noy may be able to make his first start, but the Pats may elect to give him additional time off or play him in a limited capacity.

Predictions

As previously mentioned, the match ups against the Jets tend to be difficult for the Patriots, and history would tell you that this game could go down to the wire. The Patriots are battered, and may seek to sit key players working through injuries just to ensure they will be able to return in full capacity in the playoffs. However, I just don’t believe that is enough of an advantage for the Jets.

I cannot stress enough how terrible Bryce Petty has looked so far in his career, and I don’t believe Bilal Powell will be enough to make up for that. In addition, a lack of pass rush for the Jets means Brady should have plenty of time to find open targets against an already struggling secondary. I anticipate the Pats to win this one easily as they lock up the number one seed for the second straight year.

Final Score Prediction: Patriots 34 - Jets 10

[jobsearchtips02]

$130 Billion in Small-Business Aid Still Hasn’t Been Used

Owners are becoming reluctant to borrow from the federal Paycheck Protection Program. Some are even returning money.

Shelly Ross returned her $75,000 federal loan after concluding that her San Francisco business, Tales of the Kitty, wouldn’t be back soon.Credit…Anastasiia Sapon for The New York Times

June 10, 2020Updated 2: 07 p.m. ET

In April, when the federal government offered $349 billion in loans to small businesses reeling from government shutdown orders in the pandemic, the funding ran out in just 13 days, prompting Congress to swiftly approve a second round of $310 billion.

Small businesses have since grown more wary of taking the money.

As of Tuesday, more than $130 billion was left in the fund, known as the Paycheck Protection Program. Even more striking was the fact that on many days last month, more money was being returned than borrowed, according to data from the Small Business Administration, which is overseeing the program — highlighting its messy execution and confusing rules that deterred some small businesses from using the money.

Thousands of companies that got loans have sent the money back, according to lenders. For some owners, the program’s terms were too restrictive; for others, the criteria for loan forgiveness was too murky. Some public companies that received these loans returned them after a public outcry, and in the initial rush, some borrowers accidentally got duplicate loans that they, too, returned.

A total of around $12 billion was returned, Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin said at a Senate hearing on Wednesday. The amount of loans outstanding under the program dropped to $510.2 billion at the end of May, from $513.3 billion in the middle of the month, according to data from the Small Business Administration.

By Tuesday, the amount of approved loans had inched back up to $511.4 billion — indicating that changes Congress made to the program last week to make it less restrictive could be pushing more money out the door.

But obstacles remain. The program’s chaotic execution has “chilled the willingness of many small businesses to even apply for loans during the second round of P.P.P. funding, and has caused many businesses to return disbursed loans out of fear of doing something wrong,” Tony Wilkinson, the chief executive of the National Association of Government Guaranteed Lenders, a trade group, said last week at a hearing of the Pandemic Response Accountability Committee, an oversight group.

The turn of events is notable for a signature program of Congress’s $2.2 trillion coronavirus relief package, which only a couple of months ago was caught in an intense borrowing frenzy by desperate business owners. After all, small businesses are still in distress. Even as states begin to reopen, millions of stores around the country remain shuttered and could go out of business.

On Wednesday last week, Congress moved to loosen the program’s rules and give businesses more flexibility in spending their aid, and President Trump signed the bill on Friday. The change was widely praised by small-businesses advocacy groups and will help many borrowers.

The amended rules could help the remaining $130 billion move faster. “My expectation is that we will definitely see businesses that were on the sidelines now take it,” Mr. Mnuchin said.

But having the terms of their loans revised on the fly yet again — which has happened repeatedly since the program began in April — is a nightmare for borrowers as they struggle to salvage their companies.

“The boundaries move like a video game,” said Caren Griffin, the owner of Spa Universaire, a hotel spa in downtown Denver. Her business has been shut down since mid-March and won’t reopen until July, at the earliest.

Ms. Griffin was on the verge of returning her $66,272 loan because she didn’t think she would be able to use it within eight weeks, as the program originally specified. The new changes give her 24 weeks, allowing her more time to decide whether to use the money when — and if — she reopens.

She isn’t sure she will. Refitting her spa to comply with new safety guidelines will be expensive, and no one knows when customers will be willing to get high-touch services like massages and facials. Ms. Griffin, who is 63, wonders if she would be better off closing the business and retiring.

“I’m running through a dozen different scenarios for what our cash-flow structure might look like if we reopened with changes in our hours and services,” she said. “We won’t go back to normal. That’s clear.”

For many small businesses that depend on foot traffic, like restaurants and nail salons, even the more relaxed relief terms might not be enough.

“I cried the day I sent it back,” said Shelly Ross, the owner of Tales of the Kitty, a cat-sitting service in San Francisco, who recently gave up on using her $75,000 loan and returned the money. “I thought this would save my business, but I was worried about being financially ruined if it wasn’t forgiven, and no one could give me any real answers about that.”

Ms. Ross started Tales of the Kitty in 2003 and expanded it into a thriving venture with 14 employees and a packed schedule of 10,000 client visits a year. In March, her sales plummeted because of the pandemic, forcing her to lay people off.

To have their loans fully forgiven, companies must keep the same number of employees on the payroll as before the pandemic, at the same wages. That’s a hard bar to clear for business owners whose ventures remain shut. Ms. Ross expects her sales to stay slow at least through Thanksgiving.

The paycheck program was largely meant to keep workers off unemployment rolls by funneling money to their employers, and it made progress toward that goal. Job numbers released on Friday showed gains in industries that received small-business loans and suggested that the program had helped offset at least some of the economic damage caused by the shutdown.

More than 4.5 million companies, from solo gig workers and small restaurateurs to retailers and professional services firms with fewer than 500 employees, got help. For most, it was a lifeline.

But many lenders are ready to be done with the program. Even though the government will keep processing loans until June 30, Wells Fargo stopped taking new applications last month. So did many community banks, including OceanFirst, a regional bank in Toms River, N.J., that has lent $500 million to 3,000 businesses.

Updated June 5, 2020

Does asymptomatic transmission of Covid-19 happen?

So far, the evidence seems to show it does. A widely cited paper published in April suggests that people are most infectious about two days before the onset of coronavirus symptoms and estimated that 44 percent of new infections were a result of transmission from people who were not yet showing symptoms. Recently, a top expert at the World Health Organization stated that transmission of the coronavirus by people who did not have symptoms was “very rare,” but she later walked back that statement.

How does blood type influence coronavirus?

A study by European scientists is the first to document a strong statistical link between genetic variations and Covid-19, the illness caused by the coronavirus. Having Type A blood was linked to a 50 percent increase in the likelihood that a patient would need to get oxygen or to go on a ventilator, according to the new study.

How many people have lost their jobs due to coronavirus in the U.S.?

The unemployment rate fell to 13.3 percent in May, the Labor Department said on June 5, an unexpected improvement in the nation’s job market as hiring rebounded faster than economists expected. Economists had forecast the unemployment rate to increase to as much as 20 percent, after it hit 14.7 percent in April, which was the highest since the government began keeping official statistics after World War II. But the unemployment rate dipped instead, with employers adding 2.5 million jobs, after more than 20 million jobs were lost in April.

