#everyone in my dad's family starts going gray around their mid 20s but not everyone does it w/ such dramatic flair.

[unopenablebox]

people have started independently noticing & commenting on my sexy gray streak >:)

[toxi-works-at-culvers]

also what are some of your headcanons for him? i'd love to know:)!

ohh i have so many thoughts about him, thank you for asking! :3c

some general stuff first i guess? i think he genuinely loved his kids! and i think that he also liked kids in general, since he opened up fredbear's and all. i don't think he was the best dad, but i think he genuinely tried. and i don't really like when he's portrayed as abusive because i don't feel like it makes sense for his character.

basic stuff: 6 ft 2 in tall, built like a fuckin twig, scariest gray/green eyes you will ever see. charming bastard smile. missing a tooth because he's definitely gotten into a fight before. wears purple in almost every outfit and dresses more formally than needed. bisexual. somewhere in his mid-30's in 1983

hobbies include robotics, designing animatronics, acting, journaling, and juggling (canon btw)

british. that's not even a headcanon but i feel like it's being forgotten lately (matthew curtis' voicelines for him + he's not gonna have an accent in the movie… sad!)

very afraid of death

has a very high opinion of himself

probably had a cat at one point. i feel like he would

i think his hair would start graying kind of early because of stress. the man's a workaholic and has definitely done more than a few all-nighters :P

i also think he got married kind of early (in his 20's or so) from societal pressure and also oopsies!! accidental pregnancy! so yeah. michael was an accident but william still loved him - but once elizabeth and evan were born william kind of ends up ignoring michael in favor of them. and that causes michael's teen angst to get especially angsty which is why the bite of 83 happens

he 100% used to have a thing with henry. there's no way they weren't at least a little fruity. (from the silver eyes, "a search of his house had found (…) stacks of journals full of raving paranoia, passages about henry that ranged from wild jealousy to near worship." tell me that's not homosexual.) but anyways they both have families now, yet william still lowkey kind of wants henry. but will never have him because they are both doomed by the narrative :) (edit to also say. they are like a divorced old couple tbh.)

his opinion about henry swaps around a lot. sees henry as being superior and better than him even if, technically, william has made wayyy more advanced animatronics. or sometimes thinks that he's the best and henry would be nothing without him.

and now his personality!! i kind of try to base most of it on how he's portrayed in the books, with my own touch added on. basically he's silly! he's a great actor and he's very theatrical. he's also very charismatic, good at interacting with people as well as getting what he wants. but underneath all that he's kind of an asshole, he's really selfish and only really cares about himself. he's egotistcal and he doesn't admit his faults because he thinks he can't be wrong. so yeah. (this actually got really long so i condensed it down. more elaboration under the cut)

gets springlocked and dies in 1993. returned to the fnaf 1 location because he wanted to destroy the old animatronics, thinking that it might free the souls and let him avoid their wrath or something idk. kind of backfired on him.

post springtrapping he's had a lot of time to reflect, but rather than feeling guilty he feels like he needs to get revenge. he wants to kill everyone who's ever wronged him and that's what keeps him going, even in death. (also the only one he might ACTUALLY somewhat regret is killing charlie, because of how it broke his relationship with henry. but otherwise he doesn't feel guilty at all.)

and most importantly, the fnaf 6 ending (with henry's speech) is canon and he's dead after that :) no glitchtrap, no mimic, no FUCKING FEAR GAS!1!1!11

(the original, longer version of his personality here lol) i think that william is actually a very silly goofy guy! he's dramatic, he's an entertainer and an actor as shown by how he acts when he's wearing the springbonnie suit. although he's definitely playing it up for an effect there, he's still kind of uhh. theatrical i think. but he's also very charismatic and could probably smooth talk his way out of prettty much anything, which is part of the reason he doesn't get arrested after the MCI (also the lack of evidence). at the same time he has kind of a weird vibe to him, you can just tell there's something wrong with this dude, like maybe he's trying a little too hard to look normal.

and thennnn there's what's beneath the surface. william is kind of insensitive, self-centered/selfish, and egotistical. he also absolutely refuses to admit his own faults or shortcomings. something bad happened? not his fault! he was wrong about something? no he wasn't! another thing, william is very paranoid and usually feels like anyone or anything could be a threat to him (mostly because of that one passage from the silver eyes, "had spent so much of his life fighting like a cornered rat." and ANOTHER thing from the silver eyes, "he had taken on the mantle of bitter sadism as an integral part of himself. he would strike out against others and revel in their pain, feeling righteously that the world owed him his cruel pleasures.")

at first he kills charlie because he wants to bring evan back, and feels he deserves some kind of revenge on henry because it was HIS animatronic that did the bite after all, right? but along the way he realizes he enjoys killing. and that it feels so good to have power when he hasn't for most of his life. so he keeps going, and eventually all that comes crashing down on him. and it's tragic! because he used to have what many would call a perfect life. but he completely ruined that with his own selfish desires.

[claraxbarton]

MCU Bucky Barnes

So here’s the thing.

I’m a costume designer by trade, and one thing that I actually really love about Captain America: The Winter Soldier (okay, among the things I love) is the costume design and the rhetorical value given to the clothes and, well, costumes in this movie. 

For example - when Sam and Steve have their heart to heart on the bridge that ends with Sam saying “but he doesn’t even know you” and Steve saying “he will” before going to steal his old uniform - the one Bucky last saw him in when he was Bucky. There are some other great costume points in this movie, actually a LOT of them (costumes, not wigs, don’t at me because I KNOW).

But one thing that has always stood out to me, and not in a good way, is the “I’m with you til the end of the line” flashback.

Now, here’s the thing, it’s not JUST about the clothes. We’re in MCU verse, so it’s MCU canon - obviously, the Steve and Bucky duo is drastically different in Marvel comics canon so - and Bucky starts this scene by saying his folks wanted to give Steve a ride to the cemetery.

Which is super cool and nice. So one, we know Bucky’s dad is still alive - and his mom, but two, we know they have a car.

So this is supposed to be when Steve is around 16? So it’s... 1936 (according to MCU wiki it totally is)

So cars.

Crazy popular ever since they started having closed bodies and all that. BUT, were they crazy popular in CITIES in 1936? Especially in the middle of the Great Depression?

There’s some evidence that actually no, that car ownership in a city like NYC was something like 1 car per every 43 people. Then again, looking at the NYC.gov 2015 Mobility Report we see that the population of NYC in 1936 is something like 7.2 million, and the number of registered vehicles in 764,000... or roughly one per every 9.4-ish persons. Which is a pretty drastically different number. This doesn't, of course, account for taxis or fleet cars being registered - so the number might seem inflated. I still think it’s probably something closer to 1 car per every 20 than every 43 but... I’m too lazy to dig that much deeper at the moment. Plus I'm sick, which is fueling this in the first place.

So, anyway you slice it, Bucky’s family was in 11%, 5% or 2.33% of New Yorkers who own cars in 1936. Which says something, I think, about Bucky Barnes that we don’t always - ever? - think of in fandom.

I’m not going to say that Bucky Barnes was loaded. Maybe his family owned a garage or a grocery store or a delivery service or a funeral home...?? or something. So, the vehicle could be occupational as opposed to private usage - but either way it’s a statement. Bucky’s family has money and/or Bucky’s family has steady employment.

I’ve been there. I’ve read the fics where Bucky works at the docks to put Steve through art school and get him his medicine. I love those fics. I love that head canon.

But I... don’t think it’s realistic in light of some evidence showing us that, actually, Bucky wasn’t doing too badly for himself.

Let’s now actually look at CLOTHING. Here’s the whole scene via youtube, if you want to follow along with what is about to get RIDICULOUS.

Actually, before I dive in, who is the costumer for this movie? And should I be like... reading into all this as much as I am?

Judianna Makovsky - fellow New Jersey..Ian?ite?no clue - 3 time Oscar nominee and designer of 5 MCU films and a lot of other big budget movies, including quite a few period pieces dealing with issues of race and class (The Legend of Bagger Vance, Seabiscuit, The Little Princess.. and also like Harry Potter and The Quick and the The Dead.) So, should I have some faith in Judianna Makovsky’s designs? I’m gonna go with yeah, yeah I should. 

So, back to the movie. The scene.

This is post funeral. We’re in 1936. As a general rule, the dress, colors and style of mourning wear was pretty much formalized in the early Victorian era. There was a great - read PHENOMENAL - exhibit at the MET a few years back on Mourning-wear and I’m still reeling from how lovely everything was - but the gist of it is this: you wore black when someone died. If you were a lady, and especially if you were a rich lady, you then went through a few different colors (dull black to SHINY black to purple/mauve and gray and white and then back to color within six months to one year). By the 1930s only the really rich were sticking to the actual rules of mourning - or like, really old people. And, of course, really old rich people. Really old rich WHITE people. Because it needs to be said: these are WHITE customs. I'm not saying people of other ethnicities didn’t follow them, but these are basically British Victorian practices that were assimilated into American culture.

I’m not going to go off on a huge sidebar about American fashion following in French dressmaking and British tailoring, but I need to say at least that much. Everyone who was anyone knew you got your dresses made in France or in the French style and you got your suits made in England - Savile Row in specific. I am NOT implying Bucky’s got himself an English suit, fyi. I just... have to be thorough.

BACK TO THE SCENE:

We’ve got our boy Steve. STEVE. Who just buried Sarah Rogers and what is he wearing...?

For starters, he’s wearing a windbreaker, check out the 1933 ad below, he’s the guy almost giving us the Fonz finger gesture, or maybe guy in the fedora on the end.

This thing isn’t falling apart at the seams, but it’s a very nondescript not really gray, not really blue - maybe was at one point. It also doesn’t FIT Steve. It also, in the ad above, would cost about $165.40 in today’s money.

My guess? It’s Bucky’s old windbreaker. Because it’s not cheap and because it’s just a bit too big on Steve. 

He’s also wearing a shirt that is maybe tan? And a brown tie and maybe - MAYBE black trousers. And if those trousers are black, it’s the only black thing he’s wearing. Not even a black tie, or a black arm band (which I’m pretty sure - but also pretty aggressively atheist so I don’t know - the Catholic Church would have provided for chief mourners and pall bearers right?). We also have our depressing as all shit Depression surroundings to clue us in: Steve Rogers ain’t loaded. Steve Rogers is poor as dirt. Side note: boys. Hiding a key under the ONE FUCKING BRICK on a walkway is not like... a smart idea???

So we can guess a few things here, we can guess that Steve and Sarah were really struggling - this checks out with the rest of MCU canon (wearing newspapers stuffed in his shoes, even when he had nothing he had Bucky, etc.) - and that all money probably went towards Steve’s numerous ailments, food and then the TB medication or treatment, as it was, that was available to Sarah.

We can maybe guess that Steve and Sarah weren’t very religious -but I don’t feel qualified to impart anything except my own agenda here so I’m not taking that stance. But like, real talk, not even an arm band?? 

But, well, let’s move on to the point of this whole long ass thing anyway?

--

Then we go to Mr. Barnes, looking dapper AF. Also, hey, check out this ad from 1933 featuring... pretty much exactly what Bucky is wearing down to the god-damn two-tone shoes:

If you’re curious, yeah $24.98 in 1936 is $475.44. I'm not suggesting Bucky Barnes went out and bought a brand new suit for Steve’s mother’s funeral - for one thing, this ad is from 1933. BUT, that suit fits Bucky. Quite well, and it’s in good shape. He’s also sporting that super stylish mid-late 30s into 40s deeply angled collar shirt - as is our dude up in the ad - and so we know these clothes are at least new-ish. We also can see that the suit is definitely of the mid-30s moving into the boxy silhouette of the later 30s and early 40s and NOT the look of the 20s and early 30s, which has an almost bell-bottom fullness to the legs instead of our straight-leg here (though we can debate nuance if you want to hit up my DMs.)

I should note, Bucky’s shirt is not bright and pristine white - it’s kind of grayish? And I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be an old-timey sepia thing or an indication that Bucky can’t afford to... bleach a white shirt? So that’s an odd choice for sure because we’re still in an age when a crisp, white collar shirt means something (Hey, if you want to hear me go on about the democratization of men’s fashion via shirt collars and 19th century Victorian suits, let me know because I am READY).

All this is to say: I don’t think Bucky Barnes is a poor dock worker. I think Bucky Barnes of MCU canon. Okay, so the MCU wiki on Bucky/The Winter Soldier is an actual mess (because it tells us that Sarah died in 1936 and that’s FINE but I’m not going back to change my math because I’m SICK so just... I went back and changed it. She died in 1936. Fine. The damn wiki also says that “a year later, during their art class, Barnes and Rogers found out that the United States of America had joined World War II. Which, like, I’m sick, but there are a few years between 1936 and December 8 1941... just... I’m no rocket doctor but...

