#feels like something straight out of some high energy shooting game from the 90s

[essaysbyciara]

Old Habits Die Hard | Part Seven: Backseat

SYNOPSIS | PART ONE: DAYS BEFORE | PART TWO: JUST BE GOOD TO ME | PART THREE: RECOGNIZE THE BUTTERFLIES | PART FOUR: DOWN THE STAIRS AND TO YOUR LEFT| PART FIVE: JUST KNOW | PART SIX: JUST & RIGHTEOUS

Warnings: Language, mentions of sexual situations

Peace, loves! We’re back. Thank you to all who hit me up about this story. My laptop died back in July so I’ve been trying to write on a tablet which…yeah. A struggle is a nice way to put it lol😔. Go ahead and catch the vibes and thank you for the reads, likes, comments and follows. Y'all are the realest. 

“I thought you didn’t smoke”

“I don’t. Doesn’t mean I haven’t…”

You take a strong pull of Dave’s blunt in conjunction with heavy breathing caused by his right hand causing a madness in the between. The cracked window of your car brings enough of a cool down so that the both of you won’t pass out from the nighttime haze and the heat travelling from your bodies. Finally, after two weeks, Dave understands your love language; he can’t keep his hands off of you even as you try to take a break from him. He lifts up your left leg with ease, draping your thickness over his right toned, tatted up thigh. The madness is now turning into magic.

“Dave…let me ch-chill. Shit.” He immediately relents, pinching your quivering thigh with that same right hand while grabbing his dutch away from you.. As you sit in puddles of sweat and Dave’s ruins, you stare at the stars above you. It’s the clearest night you’ve seen since you arrived in the city. It just so happens to be your last.

Dave catches your gaze at the night sky through the skylight above you. “You good, shorty?”

“Yeah, I just…” a slight chuckle escapes your lips. “��I can’t believe I’m smoking blunts and fucking in a backseat like high school.”

Dave feels the ping of your words. It’s the first time in the two weeks of your summertime escapade that he’s reminded of how different you two are.

He felt the slight of your words. You and his relationship always reminded Dave that he had some growing up to do. Because of his lack of a place – and the privacy that comes along with it – you two got it in whenever and wherever you could; after his brother went to work in the AM hours, when Aunt Jerri left the house for bingo, in the backseat of your car. Your surroundings would never get in the way of what you two were there for.

Just like Dave wouldn’t let anything stop him from getting at you the day you met. It was an unseasonably cool day for a block party. He and his boys were on the stoop, shooting the shit as always, when Dave saw you walk outside of Aunt’s Jerri’s house carrying trays of food. He knew all the girls from the neighborhood but he never laid eyes on you before. Your cut off shorts toed the line between modest and disrespectful. A white crop top tee and Air Max 90s sandwiched your goodness in the booty shorts you bought with the intention of showing off.

You turned around to see this caramel-covered king, 6’5, tatted from root to tip, body sweating through a white tank top inquiring if you needed any help. You froze like the bucket of ice Aunt Jerri laid down in front of you. He caught you by surprise. You didn’t remember boys from this part of town looking this damn fine. Dave was beyond that. The man you were supposed to be in the Bahamas with didn’t look like him either. Suddenly you were happy he bailed on you.

“Oh. My bad. I didn’t see you there…” You acknowledged Dave’s reach around you to grab a bottle of water from the same ice bucket that mimicked your gaze.

“Yeah, you bad…” Your right eyebrow never arched so high. It wasn’t the only body part that moved. You didn’t know how to respond to Dave’s street-laced flirtation, only to let your tongue peek out the side of your mouth, leaving Dave no choice but to stare at your lips. Dave’s stare and loitering in your presence caught the attention of your Uncle Trace. As Trace schemed Dave down to the basement to grab more lawn chairs, Aunt Jerri gleefully tapped you on the shoulder to remind you that what happens in Philly, stays in Philly. Trace told Dave to not let anything happen.