Will protests set off a second viral wave of coronavirus?

Mass protests against police brutality that have brought thousands of people onto the streets in cities across America are raising the specter of new coronavirus outbreaks, prompting political leaders, physicians and public health experts to warn that the crowds could cause a surge in cases. While many political leaders affirmed the right of protesters to express themselves, they urged the demonstrators to wear face masks and maintain social distancing, both to protect themselves and to prevent further community spread of the virus. Some infectious disease experts were reassured by the fact that the protests were held outdoors, saying the open air settings could mitigate the risk of transmission.

How do we start exercising again without hurting ourselves after months of lockdown?

Exercise researchers and physicians have some blunt advice for those of us aiming to return to regular exercise now: Start slowly and then rev up your workouts, also slowly. American adults tended to be about 12 percent less active after the stay-at-home mandates began in March than they were in January. But there are steps you can take to ease your way back into regular exercise safely. First, “start at no more than 50 percent of the exercise you were doing before Covid,” says Dr. Monica Rho, the chief of musculoskeletal medicine at the Shirley Ryan AbilityLab in Chicago. Thread in some preparatory squats, too, she advises. “When you haven’t been exercising, you lose muscle mass.” Expect some muscle twinges after these preliminary, post-lockdown sessions, especially a day or two later. But sudden or increasing pain during exercise is a clarion call to stop and return home.

My state is reopening. Is it safe to go out?

States are reopening bit by bit. This means that more public spaces are available for use and more and more businesses are being allowed to open again. The federal government is largely leaving the decision up to states, and some state leaders are leaving the decision up to local authorities. Even if you aren’t being told to stay at home, it’s still a good idea to limit trips outside and your interaction with other people.

What’s the risk of catching coronavirus from a surface?

Touching contaminated objects and then infecting ourselves with the germs is not typically how the virus spreads. But it can happen. A number of studies of flu, rhinovirus, coronavirus and other microbes have shown that respiratory illnesses, including the new coronavirus, can spread by touching contaminated surfaces, particularly in places like day care centers, offices and hospitals. But a long chain of events has to happen for the disease to spread that way. The best way to protect yourself from coronavirus — whether it’s surface transmission or close human contact — is still social distancing, washing your hands, not touching your face and wearing masks.

What are the symptoms of coronavirus?

Common symptoms include fever, a dry cough, fatigue and difficulty breathing or shortness of breath. Some of these symptoms overlap with those of the flu, making detection difficult, but runny noses and stuffy sinuses are less common. The C.D.C. has also added chills, muscle pain, sore throat, headache and a new loss of the sense of taste or smell as symptoms to look out for. Most people fall ill five to seven days after exposure, but symptoms may appear in as few as two days or as many as 14 days.

How can I protect myself while flying?

If air travel is unavoidable, there are some steps you can take to protect yourself. Most important: Wash your hands often, and stop touching your face. If possible, choose a window seat. A study from Emory University found that during flu season, the safest place to sit on a plane is by a window, as people sitting in window seats had less contact with potentially sick people. Disinfect hard surfaces. When you get to your seat and your hands are clean, use disinfecting wipes to clean the hard surfaces at your seat like the head and arm rest, the seatbelt buckle, the remote, screen, seat back pocket and the tray table. If the seat is hard and nonporous or leather or pleather, you can wipe that down, too. (Using wipes on upholstered seats could lead to a wet seat and spreading of germs rather than killing them.)

How do I take my temperature?

Taking one’s temperature to look for signs of fever is not as easy as it sounds, as “normal” temperature numbers can vary, but generally, keep an eye out for a temperature of 100.5 degrees Fahrenheit or higher. If you don’t have a thermometer (they can be pricey these days), there are other ways to figure out if you have a fever, or are at risk of Covid-19 complications.

Should I wear a mask?

The C.D.C. has recommended that all Americans wear cloth masks if they go out in public. This is a shift in federal guidance reflecting new concerns that the coronavirus is being spread by infected people who have no symptoms. Until now, the C.D.C., like the W.H.O., has advised that ordinary people don’t need to wear masks unless they are sick and coughing. Part of the reason was to preserve medical-grade masks for health care workers who desperately need them at a time when they are in continuously short supply. Masks don’t replace hand washing and social distancing.

What should I do if I feel sick?

If you’ve been exposed to the coronavirus or think you have, and have a fever or symptoms like a cough or difficulty breathing, call a doctor. They should give you advice on whether you should be tested, how to get tested, and how to seek medical treatment without potentially infecting or exposing others.

How do I get tested?

If you’re sick and you think you’ve been exposed to the new coronavirus, the C.D.C. recommends that you call your healthcare provider and explain your symptoms and fears. They will decide if you need to be tested. Keep in mind that there’s a chance — because of a lack of testing kits or because you’re asymptomatic, for instance — you won’t be able to get tested.

Requests had slowed to a trickle, said Christopher Maher, the bank’s chief executive. He cut off new lending because he wanted to pivot his employees toward the next major program challenge: loan forgiveness.

“It’s going to be much more difficult to work through the repayment calculations and documentation than it was to make these loans in the first place,” Mr. Maher said.

The paperwork for proving that a loan complied with the terms is extensive and complicated; the Small Business Administration’s 11-page application for loan forgiveness is much more intricate than the loan application itself. Any portion that is not forgiven becomes a debt that must be repaid within five years. (The initial term was two years.)

The lack of clarity around loan forgiveness cemented Ms. Ross’s decision to return her loan. She considered simply paying her workers to stay home for eight weeks, which the program allows, but she worried about having to lay them off again when the money ran out.

Then, the week after she got her loan, the Small Business Administration released its forgiveness application. Ms. Ross tried to run the calculations for her business, but her staff is mostly part-time employees with variable hours. She consulted her accountant, her bookkeeper, a lawyer and her lender to figure out how much of her loan would qualify for elimination.

None could give her definitive answers. Scared she would be stuck with a big debt, Ms. Ross sent the money back.

Many trade groups for lenders and small businesses, such as the Consumer Bankers Association and the Small Business Majority, have asked for blanket forgiveness for loans of less than $150,000. So far, the Small Business Administration and the Treasury Department — which is calling the shots on most of the paycheck program’s terms — have not indicated any willingness to grant that.

Adam Markowitz, an accountant in Florida who is working with dozens of clients who took paycheck loans, said he was unable to figure out whether his own loan, for $34,500, would be fully forgiven. He’s waiting for further guidance on the many unresolved technical questions.

“The only consistent thing about this program is that it’s been a mess at every stage,” he said.

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from Job Search Tips https://jobsearchtips.net/130-billion-in-small-business-aid-still-hasnt-been-used/

[junker-town]

Top daily fantasy football plays for Week 12 of the NFL season

With Week 12 of the NFL season upon us, we take a look at some of the best values to be found on Draftkings and FanDuel, and some players worth fading.

