#artificial turf business

[newbusinessideas]

How to Make Money in Backyards with Artificial Turf

Discover how to make money in backyards with artificial turf. Learn the best business ideas, and how to capitalize on this growing landscaping trend. #ArtificialTurfBusiness #HomeBusiness #Entrepreneurship #SideHustle #PassiveIncome #BusinessIdeas

You must have seen many types of turf around you, people like to play cricket and football on them, let me tell you that in the last several years, their demand has continuously increased in the market. And there are two reasons behind the increase in demand, first of all, there are many people who love sports in our country. Secondly, whatever big metro cities are there, some construction has…

[rhys-writes-some-shit]

Learn to Take "No" for an Answer

Alastor x Reader (Queer-Platonic)

Alastor was often a busy man, but he always managed to keep tabs on you. The moment your heart rate started to increase, he could feel it. He’d stopped what he was doing immediately and went off to find you. The moment he saw you surrounded by Sinners, with Vox at the center, he was ready to initiate a massacre. 

But instead, he watched as you held your own, not once swaying from your opinions. 

Once you tackled Vox to the ground, though, Alastor knew he needed to step in. He knew you could definitely hold your own for now, but you were not powerful enough to combat Vox if he retaliated. He only wished he’d been able to watch you stab that knife through Vox’s throat…

A few minutes earlier...

Humming to yourself, you skillfully sidestepped a bloody corpse on the sidewalk. Sometimes all you needed was a nice walk to clear your head. Today, the walk improved your mood immensely. The only thing that could make it better was if Alastor started one of his broadcasts. You knew it was unlikely to happen, but that didn't stop you from glancing up at the speakers above the streets in hopes they'd turn on.

You passed by the VoxTek TV display, pausing to watch the news highlights. Another turf war on the other side of the city, an ad for some sort of imp hitman business, clips from the latest episode of Hell’s Next Top Idol. Anything owned by VoxTek wasn’t allowed in the hotel, which meant you didn’t have access to all the media you would’ve liked. Sometimes, watching the TV display was the closest thing you got. 

“Like what you see?” A tall figure suddenly appeared behind you. The small group of Sinners who’d also crowded around the TV display suddenly burst into exclamations and talking.

Turning around, you found yourself looking up at Vox's flatscreen face, causing you to grimace. 

“Oh, come now, don’t be like that. I expected better from Alastor’s little pet.” Vox was grinning slyly, arms behind his back with authority. “I have a proposition for you, sweetheart.”

“If you’re here to ask me to watch Al for you, the answer is ‘no.’” Glaring, you attempted to find a way out of the crowd circling around you and Vox, but the wall of Sinners had increased, becoming impenetrable.

Vox rolled his eyes. “Of course not, hot stuff. I’m not an idiot. Alastor doesn’t deserve you anyway.”

“Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t,” you shrugged. “Regardless, I really should be on my way.”

Even with that statement, the crowd of Sinners didn’t move. They were all watching Vox, enamored with the scene playing out in front of you. As your heart rate increased, you could only hope that Alastor would notice. 

“We should talk some more, sweetheart. You’re such a handsome little thing.” One of Vox’s hands reached towards your face, caressing your cheek. “If you ditched that old-fashioned prick and came with me instead, I think you’d find yourself much better off.”

Clenching your jaw, you angled your face out of Vox’s grasp. “I'm doing just fine as I am right now, thanks.” You made your voice cold, desperately trying to get your disinterest across. 

“Don’t be so sure.” Vox raised an artificial eyebrow. “I could give you more than Alastor ever could. Join me, and you can become one of Hell’s most powerful Overlords.”

The talking from the surrounding crowd grew louder, people taking pictures and recording the confrontation. The idea that Vox just asked to share his power with some random Sinner was crazy to the rest of the public. It wouldn’t take very long for word to travel all throughout Hell. The idea of your face plastered across cell phones and TV screens across the city made you nervous. Not to mention, you’d have to report to Vox, and he was an asshole. 

“I'm not interested,” you ground out, keeping your back straight to feign confidence. 

Vox scoffed. “Playing hard to get, are we?” He was grinning. “You look so fucking hot when you’re pissed off.”

Silently, you were begging someone, anyone, to come and rescue you. You couldn’t guarantee that you could keep your composure much longer. “I’m not interested,” you repeated, just as sternly. 

“Aww, are you mad, sweetheart?” Vox cooed mockingly. “Upset your owner isn’t here to save you? If you came with me, you’d never have to worry about being on your own.”

In a flash, your hands twitched and a knife was suddenly being held to Vox’s throat. You’d tackled him to the ground, the sharp blade reflecting your bright eyes. His eyes were wide, clearly not expecting you to retaliate.

“Call me sweetheart again and I’ll castrate you, you flat-faced fuck.”

“Oh my!” A dark shadow appeared behind you, quickly followed by Alastor’s tall figure. Despite his smile, you could clearly see he was just as pissed as you were. “Darling, is Vox bothering you?”

“Not anymore.” You pressed the knife closer to his neck, allowing a few droplets of blood to slide down the knife before withdrawing. Licking the blood off the blade, you gave Vox a dark grin. “You taste like battery acid. No wonder no one wants you.”

Alastor laughed heartily. “How true! Come along, my dear! Charlie is probably wondering where we are.” Placing your arm in his, you allowed Alastor to escort you away from the now-silent crowd. 

“I fucking hate that guy,” you snarled once you’d gotten a few blocks away.

“A nuisance, surely,” Alastor agreed. “I must say, you handled that wonderfully. Quite an entertaining display.”

Smiling lightly, you found yourself flushed at the compliment. “It was nothing. He just needed to learn to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Chuckling, Alastor matched your smile. “I’m sure you got the point along just fine, dearest. And if he didn’t…” Alastor’s face darkened, smile turning sinister. Now it was your turn to laugh, and that was how you walked into the hotel, giggling at each other like a couple of teenage girls.

[yuna542]

🔙 [12.]

~Gold or Silver~

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader/Oc

Genre: Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Drama, Action

Warnings: None

Taglist: Open

Word count: 3k

Summary: The Kook princess is back after a year and reignites the war between Pogues and Kooks on Kildare. But she quickly realizes that after this year, nothing is the same as before. Deception, secrets from the past, and dangerous conspiracies sweep across Kildare, leaving her no choice but to work with the Pogues and her personal nemesis to find the truth and maybe even $8 million. A dangerous treasure hunt begins that turns her world upside down.

Soundtrack:

⏯️Play: Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys

„'Cause there's this tune I found

That makes me think of you somehow an' I play it on repeat

Until I fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee

Do I wanna know? If this feelin' flows both ways?“

Today was the day of the opening of the new golf resort, which was financed mainly by Ward Cameron and Rick. The two of them had already started the project before we moved back to Kildare.

Officially, the Island Club had provided for a renovation and reopening, but every finely dressed guest sipping from their $600 champagne glass knew exactly from whose wallet the funding actually came from.

That's exactly why the Camerons and we had been treated like aristocrats all day. The building was too white and far too plain for me, even the lawn trimmed to within an inch of its life was not to my taste, but the view from the hill overlooking Figure Eigth and the way the beach flickered through the hot air on the horizon was breathtaking.

"Really pretty. Dad and Rick seem like a real dream team," commented Sarah next to me, who was relaxed and swirling a glass of champagne.

I, too, already had my second glass in hand, trying to escape the awkward conversations of Rick's business associates or the many prying questions from the gossips at the Island Club. After all, with our return, Rick's new projects on the island and not to mention my fresh relationship with Rafe, we were the number one topic of conversation not only around the Kooks.

"If you're into artificial turf and expensive holes in the ground," I muttered, sipping the prickling alcohol which tasted better each sip. I had been avoiding Rafe all morning. The fact that we were now in a relationship scared me, but came across all the better to Ward and Rick.