ANYWAY. Bucky is a three time YMCA welterweight boxing champion by this “year later”/ 1941-1942. He and Steve are also in an ART CLASS together. Bucky also trained Steve in boxing at Goldie’s gym before the two of them went to enlist - Steve rejected and Bucky, again quoting MCU wiki, “drafted” (which I'm gonna take to mean he didn’t try to enlist when Steve got rejected, they went home and Bucky got called up later but... hey, who knows?!).

So, I can’t easily find the prices of gym memberships in NYC in the 1930s right now because I don’t feel like wading through all of the articles complaining about Equinox pricing in 2019. But I do know that part of Roosevelt’s WPA (Works Progress Administration) building projects included building more public gyms - as well as libraries, auditoriums, pools, parks etc. Check out your local public buildings - if they are WPA projects they will have a cool plaque like my local NJ library does! All that is to say, there were free or very cheap PUBLIC options where Bucky could have trained Steve.

Bucky trained Steve in a private gym. Do I like to think that this is the same gym Steve and America’s ass are working out in in The Avengers? Yes, Yes I do. Do I like to think that Steve likes to box because it reminds him of Bucky? Yes, yes I do.

But moving on: it’s another sign of wealth.

So is this “art class.” Whether we are in 1937 or 1941 - we’re still in the Depression. Steve still has all of his health issues and presumably accompanying “medication” (wanna talk 1930s medicine? Again, slide into my DMs or shoot me an ask). So Steve either has a side job making enough to cover all of that, rent? and enrollment in an art class.

OR maybe Steve is teaching the art class and Bucky is his model for life drawing instruction (yeah, it’s a fic bunny I’m sharing with the world).

OR maybe... Bucky is paying the rent and other things or Steve is living with Bucky and can afford the class and meds... somehow or...

OR I'm not saying that Steve is Bucky’s kept man because Steve Rogers would punch anyone who dared to say such a thing.

All I’m saying is, Bucky Barnes was not a poor dude. Bucky Barnes... had some money.

And also I’m about to be late for my doctor’s appointment so I gotta run.

At me with your thoughts!

[secretlover-ao3]

Always Yours

Chapter 1

“Daenerys, come on! It’s Friday night… and it’s my birthday! You have to come out with us!” Arya insists. 

Arya Stark, my best friend of the past 12 years. I love her, but she does not get it. I’m not one for crowds. My anxiety and depression make it difficult. Although I try to mask it, she still sees my hesitation, knowing me all too well. 

“Come on!” she continues, “You will be with me, Gendry, and Jon... Forget everyone else. Please?” 

“Ugh! Fine! But you have to help me get ready.”I cannot say no to her and she knows it. Her victorious grin is infectious, and before I know it, I am grinning along with her. As much as I would rather be home with my book, she is my best friend… my only friend if I am being honest… so, I wouldn’t miss her night. 

An hour and a half later, she has tortured my long silver hair with a flatiron and my face with makeup that is typically reserved for special occasions. Normally, I’m a mascara and lip gloss kind of girl. I am in a dress she insisted I buy more than a year ago and have refused to wear until now. It’s black, too short and clings to my too curvy body. I look in the mirror and all I recognize are my pale purple eyes. She insists I look beautiful; I feel over exposed. Arya is the exact opposite of me… black hair, deep gray eyes, and a body most would love to have. Where I’m standoffish and a loner, for the most part, she is outgoing and popular. How we became best friends is beyond me. 

I will never forget how we met… I was 10 and had just moved here from Kings Landing. My dad had the opportunity to move and buy his own construction company; it had always been his dream. That is how I ended up in the small town known as Winterfell. 

My first day of school was horrible. It was the middle of the year and as the new girl… no one seemed to care for me. The kids had been staring, pointing and whispering most of the morning. At lunch, I grabbed my tray and having no appetite I sat down at a table by myself.  I was about to cry when she sat down beside me and said, “Hi, I’m Arya. Don’t worry about them. They are just jealous because you’ve been somewhere else, and they haven’t.” That was it. We were instant friends. Turned out we lived on the same street and once my parents divorced, I practically lived at her house with her, her parents and her brother Jon. Now in our mid-twenties, we share an apartment together.

“Perfect! We ready?” Arya asks, snapping me from my thoughts. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I reply with a sigh. “You are so lucky I love you.” Her laugh makes it worth it as I give one last, longing look at my book and head out the door.

About 20 minutes later, Arya and I reach the little Essosi restaurant where we are meeting Gendry and Jon.  Gendry is Arya’s longtime boyfriend… I would say they are highschool sweethearts, but their romance began in junior high. Him being the football star and her the cheerleader. They are perfect together. He is about a foot taller than her at 5’10” with sandy black hair and brown eyes. He is really good to her; I can only hope that one day I will have a relationship as pure as theirs. 

Then there is Jon. Jon is older than Arya and me by a couple years. I can’t help but wonder who his flavor of the week is now.If I seem bitter, it’s because I am. I have secretly been in love with him for as long as I can remember.

No one knows.  

Not even Arya.   

She would probably be pissed if she did know… and I am pretty sure he thinks of me as just another sister anyway. 

He keeps his dark curly hair a little long with a naturally messy look. His dark gray eyes are like midnight you could drown in. He has that rugged, bad boy look. At 25 years old he has made a name for himself. Not only with the ladies, but in the business world as well. It surprised no one when he chose to major in Business instead of Marketing like his mom or Law like his dad. He was always one to do his own thing. I have always admired their family for supporting each other in all they do. I wish it could be that way for me. 

The guys are outside waiting for us as we park. I have to turn away because Gendry’s greeting for Arya is enough to make me blush.

I take my time as I walk over and say hello to Jon. To my surprise, he isn’t here with a woman, but his best friend Daario… who by the way, is an asshole. He is tall, dark, and handsome… but an asshole none the less. I had the unfortunate privilege of dating him briefly. One date to be exact… about a year ago. It was awful. He took me to dinner and before we had our food, he was already hinting at sex. When we left the restaurant, he tried to shove his tongue down my throat and grabbed my tits… so I kneed him in the balls and called Jon for a ride home since he lived the closest. Besides, he was the one to set the date up, so I felt he owed me. I was humiliated, but Jon made me feel better. By the time I made it home I was laughing so hard about the whole situation I was in tears. 

Jon returned my hello with a hug. Daario smirked and waved. 

Jokingly, I asked Jon, “What, no date? Or is Daario your flavor this week?” 

Jon laughed answering, “Nah, just taking the night off for Arya… besides, Daario is still holding out for you.” 

“Man, fuck you!” came Daario’s response. 

“No, thanks.” Jon and I say in unison.

By the time Arya and Gendry join us I cannot stop laughing. I love that Arya and Jon are so close that they have always wanted me around is a bonus. It is the only time I don’t feel like I’m an obligation.Dinner has been great. I’m glad I came.The conversation has been flowing easily from all of us. To my surprise, there is not even tension between Daario and me. The past is the past, and he was a decent friend before our mistake night. When it comes time to leave however, my anxiety builds.  I know Arya is ready to head out and party. Dinner with friends is one thing, but I do not party.Jon sees the panic rising and takes my hand. Squeezing it, he leans over whispering“It’s okay. I’m here. If it gets too bad, we can go, okay?”Nodding my head yes, because that is all I can do, I take comfort in his words.I ride along with Arya and Gendry, feeling like the third wheel I am.  

“Where are we off to?” I ask Arya. She looks over at Gendry, since he is the one driving and says, “Take me somewhere I can dance!” Gendry laughs and keeps driving.

Just a few minutes later we pull up to Arya’s favorite bar, it’s more of a club minus the door man. I don’t want to leave this car, but I will not let my best friend down. So, on a sigh I muster up my courage and get out. 

I am happy to see Jon and Daario are out of Jon’s SUV, waiting. Before I know it, Arya and Gendry have disappeared into the bar. Shaking my head, I laugh and walk up to the guys. Jon smiles while guiding me inside. With him here I feel safe. I know that it is wrong, but in my heart, I wish he could feel the same for me. 

We have been here about an hour when Daario starts being his old self. I wish I could blame the alcohol, but I am sure it is just him.We had all been talking and having fun, so when he asked me to dance, I said sure. Before I knew it, he was trying to kiss me, and his hand was on my ass.

“Stop!” I yell as I try pushing him away, but I am unable to break his hold. I panic, fearing no one will hear me because his mouth is on mine. 

Suddenly, I am out of Daario's grasp. Jon is in front of me growling at him, “What the hell, man!?” Daario glares at him and shouts. “Whatever, that bitch is going to die a virgin!” I am mortified. I stand there, unable to move or speak.

Jon comes over; putting his arm around me he leads me back to the table. He sits me down, turning my chair to face his; placing his hands on my knees he says, “I’m sorry. He’s an asshole. Are you okay?” 

I feel the tears brimming my eyes as I respond with a simple “No.” He takes me into his arms, apologizing again. 

In his embrace I find comfort, allowing myself to cry for a few minutes. Once I’m able to speak I ask him why he is apologizing.

“Because I’m the one who brought that bastard with us. I should have never let him get close enough to hurt you again.  You will never know how sorry I am.” He drops his eyes from me and I think I hear him sniffle. When he looks up again, his eyes are red, and his cheeks are wet. 

I shake my head and laugh. With confusion written all over his face, he arches his brow and asks, “What’s so funny?” 

“He’s right, you know?” He still looks confused, so I continue. “I will probably die a virgin. It’d just be a lot easier if the world didn’t seem to know about my love life… or lack thereof.”

He laughs, shaking his head he says, “That’s what happens when you live in a small town;everyone knows everything about everyone.”

I sigh with a “Yeah.” 

We sit there quietly for a while; I break the silence when I say, “One of these days I think I’m just going to have sex… just to get it over with.”

He laughs out a “What?” 

“I’m serious!” I reply “I’m tired of being the virgin.I have no hope of a serious relationship when the guys only want me to have a chance at my v-card. Once they find out it’s not happening right away, I either never hear from them again or it ends up just like it did with Daario… them thinking they have the right to go for it anyway.  If love isn’t going to happen for me first, then maybe it will come along after.” 

“Daenerys, look at me.” When I look up, he is staring at me intently. “You’re serious?” 

I wait a bit before I softly respond, “Yeah, I think I am, Jon. I’m just tired… tired of disappointment. It’s not like I’ve been saving myself for my wedding night. I didn't expect something special or romantic. I just wanted it to be with someone who somewhat cared about me. Someone that would still speak to me after. I know all of this sound stupid. I sound like one of the hopeless girls in my books.” I finish, saying the last part to myself. Oh my god, I am a complete an idiot… why did I tell him all of that?! I think to myself and feel the heat rising in my face. 

He says nothing, and I grow more embarrassed by the second. Not only did I just say the most idiotic thing I could possibly say... I did it with zero alcohol in my system to blame.I'm about to excuse myself to find Arya, tell her I'm not feeling well and going to find a ride home… when he finally speaks. 

“I'll do it.” He says… so softly, I think I have heard him incorrectly.

“What?” I ask. 

Just as he looks up at me to answer, Arya and Gendry join us at the table. Arya looks back and forth between us and questions, “What's wrong?”

I have no words; I just sit there with a blank expression. 

Jon seeing I'm not going to answer anytime soon says, “Daario, being an asshole like usual.” 

I can hear the concern in her voice when she looks at me and asks, “What the fuck did he do to you? I will to kill him.”

I cannot control my nervousness any longer and burst into a fit of laughter. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she demands but I can't stop laughing to answer. 

She looks to Jon.

He shrugs. “She is laughing to ease the tension, I would guess.  We were all having fun. Daario asked her to dance; then being Daario, he tried forcing himself on her. She tried pushing him away and when I saw her struggling against him... I handled it. Well, as much as I could while being in here. I will thoroughly handle it later.” He finishes with venom in his tone.

Arya leans over and hugs me apologizing.

“Would you two quit apologizing? You have no control over that asshole’s behavior!”

It's Arya's turn to laugh as she says, “We can't help it... we love you!” she continues, “Anyway, we are heading out. You ready?”

I hesitate, looking over at Jon who hasn't taken his eyes off me.

Before I can answer, he says, “Stay and talk a while longer? I will get you home safe.” When I don't answer right away, he smirks and continues. “Let's give the birthday girl and her man a little alone time before I take you home, okay?” His eyes are pleading with me.I have no idea what I'm in for, but I smile and agree.

We say our goodbyes and I am once again alone with Jon; once again feeling the heat flame my cheeks.

After a few moments of sitting in silence he turns, “Daenerys, please look at me.” I sheepishly look up at him. I am embarrassed, and it shows.