But as you kept talking, Dave slowly fell into your grooves. Dave didn’t know that you fit in so well because of your summers visiting Aunt Jerri, Uncle Terrence and the rest of the characters that made up your Dad’s side of the family. You acclimated to the energy. Half of your DNA was Reed Street, North Philly; the same as Dave. You two fit especially well in the spare rooms, backseats and basement meetups to you hid from Trace and the rest of the world that thought you had no business together.

But after this last backseat episode, you would be going back to the place that made you so different; to your senior grant writing job, your townhouse and your Roth IRA. Dave was just months into an overnight warehouse job that paid just enough to give him some change to save money to move out of the spare bedroom of Pardi’s already packed rowhouse. He was a work in progress while some would look at Dave as a sign of regression.

But for you, in that moment, nothing – and no one – would or could be better than Dave.

Until he disappeared and you met Yahya.

Right now, you hate Yahya’s guts. It’s been weeks since he told you that he’s taking on Dave’s case on a pro bono basis as a favor to Aunt Jerri. Still seething as you tried on wedding dresses, you kept your cool just enough to keep peace between your mother and her arch nemesis. This time you sided with your mother.

Yahya caught the rest of your static. He caught the silent treatment all weekend, the AM news radio station being the only background noise as you and him drove Aunt Jerri to Union Station. Once her and her hot pink suitcase rolled out of view, you went at Yahya’s neck. You never called Yahya so many words for “inconsiderate”, your Masters in Communication coming in way too clutch. But Yahya passed the bar, so his combative energy matched your loquaciousness. Onlookers got a good look at you two spar as he weaved through Beltway traffic.

To say that you were mad that Yahya took a case this close to the wedding would be a lie. You knew him to have a kind and caring heart, a heart that wouldn’t let injustice slip by. If this was anyone else’s plight, you’d be all for Yahya’s gracious spirit. But it was Dave. Dave who ignored you not once but twice. Dave who, in the very backseat of the car you’re yelling at Yahya in, told you to give him a few weeks and he’d be down to see you. The same Dave who defied all of the rules – and Uncle Trace’s threats– to get at you. Only to leave you. Dave needed to reap that.

But the Dave you knew – despite what others thought – wouldn’t hurt anyone. He was just a hair over eighteen when he caught the gun charge that sent him to prison. A gun he carried because he witnessed his brother die in front of him. He kept it on the straight ever since. Dave was saving up money for his own place, you understood the grind. He was a stone-cold sweetheart covered in a North Philly veneer. He didn’t sow a seed worth anything for this to happen.

Despite the battle on the Capitol Beltway, Yahya and you came home to convene the most obnoxious session of make up sex known to man. Damn the celibacy. Y’all needed to be on good terms and he needed to get Dave out of jail.

—

“How it’s going, love?” Your dining room is becoming Yahya’s makeshift work office. You couldn’t help to sneak down at night to read some of what Yahya’s been putting together for the case. Seeing Dave’s name all over his papers remind you of how many times Dave’s name escaped from your lips.

“Man, it’s good. We got enough for this bail hearing. I think we can secure a bail low enough that his family and the local justice coalition can afford.”

“Good. Let’s get him home…”

Yahya smiles at your enthusiasm toward Dave’s case. Despite the ninth-circle-of-Hell type of sex you two had in the aftermath of that fight, Yahya knew you steamed from him taking a case just mere months before the wedding. Yet your insistence to know details – like spotting you reading his notes – remind him of why he wants to marry you in the first place. “What date is the hearing?”

“The sixth of next month. You should come up with me. Watch me in action…”

“I can’t. I can’t be in that courtroom. I’d make you nervous.” And make yourself nervous to see Dave.

“You make me nervous regardless, Y/N. But I was thinking you’d want to see your friend get out of jail…”

Your breath stops dead in its tracks.

“My friend? Dave isn’t my friend.”