The last week had actually been quite nice. We had often been together on the beach, spent time either on Tanney Hill or in Lionelly Ville, but that awkward distance still hovered between us.

However, only I seemed to still perceive it, or Rafe skillfully ignored it.

Rick and Ward's eyes had gleamed when Wheezie had told them without my consent. The dollar bills had just been spinning in them like a slot machine. For the two of them, this meant a future-oriented collaboration that would bring them even more money than they already had. Now that Rafe was also primed to take over Cameron Development, that was doubly convenient for Rick, too.

For Kildare, a collaboration between Rick's ferry company, Rimshore Cooperation, and Cameron Development would be like a marriage between Elon Musk and Bill Gates.

Both had patted each other on the back fraternally, and were probably already planning the dowry when I was sold off like an expensive racehorse at the wedding.

"Mm. I don't like golf either," Sarah replied and we exchanged an amused smile.

"Oh my god! That dress is stunning!", I heard Rose Cameron shout from behind us and turned around. Immediately I was dazzled by the bright orange of her tightly tailored pencil skirt. Her blouse blew in the balmy breeze and I wondered if such a bright orange should have been paired with an apple green.

I, on the other hand, looked almost boring with the white floral dress. It fit close to my body and I was especially taken with the balcony neckline when I found it among my clothes.

Sarah was wearing a blue linen dress that fluttered incessantly in the wind and Rafe had choosen a simple shirt in the same blue as when I had last seen him a few hours ago.

"Thanks. Your outfit is incredible, too," I fluted exuberantly.

Incredibly ugly, I added in my mind.

Rose beamed and put a hand on Sarah's shoulder.

"Where did Rafe go?"

Like I was his babysitter. Irritated, I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and covered my bad mood with a laugh.

"I don't know. Maybe he's out in the field practicing already."

That seemed to make sense to her, and she put a hand to my cheek.

"I'm so glad you guys found each other. After all these years. It's so special for our families."

No pressure at all...

I pressed my lips together and she took it as shyness, which is why she raised her empty glass.

"I'll let you girls chat then."

With a wobbly step, she strutted across the lawn like a drunken stork in her high heels. Just the word relationship sent shivers down my spine, but I wanted to give it a chance. So hopefully I would get rid of this strange tingling sensation and weird thoughts of Maybank.

Now everyone was standing in the new birchwood pavilion, drinking and chatting animatedly. Rick had disappeared into the building with Ward, while some of the guests were already trying their hand at golf.

The railing in front of us was adorned with plain laurel leaves, and the put-upon laughter of Island Club members echoed over to us from the blue carpets.

"Is she always this hyper?", I asked, still watching Sarah roll her eyes.

"Only when she's been drinking."

When a waiter came over to us, I unintentionally automatically looked for JJ in his face, but I didn't know the man who took our empty glasses.

Countless times today I had looked for Maybank, but he had not appeared anywhere.

Probably he was preparing the summer fire at the caves. On Kildare it had become a tradition for the young people to have a big party at the beginning of the summer vacations, where big bonfires burned and usually there was even a theme to dress up in.

In the last years the party became more and more important and also the costumes were made with great effort for this day.

It was held on one of the northern beaches, because there were tons of caves that were flooded with water in winter. But in the summer, the tide went out so low that you could get lost in the caves if you weren't careful.

I'd been looking forward to the festival since I arrived, and all day I'd been afraid I'd miss it if we didn't get out of here in time.

"What are you dressing up as? Gold or silver?" asked then Sarah, who must have been thinking the same thing at the sight of the white beach. Gold and silver was the theme for tonight and I already liked it a lot.

In fact, I had already picked out an outfit and I couldn't wait to get ready for the party with Sarah.

"Silver. I have heels to match," I explained, smoothing out my dress.

"Fits perfectly. Topper and I will be going in gold. Rafe, too, as far as I know."

My gaze drifted off into the distance again, and subconsciously I wondered what a certain Pogue would choose.

-

Just a short time later, we stealthily stole away from the golf course and picked up Sarah's things before getting dressed and made up in my bathroom.

Sarah's dress was full of gold sequins from top to bottom, flashing with every movement.

With only my underwear on, I started braiding her hair and worked sparkly gold stones into it.

Britney Spears was playing in the background and we sang along loudly while already pre-drinking with a big bottle of wine.

I had missed such girl's evenings and the togetherness did incredibly well after the week with Rafe.

Just then my cell phone vibrated and with a quick glance at the display, I flipped it over and threaded the next glitter stone into Sarah's hair.

"Who was that?" she asked curiously as she spread gold glitter on her eyelids.

"Just Rafe," I murmured, tweaking my creation a bit.

"How's it going?"

The alcohol didn't allow me to disguise my honest response, so a sigh escaped me.

"It's going well... I think."

Sarah turned around and could immediately read the lie on my face. To avoid her incredulous look, I changed my clothes and slipped into the silver bikini I was going to wear under my outfit. When the light fell on it at a certain angle, it threw back a shimmer of rainbow.

"I know how Rafe can be. What's going on?" she echoed, spreading shimmery lip gloss on her lips.

"He's so...pushy. He never leaves me alone and it's all kind of moving too fast for me."

Now that I'd finally said it, I understood this distance between us, too.

The feelings weren't coming as fast as I'd hoped, which is why the whole situation was making me so insecure.

"I understand that. Have you two slept together yet?"

Immediately I froze, but Sarah was genuinely interested and trying to help her friend, even if it was about her brother. If not her, who else could I tell the truth to?

"No. I haven't felt like it yet."

Not that he hadn't tried. But I had stopped him each time before it could get serious. Sarah nodded her understanding and sat behind me on the edge of the bathtub to tie my hair up.

"That's okay, too. You should just do what feels right and not let yourself be rushed."

Her words calmed me a little, however, the incessant pressure I felt as soon as it came to Rafe did not subside. It seemed like my job to make sure the relationship worked and that was a crappy feeling.

The rest of the time we chatted about unimportant things and when we were done, we looked at ourselves proudly in the mirror.

The silver corsage and skirt I wore over the bikini clung comfortably to my body and the jewelry on my neck and wrists tinkled softly when I moved.

Sarah had tied my hair into a small braid at the back of my head, so most of the curls still fell over my shoulders in chaotic curls.

Around my belly and thighs I wore fine silver chains and around my eyes were lines of plastic gemstones, in the form of waves.

The high shoes with the plateau heels and the little butterflies on them completed the picture and on my dark skin the silver looked as if it would liquefy any minute.

Sarah, on the other hand, shimmered and shone like a golden disco ball and I was already wishing her luck with the thin heels on the sand. We took hundreds of pictures and posted them, looked at other people's instagram stories and as we sat on the floor, giggling while going through posts, Sarah suddenly stopped at one picture. It was from Kiara. It showed the preparations for the party, how everyone was working on decorations, Pope was in the center, lifting a big barrel of beer and John B was helping him. Sarah stared at the picture and I smiled confused, as I realised the blush on her cheeks. But I couldn't think about it any longer, when she swiped to the next pic, which was JJ Maybank with his hair a mess, showing his middle finger to the camera while lifting something that looked like a bench.

His shirt was tied around his hips and the sweat was glistening on his toned stomach.

"Sky?"

"Hm?", I quickly answered and turned my head to the mirror again, as if I didn't saw something interesting at all.

Sarah only lifted her eyebrows and looked at me.

"Did you just check out your enemy?", she asked and I simply shook my head, while concentrating on my lipgloss.

"He looks fit, that's all..."

"That's all huh...", she teased me with a sarcastic laugh.

"What about you? Didn't you stalk John Bs pics last night while we were watching a movie?"