“If you are serious... if you are completely sure that is what you want to do... I'll do it.” I still can’t speak, so he continues. “Look, I’m impressed that you’ve waited as long as you have; I admire you. But if you truly just want to get it over with... I’ll do it. If it’s going to be this way, I want it to be me. I wouldn't intentionally hurt you. I care about you, and there’s not a chance I would ignore you after. I'd rather it be me, then some asshole like Daario.”

He has rendered me speechless, but he allows me time to think without saying another word. When I feel I can I finally speak, “Okay” is all I say.

He stands and reaches for my hand; I take his, completely numb, feeling as though I am dreaming.

[dontdoitluke]

We Could Be Heroes - Ch 7

Sky High AU, but instead, it’s a superhero University.

Summary: Emma takes flight and discovers something volatile.

Chapter: 7/?

Word Count: 1,711

CHAPTER INDEX

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Notes: The boys aren’t in this chapter, sorry! This is a filler to hopefully get me through my block and introduce some important things happening later.

I wanna thank the ladies of the 5sos Angels GC for sticking with me throughout this whole ordeal. It wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for y’all. Thank you, Angels <3

Also, this chapter has a slightly excessive use of the word “fuck”. My bad.

In front of the tallest building on campus, Emma leaned against the cool brick wall and furrowed her eyebrows, the wheel in her mind spinning over and over again. She thought about shifting into a lizard, but then she wouldn’t be able to carry her phone. Perhaps a squirrel? Or a beetle? That was even worse, and she mentally kicked herself for even thinking about it. She could easily shift into a bird, but that was too easy. She wanted a challenge... but she also wanted to save the flying for later.

The spinning mind-wheel slowed to a stop and landed on one of her favorite furry animals.  

Taking her phone out of her pocket, she opened the ring connected to the case and put it between her teeth as she faced the wall to begin her shifting process. The air around her was still as her bones cracked and her skin tingled, adrenaline rushing through her blood like lightning. Her slender hands morphed into tiny rough paws and her spine grew into a long, bushy tail, and soon, her entire body was covered in a thick layer of gray and black fur.

Emma, now fully shifted into a fuzzy raccoon, chittered happily and moved closer to the building.

Raccoons can climb walls, right?

She placed her tiny hand-like paws on the wall and dug her claws into the brick, lifting herself a couple of inches off of the ground to test her grip. It wasn’t as secure as she had hoped, but it would have to do. After all, she did want to be challenged.

Starting off slowly, she began to climb, focusing only on the ledge of the rooftop that seemed miles away. Steadily, she climbed faster, and faster, until she was very nearly running straight up the side of the wall, the phone dangling from her jaws scraping against the brick and concrete. She was nearly there, only a few feet away from the ledge. Once she reached the highest window, she rested her tiny feet against the exterior frame and steadied herself before surging upward, grabbing onto the ledge and dangling for a moment before scrambling up and over onto the rooftop. Her body rolled across the cool concrete as she shifted back into her human form, and she stopped on her back, panting softly.

Emma gingerly removed the phone ring from her teeth and flexed her jaw. Checking the time, she smiled excitedly. 6:42 a.m. Only a few more minutes until sunrise. She stayed still a bit longer to watch the colors around her slowly turning from a deep black to a softer shade of sapphire blue, and when sapphire blue began to take on shades of purple, she stood and moved to tuck her phone into a safe spot behind one of the solar panels scattered along the rooftop.

She brushed the dirt and dust off of her clothes and stepped up onto the ledge of the building, looking out into the colorful horizon in front of her. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped.

Seconds before she hit the ground below her, she quickly shifted mid-air into a bright red finch and spread her wings in flight, her talons barely brushing the blades of grass as she swooped into the air. And just as she rose above the tall university buildings, so did the sun. As usual, her timing was perfect.

For Emma, one of the greatest things about being a shifter was flying. She loved how she felt when she was floating along the wind, her body and her mind feeling weightless and free. It was impossible for her to feel any emotion other than pure joy as she flapped her wings and rose higher and higher into the clouds, feeling the wind on her feathered face. Her favorite thing about flying was taking off right as the sun came up. 

She flew out of the courtyard and toward the coastline, gliding above the waves crashing along the shore to watch as the sun continued to lazily rise, and she continued to fly freely until the sun had fully risen, letting her mind wander off and her mental stress fall to the ground below. Her wings eventually took her back to the university campus where she landed gently on the ledge of the building where she began her flight.

Just as she began to shift back into her human form, the door leading up to the roof flew open violently and a young woman stormed out, followed by another young woman who was struggling to keep up with her. Emma immediately reverted back into full bird form before they could see her, and flew behind a wooden crate to hide. She didn’t normally care if anyone saw her shifting, but the woman angrily stomping onto the concrete roof was Cherice Alistair, and, like most people, Emma preferred to limit her contact with the self-proclaimed Princess of Goldbay.  

“She thinks she’s so fucking special just because she’s a fucking assistant that gets to play Teacher.”

They’re talking about Persey, Emma thought. Jeez, she’s still stuck on that? It's been days.

“What did your dad say?” the companion panted. Emma recognized her as Dee, a lovely rubenesque girl with rich dark skin and a shaved head. She was very quiet, usually, and she was also seemingly the only person who was willing to spend time with Cherice for more than an hour.

“He wouldn’t do shit! He gave me some fucking sob story about how that bitch Persey’s mom was the witch doctor that cured Grandmother and how he holds her entire family to some insane high degree,” Cherice waved her hands furiously, tugging at her thick red locks. “I can’t fucking believe her, acting like she didn’t know who Father was, acting like she didn’t know who I am...”

Inwardly, Emma laughed. It was pretty hilarious to see Cherice so worked up and not getting her way. Dee remained silent and moved to sit down next to a solar panel, groaning as she lowered herself to the ground.

“Like, who fucking cares if some old skank with herbs and crystals and oils inspired him to become a doctor. He would have been a doctor without that influence.”

“I thought your dad originally wanted to be a pilot.”

“Shut the fuck up, that’s irrelevant. He knows his true calling is medicine, just like I know mine is to be the next Mayor.”

Dee looked down and bit her lip, picking at some of the frayed strands on her jeans. “I don’t know, Cher, I’m sure she was just excited to be the teacher and took it too far, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

Cherice slowly turned to face Dee, her face contorted with malice. “Not... not a big deal? That fucking bitch humiliated me in front of the entire class! She treated me like I was some kind of pest to be exterminated! And Father... fucking bastard... is acting like it’s nothing to sneeze at! And now I have to take that from you, too!?”

With every word, she grew more furious, and began to shake with anger.  

“Fuck that! She’s going to fucking pay, every cock sucking pathetic worm that sat in those cheap metal chairs and laughed in my face is going to pay, that lazy so called instructor that allowed that hippie bitch to lead is going to pay, Father is going to pay, they’ll all be fucking sorry!”

She let out a terrifying scream that pierced the sky and threw her hand in front of her as if slapping an invisible person, and every solar panel and HVAC unit in front of her was ripped from the concrete and thrown off of the roof in pieces. Dee scrambled backward and let out a whimper, and Emma squawked and flew up and settled on a far corner away from the flying debris, her tiny bird feet gripping the ledge tightly.  

For a moment, Cherice stood motionless, her eyes wide. She stared at her hands while her mouth hung open in shock. Dee slowly stood and moved closer to her cautiously.  

“Wow, I... didn’t know you could do that.”

“I-I... I didn’t either,” she whispered.  

Running a hand along her bare scalp, Dee took a deep breath and looked at the section of the rooftop that Cherice cleared. Aside from a few wires jutting from the holes they came from, the entire left side was completely bare. She sighed and put her hands carefully on her friend’s shoulders.

“Let’s go back inside, okay? You’re shaking like a leaf and I think you need to process this new power while you calm down. Let’s go grab some muffins. You love muffins, and today is your cheat day, yeah? I bet they have the ones with blueberries AND dark chocolate chips, those are your favorite, right?”

Dee slowly and gently turned the red-head toward the door and lead her to it, continuing to speak comforting words while Cherice mumbled about how everyone was going to pay for their crimes against her, and once the door was shut and Emma was sure that they were gone, she flew to the panel that her phone was hidden behind and shifted back into human form.  

“Thank God,” she sighed. Her phone was safe, and aside from being a little shaken up, she was safe as well. Or so she hoped. Cherice was a firecracker, everyone knew that, but now she has a new power and her anger was fueled to capacity, there’s no telling what she might plan next. She needed to warn her friends as soon as she could in case something actually did happen.

Before standing to exit the building, she spotted a tiny caterpillar inching its way along the brick. Instead of wondering how in the world it got up there, Emma licked her lips hungrily and moved to pick it up with her beak-

Wait, hold the fuck on, she wondered, shaking her head. I’m not a bird anymore... how long did I shift for?

She checked her phone. The time was 9:44 am. She’d stayed shifted an hour and a half too long.

“Ah, fuck.”

[gplusbfics]

A BDay Request + 43 Things

I’ve been wanting to do this anyway, but today’s my birthday – first one since I started this blog last fall – and I wanted to ask everyone to tell me what your Garashir story is and give me a link. (Or just the name if you cannot find the link.) Leave it in the comments or message me. Later I’ll post all the links. And read them, if I haven’t already.

Meanwhile, here are 43 things about me, one for every year of my life. Some I’ve definitely mentioned, others not.

The earliest “crushes” I can remember in my life are Spock and the Tin Man (Wizard of Oz). Notably, both wore blue eyeshadow, which made me feel all fuzzy inside.

I grew up in northeast Massachusetts (New England) but have somehow lived in Georgia for the past 20 years (19 of those in Atlanta).

I’m 6 ft. tall and got to that height at age 12. (I was 5 ft. in 2nd grade already.)

Was severely bullied as a child (definitely just for being tall), going on through high school and while it was pretty horrible, had lasting effects, it’s had some positive too, like I am extremely empathetic and I never say nasty stuff to anyone ever.

Favorite movie: The Wizard of Oz (1939). Other favorites: The Third Man, Lawrence of Arabia, Wings of Desire, Young Frankenstein, Metropolis, Lord of the Rings, My Life as a Dog.

One of my dearest friends is British fantasy-scifi author Storm Constantine. (Rather a cult author, so not hugely well known, but if you’re into dark fic or are a goth or into weird fic or queer sci, you might know her.) I am actually her fiction editor (on her Wraeththu universe books) and we are currently working on our fifth short story anthology together. I’ve also visited her at her home in Stafford, England, I think six times now. I love her :)

I’m really big on international travel or, I should say, travel to Europe. As a teenager I spent a summer in Germany and after college I got hooked, to the point I’ve been over 20 times at least. Been to the England, Scotland, Germany and Italy multiple times – Germany by far the most often – and also Slovenia, Austria, Czechia, Netherlands, Belgium. My most recent trip was Berlin. For my most immediate travel plans (next year) I have in mind: Sicily, Bucharest (have a friend there), Scandinavia, Dublin, Budapest (friends there too).  

Pretty much fluent in German, although not to the point I could write any decent fanfic :)

My eyes are true hazel.

I live in condo in a 104-year-old neo-Gothic skyscraper. It’s beautiful.

I’m actually terrified of the idea of going to or being in outer space.

I’m more intrigued by the mysteries of the ocean than space.

My B.A. was in journalism but I never used that degree professionally as an actual journalist. Instead I went into web development. But eventually with my current job (starting 10 years ago) I came back around to using my verbal & comm. skills like gangbusters.

For my work I spend a huge amount of my time promoting academic medical research.  

I -love- black licorice. I, um, even have a Tumblr about it.

Back in college (UMass Amherst) I spent 2 years living in an all GLBTQ dorm. Yes, for real. THAT was an experience. 

I’m a gray asexual. The part of me that is into people is bisexual. 

Consider myself trans and/or gender nonconforming, bc in many ways I do not identify with the gender I was assigned at birth. For several years I had it in my head I was meant to be a man (outwardly, possibly with hormones or other physical changes) but gradually had a realization that this was utterly unnecessary. 

I consider pretty much ALL clothes (my clothes) to be “drag.”

I don’t know how to do regular makeup Everything I do ends up being either like glam rock or drag queen style. Over the top is my style 

On multiple occasions, my friends have been asked, out of my presence, if I am a trans woman. (Which I find flattering.)

In college I used to go into Boston completely in trans man type drag and would see how many times I could get sirred. (Answer: always. It was very skinny.) This now sounds unbelievable because…. see 21 above.

Over the past 8 years I’ve gained about 70 lbs. and as result I’ve switched to wearing dresses and “femme” type clothes almost all the time. Don’t have to worry about growing out of them nearly as much and I can get dressed in about 30 seconds. Also my outfits are usually flamboyant, so it’s kind of my own gender expression. 