“That’s not what Jerri told me…”

Although you support Yahya, you still kept you and Dave’s past relationship a secret. Knowing Aunt Jerri, keeping secrets ain’t in her resume. You grip the kitchen counter to brace yourself for Yahya’s inquisition. He passed the bar on his first try; you got some work to do.

“Yeah, about that, I … didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Of course some puppy love shit ain’t relevant. It’s cute, actually.”

Nothing about what Yahya is saying to you makes sense like it does to him. As Aunt Jerri told Yahya about Dave’s case, she slipped in a farce that you and Dave “dated” when you both were kids, Dave buying you water ices and shrimp egg rolls from the “chinese store” whenever you asked. You two allegedly fell out once puberty hit the both of you like a ton of bricks.

So when Yahya peeped Dave staring at you from across the living room of Aunt Jerri’s house, he knew that as the look of a man who now knew he let something good get away. He knew Dave ventured down to the basement not to grab a bottle for Trace but to rspit game at you. Yahya knew you would turn him down, having seen it before. When Dave grabbed your hand , Yahya wasn’t jealous nor hurt: you were set to be his wife. He won. The baddest girl in the world belonged to him.

You start breathing again as Yahya explains Aunt Jerri’s novella of you and Dave’s teenage love affair. In her own twisted, demented yet genius way, Aunt Jerri covered for you. She knew that if she gave Yahya the honest details, he would – as a man –hesitate to help Dave. Apparently you both thought Yahya wasn’t mature enough to handle the truth.

Aunt Jerri’s lie is broken up by the high pitch screeching of your cell phone. You run to answer.

“You have a collect call from PICC. Do you accept the charges? …”

How many times can you stop breathing in one night?

“Hello?”

“Hey, yo… it’s Dave. I hope ain’t hitting you up at a bad time. Ms. Jerri gave me your number…”

“Oh, no … it-it’s cool. I, uh… how are you holding up?”

Dave couldn’t believe that you asked your fiance to help him get out of jail. At least, that’s the narrative that Aunt Jerri sold Dave on as she and Dave’s mother sat in front of him during their biweekly visits. Dave’s face, once pretty-boy and perfect, carried more wear. His jaw slipped when he talked, causing him a pain sometimes much worse than what happened that night in the store.

“This bail hearing is in two weeks.”

“Yeah, Yahya just tol-” You didn’t want to keep bringing up Yahya’s name. Though that man is Dave’s savior, he’s still the one that’s in the way of a final go around with Dave. “…the 6th, yeah.”

“I want you there.”

“You do?” Your aversion toward sitting in the courtroom subsides as Dave’s voice – sexy as ever, even through a prison phone – calls for you to be there for him.

“Yeah. If I get out, I got a chance. Especially with your dude as my lawyer. Thank you for that, for real. That’s why I’m calling, to be real. And I want you to be one of the first people I see when I get out..”

You wonder what story Aunt Jerri told Dave but you can’t take any more of her creativity. “So you comin’…?”

“…you have less than fifteen seconds left on this call…”

“I’ll…”

“…this call has ended. Goodbye…”

“…be there, Dave.”

Taglist: @yoursoulstea​​​​​​ @harleycativy ​​​​​ @twistedcharismaaa ​​​​​ @dorkskinneded ​​​​​​ @need-my-fics​​​​​ @ghostfacekill-monger ​​​​​ @writerbee-ffs ​​​​​ @chaneajoyyy ​​​​​ @amyhennessyhouse

[kainumbernine009]

I literally cannot do anything else until I get this out.

I’m... really not okay.

And when I say that, I’m not mentally unstable. I say that because I’m tired of waiting on empty promises, I’m tired of never having money in our account, I’m tired of living in a fucking city where half of the white people fucking worship the ground Trump walks on, and where most of the gay community has so much messy drama that it’s worse than middle school. And I went to a rough middle school.