SB Nation will be bringing you the top Daily Fantasy options each week through the regular season and into the playoffs. We have a small sample size of which offenses look good to target and others we should avoid until further notice. As for who should be in your lineups, here are the top value plays of the week, with an eye toward low ownership and high upside.

Quarterback

Russell Wilson, Seattle Seahawks at San Francisco 49ers ($7,000 DK, $8,600 FD)

The running game is non-existent, other than Wilson himself. And a good chunk of running back usage is going to be J.D. McKissic, who excels as a pass-catcher. Basically, the entire offense starts and ends with Wilson, and his volume as a passer and runner makes him a bargain at his salary. As an added bonus, the Seahawks are on the road and their Legion of Boom is so devastated by injuries, it’s unlikely the game turns into a rout, keeping Wilson in the game throughout.

Jared Goff, Los Angeles Rams vs. New Orleans Saints ($6,700 DK, $7,600 FD)

Saints rookie sensation Marshon Lattimore is out, which changes the whole outlook for the Rams’ passing game. Todd Gurley will get his, but Goff’s chances have dramatically improved while his ownership is likely to remain somewhat depressed.

Cam Newton, Carolina Panthers at New York Jets ($6,600 DK, $8,000 FD)

Newton is playing like it’s 2015 again, especially with his running, with 181 yards over the past two games. The Jets are among the worst defenses in the league in terms of stopping mobile quarterbacks. Plus, Newton gets his favorite target, Greg Olsen, back this week. It’s all systems go.

Jacoby Brissett, Indianapolis Colts vs. Tennessee Titans ($5,400 DK, $6,900 FD)

Two of Brissett’s best three fantasy outputs this season came against bad pass defenses at the RCA Dome. Brissett gets one of the league’s worst defenses at the RCA Dome on Sunday.

Discount Darling C.J. Beathard, 49ers vs. Seahawks ($4,600 DK, $6,200 FD)

As noted, the Seahawks’ Legion of Boom is broken. Without Richard Sherman and Kam Chancellor, this is not a defense to be feared, as the Falcons proved on Monday night. There’s even less concern on the road, as is the case this week. The ghost of Jimmy Garoppolo has Beathard playing pretty well the last few weeks, and at $4,600, the value is in full bloom.

Avoid: Paxton Lynch, Denver Broncos at Oakland Raiders ($4,400 DK, $6,200 FD)

I get it. He’s the ultimate value facing a terrible pass defense. He only needs to throw for around 200 yards and one touchdown and he makes value, while opening up all sorts of lineup construction possibilities. I totally get it. I also don’t think he’s going to get 200 yards, he might not throw a touchdown and there’s going to be turnovers. In the Millionaire Maker, with no Steelers exposure, there’s not a lot of need to save salary at quarterback. There are values elsewhere.

Also consider: Tom Brady, New England Patriots; Alex Smith, Kansas City Chiefs; Matt Ryan, Atlanta Falcons

Running back

LeSean McCoy, Buffalo Bills at Kansas City Chiefs ($8,500 DK, $8,300 FD)

The ultimate pivot play. Todd Gurley is the most expensive play at running back on DraftKings and figures to be the most-owned at the position. At $100 less and anticipating significantly less ownership, McCoy is a phenomenal play, especially considering McCoy gets Tyrod Taylor back at QB. McCoy has topped 28 DK points in 3 of his past 5 games. Gurley has topped 28 once in his past six.

Tevin Coleman, Atlanta Falcons vs. Tampa Bay Buccaneers ($6,500 DK, $6,200 FD)

Coleman has had two decent performances in a row in place of the injured Devonta Freeman, but his best chance to really make a mark comes this week against the Buccaneers, who have struggled to defend the run for most of the season. Coleman has gotten 20 carries in each of the past two weeks, and that trend should continue here, setting him up for a possible 100-yard afternoon.

Duke Johnson Jr., Cleveland Browns at Cincinnati Bengals ($4,600 DK, $5,500 FD)

The Browns are on record saying they want to get Johnson even more involved in the offense than he has been this season. That is sweet DFS music. The Bengals are a bottom-five defense against pass-catching backs, and with the Browns almost certain to be playing from behind, Johnson could be looking at double digits in targets, making him a terrific play on full-point PPR DraftKings.

Discount Darling: Devontae Booker, Denver Broncos at Oakland Raiders ($3,700 DK, $5,500 FD)

Booker has assumed a fairly large share of the carries as the Broncos have fallen off a cliff. Booker had 14 carries and six targets last week, and he could easily surpass those numbers against the Raiders’ swiss-cheese defense.

Discount Darling 2: J.D. McKissic, Seattle Seahawks at San Francisco 49ers ($3,700 DK, $5,500 FD)

The Seahawks have tried just about everything at running back this season, to no avail. McKissic has been one of the few bright spots when given a chance. His carries and targets have increased each of the past three weeks, and McKissic topped 10 DK points on Monday night. A few more touches and McKissic is a solid bet to make value.

Avoid: Jordan Howard, Chicago Bears at Philadelphia Eagles ($6,000 DK, $7,500 FD)

Given the way the Eagles are steamrolling opponents the last few weeks, Howard is in danger of being taken out of the offense should the Bears be forced to abandon the running game. At $6,000, that’s an expensive risk to take.

Also consider: Kareem Hunt, Kansas City Chiefs; Alvin Kamara, New Orleans Saints; Christian McCaffrey, Carolina Panthers.

Wide receiver

Brandin Cooks, New England Patriots vs. Miami Dolphins ($7,100 DK, $7,600 FD)

The Patriots are firing on all cylinders right now, and with Chris Hogan still out of the lineup, Cooks has become Tom Brady’s favorite target. Cooks exploded in Mexico City last weekend and the Dolphins defense rivals the Raiders in ineptitude. Expect a few deep shots Cooks’ way and at least one long touchdown.

Alshon Jeffery, Philadelphia Eagles vs. Chicago Bears ($6,300 DK, $7,100 FD)

There’s going to be tons of ownership headed to T.Y. Hilton at $6,700 and playing at home, where he historically excels. But Jeffery has the REVENGE GAME! narrative going against the Bears, as well as overflowing chemistry with red-hot quarterback Carson Wentz. Take the discount and the reduced ownership and ride the hot hand.

Kenny Stills, Dolphins at Patriots ($4,800 DK, $5,600 FD)

Speaking of chemistry, Stills and Matt Moore are locked in right now, with Stills putting up his biggest numbers with Moore under center. The Patriots’ defense has vastly improved over the past few weeks, but it’s the likes of Jarvis Landry and DeVante Parker who should see the most attention. Expect Stills to fly under the radar for another productive afternoon.

Corey Coleman, Cleveland Browns at Cincinnati Bengals ($4,300 DK, $5,800 FD)

There’s going to be tons of ownership heading to Corey Davis at $4,600. But Coleman is actually the more polished receiver and it only took one week – after missing eight – for Coleman to go right back to playing like a future All-Pro. As with Jeffery, take the discount and lower ownership for some nice tournament leverage.