Surprised she just stared at me.

"You noticed?", she looked caught and I smiled evilly.

"Of course! The movie was boring as hell."

She pressed her lips together for a moment and took my hand after a few seconds.

"Let's just never talk about that again."

We both started to giggle and I nodded.

"Deal! It‘s too weird. Pogues are no good.“

Satisfied, Sarah typed a message and just a few minutes later we were picked up by Topper and Rafe on motorcycles.

Both were wearing golden jackets and had neatly gelled hair. As we walked out the door, they were obviously amazed and Rafe let out a whistle.

"You guys look hot," Topper commented, giving Sarah a curt kiss of welcome.

Rafe immediately pulled me close and kissed me stormily before helping me on his bike.

"You look like walking jewels," he commented and I smiled softly.

"Well, of course. After all, I missed the last summer party. I have to catch up."

They started the engines and we drove out to the beaches. You could hear the music and the big fires crackling from far away. Like trees, the burning cones of wood rose into the air in front of the caves, coloring the sand an unnatural orange.

There was a lot of booze and boisterous celebrations. Immediately I was infected by the euphoric mood. Even the caves had been equipped with torches and strings of lights hung everywhere on the palm trees.

A DJ booth and several seating areas made of wicker chairs and small wooden tables had been set up. Directly I got the feeling to be stranded in the Caribbean. Of course, everything was held in gold and silver accents and everywhere were flowers attached, which were sprayed with gold or silver paint in accordance with the motto.

The costumes of the others were in different styles. While some wore fancy dresses and suits, others walked around in garish swimming trunks and ridiculous shirts.

But it was exactly this mixture that made the summer partys charme. Everyone had their own definition of the theme and that's what made it so exciting.

When we arrived at the dance floor, heads automatically turned in our direction and the whispering began. Satisfied, I earned envious or eager looks and let my gaze roam over the people.

At the bar, some were already lining up, as there were obviously delicious cocktails.

Rafe had put his arm around me and pulled me tightly at the hip to show that I belonged to him.

Immediately, a feeling of trepidation spread through me that only got worse when Kelce and Topper's other friends joined us. Most of the kooks were dressed in gold, which made me stand out, but that was just fine with me.

The guys greeted each other with handshakes and laughed loudly. But I was still searching the crowd. For what, I didn't really know.

As soon as I spotted the Pogues in a seating area, a nausea loosened inside me.

JJ was sitting on the back of a wicker chair where Pope sat with a beer-can in his hands.

His blonde hair was sticking up from his head as usual and he wore only a short golden vest over his bare torso.

His shorts were beige, rather than gold, and on his nose he had a pair of gold sunglasses whose lenses were shaped like hearts.

He looked funny, yet I couldn't take my eyes off him.

Kiara was sitting on a bench next to him, wearing silver leather pants and a pretty gray top. Pope had also opted for silver and was wearing a shirt and shorts in the matching fabre.

John B wore a tank top that looked like it had been spray painted gold and simple black bathing trunks to go with it, which gotten some spray paint too. However, he had also a gold cap on his head that was definitely self-painted with little smiley faces on it.

"That sounds good to me. What do you say, Sky?"

Completely perplexed, I stared at Rafe as he snapped me out of my appraisal of the Pogues. I had become dully aware of the conversations, as if I were underwater.

Rafe seemed a bit puzzled by my confused look, then repeated:

"Kelce asked how you liked the new golf course. We spent the whole afternoon there."

"Ah. Yes. Turned out great," I said absently, trying to catch another glimpse of the Pogues as JJ laughed out loud and I really wanted to know why.

"It's really a blessing for the island to have Rick back. Ward and he will definitely start more projects and maybe the Cut will finally go away. Nobody needs that dump."

Kelce's words were directed at the group, but I felt personally addressed. The other girls, who were now also standing with us, agreed with him and Rafe also nodded vehemently.

Maybank stood up straight and laughingly returned a comment from John B. In doing so, he turned in our direction. That's when I tensed as JJ suddenly lifted his gaze and his unabashedly blue eyes scrutinized me.

There was a brief glint of confusion and then disbelief in them, then there was just that cheeky twinkle that blocked the view of his true thoughts like a thick wall.

The sound of the sea seemed to grow deafeningly loud, and Rafe's grip on my waist grew more uncomfortable as JJ came our way with Kiara and John's empty cups. My stomach rotated as if I had swallowed a spinning top and I turned urgently to Rafe.

"Why don't you get us something to drink?"

He smiled and his hands traveled up my back.

"Anything for my girl."

As a parting gesture, he pressed an emphatic kiss to my lips that only served to mark his territory. Because he too had noticed the looks the other guys were giving him, and when he gave JJ a venomous look, it was clear he had seen him too.

The other kooks were emitting whistles and lewd noises. Rafe and I, of course, were quite the latest gossip, especially in our age group.

When he got to the bar, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was as if handcuffs had been removed from me and I risked another glance at JJ, who was now also heading for the bar.

Was it my imagination or had his eyes darkened and his hands now clasped tightly around the mugs?

He rushed past me so that he brushed my shoulder and stared stubbornly straight ahead.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Sarah.

So it wasn't just me who had noticed the sudden change in mood.

⬇️

[13.]

© Yuna542 — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[cosmica-galaxy]

Does Don Hookfang just like the mafia aesthetic or is he actually an organised crime ringleader? Also, is he wearing actual clothes or is it still all his own mimicry?

It's his own mimicry of Mafia Movies he used to watch before the collapse, they were his favorite. He's a Camera/TV hybrid, so he yearns for "pack living". He's the alpha of the group he reigns over and he has some notable underlings that respect and listen to him. Some camera mimics and other TV mimic hybrids like himself. They all share the mafia aesthetics because their leader, Don, thinks it makes them closer as a 'family', like in the movies. Also, he doesn't partake in crime necessarily. Crime really doesn't have holdings on the world like it used to...so it's more of a territory turf war kinda business. They make claims on territories and fight to keep their turf for their clan.

If they do hoard something that isn't drugs...then it would be sugar. I forgot to mention that TV mimics LOVE sugar. They obsess over the stuff! Other sweet stuff too! They love honey, sweeteners (artificial and genuine), and anything that else has a rich taste to it, like chocolate. If you gave a mimic some honeycomb/chocolate, they won't attack you and will let you pass through their territory unopposed. Give them a regular source of the stuff and you may find yourself with some loyal companions! Sugar is far more precious to them than drugs, so they actively fight for whatever is left in once-populated areas.

Those that grow sugar cane and other sweets, like honey, are revered and placed in high positions. Don, and his extended 'family', are some of the few that have managed to secure such delicacies. They live a mafia-like lifestyle, but they don't rely on crime like human mafias used to. They are more like...aggressive farmers. XD

I also like to envision that Don speaks with a Italian/city accent or a soft New York accent.

[titansturf]

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[astrophysicist-guitar-god]

After the cut, the Rolling Stone article that elicited a response from Roger, written on an airline motion-sickness bag.

Queen Holds Court in South America: On the road with rock's royal spectacle (x)

James Henke, June 11, 1981. Buenos Aires, Argentina

We are the champions – my friends And we’ll keep on fighting – till the end – We are the champions – We are the champions, No time for losers cause we are the champions – of the world – —Freddie Mercury, “We Are the Champions”*

It was to be the Big Event. Queen, coming off its most successful year ever, was setting out to conquer South America and wanted to make sure the whole world knew about it.

That, certainly, was no surprise. After all, this was the band that had made a career out of creating spectacles. A couple of years ago, for example, when they were launching a U.S. tour in support of their Jazz album, Queen threw a bash in New Orleans that featured snake charmers, strippers, transvestites and a naked fat lady who smoked cigarettes in her crotch.