I never talk about my past, because I don’t like to. It sucked. HARD. Being and only child in my family was nothing less than torture, especially as a closeted queer person. We grew up in the white Christian part of Nashville that dominated Music Row in the 90′s and early 2000′s. I played basketball with Alan Jackson’s daughter, and being around famous people was just no big deal. But, my parents decided to leave Nashville after my dad lost his job at TPAC, and we moved down south an hour to the town where the KKK got started (Pulaski, TN).

I had maybe two non-white people in my private Christian school growing up. I was never afraid of Black people, but my parents showed their racist asses quick when we moved there. The KKK has never left America, guys, no matter how many articles you read or studies you do. From 2005 to 2009 I saw a white town show its very worst to the Black community. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a march for “White Christians for Purity” the summer before Obama got elected. The disgust I felt inside was palpable. I had all kinds of friends in school, and I didn’t give TWO SHITS who they were or what they looked like... but I saw children my age, being brainwashed by their parents, that “white” is “right.”

Ever since then, I have been learning and growing about the issues of race. I remember my white classmates using the N word and getting away with it. I remember hearing about the principal at the high school punishing all the Black kids but not the white kids. I remember being invited to a church south of town that was a historically Black church, and how nice the ladies were to me for coming.

But I’ll never forget the racism that the religious groups promoted there, especially First Baptist Church and the 12 Tribes. I’ll never forget how FBC told me that my friend was going to Hell because she killed herself. I’ll never forget my mom telling me not to marry a Black man because of “impure genes.” I WILL NEVER FORGET THE INJUSTICES I SAW WHITE PEOPLE DOING TO BLACK PEOPLE THERE. NEVER.

And thank God, I have shaken the burden of religious guilt, but I still fight against this mentality. I live in a place that’s usually not even 10 minutes away from Trump-humping, sister-fucking, meth-addicted Confederate cunts in any direction. And we’re even closer to the rich white people who silently supported him, upset that their taxes would go up because of Biden.

And in the past four years since Trump got elected, I’ve gotten married, graduated college with honors, started my own photography business, and was making more than my husband there for a minute. I did my own taxes, marketing, editing, and everything. And then I came out as trans.

I lost everything.

I lost my studio. I lost friends. I had rumors started about me. I had people post hate messages on my wall. I had people at my drag shows tell others not to tip me, for whatever fucking reasons. I’ve had bosses give cis people jobs over me, and I’ve had government workers give me second looks when I hand them my license.

It. Fucking. Sucks. To. Live. Here. Like. This.

Oh yeah, did I mention I’m also a witch/medium? I’ve talked to dead people before and have told their relatives things I shouldn’t have known otherwise about their grandparents. Like, this information doesn’t even exist on Google. And I’m attuned to reiki. I’m always aware of what’s happening on at least SOME metaphysical level. This is a gift that I’ve had to go through life developing and learning about myself, with no one’s help but me.

I didn’t even know until I was an adult that I have autism and ADHD.

I’ve taken bullets from people who were about to kill themselves. I’ve yelled at 5th grade music classrooms for doing racist dance moves and appropriating Native Americans (I have a degree in Music Education K-12). I’ve consoled kids in classrooms who suddenly have panic attacks. AND I’ve told horny teenagers to stay in their fucking lane and respect the girls around them. I’ve apparently been an inspiration to those around me, but inspiration NOR exposure pays the bills. I’ve already had COVID, and so has my husband, but I knew that after graduating college that I would never have a fulfilling life being a music teacher in Tennessee’s public schools.

And now that we have COVID, and an orange, small-dicked, pedophilic, rape apologizing, dirty, crusty white president who STILL REFUSES TO CONCEDE, who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR HAVING HIS FOLLOWERS SEND DEATH THREATS TO MY FAMILY, I really don’t know what the fuck else to do other than go burn down all the houses I know of in North Georgia that belong to these Christian sex cult pedophiles and call it a day. My girlfriend unfortunately was born into one of those families, and I know just how bad it can get. In fact, her dad’s lawyer threatened me with blackmail earlier in November, so that was fun!