I’m kind of in love with my cats and I don’t care what people think of that.

I’m genetically immune to caffeine.

1/3 pint of beer is enough to get me drunk.

I love beer and my fav types tend to be extremely dark, opaque. Also 9%+ alcohol by volume. This plays interestingly into my susceptibility to alcohol (even regular beer).

My dad died 4 years ago and my mom (my favorite person IN THE WORLD) is 81. Mom is amazing and ever since Dad died we take awesome vacations together. Mom is is a total geek.

I’m the youngest of 5 kids and by FAR the youngest. The age spread is 16 years and my nearest sibling is age is 7 years older.

I hate hot weather. I live in the South. Go figure.

Crazy crazy Instagrammer.

I’ve known my two BFFs nearly 24 (!) years now, since the first month of freshmen year. One of them has been down here in GA with me 20 years, while the other was here for a bit but moves around. Been in Seattle for years and I see her when she comes to Atl for Frolicon and Dragon Con and stays with me.

My favorite “holiday” is Dragon Con.

This year will be the 10th year I march in the Dragon Con Parade in the “walking Periodic Table” as Beryllium.

Favorite post-70s bands/artists: David Bowie, Depeche Mode, Björk, NIN, The Cure, Queen, Beastie Boys, Einstürzende Neubaten, Sinead O’Connor, The Orb, Prince, The Smiths, Morrissey, Kraftwerk, Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees.

I can listen to Philip Glass on infinite loop. (Which is funny)

Obsessed with Art Deco. Like… you have NO IDEA.

Pescatarian. But I have a rule whereby I can eat meat on holidays, on vacation and on my birthday. (Tonight: BBQ ribs.)

I love reading smut. I loathe watching porn. (When I was younger I would watch gay porn but in my mid-20s I just started to find it repulsive, watching anyway.)

As a teen and into college I was kind of a misogynist. Gender issues. But I am OVER IT.

Because I live in the City of Atlanta and in addition don’t drive, rely on public transit, I have spent the past 19 years in situations where I am frequently the only white person on a bus or train. Happens at least once a day. Given that I grew up in a town where there were maybe 2 black families per 35,000 people, this has rewired me.

I am virulently anti-fascist.

I seriously underestimated how hard it would be to get to 43. Like OMG.

[satelliteofmstielove]

K19 Hangar 18

                                  Aliens or something, I don’t know

General notes

          I always remember that this movie is K19 because it’s Hangar 18 and that for some reason strikes me as mildly funny. From the title I expected it to be about airplanes, but it’s actually about spaceships. Made in 1980, starring people from things. Nothing really to note about the episode. Everyone’s here for the whole thing this time, so let’s get a-rollin’.

 Prologue

Joel pops up from under the desk sounding like he hit his head.

No real intro this time, no Mads. Joel just tells us the name of the movie and we go straight into Movie Sign. Maybe they were pressed for time this week.

 Movie pt. 1

I can’t tell when the guys get into the theater because the version I’m watching is such bad quality. Any black backgrounds make it impossible to see the guys. Later on they started putting a slight filter on the movies to make the silhouettes stand out better.

At 3:22, Joel asks why made-for-TV movies always look different than normal movies. Tom informs him, correctly, that Hangar 18 was shown in theaters. Why is that, actually? It is related to how they’re shot? There’s even a difference in look between different types of TV shows, so I assume that’s why. Does anyone want to inform both me and 1989 Joel?

When the movie astronauts are checking switches and things on the space shuttle at 5:39, Crow asks Joel if he remembered to check their switches and things. Joel doesn’t answer. Several seconds later at 5:47, Servo asks him the same thing, and he says no. Servo seems slightly distressed but lets it be.

Crow’s comment about the movie satellite makes Tom/Josh laugh at 7:26.

Joel messes with the on-screen controls at 7:43, but again, you can barely see him.

Something about Crow’s incredulous tone at 9:10 is really funny.

When you can finally see them, Joel and bots look like they’re sitting closer together than usual.

At 9:54, Joel makes a joke about prune-flavored Tang, and Josh laughs mockingly at it.

So far this whole movie has been half black screens. VHS movie played on UHF TV x old VHS recording + YouTube upload = hard to see.

76° at 6:13, when the time and temperature come up at 12:46. Looks like the Twin Cities are making their way toward summer.

Tom calls commercial at 13:25, Jeopardy-style, and Joel commands it more forcefully at 13:31. They don’t fade out until 13:38, though.

Joel reads the setting caption at 13:47, and Crows remarks a bit petulantly that he can read.

Holy crap, those are big lights on that police car. Also, why does this guy have such a strong Southern accent when they’re in Arizona? And I’m already sick of these captions.

As they leave the theater, Crow says he wants a soda, as if that’s the reason they’re leaving. Servo says he wants some saltines.

 Host Segment 1

 Crow’s wiggly fidgeting is cute. He’s such a little kid in the first few seasons.

Joel tells Crow he’ll need to borrow some of his RAM chips later to increase computing power for some other part of the ship. He doesn’t explain which, but maybe it would be common knowledge for Crow. Apparently, a dangerous meteor shower that could puncture holes in the ship is heading their way, and somehow the extra RAM chips with help with that? Maybe he can use it to increase the ship’s shields (which may or may not exist), or maybe he needs it to calculate a course away from the meteors or something. By the way, is it still called a meteor shower if it’s in space?

The bots have been really into irritating Joel in the past few episodes, and the trend continues here with Crow asking “Why?” and “So?” to everything Joel says. At first he seems sincere, but it quickly becomes clear that he just wants a reaction. It’s not clear if Joel catches on, but either way, he continues patiently explaining.

I love it whenever the bots cuddle up to Joel. Crow seems to know it’s cute and is using to his advantage.

Joel mentions that if he dies from lack of oxygen, the bots with have no human to play Parcheesi with, and implies that always ends badly. Having seen how the bots get along when Joel’s not around, I can imagine how that goes.

Mid-morning pleasure stimulation? Okay…I mean, I’m sure that’s not weird but it sounds weird.

Crow finishes off the whole thing with the classic “Daddy, what’s Vietnam?” and laughs, telling Joel to lighten up. Joel does not think it’s funny and finally snaps. Joel’s interesting; he’s almost impossible to rile, but once riled, he’s got something of a temper. You can see it in segments like his attempted barbershop/soda fountain in Giant Gila Monster [402] and the end of Castle of Fu Manchu [323]. Here he actually tells Crow to go get his belt! I can’t tell if he’s really going to use it on Crow or if he’s just playing along with Crow’s game by being the angry dad. Hope it’s the latter.

Similarly, I can’t tell if Crow’s reaction is real or if he’s still just in little kid mode. Again, I hope the latter is true.

 Movie pt. 2

Crow is making sounds of pain as they come into the theater. Joel tells him to quiet down and Tom teases him and laughs about the ordeal. I guess he really did use the belt. That’s the not the right way to discipline your robot children, Joel.

He also seems to be fixing Crow’s arms or something. They are kinda flimsy.

At 29:57, Crow says something about a “safety seal” and Servo barks like a sea lion. Just made me laugh.

Joel says when he was in 4th grade, he had the same kind of biohazard suit from the movie at 30:31. I’d doubt it, but it’s not impossible, especially given that a) Joel’s weird and b) this show takes place in a version of reality where satellites, robots, and mad science are a pretty casual affair. So who knows? But Joel also says it didn’t have the big mask, so he might have just been talking about a regular raincoat. (Or maybe it was a joke, because riffing. But that’s no fun.)

30: 56- I love Crow’s straightforward approach to things, hahaha.

At 31:09, they’re talking about Meatloaf (the singer) and Crow mentions he likes ketchup on his meatloaf. It’s not related to the joke, but it makes me imagine tiny baby KTMA Crow trying to eat meatloaf at the table with his dysfunctional little arms, which is oddly adorable.

The aliens really do look like Uncle Fester…when the guys sing their version of the Addams Family song (at 36:43), you can hear all three of them snapping (well, at least two). The bots must be able to generate snapping noises.

At 39:20, Joel mentions “Joe Namath Netted Slingshot Briefs”, which become a running comment throughout the rest of the series, especially the Joel era. I’m not getting a picture for this one; I think the BVDs picture from the last entry was enough trauma for all of us.

Wow, mentions of Jackie Coogan and Tor Johnson back to back at 39:55. Little did they know then how many opportunities they would have to talk about Tor Johnson (so many episodes, including The Unearthly [320], Bride of the Monster [423], and The Beast of Yucca Flats [621]). By the time they got to Jackie Coogan (The Space Children [906]), though, none of these original three were there. Here’s a picture of Jackie Coogan for no reason.

Now this airport guy has like a half-Boston, half-Southern accent. Though it is in the southern half of the country, Arizona is not really The South, filmmakers.

At 44:49, Tom goes on making fun of the possibly-crazy airport guy for so long Crow mutters that Joel spanked the wrong bot. That prompts Servo to ask him how his “bot” is; Crow doesn’t respond. 

Crow makes a zing! joke at 45:22, and Joel tells him to “take the laugh” like Dr. F told Larry in the previous episode. Crow says it hurts when he laughs, which makes me wonder how badly Joel spanked him with that belt. Oof. Tom also mentions that load pan-emptying will hurt later. The more I hear about load pans, the more I don’t want to know the details.

As they leave the theater, Crow says he need to get a pillow for some unspecified part of him.

Host Segment 2

Joel attaches what he calls a coupling device to Crow’s head so they can look through his memory and decide what’s worth keeping.

The first memory in the list is “On”. I’m not totally sure what that means, but I’m assuming it’s a necessary function. Maybe it’s the code that allows him to turn on?

Crow knows how to play Heart and Soul? I’d like to see that.

Nobody wants to go through ���load pan training” again. My earlier sentiment about load pans has not changed. I would also like to see Tom and Crow’s bunk beds. What do you think the membrane that Crow mentions is? Apparently it’s less pleasant than load pans.

Nobody wants to keep the King Family specials.

They don’t feel like keeping a bunch of Highlights magazines, STP commercials with Mario Andretti, every episode of Punky Brewster, Lyle Waggoner’s penile implant show (???), Joe Something-or-Other’s business school (I wonder if that’s a local thing), Robert Vaughn’s Helsinki Formula, Aaron Gray’s cellulite show, or George Hamilton’s skin care hour. They do, however, want to keep a still of that one Farah Fawcett poster. I won’t bother to put a picture of that here because you’ve probably already seen it.

Joel smiles when Crow makes his buzzer noises.

He asks Crow where he picked up these weird infomercials, and Crow tells him he fell asleep while watching TV23 one night. It sounds like the Brains thought their channel played too many infomercials.

Movie pt. 3

I guess stunt driving isn’t part of the training to become a government agent. Also looks like their car was a Pinto.

The Apache Plaza Joel mentions at 58:03 was local mall in St. Anthony that was damaged by a tornado and then snowmelt. River Place is another spot in Minneapolis.

At 58:43, Crow notes that aliens have nipples like Joel does, as a human. Joel says his are a little more ”pouty.” I don’t know what that means, but ew.

Ah, thank you, movie, for cutting away instead of showing them cutting into the alien, proving once again that you are better than City on Fire. But you can really stop telling us where we are every single time we change locations. If the time is important, fine, put that, but if you’re just moving between places we’ve already been several times, you don’t need to tell us again.

Time and temp pop up again at 1:02:09, 75° at 7:15.

Tom calls commercial at 1:03:12.

Crow makes a good point at 1:05:44- why did it take them so long to even try to figure out where the government was hiding the ship?

Hey, a swear bleep at 1:08:45. The guys react to it, obviously knowing they would have to cut it out for the episode. Servo proceeds to make some “ship” jokes.

You know, these government agents would be a lot less conspicuous if didn’t wear suits everywhere. Also, even if the brakes don’t work, wouldn’t the car, you know, slow down if he stopped pressing the gas? Cars don’t just maintain momentum forever even if they can’t stop. And I’m already predicting this whole petroleum plant thing is going to explode in firey ball of death, killing the new set of G-men, while the astronauts get away.

Wow, Crow makes the same guess at 1:11:28.

Well, I was sort of right. Crow was more right than I was.

Crow’s little “c’mon, c’mon” as they leave the theater is adorable.

 Host Segment 3

They’ve hooked Crow up to the coupling device again, and take a look at his first memory ever.

For some reason the memory isn’t from Crow’s point of view…Anyway, Joel sings a song while finishing Crow up, then whacks him lightly to turn him on. His first sound is a baby cry until Joel whacks him again. Joel tells him name and he asks why, and Joel tells him it stands for “Cybernetic Remotely Operated Woman.”