The real surprise was that Queen – a group with a history of hostility toward the press – had agreed to do interviews and had invited journalists from the U.S., England, Spain, France and other countries to come along for the first shows.

So here I am at Ezeiza airport, outside Buenos Aires. The place looks like a military installation. Young, peach-fuzz-faced boys who can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen are stationed along the concourse that leads through customs into the baggage-claim area. They’re all in uniform: big black leather shit-kicking boots that reach halfway up the calves of their legs, and regulation tan pants, shirts and helmets. And they’re all armed with submachine guns.

In Argentina, the military – and terror – reigns supreme. According to Amnesty International, about 15,000 people have “disappeared” since 1976, when Juan Perón’s second wife and successor, Isabel, was thrown from power in a coup d’état. Since then, a guerrilla war has been waging between the dictatorship and opposition groups, mainly Perónists, and citizens have routinely been plucked off the streets or out of their homes, taken to secret detention camps and systematically brutalized. But as VS. Naipaul writes in his book The Return of Eva Perón, “Style is important in Argentina; and in the long-running guerrilla war – in spite of the real blood, the real torture – there has always been an element of machismo and public theatre.”

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Amid the hubbub at customs, I notice a middle-aged man in gray – gray suit, gray tie, gray hair – making his way through the crowd, shouting something in Spanish. The only word I understand is Queen, and sure enough, he’s looking for us. He takes our passports, whisks us past the inspectors without so much as one bag being opened, and leads us upstairs to the bar for an early morning cerveza. He speaks little English, but there are two words he knows quite well. No matter what anyone asks for, his response is the same: “No problem.”

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

By the afternoon of day two, none of the writers has yet been introduced to any of the band members. We while away the time in the hotel bar, but in this country, where the annual inflation rate is around 100 percent, a bottle of beer costs the equivalent of twelve dollars, keeping us sober against our wills. Finally, Jim Beach, Queen’s business adviser, allows a few of us to attend the sound check at Velez Sarfield.

The Argentines have a rather nifty concept of crowd control, as I find out when I reach the stadium: a moat, about six feet wide and three feet deep, runs around the perimeter of the field and is filled with foul-smelling water and patrolled by dragonflies. Queen has brought its own artificial turf so that the promoters will allow people onto the field.

Up onstage, Queen – lead singer Freddie Mercury, guitarist Brian May, bassist John Deacon and drummer Roger Taylor – is rehearsing “Rock It (Prime Jive),” a track off The Game. And it sounds simply awful. The acoustics are horrendous in the 3500-seat stadium: there’s a thirty-second delay as the music drifts across the length of the field and reverberates off the scoreboard. Nor does the band’s musicianship seem inspired. The rhythm section is sloppy and sluggish; May’s guitar playing is limited to heavy-metal/hard-rock clichés and patented, though by now boring, harmonic lead breaks; Mercury’s singing is lackadaisical and without conviction.

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“They’re not even up to the par of some third-rate New Jersey bar band,” another writer comments to me, and indeed, I’m somewhat mystified about what it is that makes this group so popular.

When I return to Velez Sarfield that evening for the show, the stadium is swarming with kids – and cops. These are crusty, corpulent tough guys – not the boot-camp boys I saw at the airport. And it doesn’t take long to find out that they mean business. When one American writer snaps a photo of the twenty-odd billy-club-wielding policemen who are cordoning off the backstage area, he’s pinned against a government-owned Falcon and threatened at knife point with the loss of a finger until he yields his film. “No problem.” Sure.

“Un supergrupo numero uno,” the emcee anounces as the lights dim, and with a burst of smoke, Queen appears onstage and begins hammering out its anthem, “We Will Rock You.” Mercury – dressed in a white, sleeveless Superman T-shirt, red vinyl pants and a black vinyl jacket – frequently stops singing and dares the audience to carry the weight. And carry the weight they do: the fans seem to know all the lyrics throughout the 110-minute show – which, if for no. other reason, is impressive for the number of hits the group is able to offer up, such as “Keep Yourself Alive,” “Killer Queen,” “Bohemian Rhapsody,” “Fat Bottomed Girls” and “Bicycle Race.”

Though the band-audience interaction is remarkable, the crowd responds with such unquestioning devotion I get the feeling that if Freddie Mercury told them to shave their heads, they’d do it.

The musicianship still seems pedestrian, but what the group lacks in ability, it makes up for – at least to the fans’ satisfaction – in gimmickry. Smoke shrouds the stage at regular intervals; flash pots illuminate the audience at key moments and end the set. Compared to Kiss‘ fire-breathing antics, Queen’s use of special effects is in relative good taste, and after all, a Queen show is supposed to be a spectacle.

For the encore, the band reprises “We Will Rock You,” then bounds into “We Are the Champions.” Mercury, by this time wearing only a pair of black leather short shorts and a matching leather policeman’s hat, struts around the stage like some hybrid of Robert Plant and Peter Allen, climactically kicking over a speaker cabinet and bashing it with his microphone stand. Pretty ridiculous in this day and age, but the kids love it.

Indeed, Queen may be the first truly fascist rock band. The whole thing makes me wonder why anyone would indulge these creeps and their polluting ideas. —Dave Marsh in Rolling Stone

What do I think about critics? I think they’re a bunch of shits. —Freddie Mercury

Queen’s relationship with the music press has been about as cordial as the secret police’s relationship with the Argentine public. Even so, the band hasn’t exactly suffered from the continual pans of its records and shows: eight of its ten LPs have been certified gold (the exceptions are the Flash Gordon soundtrack and Queen II), and its last three studio efforts – News of the World, Jazz and The Game – have gone well over the million mark in sales.

“I have some very strong views of some of the things the press do, such as The Rolling Stone Record Guide,” Roger Taylor says, looking out his hotel-room window. It’s day four, and the long-promised interviews have finally been arranged. “Now, I’ve never read the book, but I saw an ad, and I thought, ‘What the fuck is someone doing bringing out a book like this? Who the hell are they to say what albums are good and what albums are bad?’ I think it’s entirely a personal choice.” (For the record, Queen didn’t fare too well in the book; four of the seven albums reviewed were awarded two stars, a designation that means “records that are artistically insubstantial, though not truly wretched.”)

The shots at Queen have not been fired by just the press, however. When the punks came to fame in England in the late Seventies, Queen was one of the groups most often singled out for attack. Taylor and John Deacon, the two band members who seem most attentive to musical trends, apparently feel some of the criticism was justified. “It gave us a kick up the ass,” Taylor says. “It was so angry, so different, so outrageous. We were recording News of the World in the same studio the Sex Pistols were recording their first album in. I mean, the first time I ever saw John Rotten, I was really shocked, cause I had never actually seen the whole thing in person. He sort of crystallized the whole punk attitude, and there’s no doubt about it, the guy had amazing charisma.”

If the band’s pomp-and-circumstance delivery has recently fallen into disfavor among the rough-and-ready New Wavers, it wasn’t really in vogue either when Queen inaugurated its grandiose stage presentation in the early Seventies. “That was the time of the supergroups, like Cream and Traffic,” Brian May explains, “and it was more the thing to get into your music and not worry about the audience. Then, for a period, it became very cool to do a show. Now, the wheel has turned again. But we just think that kind of show is part of being professional. People are giving you two hours of their time, so you have to give them everything for those two hours. We want every person to go away feeling he got his money’s worth, and we use every possible device to achieve that.”

From the beginning, Queen wanted to put on a show that would be different. “We had a joke that we wanted to be the biggest,” Taylor says. “It was a joke, but underneath, it really was true. Number one is much better than number two. And we’re still working at it.”