And now, on December 11, 2020, I’m still sitting here in the same fucking house, doing the same fucking things I’ve been doing all year - trying to get a job and failing horribly. I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS COVID BULLSHIT AND OUR INCOMPOTENT CUNT OF A PRESIDENT! And there’s only ever one other person I’ve ever called a cunt... my own mother.

I’ve lived in many places. I’ve met many different people. I’ve made mistakes, and have grown, but there’s one thing for damn sure that I always make sure to do, every single fucking day.

I ALWAYS try to do better.

In addition to this, I treat everyone with the same amount of respect, unless they have done something directly to me to negate that. If I know that someone believes in something that directly harms me or my family, I don’t even associate with them. I don’t spend my energy on things that don’t need it. And everyone else should, too.

The problem with some of y’all is that you care about the wrong things. Like will Becky text me back or did I get front row seats to that concert, or did I slave my life away to capitalism just so that I can own a Mercedes and have my friends jealous. I’ve had way too many dear death experiences to know that EVERY single fucking day is a gift. EVERY day.

I don’t want to be remembered first for the art I create. I want to be remembered for my character. I want to be remembered as the courageous person who never backed down in the face of adversity. But when you live in a place that already hates you and that is against you, that’s really fucking hard. Trust me. My marriage went from a cis straight passing couple to a white gay passing couple. I’ve seen how people’s attitudes changed around me as I transitioned. I know what it feels like to slowly lose a piece of your privilege you were born with.

So yeah, I kinda get a little fucking upset when I see people saying All Lives Matter, or when I see doctors refusing to treat trans patients in pandemics, or when I see cops YET AGAIN harassing Black people only a few blocks away from my house for no other reason than racism. And at this point, anyone who thinks they know me but only knows what people think they know about me can suck my entire ass and eat ten dicks. I don’t give a FUCK about who you are or what you’ve done. If you treat me or other people with no respect for no reason other than to be an asshole, you’re just plain shit. If you SERIOUSLY believe every little rumor and lie that someone tells about me before meeting me, fuck you AND the horse you rode in on.

What I can’t stand is people doing or saying things just to get a rise out of me or others. I thought we left petty shit in high school. Some of the people that “know” me really need to fucking grow up and grow a pair and either say what they want to my face, or stay mad. I’m tired of playing fucking petty games with y’all. We have a whole ass pandemic to solve.

So here’s the ultimatum... if you agree that Black Lives Matter and that queer people deserve basic human rights, EVEN THE ONES YOU HATE, then that’s the bare minimum to even be a decent person. If you can’t even do those things, then I don’t fucking know what else to say to you.

So NBC, maybe not have John Mulaney joke about my license debacle with my gold van on SNL, and Seth Meyers... maybe HIRE ME INSTEAD of Mulaney because clearly y’all don’t know about the south as much as I do? Oh, and that gazeebo joke with Lee University... I caught that. I may have autism, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean. I’m funny when I’m given the chance. And yeah, I’m on a watchlist, but who the fuck isn’t these days? At least all my secrets are out for the world to see, and I have a bangin’ tattoo.

I’m tired of everyone being like “omg, I’ve seen what he can do, it’s fantastic!” or “omg you’re so funny haha” and bragging on me and then NOT FUCKING HIRING ME. I’m TIRED of waiting on something that’s clearly at this point never coming.

I don’t even have testicles, and my balls are bigger than most of the cis men I have EVER met.

So, if you want to help me, or hire me, or get me out to an audition... I’ll be there. But until then, I’m so fucking MAD at some of these producers. Yeah, my mom is a cunt, but she worked in various forms of digital production from the 1980′s until she retired this year. She taught me SO MUCH about directing, writing, shooting, and more. I know how these things are supposed to run behind the scenes. I know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t take constructive criticism like a bitch. I actually WANT to be criticized, so I can do even better.