Discount Darling: Dede Westbrook, Jacksonville Jaguars at Arizona Cardinals ($3,600 DK, $4,900 FD)

No one knows who Westbrook is. But he dominated the preseason for Jacksonville and he should be targeted heavily with Patrick Peterson shadowing Marqise Lee. Westbrook had three catches on six targets in his debut last week and should see a significant boost in target share with Allen Hurns out, as well.

Avoid: Larry Fitzgerald, Cardinals vs. Jaguars ($5,600 DK, $7,200 FD)

This is no knock on Fitz, but expecting Blaine Gabbert to overcome the ferocious Jaguars pass rush – and for Fitzgerald to get the best of the suffocating Jaguars secondary – seems a bit too tall a task.

Also consider: T.Y. Hilton, Indianapolis Colts; Cooper Kupp, Los Angeles Rams; Corey Davis, Tennessee Titans.

Tight end

Jimmy Graham, Seattle Seahawks at San Francisco 49ers ($5,800 DK, $7,000 FD)

The 49ers have been Giants-level terrible against the tight end position for weeks, and Graham has been right at or above 20 DK points in 3 of 4 weeks. He is listed as questionable, but practiced in full on Friday, so he’s good to go, but that little red “Q” might hold his ownership down. Good.

Delanie Walker, Tennessee Titans at Indianapolis Colts ($5,000 DK, $5,900 FD)

Walker has been banged up for weeks, but it hasn’t really stopped him. He’s been scoring in double digits on a weekly basis and should have plenty of good looks against the sagging Colts defense.

Greg Olsen, Carolina Panthers at New York Jets ($4,800 DK, $6,400 FD)

Olsen might be eased in a bit in his first game back off injury, but that doesn’t mean Cam Newton is going to ignore him. It’s hard to get a read on ownership, but figure he’ll not be this cheap and low-owned at any point the rest of the season.

Jared Cook, Oakland Raiders vs. Denver Broncos ($4,600 DK, $5,400 FD)

The one place to attack the Broncos’ defense is with the tight end, and right now Cook is about the only reliable receiver that Derek Carr can turn to. If Olsen does draw high ownership, Cook is the perfect pivot.

Discount Darling: Tyler Kroft, Cincinnati Bengals vs. Cleveland Browns ($3,900 DK, $5,700 FD)

Always, always, always target the opposing tight end against the Browns, especially a cheap one who scored a touchdown last week.

Avoid: Austin Seferian-Jenkins, Jets vs. Panthers ($4,300 DK, $5,600 FD)

Jenkins hasn’t scored a touchdown in the past three games and takes on a Top 5 defense against the position. With Kroft a $400 discount against the anti-Panthers vs. tight ends, it’s a good week to fade ASJ.

Also consider: Travis Kelce, Kansas City Chiefs; Rob Gronkowski, New England Patriots; Zach Ertz, Philadelphia Eagles.

Defense

Jacksonville Jaguars at Arizona Cardinals ($4,100 DK, $5,500 FD)

Philadelphia Eagles vs. Chicago Bears ($3,600 DK, $4,900 FD)

New England Patriots vs. Miami Dolphins ($3,400 DK, $4,700 FD)

Carolina Panthers at New York Jets ($3,300 DK, $5,000 FD)

Discount Darling Atlanta Falcons vs. Tampa Bay Buccaneers ($2,900 DK, $4,600 FD)

Avoid: Kansas City Chiefs vs. Buffalo Bills ($3,700 DK, $5,000 FD)

[mredwinsmith]

Universe Point After Afterword: Part 2

Looking for Part 1? It’s over here.

I got back to Pittsburgh knowing that I had a month or so to improve my wind and endurance, which I thought were fine going into regionals but obviously needed some work. So I obsessively sprinted the hill in the alley behind my house, 70 yards up, 70 yards back down – every day. Get home from a rough day hauling lumber and drywall up three flights of stairs? Run the hill. Exhausted from chasing around a three year old all day? Run the hill. 95 degrees out? Run the hill. I knew it might be my only shot to play at nationals and I wasn’t going to waste it by being unprepared.

As for my family, we used nationals as an excuse to go visit Jessi’s parents up in Wyoming, which meant that my little boy Henry would be able to see daddy play. We flew into Denver two days early, visited friends and went to dinosaur museums – all awesome, totally fun stuff that I nervously fretted through waiting for Friday morning to arrive.

And then finally, graciously, Friday morning did arrive. We got to the Aurora Sports Complex to see by far the largest collection of ultimate fields and ultimate players the world may have ever witnessed. All seven divisions of open, women’s, mixed, grandmasters and great grandmasters were spread out over an area so large the place needed giant towers marking each compass direction. There were over 2,000 players on 79 teams from all over the country. It was massive. So massive in fact, I immediately regretted telling Jessi it was cool to just drop me off at the entrance and that I’d “wander around to find my team.” I’m relatively certain that if she hadn’t shown back up with the car fifteen minutes later, they’d have eventually found my skeleton along the road with my cell phone pressed to where my ear used to be and Black Tide Matt still attempting to give me directions….

“We’re over by the merchandise tent and…..I mean you should see….ok, there’s a green team playing a white team next to us. Do you see that? Cramer? Are you still there? Cramer? Do you see the green versus white game?”

“We’re sorry, the Verizon customer you’re attempting to reach is no longer available….”

“It’s field twenty-two. I think. Twenty uh…..just look for the green vs. white game. Cramer? Cramer?”

Eventually I got there alive, received my uniform, (#95 for the first year I started playing ultimate), warmed up, and in a blur, the game started.

After all the planning, all the hoping, all the dreaming about first setting foot on the fields at nationals, I don’t really remember lining up for my first point. I really thought I’d go out there and suck it all in for about thirty seconds, looking around at the mountains and the blue sky and having a quiet introspective inner monologue like, “You did it. You’re here. You’re on the field at nationals. All the hard work has paid off. Suck it in. Remember this moment forev….”

“Cramer, you have number seven. Force flick. Let’s go.”

And I was running.

Our first game was against a Boston team called Critical Mass. On my first point, they turned it and a 5’6” guy rotated to cover me so I shot deep. I was twenty yards behind him streaking for the end zone when we decided to throw away a swing pass.

“Oh, goddammit.”

Now I had to decelerate and chase him from a 20-yard disadvantage. I didn’t know it at the time, but it would become a microcosm of my entire weekend.

On my next point, we were coming out of our own end zone when I lost the 6’4” guy that was on me on an in cut. Our handler spotted me but the throw went sailing way up to the left. I had to slow down and jump, but probably would’ve caught it if the big dude didn’t go straight through my back to get the D. I really don’t like to make calls so I talked myself into shrugging it off – which even the dude who’d hacked me found quite surprising.

I’d describe my teammates as “quite baffled” by the non-call. Luckily we forced turn in the end zone and marched down to score. As I came off the field, Brody put his arm around my shoulder.