To accomplish this goal, Queen opted for an unusual route. Rather than work their butts off playing the club circuit – something Taylor and May had done without much success in a band called Smile – they chose to spend two years rehearsing while they were still in school. May nearly completed a Ph.D. in astronomy; Taylor has a degree in biology; Deacon, one in electronics; and Mercury, a diploma in illustration and design.

Mercury and Taylor supported the band by selling artwork at a stall in Kensington Market, and it wasn’t until 1973 that Queen released its first album and had enough money – thanks to record-company support – to take the kind of show they wanted to do on the road. The LP, titled Queen, gave the band its first hit single, “Keep Yourself Alive,” and set the stage for what was to come. As Roger Taylor says, “It’s been quite a fairy tale.”

I just hate this,” Freddie Mercury says, “especially when that thing’s on.” He points to my tape recorder, sits down across from me and lights up a Salem. “There came a point where I was misquoted all the time,” he continues, “and they had the piece written before they even started. I’m not afraid of criticism – I don’t want to come across as Goody Two Shoes all the time – but it’s been purely vindictive.” A deal’s a deal, however, and Mercury, obviously under some pressure from the other band members and their record company, had agreed to an interview. “So here I am with Rolling Stone,” he moans. “It’s like being forced to talk.”

Up close, Mercury is more petite than he looks onstage: he stands only a fraction of an inch under five feet ten and is relatively slender. His short-cropped hair and mustache are jet black, and his eyes are a piercing dark brown. In addition to being the group’s lead singer and one of its main songwriters, Mercury is also most responsible for Queen’s image. He’s known for his flamboyance and debauchery both onstage and off: at a birthday party a couple of years ago, for example, he swung naked from a chandelier, and on one of the band’s Japanese tours, bored with the tedium of playing night after night, he appeared onstage with a bunch of bananas atop his head.

“The Carmen Miranda of rock & roll,” he says, chuckling. “But what can I say? I’m a flamboyant personality. I like going out and having a good time. I’m just being me. The media pick up on certain things, and a lot of things get overexaggerated. I’m quite easy to get on with, really. I can be a real bitch at times, but that’s okay. I’m not that vicious. I use my influence. Why not? I’m not afraid to flaunt it.”

Thirty-four years old, Mercury was born Frederick Bulsara in what was then Zanzibar. His father was a British civil servant, and Freddie left home when he was seven to attend boarding school, first in India, then in England. “You learn to fend for yourself at an early age. I was quite rebellious, and my parents hated it. I grew out of living at home at an early age. But I just wanted the best. I wanted to be my own boss.”

Shifting around in his seat, Mercury tugs at his upper lip and reaches for his pack of Salems. “For a nonsmoker,” he jokes, “I smoke far too much.” He tells me he’s just purchased a house in London’s Kensington Park, complete with eight bedrooms and a massive studio with pillars and a gallery. “I can have minstrels play there,” he says with a laugh. “Very la-di-da, don’t you think?”

He’s having the mansion remodeled, which gave him cause recently to go on one of his celebrated shopping sprees. Just before their South American jaunt, Queen played five shows at the Budokan in Tokyo, and the promoter’s wife, a good friend of Freddie’s, arranged an excursion for the singer and his entourage through the largest department store. “I felt like Grace Kelly,” he recalls. “I got this huge Japanese bed, a lot of lacquer things and really nice hundred-year-old stuff. I think I spent a fortune, but I don’t know. The credit card pays for it.

“I like buying things on crazy impulses,” he continues. “I hate buying for investment. But I do like a lot of Oriental stuff; it’s intricate and delicate. I also like the cultural part of it, the way they do their gardens; they put a lot of thought into it. But I’m not into all the meditation crap, or those boring tea ceremonies. The raw fish, as well.”

Early on in his career, Mercury seemed bent on incorporating his interest in different cultures and art forms into Queen’s stage shows and music. “Mustapha,” off the Jazz album, was a miserable attempt at Arabic music, and at one point, Mercury told the British press he was “bringing ballet to the masses.”

“I went through this period where I thought I was making an impact on the fashion world,” he says, “then I thought, ‘Oh, grow up.’ And now, you see, I don’t take all this too seriously – I mean, I couldn’t be serious with the things I wear onstage. I have far more fun, and I enjoy it. It’s a great release. That’s what entertainment should be.”

He feels likewise about the band’s music. “It’s just pure escapism. It’s like going to see a film. People should just escape for a while, then they can go back to their problems. That’s the way all songs should be: you listen to them, then discard them like a used tampon. I don’t have any messages I’m trying to get across or anything.”

The forty-five minutes of interview time I’ve been allocated are rapidly drawing to a close, and publicist Howard Bloom knocks on the hotel-room door and tells us to wind things up. Mercury lights one last Salem. “You see,” he says, “you can tell I’m not very good at this. To be honest, I really don’t think I have much to say.”

A couple of years ago, Roger Taylor was doing about 145 miles an hour in his Ferrari on an alpine road in Germany when suddenly one of the chains went, the cooling system died and the car caught on fire. He managed to extinguish the flames just in time – there were about fifteen gallons of gas onboard. “Burned all my clothes to a cinder,” he recalls. “Another minute and it would have hit the tank and that would have been it. I would have been vaporized completely.”

Since then, Taylor hasn’t been quite as enamored of fast cars, but he still relishes the kind of lifestyle rock & roll has afforded him. In that sense, he’s probably closer in personality to Freddie Mercury than the other two band members. “Ah, yes,” he says when I bring up Queen’s rather decadent image. “I like that sort of thing. I like strip clubs and strippers and wild parties with naked women. Sounds wonderful. I’d love to own a whorehouse. Really, seriously. What a wonderful way to make a living.”

“Roger is very much in the tradition of the successful rock & roll musician,” John Deacon explains. “He wants the things that go with it, and it is what he really wanted to be. I’m sort of the opposite of that. It was never my burning ambition to be in a successful band. It has helped my confidence a bit, but it’s different things for different people. And we are four very different people.”

Offstage, while Taylor and Mercury are out carousing, Deacon frequently spends time with his wife and three kids. Though he may seem out of place in the flashy world of Queen, Deacon is actually the band’s stabilizing presence. He oversees much of the group’s business matters – Queen does not have an official manager; instead, it employs a coterie of advisers who leave final decisions to the band.

The disco hit “Another One Bites the Dust” is Deacon’s creation. “I’m the only one in the group, really, who likes American black music,” he tells me. “And with The Game, it was Freddie’s idea that instead of arguing over which songs to put on the album, we’d split it up: Freddie and Brian would have three tracks apiece, and Roger and myself would have two. But we had arguments over whether “Bites the Dust” should be a single. In the end, it began attracting a lot of attention on black stations and in discos, so the record company wanted us to put it out. But it would never have been chosen as a single by the group as a whole.”

Given his low-key personality, I wonder how Deacon feels about the image conveyed by Mercury. His answer is blunt: “Some of us hate it,” he says. “But that’s him and you can’t stop it. Like he did an interview in one of the English national papers, and it was all like, ‘We’re dripping with money, darlin‘,’ or, ‘What’s a mortgage?‘ Brian, for one, just hated it.”

Like Deacon, Brian May is quiet and tends to keep to himself. He, too, has brought his wife and child along. When not touring, he’s an avid gardener – “I’ve been known to be out there looking for slugs at one o’clock in the morning,” he says – and he tries to keep up with astronomy by reading journals and talking with his former university colleagues.

“I think it’s essential that you have things that you get into apart from music,” he says. “You have to maintain your balance.”

May seems to care the most about the group’s audience, and he supervises the fan club. “I think people can listen to some of our stuff and actually get something out of it spiritually, if I may be so bold,” he says. “I enjoy the fact that a lot of people have written to us and said that a particular song helped them when they were in a difficult situation. That’s a great feeling.”