So PLEASE, for the love of Christ... y’all need to get your priorities together AND PLEASE STOP LEAVING ME OUT OF THE LOOP WITH THIS BULLSHIT. Grow a fucking pair and either call me, email me, or leave me alone. It’s really not that fucking hard. Looking at you, Lorne Michaels.

Oh and someone tell my husband what the fuck’s been going on because I’m tired of him gaslighting me about it.

[undertalethingies]

Self Indulgent Self Insert Fanfic, Part One

I am sitting in my room, not doing much of anything, (as per usual) when I look up and notice that my mirror has apparently transformed into a solid wall of inky darkness as I’ve been spacing out.

And well- it’s not like I can not poke it, right? There’s a high chance I’ll seriously regret it, if my life has become the isekai it appears to be, but there’s a 100% chance I’ll regret it forever if I don’t touch it, you know?

Everyone always assumes I’m risk averse, that I like to play it safe, but the truth of the matter is I’ve just never found something I really want to take a risk with.

So, I push myself out of bed with a hand and go grab my shoes, because there’s no way in hell I’m touching something that might be a portal with no shoes on. Thankfully, I’m actually dressed for once, rather than being in my bathrobe like usual. 

Once I’ve got my shoes on, I grab my coat from where it hangs by my dresser and walk straight into what used to be my mirror. I hope my parents aren’t too worried by my disappearance. Maybe I’ll be lucky and this will be the kind of isekai that retroactively erases me from existence? That would be kind of nice, to exist without tethers.

The portal (because that’s what it is, I’m pretty sure) feels cool, but not unpleasantly so. Like when you first put on a fleece sweater and it takes a moment to warm up.

If this were a stereotypical isekai story, things would quickly become very unpleasant in this dark void, and some godlike being would reach out to grant me power beyond my wildest imaginings.

I’ve never been one to cave to expectations, though. Not even my own.

The darkness remains cool and comforting, and I continue walking forward because there’s no chance I’m going to turn back now, with so much possibility awaiting me if I only continue long enough.

Eventually, I feel as if I’ve passed some threshold, and something definably changes within me. Can’t say what, though. I’ve always kinda sucked at interpreting what my body is trying to tell me, so I’ll probably have to figure it out on my own.

At some point the darkness and walking grows boring, and so I do what I often do when bored, and curl up to go to sleep. This place isn’t cold enough for me to need a blanket, and I’ve got my coat with me anyway, so I’m fine. Sleeping on hard surfaces isn’t unpleasant, in my opinion, merely a bit annoying, since if you pick the wrong position you’ll inevitably wake up sore.

As always, consciousness takes a while to fade, so I occupy myself with grand imaginings about all the wonderful (and terrible, I’ve got anxiety okay, I can’t help it) things that might await me.

==

When I wake, it’s immediately obvious that something is different. There’s light now, for one, and for two I can feel something soft and organic beneath me. Judging by smell alone… Flowers? Waking up on a bed of flowers in a lit room… Well, I’ve always wished I could live in Undertale, if only so I could chew out the characters for bottling up their feelings so damn much. Hey, maybe if I’m lucky, that one headcanon I have about Sans secretly being a teenager will be right and I’ll be able to flirt with him without it being creepy.

Oh come on, like everyone attracted to dudes and not overly hung up about species concerns doesn’t want to kiss that guy, are you kidding me? Plus, I love puns and I’m depressed, surely we’ll get along.

Oh boy, I’m definitely going to die, huh? Thank fuck for my high pain tolerance and ridiculous resistance to trauma, am I right?

Finally, I open my eyes, because I like to wake up slow and I see no reason to alter my existing routine simply because I’ve apparently been yeeted into my favorite video game. Hey, speaking of favorite video games, will I get to visit Hollow Knight next? No, wait, that would probably suck, wouldn’t it. Ah, well.