“You didn’t get fouled on that catch down there?”

“Nah, I definitely got wrecked. I just didn’t want to be a dick.”

“Cramer. This is nationals, man,” he said with a wry smile that replaced the flick to the forehead he obviously wanted to give me. “Not summer league.”

I nodded. It was a great point. “Not summer league. Got it.”

As for Brody, he was a bit jetlagged after arriving from Israel the day before. He’d participated as a counselor and photographer at a camp called Ultimate Peace, which brings together Arab, Palestinian, and Israeli children for a weeklong ultimate and friendship spectacular. Kids who are often raised to be enemies are put on the field in mixed-culture teams and have to practice, play, cooperate, and jointly work out their differences. In the first nearly fifty years of ultimate, it might be the singular best thing that the game has brought to the world. Some day the Israeli Prime Minister and the Palestinian President could sit down and hammer out a long lasting peace because of a friendship that Brody helped foster that week. I mean, he could’ve legitimately helped usher in centuries of worldwide prosperity never before seen on Earth.

And yet it still wouldn’t excuse his first pull of the tournament, which went 60 yards straight sideways out of bounds into the parking lot, hitting a minivan and giving Boston the disc two yards from our goal line. In fact, as I imagine the 2057 Israeli Palestinian Peace Accords, I believe there’s a good chance they begin as such:

Israeli PM: “I’m not sure my country is going to like this.”

Palestinian Prez: “I don’t think mine will either. We’re going to get a lot of heat. A lot of heat.”

Israeli PM: “Well, nothing can be as bad as Brody’s pull against Boston. If he can rebound from that and still have a spectacular tournament, we too can forge ahead no matter what the circumstances.”

Palestinian Prez: “We can indeed. Hand me the pen old friend.”

BAM – Age of Aquarius.

Despite virtually spotting them that goal early on, we cruised and won pretty handily 15-5. My favorite moment of the tournament actually came in the 2nd half when I got a fingernail on the tall guy’s throw for what I’d hesitate to call a point block – more like a point skim. Either way it forced the disc into the ground and off the turnover I ended up with a hockey assist as we went up 10-3. As I came off the field, Henry comes sprinting down the hill with his hand raised in the air.

“Good job, daddy! Great playing! High five!”

And I high fived him – and picked him up and spun him around there at nationals, an old guy playing the sport I’ve loved for over two decades, there at its highest old guy pinnacle – and my boy was there to see it. Whether he remembers it or not is somewhat irrelevant. He was there. And that is the top moment of my entire ultimate career to this point.

As it turned out, I desperately needed that moment the rest of the day. Flying high off our ten point opening game victory, we mentally lollygagged through our next game against Chicago’s Old Man Winter. Nothing went right. We couldn’t complete wide-open dumps. I swear we had double digit uncontested drops. Unforced error after unforced error and we fell 14-10. All you need to know about that game is from a picture an Ultiphotos photographer captured of Black Tide Matt standing on the sidelines with a look on his face as if trying to pass a kidney stone just moments after learning his kid totaled his car. It pretty much sums up that game.

We were 1-1 and now had to match up with the best team in the pool, a bunch of monsters out of Minneapolis named Surly. All through our second round game, dark clouds were creeping in from the south as everyone kept an eye on the skies and hoped their approach would be slow enough to get in our third round games – which turned out to be a tad optimistic.

Surly was up 2-0 when a flash of lightning hit close enough for everyone to sigh, look at each other, and reluctantly begin trudging to our cars. USA Ultimate had mini tornado sirens that started going off and (to use my favorite British slang) everybody just sort of cocked about. I don’t believe it ever actually rained. Me, Surfer Bryan and Defensive Dennis all tried to go take naps in my rented Kia Soul before realizing how hard it is to nap in a fucking Kia Soul and giving up entirely.

Unlike the east coast where trees block your view of damn near everything, in Aurora, Colorado, you can see for sixty miles in each direction. Which is awesome until you’re trying not to see lightning. For ninety-four minutes every player there went, “Ok, it’s been at least ten minutes since the last bolt. They’ve got to be starting the games here pretty (flash)…..damn it.”

It was an odd break that nobody seemed to know what to do with. Do we crack open the beer we brought or not? Should I stretch? I should stretch, right? Fuck, I really want a beer but I also really want to win this game if we play it. But do I want to win as much as I want a beer right NOW? Hmmmm.

Anyway, after a long delay that took everyone’s heads right out of the game, we resumed play against Surly in what amounted to a wind tunnel. I was guarding this big dude with glasses not long after the lightning delay mercifully ended. During a stoppage of play, we both noticed the sky light up off in the distance. I glanced at him. He glanced at me.

“We didn’t see that,” he said.

“See what? I was looking at the clear blue sky over to the east. We’re all old. If you saw a flash, it could’ve just been your vision going. Cataract maybe.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Totally possible. I really oughta get that checked out.”

Having been placed on the 2nd defensive line, I wasn’t getting to play much. In critical situations the captains simply put guys on the field they knew and trusted more. And my mind was honestly starting to drift. Through the Chicago game and later into the Minneapolis game, I just didn’t feel part of it all. Then on my third point of the Surly game, our zone forced a turn in the gale force winds. Brody was tired from running around in the cup, so he asked me to switch to popper from my normal deep receiver position. One of our handlers, a dude with a bright red hat named Jessup who somehow could huck right through the wind had it on the goal line. I shook one of their wings and got open. Jessup spun a brilliant little backhand through the cup that was right at my knees.

And I dropped it. Hit my hands. Didn’t stick. Broken finger or not, I let the team down. When you’re not playing much, you want to stand out when you get on the field. Dropping a wide open catch on your own goal line is not how you want to do it.

We actually gave eventual champion Surly a good game losing just 10-7 but after the game I felt empty. Like I didn’t belong. Three games and somehow I didn’t end up with a single stat. No goals, no assists, no D’s. It wasn’t what I’d hoped for by a long shot. I just….didn’t fit.

Weirdly the thing that helped regain my confidence was that goddamned Kia Soul. Captain Ryan and Black Tide Matt had reserved a couple tables for the team at a pizza place in what I believe was western Kansas. I’d planned on just taking a shower and hanging out in our room at the Embassy Suites to sulk and mournfully shake my head all night, but because the restaurant was so far away nobody wanted to get a taxi or ride share. So I was damn near forced to drive people there. As the miles stacked up, my teammates got more and more thankful for the ride. And suddenly, oddly, I had a purpose. Even if it wasn’t for something on the field, my teammates were glad I was there. I got them to and from the pizza place. And that was something at least. I wasn’t totally useless.

The next morning was our critical crossover game. We finished #3 in Pool B and Kalakala out of Seattle finished #2 in pool C. Winner would finish in the top eight. Loser couldn’t finish higher than ninth. In a lot of ways, the whole tournament rested on what we did in that first game of Saturday morning.