Current Crow is very surprised to find out he’s a woman, but seems to get over it very quickly.

Joel tells him he’s actually a hermaphrobot because he ran out of parts. Why would running out of parts mean that he had both- you know what, never mind. 

I guess being a woman or hermaphrobot turns Crow into a stressed mother.

But it’s actually a joke anyway ha ha ha, Joel made a fake memory to tease him. Joel tells him that he only made him in the first place so he could play that joke on him in the future. Harsh, man. Joel’s kind of a big jerk in this episode.

Movie pt. 4

 Hey, it’s the plot-relevant radio station, like Invention Exchange from Giant Gila Monster [402].

Crow makes another good point- will the people inside the spaceship survive? It didn’t get burnt up on re-entry when it landed, so maybe they will. OoooOOOOOoooo mystery….

At 1:34:31, Crow also makes a call-back to City on Fire [K16].

Oh, they did survive. Did the guys preview this movie, or are they just that eerily smart? Maybe one of them had seen it before in the past?

Conclusion

This segment is very short, just the guys mentioning that the fan club is almost up to 1,000 members, and showing off the fabulous demon dog that 1,000th member can win. They mention it’s from the opening credits. Demon dogs will show up again in the next season in The Robot vs. the Aztec Mummy [102].

Is Crow carrying something over his shoulder? I can’t tell what it is.

The credits cut off in this recording, so hopefully there was nothing terribly interesting or new.

Thoughts on the Movie

          Forgive me the unkindness, but his movie is full of mostly rather ugly people. And Darren McGavin looks like the general from The Iron Giant, and/or Tommy Lee Jones. Which makes sense because the general from the Iron Giant looks like Tommy Lee Jones. Beyond that, I don’t know how I feel about this one. It’s really not that bad, it’s just sort of dumb. I feel like it would have made a more interesting television series than a movie. It has some good moments, but it felt like it was trying to tell two different stories. The longer the movie went on, the more it seemed to lose its focus. On the other hand, I actually cared some when Lou died, which is more than I can say for a lot of movies, even non-MSTed ones. Ending was kinda stupid, though.

          The other main thing that kept bothering me was why the government kept letting the astronauts poke around and potentially muck up the their big cover-up. Why do they even let them out of D.C. or Houston or wherever they were? (I really should remember because of the excessive captioning.) Can’t the Feds just keep them where they are until they’re done lying about the U.F.O.? I mean, that doesn’t sound legal, but neither does tampering with and lying about important scientific information to keep people happy until the election, and they’re already doing that. Half the plot could have been avoided if they’d just been smart enough to stop Bancroft and Price from running around. I guess that’s why they didn’t. But that’s not a good enough reason to suspend my disbelief on that point.  

          Oh yeah, and then it gets into the tired old sci-fi trope of the aliens who are almost exactly like humans and trying to explain with actual science. I don’t have any real problem with human aliens in fiction (Superman, for example, has never bugged me), but when they try to pretend like it makes any sense, that’s where they always lose me. The whole “humans are descended from them” just doesn’t work for me. If the two species were able to breed, wouldn’t they have needed to be very similar to begin with? Then that brings us back to the parallel evolution thing, which makes very little sense in an attempt at hard sci-fi. So yeah, not quite a bad movie, just a mediocre one. It would probably make good material for a modern riff.

Review

          This one was alright. It seemed like they were a little distracted by a semi-watchable movie, so there wasn’t much riffing. I didn’t laugh a whole lot during this episode (favorite riff- Tom: Maybe they’re just a couple of yahoos from Arkansas.) The spots they did riff had a lot of energy, but they seemed to lose it as the movie went on. Maybe the movie wasn’t stupid or infuriating enough to keep them firing. That’s another good reason they wrote and practiced the riffing when they moved on to the wonderful world of cable.

           Not related to the review, but I have a question for my six or seven readers. I mentioned a lot more of my thoughts on the movie in the notes this time- is that annoying, or do you prefer it that way? I got back and forth about whether I should include that there. On the one hand, it’s part of the experience of watching and episode. On the other hand, it’s not really the purpose of this guide. I’ll do whatever works better for you guys, so let me know if you have a preference. Thanks!

[chickadee333]

Chapter 5: A Heartbreaking Discovery

Joker & Harley: Impossible Love (A Novella)

Author’s Note:

Please click HERE to read a little bit about my inspiration and motivation around writing this story. (Link is to my Masterlist)

Warning: This entire novella contains adult content (sex, violence, strong language).

Thanks for reading!

Xoxo,

D

*****

Harleen arrived at her parents’ house in Brooklyn with a bag full of gifts early the next day as happy to see them as they were to see her.

“Why don’t you visit us more often?” her stepdad interrogated her. “You’re barely an hour away!”

“Hey, Bob! You know it is... work, life, work...” she hugged him. “It’s so nice to see you. Where is everyone?”

“They’re all waiting around the tree ready to open presents! Get yourself in here!” he said with a happy smile on his face. Harleen was so glad to spend one day away from Arkham and really just focus on her family. She liked her job, she had a set schedule, and she didn’t have to work weekends, but—even when trying to focus on personal stuff at home like painting, exercising, listening to music, watching TV, going on dates—she found herself invariably drawn back to her work. She tried hard to keep it separated, but thoughts about her patients constantly infiltrated her mind.

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” Harleen announced to her family as she walked into the room. She was so happy to see her mom, her stepdad, and her brother and his family. 

She spent the rest of the day playing with her two nieces, talking with her brother about his job in the big city, and listening to her parents talk about retiring early and traveling the country. Her stepdad worked as a financial advisor and her mom was an interior designer, having started her own business over a decade ago.

After dinner, they got out the old photo albums and Harleen looked through them with her mom. Sitting on the couch, they reminisced over memories of her dad before his mental health took a dive. They didn’t talk about it very often as Harleen was only 15 when her dad committed suicide, but she could hear the pain in her mom’s voice when they spoke about him.

“Ha! Back when I had long hair like yours,” her mom said, referring to a photo from almost 20 years ago. “Gosh, I was about 40 then. Those were good times. I miss being a teacher,” she lamented. Her mom was a long-time art teacher at the local elementary school before she was forced to take an early retirement due to funding cuts.

“At least you’re still getting to do something you like, right?” Harleen asked, referring to her interior design work.

“You bet. I do like what I do,” her mom said, turning the page. “I’m lucky that I met Bob. You know how much he supported me in getting my business off the ground.”

Harleen smiled. Her mom always had such a good eye for art and design and she liked to think that she inherited the art gene from her.

“I would have loved to have been able to do some more adjunct work at the university, too. You know, if you ever get the chance, Har, you should look into that. That could be pretty lucrative,” her mom said, looking up at her. “I know you’re so busy at Arkham, though. I just don’t want you to be drawn too far into that world,” she said, thinking of her late husband.

“Oh, I’m not,” Harleen reassured her, which she knew was a lie. Her mind flashed to Joker’s almost lifeless body in the infirmary. She felt bad that he didn’t have any family to spend Christmas with and she felt that she should be there with him—in a therapeutic capacity, of course. Harleen paused for a moment, thinking about her mother’s work at Moraine University on Long Island. “Mom, refresh my memory, what did you teach at the university?”

“Hm, well, I did a bunch of stuff,” her mom pondered. “I taught the entry-level art courses, you know, ceramics, sculpture, painting, drawing… They also had me teach a class about writing for the arts, even though I didn’t have a ton of experience in writing. I learned a lot from that course myself.”

“I’d love to do something like that,” Harleen admitted. “I mean, I would love to incorporate arts into my field. Maybe something like arts for mental health. I could teach that!”

“I love the idea,” her mom smiled. “I know you’re upstate now, but there are plenty of universities and colleges near you that might be looking for someone just like you!” She gave her daughter a tight squeeze around her shoulders. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?” she told Harleen.

They spent the rest of the evening playing games and talking. It was past midnight when she finally left, almost opting to spend the night. But she was potentially on-call, she told her parents, and she wanted to be close to Arkham just in case. They exchanged their goodbyes and lots of hugs, and Harleen got in her car and headed back north.

*****

Patient remains stable, I’ll text u tomorrow with an update, one of the nurses had texted Harleen while she was at her parents’ house. She felt guilty that they had to work Christmas Day, but she was thankful for the update and for their dedication.

Harleen ended up sleeping in several hours past her normal wake time and it was mid-morning by the time she finally rolled out of bed. She decided go for a run and and return to eat a light brunch. She took a long, hot shower and thought about how she was actually happy where she lived. She didn’t want to live on Long Island where her parents and brother had their homes. She had a really beautiful apartment in a gorgeous area with views of the river and a jogging trail nearby. She could walk to the center of town if she wanted to. She was close to several parks and green spaces where she could just get out an enjoy nature—something that she didn’t see much of in Brooklyn.

She had made plans with her girlfriend Vanessa to meet for lunch at a café in her small town. She told Vanessa everything when it came to guys and Vanessa always countered, telling her that she was so picky—that her standards were unbelievably high.

“He should be well-educated is all I’m saying,” she defended herself to Vanessa with a smile on her face.

“Hahaha, right,” Vanessa chortled, “And have a hot bod, a big package, a refined palate, a respect for the arts, and money out the wazoo!”

“Exactly!” Harleen exclaimed with both girls filling the café with their laughter. They were quite a fashionable pair with Harleen wearing dark blue jeans, high-heeled boots, a pretty light gray knit sweater—a gift from her mother—and a green scarf. Not having enough time to straighten it, she left her long hair down, which formed beautiful waves in its natural state. There was no doubt that Harleen was a beautiful woman and could have her choice of virtually any man.

“So, is there anyone new?” Vanessa queried. She couldn’t believe that her best friend wasn’t taken by now. She had it all—brains and body.

“No, not yet. I’m still taking a big break since Dex,” she replied, referring to her last boyfriend. “That was... a disaster. I just need time to figure out things for myself.”

“Okay, hun, but that was, what, almost two years ago,” Vanessa reminded her. “Don’t wait too long or you’ll lose out on a lot of fun!”

“I know, I know! I’ll get to it!” Harleen promised. She didn’t dare speak a word about her growing affection for Joker. She would become an immediate pariah and she was sure her friends and family would insist that she be placed in an asylum. “I’ve actually been thinking about applying for some teaching jobs at a college or university. I think it would be a good break from the lunacy I experience every day at Arkham.”

“I like that idea. Maybe you’ll have some hot guys in your classes. You can wear your short skirts and flip your hair. You would be Miss Sexy Professor!” Vanessa erupted into giggles.

“Hey, I like that idea! I’m going to make it happen!” Harleen responded, thinking about the actual possibility of teaching. She might sit on a desk in front of the room with her long legs crossed and her blonde hair down… just like following in her mom’s footsteps.

Harleen stopped, her coffee cup poised at her lips, her mind frozen in thought. Oh, my God, she thought. Oh, my God!!! She was making connections in her head. Joker lived on Long Island at one point. He went to a university. He took an English class. Her mom taught English. He thought she was his professor. What if my mom was his professor?? What if I can figure out who he is?? The sudden realization sent tingles throughout her entire body.

“Hey Van, I gotta head back. My patient is about to be released from the infirmary today and I need to make sure everything is good with him,” she told her, trying to contain the excitement in her voice. “We’ll definitely have to do this again. I miss you!”

“Hey, no problem!” Vanessa smiled. “Duty calls! But don’t work too hard. I think I’ll hang around and do some post-holiday shopping, so text me if you’re still around later.” The friends hugged and parted ways with Harleen nearly sprinting to her car after she left the door.

*****

Harleen shuddered as the cold wind cut through her on her way up the library steps. She decided to head to the library instead of back home because she knew that she might have an easier time researching old news articles or looking through the stacks for information, even though most things were digitized by now. The library also held subscriptions to so many services that she couldn’t access at home, and she was hopeful that she could find something. Energized by her realization, she barely remembered driving and parking, being so lost in her own thoughts. She knew this was a long shot, but she couldn’t contain her excitement.

Arriving at the reference section, she took a seat a computer and logged in. Where do I start? She stared at the screen and began researching Moraine University’s Chemistry program. She knew Joker’s rap sheet didn’t begin until 10 years ago—2006—and her mom taught at the school from 1998 to 2008. Assuming that he was not an enrolled student while also committing crimes, she figured that she would look at 1998 to 2006 as her year range. This is doable, she thought. 