All in all, the Big Event was a success. The attendance was staggering: in Sao Paulo, Brazil, the group played in front of 131,000 people one night and 120,000 the next. The press had also been good: one American writer even mentioned Queen’s shows at Velez Sarfield in the same breath as the Beatles’ at Shea Stadium.

Though this tour seemed rather tame compared with previous Queen endeavors, that probably says more about South American governments than it does about the band. When the group’s advance men first arrived in Buenos Aires, for instance, their backstage passes were seized briefly by customs officials, who deemed them pornographic (they depicted two nude women embracing).

But basically, things went smoothly – not unlike some master plan. That concept was brought up again and again when I discussed Queen with some of its associates. “They want to conquer the world” was how one person put it. For a group of this stature, a group that presumably has made enough money to last a lifetime, Queen maintains a very busy work schedule. After the release of The Game last June, the band did a major U.S. tour, recorded Flash Gordon and played some more dates in Europe and Britain. Then came the Japanese shows, the South American trek and a solo LP from Roger Taylor. This June they plan to begin work on another studio album, but before that comes out sometime next year, they will release a greatest-hits package (which reportedly will vary from country to country, depending on what songs have been hits in those areas).

Trending

Four years ago, in Queen’s last interview with Rolling Stone, Freddie Mercury said, “Our goal is to get to the top, obviously. We’re not there yet; nowhere near it. And I don’t want anybody to tell me I’m there either.” And the band still feels that way. When I asked them what they thought they’d be doing in five years, each member was convinced Queen would still be together, still reaching for something more. After all, you can’t conquer the world overnight.

This story is from the June 11th, 1981 issue of Rolling Stone.

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[jonathantaylorthomas]

You think Taylor is going to write a letter to the NFL players association about artificial turf. TK is lucky that he didn’t get hurt worse

um no, that is completely not her business, the players's union should be handling this.

[yesyourstalker]

Neta: so I take the slices of carrot cake and I kind of put it together and they make a whole cake

Warabi: so what you're making a wedding cake out of frozen carrot cake that's been in your freezer for 2 years?

Neta: no! I hate carrot cake. I don't like the texture but whatever he wants I do for him. I don't even know if we're going to get married. Honestly, I don't think I want to get married anymore. I was married. It wasn't great at the time but what kind of settled made peace............. Wow! So as if she knew I was talking about her.

Warabi: I'm going on break

Neta: hey syl.

Sylvia: hey Net........ How are you

Neta: I'm alive and medicated. How's your eye?

Sylvia: you know it's still glass. How's your ear?

Neta: still gone. Hehehehe.... But really how are you?

Sylvia: I'm good alive and medicated I heheheh.... I'm actually doing great! I'm engaged!

Neta: That's amazing! Sylvia, finally marrying Rift. He seems like a good guy. Cirrina seems to like him.

Sylvia: yeah... Of course he can't replace her actual dad. How is she?

Neta: doing good. She's at a turf war game right now. She's been going frequently. I think she might want to be on a team maybe when she gets to high school.

Sylvia:hmmm You know I hate those things. All it does is just glorify war and romanticize the shit that we've been through....... I swear surface culture........they have no respect for anything. They treat everything like it's a game.

Neta: come on Syl lighting up. It's different up here.... It's......... *sigh* I don't know. I should feel the same way too, but seeing her play. Hanging around with friends and acting normal. Having a childhood....... I don't want to take me away from her like it was taking away from us....... Just seeing her smile and laugh and I can't take that away from my little girl.

Sylvia: *sigh* I guess you're right......... As long as she's safe and happy. How is surface world anyway?

Neta: It's good, I got tanner hehe.... It's great! I'm really happy up here.... Got a nice store. Working my own business....the apartments are kind of small but I don't think I'm going to be staying there for long.

Sylvia: you still seen that metalopod guy? Hehehehe you two look very happy. It's kind of weird seeing you in a magazine. Was not a good picture. Terrible angle.

Neta: they never get my good side............. It's complicated right now. It's not bad complicated....... It's kind of like a waiting game right now...... You should meet him you'd like him............ Do you ever think of coming up to the surface??

Sylvia: no, I'm not going back. It's too much for me. I only went up there for missions. That's all I associate it with now. Every time I'm up there my guard is up and everybody is a threat I-......I can't..... I'm sorry

Neta: I feel the same way about the bunkers.... I can't go back down there............ever.... Is it different down there since the war is over?

Sylvia: It's really different! I wouldn't even call them bunkers anymore. We have shops, we can legally purchase and enjoy surface media now! Better plumbing, better homes. We have nicer light panels now! Of course the nicer areas have glass! Apparently they're working with jelly-co installing glass sheets so we can actually see the sun without going out to the surface!...... Which honestly is ridiculous because glass is a lot cheaper than artificial sunlight

Neta: *pffth*........I guess they're still treating sunlight as a luxury now and not as a right........typical....

Sylvia: Don't try to make this political. We'll be here all day hehehe...... I just wanted to catch up and ask if I'm able to have Cirrina over for a week. It's next year to be at the wedding and maybe....... Do you want to come too?

Neta: I think we can arrange that to happen. She'd love to see you get married....... I don't know about me though. It may change of aesthetically but........... It will always be a prison for me.............*sigh*..... I-

Sylvia: I get it. I completely understand Neta............ This place was not kind to you or anyone at that time

Neta:...............*sigh*................ Maybe I'll try going down there for a visit........ I want to see what music they have I can put in my shop.

Sylvia: whenever you saaay........... Maybe I can try going to the surface just to see cirrina play....... I also want to see how small your apartment is.

Neta: hahahahah shut up. See I knew you were going to do this. You always have to make fun of me about something!

Sylvia:wah wah wah.......... you shut up! If you're coming underground you better wear something nice not ugly clothes they wear up to the surface. They're like walking billboards. It's tacky, everything has to be branded. It's crazy.

Neta: RIGHT???. We used to just take blank shirts and draw pictures and shit. These kids have to have name brands. Do you know how much Toni kensa cost? It's like 100Gs for a pair of black and white shoes not the sales price!

Sylvia: I'm telling you surface dwellers don't take anything seriously. They don't know the value of money. They don't know the value of anything they just-

Neta: I thought you said we weren't going to be political.

Sylvia: be quiet............ The baby's crying. I got to go. Bye Net.

Neta: I got to pick up cirrina and see you later syl........... She's getting married. Maybe I should reconsider..

Mahi: she sounds nice. I can run the store If you're going to be underground for a while.

Neta: yeah thanks no problem. It'll be next year I have enough time to prepare myself and just to ......... mahi.... Were you listening to my conversation?

Mahi: just snippets of it You're next to the cash register. I couldn't help it here.

Neta: no, not that part. The fact that you can understand it. When were you going to tell me you know octarian?

Mahi: You never asked.

Neta: ..................................

Mahi: also, if you don't like carrot cake, you can just like get spice cake which is like carrot cake without the carrots but similar flavor

Neta:.......... Go on your break. I can't. I can't deal with you right now. Hahaha You're ridiculous hehehe You knew everything I was saying? what if I was talking shit huh?

Mahi belongs to @fish-at-fish-fish-resort

[brownweaselpoetry]

Poison, Processing Out.

Late April and the flowers are really going for it now. The air is fragrant from artificially planted natives. I make my way from the edge of Skid Row to a favorite bench in Chinatown's only large green space. The rainy season has nourished then drowned much of the grass here. It's a flat park and while I have no doubt there are stormwater systems underfoot, the drainage just isn't meant for rains like I'm used to seeing. There's a precise patchwork of grafted turf, the pieces cut to size over the wide drowned areas. Some of the replacement grass has already dried, sun-cooked before their roots could grasp the soil underneath. The patchwork resolves itself or doesn't, always a work in progress. There is constant maintenance on this agreeable facsimile of the natural, its thorns and fangs plucked away. Men in tan uniforms trundle along the park paths on their Gators, speaking laconically.