Now I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention some of the awesomely creative team names there that weekend. Great grandmasters led the way for the men with teams like Boulder “Old and in the Way,” San Francisco Relics, and Cincinnati “Age Against the Machine.” But personally I’d give the top three to the women’s division for Seattle iRot (a fantastic play on Seattle Riot), Atlanta Atlantiques, and the hands down winner New York “I Thought This Was a Wine Tasting” who lands the top spot and it’s not particularly close.

But the one name that confused damn near everybody was the team we were about to play. So before the game I approached one of their guys.

“Hey man, so I gotta know…..”

He chuckled. “What’s Kalakala?”

“I imagine you guys are getting that a lot.”

“Yeah,” he answered. “It was this ferry boat that was sleek and luxurious back in the 40’s. And then some guy towed it down to Seattle from Alaska but couldn’t get the money to fix it up so it just sat there in the water slowly falling apart.”

“Ah,” I said, the light going off in my brain. “Just like us. Where once we were young and sleek, we’re now just rusting hulks of our former glory doing all we can not to sink.”

He smiled. “And we’re all in the same boat.”

I laughed. “I like you guys.”

In what would be one of the most exciting games I’ve ever played in, we came storming out of the gate and surprised them. On the second point, we made a D and on the resulting break out, Guillermo threw an around backhand way out in front of me. I laid out, tipped the disc up to myself and caught it as I flipped over, wasting three seconds of my stall count searching for my glasses and hurriedly jamming them back on my face. Guillermo cut out then shot back in and was the first thing I saw when clarity returned. I flicked one to him and took off up the sideline as he put up a huge hanging huck for one of our bigger guys, a wide-bodied defender named Dan. Dan was one-on-one with a guy about his size but I’d seen him play enough to know he was coming down with it – which he did just in front of the goal line.  I hadn’t slowed down since I flipped the disc to Guillermo and was wide open in the center of the end zone. Dan turned and saw me, letting go a soft backhand.

As the disc was in the air my only thought was if you drop this one, just keep going up the hill and straight to the airport. But I didn’t. I pancaked it in front of my stomach. We were up 2-0 and at long last by the grace of the lord had a stat at nationals. An important goal in an important game no less. I could finally, finally relax.

We were up 4-0 when I went back into the game. Halfway up the field, my tight mark forced a bad throw that got undercut by funny, happy dude named Dom who like a lot of guys at the tournament looked as if he used to be all muscle….before he had kids. His abs were still there, just buried under a layer of dad.

Anyway, when Dom undercut the disc, he immediately flipped a five-yard backhand up to me. Seeing he was going to be wide open for a power position huck, I put a little lob on a platter for him up the sideline. With a receiver streaking wide open deep for the 5-0 lead, he wound up a mega-backhand and…..for some reason thought better of it, awkwardly jerking the disc across his waist and letting go a flick completely against his momentum. The resulting throw had the flight properties of a bad hairpiece – a floppy blade straight out of bounds that didn’t even give the receiver a chance.

Dom stopped and watched the disc sail off toward the water coolers with his mouth wide open. He turned to me, his hands pulling his eyelids down his cheeks as a Kalakala guy went to retrieve it.

“Why the hell did I do that?”

“I don’t….uh, know,” I said, still squinting toward the end zone. I knew he felt awful. It was exactly how I felt at the end of the Surly game. I just patted him on the back and turned to play defense. It sounds shitty but I was sort of glad to have a kindred spirit who was having just as lousy a tournament as I was. Although I’d have traded it for a 5-0 lead in a heartbeat. “Let’s get the D.”

Even at the time, it felt like a turning point. Soon afterward they started to score. And we got nervous. We flubbed a catch at the front cone that would’ve put us up 6-2. Next thing we know it’s tied 7-7.

My favorite two moments of the game came in the 2nd half. Tied 8-8, Seattle put a curving backhand up the line in front of our tents. One of our best players, a lanky yoga freak (and former club champion with the Santa Barbara Condors) named Gav tracked it down and extended to tip it away just in front of the Seattle receiver. While the disc was in the air, another Sunset guy, a short, stocky handler in a backwards Kansas Jayhawks hat named Katz raced over from the center of the end zone and laid out as well. The three of them, all coming to the disc from different directions had a demolition derby in the air, Katz undercutting the Seattle dude, Gav’s ribs landing on the Seattle guy’s head and the Seattle guy’s knee somehow nailing Katz in the groin. When it was all over they looked like extras in a movie about Omaha Beach, squirming, rolling, limping, and crawling away.

From the center of the end zone, Dom looked at me and pointed to Katz, who was rolling on the ground in pain.

“What happened to him?”

For some reason instead of answering him in English, I decided to play charades and lightly cup then punch an imaginary set of balls.

“What the hell was that?” Dom laughed. “That gives me no information!”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to yell across the field that he got hit in the junk! That was the first thing that popped into my head!”

In the end zone, Dom mimed what I’d done. “I’d have never got ‘hit in the balls’ out of that!”

Katz grunted and crawled to the sideline tent. “I’m fine by the way guys. Thanks for the concern.”

I turned to him. “How’s your (miming cupping and punching testicles)?”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“He’s totally ok!” I yelled out to Dom.

There was a rather lengthy discussion about whether the play was dangerous and constituted a foul, but the Seattle dude after his initial irritation at having his head landed on was really spirited and said no foul. Gav had made a spectacular play to get the disc and all contact happened afterward. So all seemed well. Although we’d learn later that Gav had cracked a rib, thus seriously limiting one of our better players – which really didn’t help our cause the rest of the way.

I didn’t find out about my other favorite moment in the game until the party later that night as I chilled with one of our best cutters, a bull of a dude named Adam who at 48 was somehow always open.

“Sometime during that game against Seattle there was a point with like four straight turns,” Adam laughed. “I was dead. The guy guarding me was obviously dead too. We’re both there with our hands tugging at our shorts so I just looked at him and said ‘hey man you wanna just…..pretend for a while?’”

“What like a truce? You don’t run too hard, I don’t run too hard?”

“Yeah,” Adam heaved.

“I’m fine with that.”

So they pretended. Ladies and gentlemen, I present grandmasters ultimate.

Anyway, the soft cap went on with the game tied 11-11. Game to 13. Seattle scored. Then our offense came back and tied it on a beautiful stall nine backhand from Brody to a tall receiver named Doug. Our sideline went berzerk. I sprinted onto the field with high fives at the ready hoping to be called in for the resulting defensive universe point. I was fired up. But all our screaming and hollering had drowned out the fact that back near the throw a stall had been called. Brody swore he got it off but the defender swore he hadn’t. Goal came off the board. If we wanted to tie the game, we’d have to do it again.

Off the reset, Brody managed to get a dump off but three passes later one of our most sure handed guys dropped a wide open pass with nobody around him. Seattle took the gift and scored to go into the top eight and send us into the “ninals” bracket. It was a disappointing result but after such a fantastic game against such a great bunch of dudes, it was really tough to fly off the handle afterwards. All we could do was regroup and play on.