The cave is just as beautiful as I always imagined it would be. Though it looked lovely in the game art, there’s truly nothing that can compare to seeing the sight in person, those marble pillars in a half circle around me, that single spot of sunlight in the ceiling far (far, far) above. Not to mention the lovely flowers I’m laying on at this very moment and- there’s a dead body under me, isn’t there. Is Chara going to show up, or am I left to be alone in my head?

Though their narration doesn’t actually start until you meet Flowey, in the game, so I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Which human soul am I taking the place of right now? Because I read a fic once where the protagonist wasn’t the seventh, even if it was a fakeout, and I very much do not want to be saddled with the fate of those poor bastards.

Though, maybe I’d be able to talk my way out? There’s no one who’d call me diplomatic, for sure, but I’m pretty great at knowing exactly where to aim an insult to utterly break someone’s spirit. (Unusual skill, I’m aware, but in my defense I was bullied growing up)(I say “growing up” like I’m not still doing it, like I’m not fourteen and trapped in a world where it’s an accepted fact that the protagonist will die, and several times over, too)

My first order of business is Flowey, before I can take the time to freak out, to hold myself tight and weather the sheer panic that Toto, I am not in Kansas anymore.

I get up. I give a last fond look to the beautiful cave I’ve “fallen” into, and I walk to the next room, hoping all the while that I’m not signing my own death sentence.

Once I’m a few feet in, there he is, in all his fucking glory.

Flowey the flower, the soulless remnant of prince Asriel Dreemurr, former hope of the underground, possibly still holder of the ability to control time itself.

Yeah, I’m definitely going to mess with him. Self preservation is for losers.

“You’re a flower with a face,” I say before he can start with his usual greeting. I have it memorized anyway, so it’s not like I’m missing out on anything.

He makes his T-T face, so I know this isn’t how he thought this would go. 

“Wow, human! What gave you that impression?” Ooh, sassy. Literally his only positive trait.

“Well I have eyes, see,” I was planning  to ask him probing questions, but honestly this is just as good. His expression doesn’t change as he says his next sentence, nor does his ever cheery tone, (and holy fuck his voice is just as vaguely creepy as I’d imagined, all that childlike innocence paired with the fact that he’s a mass murderer)

“Well howdy, human with eyes! I’m Flowey, flowey the flower!” He says. I don’t interject.

“You’re clearly new to the underground, and it looks like I’m the only one around to show you how things work around here! Are you ready?” 

…

“I’m really not, to be honest. I’ve got no idea what’s going on,” So my plan here, basically, is to stall until Toriel gets here. Mostly because I’m hoping that if he doesn’t get the chance to do his betrayal, he’ll keep pretending to be nice, which will be hilarious since I’ll know he’s faking the whole time.

Admittedly, this significantly increases the likelihood that Toriel won’t come to save me when he inevitably finds a secluded place to murder me, but if I think too hard about the long term right now I’m going to scream, so.

“Well you see, human, you’ve fallen into the underground, a land inhabited by monsters! Don’t worry though, we’re quite nice,” Oh right, conversation. I wonder how much info I can get out of him…

“What’s a monster? Like, I know what it means on the surface, but that definition is pretty vague, and I don’t want to be accidentally racist,” 

His face pops back to the usual smile. (Side note: his face looks like it was drawn on with sharpie and it’s totally messing me up)

“A monster is a being made of magic!” Ok, that’s… a bit vague, but not really inaccurate. I guess he doesn’t want to get into the science, which is a damn shame, since he probably knows it backwards and forwards due to all his reset shenanigans.

“Woah, cool. Magic is real? How does it work without breaking thermodynamics?” Finally, the question I’ve always wanted to ask. If energy can’t be created, how the fuck does Toriel shoot fireballs from her hands? What is she drawing on, what is the fire burning, how hot is it, how does it keep being on fire, etc. etc. repeat for every magical display in the game.