She searched for anything relating to chemistry lab explosion at the university, but had no luck. She searched for all Chemistry PhDs granted during those years, but there were so many—hundreds—that she couldn’t really pare it down easily. And, even then, the university hadn’t always published names of graduates online. She realized that this was the early 2000s and, though they certainly used the internet, the university didn’t keep all of its data online as they do now. She just wished she could have seen a roster of names from her mom’s class. I wonder if she kept that? She sighed. Probably not. Her mom was a clean freak and she only kept what was relevant. Plus, she would ask why Harleen wanted such a specific thing. Oh, I’m just doing research into the real identity of a patient, she would tell her mom. Oh yeah? What patient? She would ask, not realizing that her daughter couldn’t reveal her patient’s identity anyway. The Joker, mom. Harleen imagined telling her. And, by the way, I think I’m falling in love with him.

“Ugh,” Harleen grumbled out loud, rubbing her temples.

Her phone vibrated on the desk and the time flashed 3:15 p.m. It was a text from the nurse again. It’s Henry, patient awake, stabilized. No add’l problems. Sending him back to cell. Harleen sent a quick thank you text back to him. She really did appreciate them keeping her in the loop.

She was so anxious to find answers but kept hitting brick walls. She was about to start cross-referencing the list of Chemistry graduates on social media websites in order to rule them out when a thought struck her. He said he caused a lab explosion. Maybe… maybe they wrote about the lab explosion in the student paper. Her heartbeat quickened. She asked the reference librarian where she might be able to find old college papers.

“Some are just posted online on the college’s website, but the older ones are digitized. They started to post content online around 2001 or so,” the librarian told her with a British lilt to her words as she looked up from her computer. “I’ll show you the service we subscribe to so you can search any college paper. We also have a service for regular newspapers, too, if you need it,” she said, walking from behind the counter and following Harleen to her computer. She pulled up the search form and explained that she can search by date and keyword, but that the early digitized papers might only be searchable by date and maybe some by keywords that were tagged, but not by content.

“That’s no problem, at least it gets me in the right direction,” Harleen told her and thanked her for her help. She searched the Moraine Student Mirror for variations on chemistry laboratory explosion with no luck. Maybe he was lying or maybe he was confused, Harleen wondered. No, it was such a rare moment of conversation and disclosure. It was too raw to be fake, she concluded. Maybe it wasn’t even at Moraine University... maybe I’m on a wild goose chase...

She thought about searching the city papers, but thought that would be a daunting task and that the story would be lost in pages and pages of text. She decided to stick with her investigation of the student paper, looking at each weekly digitized newspaper starting in 1998. There were several missing chronologically, which worried her. She spent hours looking at the content headings for every paper... 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001… Apparently, Moraine U wasn’t on the ball with posting their student news online, she thought, as she realized that papers had been digitized up until 2005.

Clicking on the link for 2002, she began to continue her monotonous search when her heart nearly stopped. The headline from the paper dated Friday, February 22, 2002, burned its text into her eyes: Kennedy Hall Rocked by Chemical Explosion. “Oh, my god,” she said aloud, garnering the attention of the librarian. Her hands shaking, she scrolled down the page to read the article.

On Thursday, February 21, campus police with the assistance of local police and fire departments were called to the scene at Kennedy Hall where a chemistry experiment had gone wrong. Dr. Clarence Hodge, chair of the Chemistry Department, stated that no students or staff were injured during the explosion. The damages were extensive, ranging from rooms 214 to 218, causing structural instability to the east wing of the building. Currently, students are barred from the east wing and all classes will be rescheduled to different rooms. Dr. Hodge reports that, “[T]he explosion was the result of a chemistry experiment gone awry… One of our best students, Jack Napier, was conducting experiments for his PhD research. This was not intentional; just an unfortunate accident. In fact, he might even be able to incorporate it into his research.” Dr. Hodge and the campus police report that the university will not press charges against Napier. No students were in the rooms when the explosion occurred. For any concerns or questions about the building and the rescheduling of rooms, please email the student news desk.

Harleen could not believe her eyes. Jack Napier. The name sent chills through her whole body. Jack Napier. Is that his name? The Joker’s name? She couldn’t believe that she could be the only person to know the Joker’s real name. She wasn’t even sure if he knew his own name.

Her hands were trembling and she realized that she was starving. It was already past 6:00. But she decided that she couldn’t leave. She had to continue digging and finding more information on Jack Napier. She searched his name and found that he indeed received a PhD in Chemistry in 2003. Synthesis of Pyrrolizidine-Phosphinooxazoline Reactions Through Organometallic Processes was the title of his dissertation. Holy shit, this guy must be fucking brilliant, Harleen thought. Wow. She did some further research into his topic and found that he had focused on organic chemistry and what seemed to be potentially creating new compounds from plants and metals that could be used as very promising pharmaceuticals.

She continued her search and found that he had established a business with a partner, Nick Heusinger, in the city’s west side—ACE Chemicals, the business was named. She pressed on further and further with her search finally being led to a newspaper from April 2005 that contained Napier’s name. She scrolled through and found it buried in one of the final sections of the paper.

She found his name in the obituaries.

“Oh, my God,” Harleen swallowed hard. She closed her eyes to hold back her tears, but the pressure built up, stinging her nose and making it difficult to breathe. Jack W. Napier, the obituary title read… It was accompanied by a photo of a very handsome man. He had the same piercing eyes as the Joker and she knew without a doubt that it was him. He was gorgeous. He looked like a movie star. It was a black and white photo, but she could tell that his hair was dark brown and his eyes were bright blue. His hair was short but messy and he had a very slight beard. He was wearing a shirt and tie and looked so incredibly handsome, like he was a young college professor. His eyes were soft and kind, not sullen and gray like she had been so used to seeing. He was smiling a huge, lovely smile, as if he were on top of the world. It must have been a photo for the Chemistry Department or maybe a photo for his business. After staring at the photo for ages, memorizing every single detail, she finally read the obituary.

Jack W. Napier, age 28, of Gotham, formerly of Long Island, passed on April 15, 2005. Napier was an alumnus of Moraine University where he received his MS and PhD degrees in Chemistry. He worked with his business partner to establish ACE Chemicals where he focused on creating innovative drugs for pharmaceutical companies. Napier was preceded in death by his parents and three siblings as well as his maternal and paternal grandparents. He was also preceded in death by his fiancée Jessica and their unborn child. He is survived by many friends including business partner Nick Heusinger. Services will not be held. In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions can be made to the Long Island Humane Society.

Unborn child… Harleen could not hold back her tears as a flood of emotion moved through her body. He lost everything he ever had in his life. His parents, his siblings, his fiancée, their unborn child… Tears streamed down her face. It makes so much sense now, she realized. He has nothing to lose. It’s no wonder why he was driven insane.

She searched more information about ACE Chemicals and found a blurb about how Nick Heusinger had been indicted for asset misappropriation and tax fraud, resulting in his ultimate conviction and imprisonment in 2009. She found an article from a newspaper in April 2005 about ACE Chemicals titled Man dies after industrial accident at ACE Chemicals.

A man has died following a late-night accident at ACE Chemicals, according to police. The man was reported to have fallen from a catwalk into an open basin of acidic chemicals, used to create pharmaceutical drugs. Police and other rescue personnel were not able to obtain the body of the individual as it is believed to have been dissolved. ACE declined to release more details at this time. OSHA officials say they were told the man lost his balance and fell into the basin. The victim’s name is being withheld at this time. The investigation is continuing.

Tears continued to roll down Harleen’s face as she was now openly weeping in the quiet library. He survived the chemical bath somehow. That’s why he’s so fucked up! I can’t believe… Her thoughts trailed off as she imagined his pale skin, his green hair, his teeth, his lack of facial hair. It must have changed him in some way on the genetic level, she speculated, resting her forehead in her hand and staring at her keyboard.

It was all making sense to her now. He died and no service was held. No one knew he survived. He reappeared on the scene in 2006. He probably had something to do with his partner’s death, she surmised. Maybe that’s how he started his empire, from appropriating liquid assets from his old company and setting up his partner for the fall… Maybe it was revenge of some sort… 

She tried to search for information about his fiancée, but just couldn’t find anything about her. Her heart cried out to him, knowing all of the pain he had gone through but never revealed to her in their sessions. His heart must be broken, she thought, feeling her own heart break for him.

She stood up, still sobbing and wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. I have to go see him right away, she thought to herself, looking at her watch. Almost 8:00. She gathered her things when the librarian approached her.

“Are you okay, dear?” she asked with a look of concern on her face, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

“I… uh… I’m okay,” Harleen stuttered, wiping tears from her eyes. “Thank you so much for your help.”

“You’re very welcome,” she responded. “I hope you were able to find what you were looking for.”

“I did, I really did...” Harleen said tearfully. She thanked her again and then quickly left the library with one destination in her mind, her feet not being able to carry her fast enough. All she wanted was to see the Joker—Jack—in his cell and… and… She couldn’t think of what she would even say or how to say it. She cried as she drove as fast as she could across the long bridge to Arkham just 20 minutes away, most certainly breaking a few traffic laws on the way.

*****

Click here for Chapter 6: A Manipulated Promise

If you liked this story, please show me your love! The likes, comments, reblogs, and messages make this all worthwhile and let me know that you are out there enjoying it, too! xoxo

[itsworn]

Speed Shops, Tacos and Frozen Yogurt. Edelbrock’s 27-year Veteran, Smitty Smith has Done it All, and He’s Still Doing It!

The hot rod world is awash with personalities. Some, you know. Others, you should. Smitty Smith is a name that likely hasn’t permeated dinner conversation or your TV guide. He’s never been on an episode of Street Outlaws, Overhaulin’ or part of any other automotive theatrics. But, if you’ve ever bolted an Edelbrock part onto your car, engine, or otherwise, there’s a good chance Smitty had some role in that.

So, who is Smitty? To start, we don’t know his real name–few do. We just know him as the guy you call when you need to know some random part spec, number, or application–something he has all but memorized. He’s the parts counter king, and the man to go to when you need something built. But who is he really?

Officially, Smitty is the Senior Advisor and Technical Sales Coordinator at Edelbrock–senior being a semi-underrated title given his 27 years at the company.

Physically, he’s a bear of a man that doesn’t shake hands, but instead people. At tradeshows, he has a penchant for surprise headlocks, lung-emptying back slaps, and a few other moves the WWF has since banned.

He’s a good-natured, booming chuckle that rattles ear drums and a friendly face at every SEMA show, happy to methodically pull new part specs seemingly from thin air. Smitty’s been a part of the performance aftermarket almost since it began, and despite a behind-the-scenes role, his larger than life personality has rippled throughout the automotive spectrum. But if you asked him, he’d say simply, he’s a car guy–like all of us.

HRM] Where did the “Smitty” moniker come from?

SS] That came along way, way, way back when I was in diapers. I’m a Jr., first off, so my dad’s a Smitty. My mother told me a story of us shopping in a Sears department store in 1953 or so, and–uh–filled my diaper, as kids do. Some guy said, “Who’s this? This must be little, “Shitty Smitty from Culver City,” and the name just stuck. Once I started working at speed shops, it was Smitty from then on out. At this point, if someone called me by my real first name, they’re probably a bill collector!

HRM] When did you first find cars and hot rodding?

SS] At the age of two. My mother and father both raced Jalopies. Those were the ‘33- ‘34 Fords that they raced on dirt at our local track, which was Gardena Stadium. My mom even raced in the Powder Puff class. It was in my blood I guess. I got a go kart for my 5th birthday and never looked back. I just have a passion for cars. I own 8 of them!

HRM] What was your first car?

SS] My first personal car was a 1953 Plymouth. I got it for Christmas at the age of 14.

HRM] And how long before you started customizing it?

SS] I drove it around the block on Christmas day and the next day I had bed-spreads over the torn seats. After that, I painted the Chrome grille, gold­–if you can believe that! Hey, I was 14! I was a little bit green!

HRM] How Many cars have you had?

SS] Oh man, I’ve probably had over 100 in my lifetime. I had 9 cars at once and sold 6 of them to come up with a down payment on a house. I’m still in that place 40-years later.

HRM] What was your favorite car you’ve had over the years?

SS] That’s tough. I really liked the ’51 Ford Woody. I’ve had a lot of Tri Fives, which I loved, but I’ve always had El Caminos, too. My first El Camino was a ’64 with a 327 and a 4 speed. That and the Woody are probably the two I remember most from my youth. Now, I have a ’37 Ford Truck street sod, a ’64 Chevy II gasser Wagon, a ’62 Rambler American, a ’62 Falcon Ranchero, a ’71 El Camino SS big block, and my race car.

HRM] You’ve spent a huge portion of your career working for Edelbrock. How did you get involved there?

SS] That’s a long story. Before here, I was working at speed shops out of high school. I used to call Edelbrock all the time and place orders, and I’ve known about them since I got into the performance world in 1968. I got to know a lot of people that worked over there while I was at Service Center Speed Shop. In 1980, I worked for Mr. Gasket but when it got sold, I was out of a job! In 1984 to 1989 I started a restaurant and lost my derrière, if you will.