Our next game was against the #16 seed, a team called Team Helm out of Columbus, Ohio. We won a fun, somewhat lighthearted game 15-9. But the very best part of the experience came in the spirit circle after the game when their captain explained the reason they were named Team Helm.

“For those of you that don’t know, we’re named for Paul Helm, our teammate, friend, and…..in a sport filled with good people, one of the best. We um, lost him earlier this year. He battled and battled and battled but the cancer eventually….” he trailed off and choked up a bit. “This game today was competitive but also spirited and fun. A lot of laughs out on the field and even more on the sidelines. And it’s just a beautiful day and…..this was his type of game. He’d have loved this. He’d have loved this.”

Standing there in the circle with my arms around two of his teammates who were nodding and biting their lips trying not to break down, I went to a place that’s so rare to go, to a moment of full and complete clarity – a pure, deeper understanding of my own mortality and just how lucky I was to be standing in that spot with those people. To be there, win or lose, to compete, to smile, to shake hands, to fist bump, to dive, to jump, to run – to still be able to do what we do. I’m sure everyone in the circle felt it. A connection. A shared sense of purpose and community as if for ten or fifteen seconds there was not only a single team comprised of players in different jerseys, but in many ways a single player. Maybe I’m nuts. Maybe I’m the only one whose very existence, whose very atoms briefly touched another plane just out of our reach, but I doubt it. It was a very moving experience.

When their captain was done with his tribute, Captain Ryan brought us all in together. After every game so far at both regionals and nationals, we’d crunched in tight with the other team and yelled in one voice “Ultimate Forever!” And I occasionally jokingly yelled “Ultimate until entropy completes its inevitable march toward the nothing from which we came!” But this time instead of shouting “Ultimate Forever” to the sky, San Diego and Columbus came together to yell….

“Paul Helm forever!”

I raised my hat to the clear blue sky in tribute. I didn’t know the guy. But I knew the guy. We all know a Paul Helm. Rest in peace, buddy, wherever you are. Thanks for helping me to see and appreciate the bigger picture.

After that, our final game of the day was a 15-10 loss to Raleigh Hootenanny just before I lugged my gear back to the Kia Soul to find the rear passenger’s side tire completely flat. So after sprinting all day I got to lug the spare out of the back, change the damn thing on a sweltering blacktop parking lot, and drive to the Denver Airport – where everyone in line at Avis curiously avoided the dude in the white #95 jersey who smelled like sweat, sunscreen, and more sweat. Like ten people made eye contact as if to ask, “So what’s your deal,” before catching a whiff of my jersey and quickly realizing how little they truly cared.

Anyway, because of the flat tire I got locked out of my suite. On the way to the fields I’d forgotten my key and by the time I got back, everyone was already at the tournament party and thus not there to open the door. So I got to show up at Dry Dock Brewing smelling just as wonderful as I did in line at Avis. I planned on staying about twenty minutes tops, just long enough to use my meal and beer tickets before bumming a key and heading back to shower. That was before I sat down.

The back patio at Dry Dock was moderately populated when I arrived and I immediately spotted Guillermo and some of our great grandmasters guys because you can see our jerseys from the space station. So I hit up the food trucks, got myself an Apricot Blonde and chilled. And of course about ten of us start swapping stories about Poultry Days in 1988 and Mardis Gras in 1999 the Kalakala game earlier in the day and next thing I knew I’d been there for two hours. So Guillermo buys a round of beers. And we finish them and I buy a round of beers. And the party is slowly filling up. I look around and it’s all so damned familiar. Scruffy dudes with long hair and visors and hippie women with dreds and sarongs, slowly tamed by fatherhood and motherhood, work, and family, but still with that familiar ultimate party twinkle in their eyes. The music was loud, the beer was flowing, and the laughter was constant. Though everyone there was over thirty and we may have collectively traded in our pure youthful wildness for something a bit more subdued, it was still an ultimate party. Which meant anything could happen.

To demonstrate my point, Dom, Guillermo, and I were swapping stories with one of our great grandmasters players, this gray-haired dude named Al when a younger woman in a pink tank top came over and tapped him on the shoulder. She pointed at a few empty chairs next to him and asked….

“Are you using these chairs? Ok if we take them?”

Al, being an old guy of course says, “Well that depends. What do we get in return?”

And I swear to you the girl looks him dead in the eye and with the face of a lawyer negotiating property rights goes, “I’ll suck your (nickname for Richard).”

Of course Al, being in his 50’s doesn’t get even remotely flustered. He just chuckles and says, “Go ahead and take them. We’ve got plenty.”

And the girl walked off with the chairs.

After witnessing the exchange, it took me and Dom a second or two to regain our faculties. Finally Dom threw up his hands in exasperation. “Al, what the fuck was that answer?”

“Eh, what was I supposed to say?”

“You say deal, Al!” I shouted, palm to my forehead. “You have yourself a deal! That’s what you say!”

And what made this party different than all the others came via his reply. “Eh, I’ve been married to the same woman for thirty-three years now. My sense of fantasy died a long time ago.”

And Dom, Guillermo, and I banged on the table in solidarity, toasted Al’s marriage and drank well into the night.

The next day brought our final game for 11th place against a team called Sick Hammers out of Texas. And it ended up being a great game – back and forth the whole way. Throughout the first half they were scoring on us easily because well, for some reason we couldn’t figure out that a team named Sick Hammers might ya know….constantly look to throw a bunch of fucking hammers.

“Guys, seriously, they’re not called Sick Backhands or Sick Push Passes,” Black Tide Matt said. “There’s a clue about how to defend them literally right in their name! C’mon!”

My final point came halfway through the second half when I burnt my guy to the end zone, didn’t get the disc and cut in toward the goal line. I was wide the hell open – and the thrower put it almost straight into the grass. I laid out anyway, hitting awkwardly on my ribs and my hip. As I stood up and prepared to play defense, it was like someone jabbed a fire poker into the middle of my back. I went down to a knee.

“Ooooh, shit. Hold up, guys.”

I’d tweaked my back and bruised the living hell out of my ribs, something that made me grimace for going on two weeks. And it was a fitting bookend to the weekend. I swear that out of the twenty or so passes thrown to me in those seven games, I had to lay out for fifteen of them. I started to seriously wonder if somehow I was an optical illusion, appearing like I was always seven yards away from where I actually was. It was the only thing that made sense.

That aside, the weekend was amazing. Frustrating or not, I can’t look back on it with anything but absolute joy. All my years dreaming of playing at nationals and I got to do it. And when Captain Ryan caught a four-yard flick to the corner on universe point to beat Sick Hammers 16-15, suddenly it was all over. Just like that my first nationals was no longer in the future or the present. It was part of the past. It was something I’d done. One bucket list item completed.

We took team pictures, checked out of the hotels, and came back to the fields to watch Surly beat Boulder’s Johnny Walker in the grandmasters final at almost the exact same time Minneapolis Surly COUGARS won the women’s championship on the adjacent field. So that was cool to see. And one field over from that, my old friend Barefoot Ben (who’d had to completely relearn how to throw after shattering his right elbow in 2014) was helping his Washington DC team finish second in the masters division – ensuring that he’d get to play at the World Championships in Winnipeg in 2018. All his hard work and painful rehab had paid off. I couldn’t have been happier for him.