It's the end of April and I'm missing Michigan. I said I didn't have a homestate for a while until my heart proved me a liar. My phone has an outdated weather widget. In this way I was informed it's not quite fifty degrees there. Not quite ninety here. I dream of the town I spent the first few years of my life, the images coming more insistently now that visiting has moved from the realm of impulse to endeavor. Transplanted. Thousands of miles of separation. I need to remind myself regularly of the size of California, the size of the United States. How many biomes away is that? Is there a climate classification that could quantify how alien my body feels, sweating in shorts and burdensome shirt?

When I visited my parents back home over Christmas break, we talked a lot. It's been easier to talk with them, both of them, the past few years. I was a pretty hurtful kid. I think my moderate demeanor is penance for that, baked now into my adult persona. Something I carry everywhere. I'm proud of it. Better for it. Mockingbirds seemingly swarm around the bench I'm writing on, perhaps thinking I'm one of those patrons of crumb and seed. A sparrow, having given it up, busies herself plucking young leaves from a nearby shrub.

Drove up to Midland on Christmas Day, 2020. It was the middle of the pandemic and I like everyone else was wading-drowning in lockdowns and mask mandates. Emily was out of state with friends in a rented faux-castle. Her ten-year Dungeons & Dragons anniversary. Quite a campaign. I decided to make a road trip out of the time alone, feeling untethered and adrift in my isolation. So I visited pure beautiful snow-hushed Midland and dream-walked through my old street, the old blue water tower at the end of the block as big as I remember. The castle-like children's park still appeared capable of leaving kids with splinters. But the wooden-bodied Tridge looked smaller. I walked its three spokes; let it carry me over the confluence of two rivers. It was something of an engineering marvel to a kid like me. Cute, in any event. The whole thing was frozen over when I last saw it, my moment in time stuck in another moment in time.

Colder now and 2022, I am in Michigan again. A stranger and home. I talk a bit about my memories of Midland, my frosted-rose-colored visit a couple years past. My parents listen but are hesitant. My dad remembers Midland as an adult, as another point on a long timeline of homes and homestates. Nothing so precious. He says it was a company town, everyone working for or else expected to work for the chemical company that bankrolls every lovely thing worth the grasp of memory. My parents did not work for that company and were thus determined not to be worth knowing. Dad says there were pews at Church for company men, their wives and children. And pews for the other people. We were the other people. I never realized. A gust of wind picks up and carries aloft some sweet scent and laughter like a single sensation.

When I was a little boy I remember being sensitive to the pulse of natural things. But now I wonder if I just internalized the stories my mom has told me, grafting her observations to my washed-out memories.  Mythologizing myself and the places I happened to be. I breathe in the seasons and exhale a sigh. I used to place my palm on the sticky bark of trees. A pagan-child ritual of union, myself and some tree planted and manicured for an ideal suburb, make-believing I could speak reassurances and praise to them. I love you. Keep growing until you break the sidewalk, okay? You're the prettiest tree. Thank you.

Closer to Christmas, my dad recalled the trees in Midland had strange sap. He remembered how so many trees in that town, planted in chemical-spill soil, did what they needed to keep themselves green and alive. The trees had black, tarlike sap. I said I didn't recall the sap but I think I do. I remember my slender black-sap palms, my fingers seeming to want to bind together. The need of a garden hose. Those trees were processing out the poison we raised them in. They were bleeding, sweating death so it didn't remain in their bodies. I thought sap was just black until a few years ago, its clarity being an aberrant form.

Some sentimental home locked in ice and memory. Weeping poison and I weeping for an illusion. Home is not a place I can return to. It has transformed, shed the carefully-structured lies and child-hopes I built for it. It has become itself, as Los Angeles has always been itself to me. Mom got upset when my older brother and I were laughing discussing poverty meals, comparing notes on the shit we ate to stay alive in that chasm between becoming an adult on paper and in actual fact. I ate raw rhubarb straight from the ground in Midland. It lit my tastebuds up. And at eighteen I ate entire Little Caesar's pizzas for five dollars. Just didn't know any better. She said she feels like a bad mother. But that isn't how I see it. Mom and dad did their best with me in the way I know I didn't reciprocate until much later.

Summer is too-quickly coming on and Los Angeles is home and will remain home until it is no longer. My parents are in Michigan with most of my family. And so my heart yearns for Michigan. Its patterns and cycles are of my kind. I could have been anywhere and felt this heartbreak. The cycles are not diminished by my knowing them.

[fadingbarbarianengineer]

Synthetic Grass Innovation at Its Finest Discover Lush Primo Today!

Synthetic Grass Innovation at Its Finest: Discover Lush Primo Today! Introduction

In an era where sustainability and aesthetics blend seamlessly, the quest for the perfect lawn has led many homeowners and businesses to explore innovative alternatives. Enter synthetic grass, a game-changing solution that not only enhances the beauty of outdoor spaces but also offers unparalleled durability and ease of maintenance. Among the many options available, Lush Primo stands out as a leading choice for those seeking lush, vibrant greenery without the hassle of traditional lawn care. In this article, we’ll delve deep into the world of synthetic grass innovation, focusing on Lush Primo and its place in The Turf Yard's extensive offerings.

Synthetic Grass Innovation at Its Finest: Discover Lush Primo Today!

The realm of synthetic grass has undergone a remarkable transformation over recent years. Once viewed as a mere substitute for natural grass, modern advancements have elevated synthetic turf to new heights. Lush Primo represents one of these advancements—combining cutting-edge technology with eco-friendly materials to create an authentic lawn experience.

Lush Primo is designed not just to look like real grass but to feel like it too. With its soft fibers that closely mimic natural blades of grass, Lush Primo delivers a sensory experience that’s hard to beat. Whether you’re transforming your backyard into a personal oasis or creating an inviting space for your commercial property, this synthetic grass option provides both beauty and functionality.

What Sets Lush Primo Apart from Other Synthetic Grass Options?

When comparing synthetic grass options such as Lush 70, Lush 77, and Lush 80, it's essential to understand what makes Lush Primo unique:

Realism: Its advanced technology creates multi-colored blades that provide depth and realism. Durability: Engineered to withstand heavy foot traffic while retaining its lush appearance. Eco-Friendly Materials: Made from recyclable materials, making it a sustainable choice. Low Maintenance: No watering, mowing, or pesticides required—ideal for busy homeowners. Why Choose The Turf Yard as Your Artificial Turf Supplier?

When it comes to selecting an artificial turf supplier, choosing The Turf Yard ensures you receive high-quality products and exceptional customer service. The Turf Yard prides itself on:

Expertise: Years of experience in the industry equip them with knowledge about the best applications for synthetic grass. Wide Selection: From residential lawns to commercial sports fields, they offer various products tailored to meet diverse needs. Customer Support: Their knowledgeable staff is ready to assist you in selecting the ideal turf for your project. Understanding Synthetic Grass Technology How Is Synthetic Grass Made?

Synthetic grass https://theturfyard.com begins its journey in manufacturing facilities where plastic polymers are transformed into fibers resembling natural grass blades. Here’s a quick breakdown:

Polymer Production: Raw materials ar

[gardenvisions]

The Ultimate Guide to Transforming Your Outdoor Space with Artificial Turf in Auckland

A lush, green lawn is the dream of many homeowners and businesses. However, maintaining natural grass can be time-consuming and costly, especially with Auckland's unpredictable weather conditions. This is where artificial turf Auckland comes in as the perfect solution. Whether you're looking for a low-maintenance alternative to natural grass or want to enhance the aesthetic appeal of your property, artificial turf offers unmatched benefits.