HRM] Wait, you were a restaurateur? It’s hard to picture you doing that. What kind of food did you serve?

SS] I sold Mexican food out of a corner building in Marina Del Rey. It was called Loco Louie’s. It was “loco” because everyone said I was crazy for selling Mexican food and Columbo frozen yogurt. Hey, it was the ‘80s! Frozen yogurt was big; we sold more of that than tacos! I worked 100 hours a week for five years and only took four days off in Feb and November to go to the NHRA Winter Nationals and the World Finals. It was rough! After that, I got back into the parts world.

HRM] What came next?

SS] I went to work for Service Center Wholesale, which was acquired by 4WPW, where I was selling parts to Edelbrock’s dyno room. Dyno’s were a big deal back then! I said to Mike Eddy at Edelbock, who I’ve known since 1972, “If anything opens up, let me know.” He said, “you lookin’?” I said, “yeah,” and three interviews later … I’ve been here 27 years. When Vic Jr. first saw me, he said “I know you!” And I said, “I sure hope you do!”

HRM] What was it like to work with Vic Edelbrock Jr. for so long?

SS] Amazing, and there’s such a void here in his absence. Even talking right now, I’ve got goosebumps on my arms. He treated all of us like family. Working for him was just a dream and sometimes, I had to pinch myself. We all miss that. But, you know working at speed shops for almost 20 years I had to remember the whole catalog rack, which I have a knack for. I can remember part numbers and phone numbers without even lookin’. I’m blessed in that respect. But working here at Edelbrock was enlightening because I only had to worry about one catalog. I wish I came here out of high school, like Curt Hooker who’s been here 49 years now, but I’m glad I got here when I did.

HRM] Have you had your hand in the design of any parts over the years?

SS] It’s funny, but the one thing I brought to Edelbrock was a two-piece timing cover. I used to sell them when I worked at speed shops and Mr. Gasket, they were flimsy and cheap–they all leaked. But when I got to Edelbrock, we made one from scratch out of stamped aluminum that was .090in thick and drawn over mandrel. It was a nice piece and we still make it today.

HRM] You didn’t just build street rods, you raced. What was that like?

SS] I always wanted to race. My dad and uncle (twins) were oval track racers, but I was a drag racer. My first car that was not a street car was a ’55 Chevy that I got in 1972. I ran NHRA Modified Eliminator in that, then moved on to a ’56 Nomad in the same class. Then, I did a purpose-built S10 Blazer 9.90 Super Gas Car in the mid ‘80s. I finished it in 1990 and I still have it today.

HRM] What is your favorite racing memory?

SS] That would be debuting the car at the Bakersfield Super Chevy event, pulling up to the bleach box, and being surrounded by photographers. I don’t think they ever saw an S10 Blazer drag car before. The tires on that car were early Mickey Thompsons from when he first started making drag tires. The one thing the guy that gave ‘em to me said was, “You gotta get ‘em hot.” I said, “Sir, that won’t be a problem.” Boy, I gave those photographers a show. When I got home that Sunday night, my answering machine was full. I had so many messages from people wanting to do a magazine article on my S10 Blazer!

HRM] You’ve worked with racers and builders and even some of us HOT ROD Magazine folks over the years. Do you have any fond memories?

SS] I can tell you a few that stand out as a tech guy answering phones. I’ve gotten calls from Bob Glidden, Warren Johnson, Herb McCandless, Dave Russell, Ed Pink, Dave McClelland, and Roy Brizio. Magazine guys; sure, I dealt with Gray Baskerville, Jim Losee, Cam Benty, and Jeff Smith, all of those guys. There’s a lot of great people in the industry. It’s so big, yet it’s small. It’s really been good. It’s a great feeling to be part of something big and know that you’re accepted. That’s the way I feel. You earn respect, it’s not given.

The post Speed Shops, Tacos and Frozen Yogurt. Edelbrock’s 27-year Veteran, Smitty Smith has Done it All, and He’s Still Doing It! appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/speed-shops-tacos-frozen-yogurt-edelbrocks-27-year-veteran-smitty-smith-done-hes-still/ via IFTTT

[swimintothesound]

Gateway Indie

On May 20th of 2008, my musical taste changed forever. We (or at least I) tend to discover things in waves. Specifically waves of increasingly-tiered obsession that escalate until I can focus on one thing and one thing only. I’ll find a song I really like, devour the album that it came from, read everything on the band’s Wikipedia page, explore their discography, listen to side projects, see them live, spend exorbitant amounts of money on limited edition vinyl, then (apparently) write about my experience years later.

One of the most important steps in my particular brand of hyper-obsessive fandom is delving deeper into the genre of the band who I’ve recently discovered. Whether it’s simply to contextualize their sound, see if I recognize any of their contemporaries, or just to get a better understanding of the world’s musical history. When one artist’s discography isn’t enough, sometimes the next logical step is to start absorbing everything in their immediate vicinity. It’s a beautiful notion that one album can open the door to a whole new world of music that was previously hidden. It’s how you diversify as a music listener and as a person.

Up until high school, I’d really only explored the genres of classic rock, grunge, and some metal. All pretty standard stuff, especially for a white suburban teen, but it was all music that came out before I was born. In 2008 I discovered a group of albums that opened my eyes to the ever-cool world of indie and, more importantly, paved the way for my interest in both the genre and the contemporary music scene as a whole. As each of these albums near their 10th anniversary I realized that not only have many of them achieved “classic” status within the genre, they were also part of a larger movement for my generation.

Universality

Now that the internet has paved the way for services like iTunes, Spotify, Soundcloud, and Bandcamp, music has become more insular than ever. In 2017 there are entire sects of fans who can be hyper-devoted to one artist or scene that may never intersect with anyone else. Additionally, with the rise of social platforms like forums, Twitter, and reddit fans can live in a bubble… and while it’s great to connect with other fans, it also means the vocal obsessives are more walled-off.

We have fewer “universals” than ever before. Ed Sheeran is one of the best-selling artists in the world right now, but I don’t think I’ve heard a single song of his. Drake is breaking records every week, but if you don’t care about hip-hop, he’s pretty easy to avoid listening to. It’s a byproduct of the ever-splintering media landscape that we’re living in.

So there are positives and negatives, but this splintering is relevant because those “universals” will become fewer and far between as we move forward. Looking beyond music, you have shows like Game of Thrones which is one of the most technically popular and most-talked about shows currently on TV. It consistently shatters its own self-set viewership records, numbers which are worth screaming about in 2017, yet would have gotten a show canceled even 20 years ago. There’s just more to watch, more to do, and more to care about in 2017, so if you don’t want to watch Game of Thrones, you truly don’t have to. This isn’t the 20’s where everyone gathers around the radio for the day’s episode of Little Orphan Annie. I feel like I’m getting off track, but music is this phenomenon multiplied by thousands. Not only are there dozens of alternatives mediums vying for your attention, practically anyone can create music in 2017. There are more alternatives (and therefore fewer commonalities) than ever before.

I feel like we will reach (or perhaps have already hit) a point where there are simply no more universal artists. There’s never going to be another Beatles. Obviously. But looking purely at The Beatles on a scale purely based on audience and cultural impact, there will never be another musical group in the history of the world that reaches the omniscient presence that the Beatles achieved. There were fewer artists to listen to then, fewer ways to create music, and even fewer avenues to discover new music.

As technology has improved, we’ve seen a direct impact on the music industry as an entity. At the same time, we’ve also seen artists effectively harness this power. Groups like Odd Future were pervasive and forward-thinking enough that I (a high school-aged non-hip-hop listener) knew who they were and knew at least a few of their songs. While everyone’s musical journey is a unique story filled with personal discoveries that have influenced their taste, this is really a story about the first universal that I was a part of as it was happening.

I Miss the Old iTunes

Back when iTunes was still relatively new, it was my only source of current music. I would almost instantaneously drain any gift card I was given, using it to cross several songs off my carefully-curated iTunes wish list. I was also fortunate enough to have my Dad’s massive collection of nearly one thousand CD’s at my disposal, but as you could imagine, most of those albums were a decade old at least. That’s why I was a rock fan first: ease of access.

But I always found ways to satiate my hunger for new music. From VH1 to renting CDs one by one from the local library, there were only so many ways to hear new music, even in the mid-2000’s. One of the most unexpected avenues that I took advantage of was the (now sadly-defunct) iTunes Single of the Week Program, which offered exposure to countless contemporary acts one song at a time. It may not have been much, but this program turned me onto dozens of artists and sounds that I wouldn’t have heard otherwise. Through this mishmash of mid-2000’s media, I was able to satiate my budding hunger for new music as a penniless 14-year-old.

That brings us back to the first sentence of this post.

Unbeknownst to me, indie folk was blowing up In 2008. Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago was gaining serious traction a year after its release thanks to the album’s breakout hit “Skinny Love” and in May “Skinny Love” was put up as iTunes’ free song. As with most songs in the program, I’d never heard of the artist, nor had any experience with the genre, but I downloaded it anyway because that’s how hungry I was for new music.

I downloaded the track (no doubt on my family’s bulky oversized 2005 laptop) and synced it onto my iPod immediately. I was floored. I’d never heard anything so delicate. It was catchy (especially for a folk song) but it also had a soft warmth and reserved delivery that was a revelation to me at the time. “Skinny Love” evoked a feeling that was unlike any other music I’d ever heard. I had to have more.

Part of the beauty of the Single of the Week program was how random it was. One week it’d be an electropop song, the next it would be something folky like Bon Iver, and then it would be a latin song. I didn’t necessarily like it all (quite the opposite, in fact) but I listened to it all for the sake of discovery. The fact that these songs were free was just the icing on top of the cake. I had nothing to lose.

I had no idea at the time, but indie folk saw a massive explosion in popularity in 2008 with the rise of acts like Bon Iver and Fleet Foxes, who both released stunning debuts around this time. I didn’t realize that this era of indie had been such a widespread phenomenon until I saw people discussing Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago on its tenth anniversary calling it their “Gateway Indie” album. I liked that phrase, but I didn’t think much of it until I heard the ineffable deep_cuts youtube channel cite both For Emma and Fleet Foxes as “dominating adolescent MP3 players the world over” at this time. Maybe it was just his worldly UK accent, but something clicked for me. I realized this was not only a formative album, era, and sound for myself, but for everyone my age.

Beyond Folk

Later that year I met some of the coolest people in my high school. And by that I don’t mean cool in the traditional sense, they were dork-ass nerds like me, but they were dork-ass nerds with impeccable musical taste. At this point, the edgiest thing I had ever listened to was Nine Inch Nails, but these guys opened my mind to the larger world of indie music. Genres I didn’t even know existed. Sounds I could barely conceive of. This was 10th grade and the albums they showed me would go on to become some of my favorite and most formative of all time.

The first song I remember them playing for me was the opening track to Portugal. The Man’s first album Waiter: "You Vultures!" which was titled “How the Leopard Got Its Spots.” I’m going to stop there for a second just to point out this band/album/song combo was (before hearing the first note) already more experimental and out-there than anything else I’d ever heard up to that point.

“How the Leopard Got Its Spots” is a pokey unpredictable song that almost borders on prog. While Portugal. The Man changes up their sound every album, their debut is easily the most experimental of their discography, still retaining many characteristics of the band’s post-hard predecessor Anatomy of a Ghost. But I didn’t know any of that at the time. I just listened to the song, enraptured by the track’s grungy guitars that paired perfectly with Gourley’s shrill high-pitched singing. The lyrics were obtuse in a Relationship of Command-type way and the final glitched-out chorus haunted me for days after the fact, becoming an immovable earworm. I remember at the time Grand Theft Auto IV had just been released (God, take me back) and I’d spend hours tooling around the game’s gray city listening to this song on repeat for hours.

Sometime later, Eric (the one of the group who I was closest to) and I found ourselves sitting next to each other during a weirdly-placed mid-day homeroom period. I asked him what he was listening to and he said “I’ll show you” he handed me his headphones and hit play on his 3rd generation iPod Nano. What I heard were the first shimmering notes of Minus The Bear’s “Pachuca Sunrise.” The song’s carefully-times guitar taps and intensely-technical drumming provide the crunchy background for Jake Snyder’s laid-back sensual lyrics and Cory Murchy’s smooth flowing bassline. It gelled into a transformative experience that made my body feel warm with sunlight and love. There’s a reason it’s still one of the band’s most-played live songs even a decade later. It turns out “Pachuca Sunrise” was many people’s first Minus The Bear song and led countless fans to the group’s second album Menos El Oso.

At this point, I already had enough “material” to go off on my own and endlessly devour these two records from these two very different bands. And I did, but I was also hungry for more. I came back to this group of guys in our shared AV class and begged for more in the coolest way I could without discounting my own cred.