As for me, I wandered around, talked with a couple old friends from Pittsburgh who were playing for various teams around the country, said goodbye to my Endless Sunset teammates and just like that I was on I-25 headed north to Wyoming.

I finished the tournament with one goal – and that was it. We came in a disappointing 11th. And like I imagine happens with just about all Grandmasters players, my mental state fluctuated wildly between, “Ya know, I’m still pretty damn good. I could play this sport another fifteen years, easy,” and “That’s it, I just don’t have it anymore. Maybe it’s time to give this shit up.”

Often those thoughts occurred on consecutive points.

But I can honestly say that now I can hobble away from this sport without any regrets or what ifs. I have plenty of friends who had to give it all up at 28 because of work, kids, or injuries without ever getting to nationals. So I truly am lucky to have lasted this long.

At 40, I now wake up in the morning and my back hurts no matter what I did the day before. My ankles, my right elbow, and my neck pop like firecrackers at random times throughout the day. Where once I could easily touch the top of the square on a basketball backboard, I can now barely scrape the underside of the rim. After all this time, I can honestly envision a future not so far away where I put my cleats away for good. And I’m ok with it. I’ve done enough. Soon it’ll be time for someone else to take my spot in this wonderful game.

But who am I kidding. In 2027 when I get an email from Black Tide Matt that says, “Cramer, we need a guy for our Great Grandmasters team. Are you 50 yet?”

I’ll sigh, smile, and answer, “Yeah. Yeah I am. See you at regionals.”

Photo by Dominic Scarfe

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this final chapter, please consider purchasing Universe Point by Skyd Press, available now on Amazon. And a special thanks to everyone who has bought the book, enjoyed it, and reached out. As any writer or artist will tell you, it means more than you know to realize that all the work (in this case six years) you put into a project has been worth it. And if you think a friend or fellow ultimate player would enjoy it, please let them know! If we’re being honest here, that’s 99% of our marketing campaign. So far it’s been successful beyond my wildest dreams so a heartfelt thank you to anyone who has contributed to the success of the book by recommending it to others.

Thanks and see you on the fields – uh, if my body holds up. – Cramer

Universe Point is available now on Amazon!

The post Universe Point After Afterword: Part 2 appeared first on Skyd Magazine.

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[beardedd0nut]

Chillin and killin

Alright alright alright. It's been a while yes, I got busy then for a little while I got drunk, then I got tired so sue me here's the newest update. Bongripper in Chicago was fucking sweet as. Just a visceral assault of noise from them for a good hour and a half. The band's before weren't too bad, minus the ones that looked like they had a Neo Nazi for a vocalist. But yeah Bongripper were on another level, yet if you'd have given me a need to sleep in at that show I easily would've taken a nap. Flying out the next day we might early but well worth it as I was getting back to Texas. Austin treated me amazingly well from the get go, minus the raging humidity. Got in and the room was ready so I dumped all my shit got a list of places to go from the front desk and immediately ignored it and went to Allen's boots. The aroma of that place hits you before anything else. Tones of leather. The strongest thickest leather smell lingers in the air and it's incredible. As per usual my shallow pockets couldn't keep up with my high hopes so instead of boots I got the next best Texas thing. A big ass belt buckle. Great belt as well, should've gotten two. The evening was followed with a nice pub crawl of people at the hostel. Only about 5 or 6 of us but the conversation and friendliness of every was great. We got back at two, though I'm not quite sure how and the next day was a touch groggy. That was all good though as the cure we just around the corner. And by corner I mean like a 15 minute drive in fasten, basically uber but somehow feels seedier. Black's BBQ, as per I was told to go to, is the literal incarnation of heaven on earth. The brisket is to die for. I legitimately would've been happy if I never ate again after that meal. Then I had to walk it off lest I wound up in a food coma never to leave Black's again. The evening for me held 2 films at the incredible Ritz Alamo Drafthouse. Good service straight to your seat, one warning then expulsion for people on phones or taking during the movie. It was also a beautiful old theatre but fuck it was nice not hearing people talk or get distracting during a film. The First film was called stalker. A Russian distopian-esque Sci Fi art film. It was a good watch and nicely shot, even if I'm not fully sure what it was about. I think it was much more about humanity and belief and the psyche more than the storyline portrayed but it'd need more watches. The second film was escape from New York. Classic, still not my favourite carpenter, but undeniable in its pop culture rooting. The following day consisted of chilling out at the hostel with some new friends. Seeing alien covenant, it was meh. Felt more like a 3 film in a 4 part series than a sequel. And then more drinking. It was a bad move. A bigger pub crawl was had with drinking games beforehand and needles to say when though my flight wasn't till 1i was still feeling the hangover when I hit Denver. The hostel I stayed at in Austin was really great though. Couldn't recommend it enough, right off 6th Street so if you're keen to party is prime real estate. Great helpful staff to hang out with, and just full of awesome people from round the world getting up to different shenanigans around town. Denver day one saw me getting over the hangover. Wandering to an ATM that wound up being in a hospital, that was awkward as fuck. Then the thing I'd been waiting all weekend for Vulfpeck. I can not speak more highly about Vulfpeck and their opener Joey Dosik. They are all incredibly talented musicians floating around the stage between organs and drums and guitars and saxophones. Their technical prowess along with their ability to hold a crowd was spectacular. I'm so happy I got to see them and happier still that we got two encores and I got a signature from Joey at the end of the show. Second day in Denver I hit up the art museum. Started breakfast with Voodoo donuts, more like cakes than donuts if I'm perfectly honest. The museum was really nice. Decked out with multiple levels of contemporary and classic art it has something for everyone. Their native American art exhibit is just breathtaking. So much culture and each group different from the last. The main reason I went was to see the western in film exhibition. It was all about you guessed it western movies, but it also showed how the films came about and hour the directors we're inspired by the paintings of years gone by. The artwork before the film side of things is stunning, so much life had been captured in the paint that at times they liked more realistic then some photographs. The film stuff was also really cool and immediately The iconic shots you know and love can be seen to have its roots in the artwork. The western is a genre I haven't seen enough of, but is something that I think at this I will have to explore further and come at from a different angle than I had before. After watching a hobo brawl break out in front of the museum I cruised down to 16th Street mall and got some food at another recommendation, Henry's tavern. The food was delicious, a pulled pork burger topped with fried egg and jalapenos. If I had the right crew with me however the afternoon would've been very messy as I saw the amount of beer on tap. I'm guessing probably 40 +. The bought had consisted of more chills with some new peeps at the guest house I'm staying in. Good times, great classic hits, sitting on a porch. I'm enjoying Denver so far, but it's also nothing like it expected. The people are great, but the city itself feels a little weird. Anyway I've got a couple shenanigans planned for tomorrow then it's off to Portland disgustingly early Friday. Catchyas later.