Why Choose Artificial Turf in Auckland?

Investing in artificial turf Auckland is a smart choice for both residential and commercial properties. Here’s why:

1. Low Maintenance

One of the biggest advantages of artificial turf is that it requires minimal upkeep. Unlike natural grass, which needs regular mowing, watering, and fertilizing, artificial turf stays green and pristine all year round with just occasional brushing and cleaning. This saves you time, effort, and money on maintenance costs.

2. Weather-Resistant

Auckland experiences a mix of sunny days and heavy rainfall. Natural grass can struggle to thrive under such conditions, often resulting in muddy patches or dried-out areas. Artificial turf Auckland is designed to withstand all weather conditions, providing a consistently beautiful lawn regardless of the season.

3. Eco-Friendly Choice

With increasing environmental concerns, more people are looking for sustainable alternatives. Artificial turf eliminates the need for pesticides, fertilizers, and excessive water usage, making it an eco-friendly option. Additionally, many modern synthetic turfs are made from recycled materials, further reducing their environmental footprint.

4. Safe and Comfortable

Families with children and pets can enjoy a safe, soft, and allergen-free surface with artificial turf. The synthetic fibers are non-toxic and designed to be gentle on the skin, reducing the risk of injuries from falls. Moreover, artificial turf does not attract pests like natural grass does, ensuring a cleaner and healthier environment.

The Convenience of Ready Lawn in Auckland

For those who prefer an instant green space, Ready Lawn Auckland provides a quick and efficient solution. Unlike seeded grass, which can take weeks to grow and establish, ready lawn offers an immediate transformation of your outdoor area.

Benefits of Ready Lawn Auckland:

Instant Greenery: No waiting period—your lawn is ready to use from day one.

Even Growth: Unlike natural seeding, which can result in patchy growth, ready lawn provides a uniform and consistent appearance.

Erosion Control: Ideal for sloped landscapes, as it helps prevent soil erosion and runoff.

Enhanced Property Value: A well-maintained lawn significantly boosts the curb appeal and market value of your property.

Choosing the Right Artificial Turf for Your Needs

With numerous options available, selecting the right artificial turf Auckland can be overwhelming. Here are a few factors to consider:

Pile Height: If you want a lush, natural-looking lawn, opt for a higher pile height. For sports or high-traffic areas, a shorter pile is preferable.

Material: High-quality synthetic grass is made from polyethylene or polypropylene, offering durability and a realistic texture.

UV Protection: Ensure the turf is UV-resistant to prevent fading and maintain its vibrant green color for years.

Drainage System: A good drainage system prevents water buildup, making the lawn usable even after heavy rain.

Installation and Maintenance Tips

Once you’ve chosen the perfect artificial turf Auckland, proper installation is crucial for longevity and performance. Many homeowners and businesses trust professional services like Graden Visions for expert installation and guidance.

Installation Steps:

Prepare the Surface: Remove any existing grass, weeds, or debris from the area.

Level the Ground: Add a layer of compacted base material to create a smooth and stable surface.

Install Weed Barrier: A weed-proof membrane prevents unwanted plant growth beneath the turf.

Lay the Turf: Roll out the artificial grass and secure the edges using nails or adhesive.

Brush and Infill: Spread silica sand or rubber infill to enhance stability and maintain the natural look.

Maintenance Tips:

Regular Brushing: Helps keep the blades upright and looking fresh.

Rinse Occasionally: Removes dust, dirt, and pet waste.

Remove Debris: Keep the surface clean by removing leaves and other debris.

Check for Repairs: Address any minor damage promptly to extend the lifespan of your turf.

Enhancing Your Outdoor Space with Artificial Turf

Beyond just lawns, artificial turf can be used in creative ways to enhance your outdoor space:

Patios & Balconies: Adds a touch of greenery without the need for soil.

Poolside Areas: Provides a non-slip surface that remains lush and green.

Play Areas: Safe and cushioned for children’s playgrounds.

Sports Fields: Ideal for football, golf, and other recreational activities.

Conclusion

Whether you want a lush green lawn without the hassle of maintenance or need an instant transformation with Ready Lawn Auckland, artificial turf is a fantastic investment. Its durability, eco-friendliness, and year-round appeal make it a superior alternative to natural grass.

For high-quality artificial turf solutions, Graden Visions offers expert services to help you create a beautiful and functional outdoor space. Choose the best turf option for your needs and enjoy a pristine lawn all year long!

[verdigrassinc]

Beautiful, Low-Maintenance Artificial Grass in San Mateo

Looking for a lush, green lawn without the hassle? Get high-quality artificial grass in San Mateo and enjoy a beautiful, maintenance-free outdoor space all year long! Our synthetic turf looks natural, feels soft, and is perfect for homes, businesses, pets, and play areas. No watering, no mowing, and no mud—just a clean, green space that lasts. We offer professional installation and free consultations to help you design the perfect lawn for your needs. Contact us today and transform your outdoor space with premium artificial grass!

[kimberlyharrisus]

Lush and Low-Maintenance Premium Artificial Grass in Tulsa OK

Upgrade your lawn with high-quality artificial grass from Tulsa Turf Masters in Tulsa, OK. Their durable, eco-friendly turf provides a lush, green look year-round without mowing, watering, or maintenance. Perfect for homes, businesses, and sports fields, their synthetic grass is designed for beauty and longevity. Enjoy a flawless lawn—contact Tulsa Turf Masters for expert installation today!

[olesportscom]

Find the Best Football Ground Near You for an Unmatched Playing Experience

Are you searching for a football ground near me where you can enjoy an exciting game with your friends? Whether you’re a professional player or just want to have some fun, finding the perfect football pitch near me has never been easier. At Ole Sports, we provide top-quality football pitch rental options to cater to your needs, ensuring an unparalleled playing experience.

Premium Football Pitches for Rent

If you’re looking for a football pitch rental, you want a location that offers excellent playing conditions, high-quality turf, and well-maintained facilities. Our football grounds are designed to provide players with a professional-grade experience, featuring:

High-quality artificial and natural grass pitches

Well-lit grounds for evening matches

Spacious and clean locker rooms

Convenient locations for easy accessibility

Easily Book a Football Pitch Near Me

With busy schedules, we understand that convenience is key. That’s why we’ve made it simple for you to book a football pitch near me through our online platform. Whether you need a pitch for a casual game, a league match, or corporate events, our seamless booking system ensures you can reserve your slot in just a few clicks. Visit Ole Sports and choose your preferred time and location.

Explore the Best Football Stadiums Near Me

For those looking for something more grand, football stadiums near me offer a thrilling atmosphere for larger matches and events. Whether you’re a team looking for a competitive venue or an organizer planning a football tournament, we connect you with some of the finest stadiums that provide:

Large seating capacities for spectators

Advanced floodlight systems for night matches

Professional-grade pitches

Comprehensive amenities for players and fans

Why Choose Ole Sports?

Top-Notch Facilities – Our football pitches and stadiums meet international standards, ensuring a high-quality playing surface.

Affordable Rentals – We offer cost-effective football pitch rental rates, making it accessible for all.

Hassle-Free Booking – Our user-friendly online platform lets you reserve a pitch within minutes.

Ideal Locations – Easily accessible football grounds in prime locations to reduce travel time.

Custom Packages – Flexible rental options for individuals, teams, and corporate events.

Get Started Today!

Stop searching for a football ground near me—your perfect pitch is just a few clicks away. Whether you're playing for fun, practicing for a tournament, or hosting a major event, Ole Sports has the ideal football facility for you. Book a football pitch near me now and elevate your game!

For more details, visit our website or contact us today!