From there Eric, Oliver, and Max threw me into the deep end. They showed me “Death Rides a Horse” by instrumental band Russian Circles. I dug it. Ratcheting up the intensity, they moved onto “Laser Life” by the post-hardcore band Blood Brothers. I dug it. They then threw the hyperchaotic cybergrind “Chapels” by Genghis Tron at me. I didn’t dig it, but I warmed up to it pretty quickly.

While there were dozens of other acts and songs that these guys turned me onto over the course of the next year, this crop stands out in my mind both for its breadth and what they’ve gone on to represent for me personally.

Portugal. The Man would go onto become one of my favorite bands. I’ve often proselytized online that they have one of the best discographies in indie rock. I would also go on to expose this band to my two younger brothers, and for one of them, Portugal. The Man has become their favorite band of all time. They currently sit at my 8th most played band on Last.fm with just over 3,000 plays.

Minus the Bear was my favorite band for years. At 6 concerts they’re also far-and-away the band I’ve seen live the most, and two years ago I saw them play Menos El Oso in full for the album’s 10th-anniversary tour. The album’s closing track “This Ain't a Surfin’ Movie” has been my favorite song of all time since I first heard it. The band is currently my 6th most-listened band on Last.fm, and three of the band's albums are have made it onto my list of all-time favorites.

Russian Circles would eventually lead me to the world of post-rock and instrumental metal. Bands like Explosions in the Sky, Mogwai, and Earth, all of whom have served as my reading and studying music throughout high school and college. Russian Circles also have a nearly-perfect discography, and they currently sit at #15 on my Last.fm.

Meanwhile, Fleet Foxes were always a bit boring to me… until this year. Maybe I have more patience at 24 than I did at 15, but I’ve had their discography on repeat for this entire summer and I’ve been loving it.

Most importantly, Bon Iver served as my gateway to all of this. It’s weird that a slow quiet folk album could pave the way for something as discordant and brutal as Genghis Tron, but I guess it’s a snowball effect type of thing. For Emma, Forever Ago also became somewhat of a soundtrack for my first real relationship, and despite that relationship’s rocky conclusion a year later, I can still listen to the album today and enjoy it as much as I did the first time hearing it.

I can’t thank these three dudes (and the creators of these albums) enough. I can safely say that my life would be unequivocally and vastly different without having gone through this period of exploration when I did. I would be a different person with different tastes and interests entirely. Full stop. So for that, I can only say “thank you” and hope that I returned the favor with someone else somewhere down the line. Sometimes discoveries come from the most unexpected places. Sometimes a random song can lead you down a path you never could have blazed yourself. Sometimes a single song can change everything.

[badforyourheartgoodforyourart]

Angel 8

My dad didn’t talk about God. My Catholic mom, all the time, but I couldn’t recall a time my dad had. So that summer day when I picked up the phone and my dad started talking about God, I was… confused.

“Sometimes God does things and no one really understands why.” It’s obvious, looking back, where he was going, but at 11 years old, all I could think about was how out of character the reference was. “Amanda died.” Amanda Harpin was the starting center-mid for my Division 4 travel soccer team. She died in a boating accident a few weeks before.

I didn’t start crying, like I knew I was supposed to. I ran up the stairs and called my mom at work. My voice was shaky as I repeated what my dad said. My mom, who hadn’t known about the accident, did her best to comfort me, but as soon as she did I got quiet. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to feel.

I wasn’t even sure if I felt sad. Confused, is probably the best I can do to describe it. I felt the bigness of the death but not the death directly. I had tried out for the BRYC Thunder at the beginning of fifth grade, almost a year before. Two moments are etched into my memory with distinct detail.

The first:

It was fall of my first season. We practiced Tuesday and Thursday on the field behind Frost Middle School. Practice started at 4:45, but our coach, Marc, expected us there by 4:30 to warm up. Cleats tied, shin guards in place, white t-shirt tucked in, getting touches on the ball by 4:30. This particular practice we were working on crossing and finishing. The drill had five lines. The people in the two outside lines took turns dribbling to the corner of the field and crossing the ball in the air in front of the goal. The people in the three middle lines made runs and tried to score. I was in the outside right line, with Amanda.

Amanda was one of the best on the team. Aside from her, the outside players’ crosses were on the ground and weak, including my own. I was a decent, capable player. But I couldn’t kick a ball in the air to save my life, which it started to feel like I might have to do. Marc — who sometimes thought he coached 16-year-old boys and not 11-year-old girls — was getting mad. He yelled till the spit gathered in the corners of his mouth. He threatened us with sprints. I kicked another one on the ground and jogged to the back of the line, hating myself, certain everyone else did too. If I had a tail, it would be between my legs like a dog that knows its in trouble. My head was down and my gaze was locked on my shoes — until Amanda spoke.

“Hey don’t worry about it,” I looked up and saw Amanda, in her gray Mickey Mouse t-shirt, grinning. “This is why we practice, right?” I stopped hating myself but continued kicking inadequate crosses, weak and on the ground. I forget, but we probably ran sprints.

The second:

It was spring, the following season. Outside of the soccer team, I was a fifth grader at Keene Mill Elementary School. My newly acquired best friend was Lindsay Smith. She was so cool. She had long blonde hair and shopped at Aeropostale and Limited Too. I had short hair that I hardly ever combed, with unruly bangs, and my wardrobe consisted of my brother’s hand-me-downs. I was whole-hearted. I was honestly indiscriminate to gender, race, intelligence, and popularity. But Lindsay was so cool. In our secret notes we’d write to each other, she’d tell me the girls she thought were pretty or cool and the guys she had crushes on or thought were weird. And I became alarmingly conscious that I had nothing to say. So, pathetically, I began looking.

One day at practice, while we routinely went through our stretches and our 20-counts, I noticed something. Amanda had extremely hairy legs. We were 11, we didn’t shave our legs. We all had light or thin hair. Amanda’s light skin contrasted with her dark hair, and I couldn’t stop glancing over. I told Lindsay about it in the note I wrote her the next day.

Now she was dead, and these were the only two memories I could remember of her. It was summer, so we weren’t practicing, but I was inadvertently kept up to date on what was going on. My dad generally stayed out of the Thunder dimension of my life (he recalls not even knowing who Amanda was when Marc first told him the news of her accident) and my mom was technologically challenged. So I received all the team e-mails — including updates from the Harpins.

There were e-mails that told of the accident in more detail: The Harpins were on vacation in Maine by Little Sebago Lake, where they went every year. They were joined by some extended family and the Klatts, a family with another teammate on Thunder. On July 3, a few of them went tubing on the lake. On the boat with Amanda was her dad, uncle, a cousin of around the same age, and teammate, Katie Klatt. An employee of the Lodge was driving. The girls had just changed positions on the boat (Amanda came off the tube and sat at the bow, Katie got on the tube). Just a few seconds after they began accelerating, a bass boat struck the left side of the ski boat at its bow, where Amanda was sitting. She died at impact. She was thrown into the water with such force that she was propelled out of her lifejacket. Divers found her body four hours later. Amanda’s dad, Paul Harpin, was rushed to the hospital with life-threatening injuries. Everyone else was physically unharmed.

There were e-mail updates of how Mr. Harpin was doing: At first, it was Intensive Care, with broken ribs and a concussion. Surrounded by his wife and three sons, Matthew, 28, Mark, 25, and Michael, 19, he recovered gradually. One e-mail explained that good news! Mr. Harpin was recovering and even joking and laughing. He then asked where Amanda was, and they had to tell him that his 11-year-old daughter had died.

There were so many e-mails. There were never-ending updates, donation opportunities and funeral information. And I was reading them all. What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to react? It was not something I wanted to talk about, that was for sure. Not with my parents, not with my teammates, not with my friends, not with anyone. I wouldn’t know what to say. I wouldn’t have anything to say. But she was dead, you can’t do nothing.

I wrote a poem. I put it on a page on my website with a picture of her. I’m not sure how long it was up before I deleted the link from my homepage, so that only I could see it. I did send it to my coach, Marc. I felt rarely comfortable talking to him, maybe because he didn’t push for my feelings. I didn’t like the “Are you okay?” and “How do you feel about all this?” questions. It didn’t feel fair for me to answer them, or even to receive them. I was the one wondering if her family was okay, if Katie Klatt, who witnessed the accident, was okay, if her best friend on the team, Alissa Miller, was okay. Marc liked my poem. He even mentioned a line of it when being interviewed by Journal for a story about Amanda. It read “ ‘There are not enough words to say how positive and how kind and sweet she was,’ said Marc Cascio, one of the coaches of Amanda’s soccer team, BRYC Thunder. ‘She was constantly upbeat and positive. I think one of my kids put it best. She felt bad for all of the kids who did not know [Amanda].’ ” I was relieved it didn’t say my name.

The funeral was toward the end of summer. My mom and I went and sat in a section to the left of the church that was reserved for the team. I sat in the front row with my teammates. I remember one of the brothers speaking and only vaguely what he said. I remember my heart breaking watching Mr. Harpin crying, still in a wheelchair. I remember seeing her friends from school, who sat across from us. But the thing I remember most was the box of tissues being passed down the line of teammates. Everyone was crying. Alissa was bawling. I couldn’t cry. It was sad, and everyone was crying, but I couldn’t. I know because I tried. I even took a tissue and wiped my already dry eyes, so people would think I was. Then, halfway through the funeral, my mom and I left. I had a plane to catch to Montgomery, Alabama, where soccer took a backseat as I pursued my acting career at Shakespeare camp.

Our first game back in the fall, we took a moment of silence before kick-off. We sported red felt hearts with the number 8, Amanda’s number, velcroed to the sleeve of our jerseys. They were eventually sewn on. Marc bought a gold necklace with an 8 on it and always wore it. The number was retired from Thunder.

Amanda’s birthday was December 12. As a team, we went to visit her grave. We stood in a semicircle with our heads down. I peered up occasionally and saw people crying. A couple girls said a few words. Alissa put down a stuffed panda bear, because she used to call her Manda Panda. Various other people put down flowers and notes and pictures. One of the moms suggested we sing “Happy Birthday.” It was sung awkwardly. It seemed a little upbeat for the occasion.

That was the last time I visited her grave. It crossed my mind a few times, but it was nothing I wanted to do in the company of others. Four years later I got my license, and I could’ve gone by myself. But in a way I can’t explain, it seemed selfish. Why would I go? Who was I to her but a short-time teammate? I barely even knew her, but still part of me was supposed to be connected. I went months at a time without thinking of her. There were times, though rare, I’d think about it. I’d scour the Internet for information about her life and her death. I’d save pictures of her. I’d imagine her as an angel, as my guardian angel. Angel 8, she was. I’d feel sad, I’d feel angry, I’d be confused, I’d find faith, I’d lose faith. Then I’d imagine what it was like for her mom, her dad, her brothers, her best friend, and I’d feel small. I’d feel guilty. No matter what I felt, I never cried. Maybe if I’d cried I’d visit her grave.

Instead, on the six-year anniversary of her death, I went to the field at Frost Middle School. I walked around for over an hour, with my iPod playing Kenny Chesney’s “Who You’d Be Today” on repeat. “It ain’t fair you died too young, like a story that had just begun, and death tore the pages all away… Sometimes I wonder, who you’d be today.” That’s what got me. She could’ve been anyone. We would’ve grown up together. I spent more time with that team and those people than ever imaginable. Today, my life seems only minutely affected. But what if she was still alive?

What if she had been a part of Thunder till its end? She would’ve experienced the Sunday fitness tests, the suicides we ran at halftime, the “don’t be a wimp” lectures from Marc. She would’ve been a part of our Friday night pasta dinners, our team bonding activities, and our countless carpools. She would’ve won and lost with us. She might have changed games. She might have changed everything. Maybe I wouldn’t have left the team when I was 16. Maybe my life would be completely different.

What if she was one of my best friends? It’s not farfetched. I’ve remained very close with four girls from Thunder, one being Alissa Miller, then Amanda’s best friend. The five of us get together regularly. The five of us went to the zoo, the pumpkin patch, and Chuck-E-Cheese just last year. The five of us exchange gifts at Christmas and go to the beach every summer. It could have been the six of us. She could’ve been there. She could’ve been a part of those memories. I wonder what she would’ve said, how she would’ve acted, what I would’ve liked about her, what would’ve gotten on my nerves. I didn’t lose my daughter, or my sister, or my best friend. But my life was affected. I watched the sunset and went home.

Last week, I read a story on ESPN that highlighted a high school baseball player. He had been in a boat accident, and he had lost a leg. But he had lived. And with a prosthetic leg, he pitched in his high school baseball game. And I cried.