“Well, a lot of it isn’t super understood. Scientists have mostly been pinning it on ‘dark energy’ like they do with every other phenomenon they don’t totally understand,” I wonder why he’s so willingly entertaining my time wasting antics. I know, in game, he didn’t realize he’d lost control over the timeline until after his first talk with Frisk, so maybe he’s just waiting it out to see where it goes? And then of course he must be planning other things to do with me before he takes my soul and goes to the surface…

“God, I hate dark energy in science. I know they just call it that because not much is known about it, but I’m thirsty for knowledge, you know?” Actually ‘thirsty for knowledge’ describes my mood like 90% of the time. Huh, actually, I have that in common with Flowey, right? Even if his knowledge thirst is just due to boredom.

“Hey, human, me too! Learning new things is great!” There’s a loaded sentence if i’ve ever heard one. When was the last time he learned something new? He’s supposedly read every book in the underground, but how much information from that did he actually retain?

“Isn’t it? It’s why I love Youtube so much. Free information for anyone who cares to make a few clicks!” Wait, he probably doesn’t know what Youtube is, actually.

“What’s Youtube?” He asks, cocking his head.

“It’s a service where you can upload videos or watch videos other people have uploaded,” Not the most nuanced explanation, but it’ll do for now. Before Flowey has a chance to respond, a fireball manifests next to him. 

I don’t smile because I’m pretending to be shocked, but I’m laughing my ass off on the inside. The face he makes is even more ridiculous in person.

Enter Toriel, queen of the monsters, mother of no living children.

[vestigialtext]

Euphorroria

[TW suicide, self-harm] 

Imagine you turn around there’s suddenly a perfectly circular swirling hole open in the floor, emanating a hazy purple glow and a kind of pulsing, reverb-drenched celestial siren song, like the single sickest shoegaze riff you’ve ever heard.

You think, huh, wow, that’s a pretty weird trip-hazard, and erect some cordons to stop anyone falling in. But you become fixated on the hole, staring in unblinking for hours. It’s curious, it’s beautiful, it’s sonically enchanting, it’s perfumed with a kind of partially floral, partially cardomomic, partially metallic scent which just encroaches on the sickly-sweet – but you still want a taste.

The hole, as it happens, is a portal to insanity.

This is how I experience hypomania; standing steady-of-foot behind the barrier, gazing at wonder to the insanity, hearing its call but keeping a safe distance.

Mania would see me leap the barrier, approach too close, and invariably slip in screaming.

Psychosis, meanwhile, would see me fall in, try to either fight it or fuck it, turn it inside out and prolapse it back through into rational reality, the fabric of which world begin to collapse as internal and external landscapes collide and splinter into one and other and I approach self-oblivion.

A full psychotic break has only happened twice in my lifetime, and frankly I’m lucky to be here writing this drivel – my second episode, nearly a decade ago, almost killed me and left me with almost impossible-to-comprehend scars I’ll bear for the rest of my life, scars invisible to the observer but forever altering my perception of the world, scars I’ve made peace with but which continue to niggle every day. Without getting deep into the nightmarish details, I tried – and, thank fuck, failed – to blind myself, resulting in bilateral scarred corneas which mean that, while my vision remains entirely functional and luckily unimpaired to any significant degree, I experience constant, curious aberrations, especially in low-light where the world melts into a sea of halos.

Importantly, I’m still alive. I very nearly leapt into the Thames on the morning of 10/03/2010, and not through depressive, I-can’t-bear-to-live anguish, but due to chasing immensely powerful delusions and hallucinations to the same place that almost cost me my sight. There’s a lot I’ve written and lot I will write about my experiences of psychosis – particularly re the corrupted internal logic that catalysed much of my bizarre, life-ruining behaviour in 2003 and 2010 – but not here, not now.

Mania, the losing control of my inhibitions and tripping headfirst into hyperactive chaos, has occurred three times in my life, but only progressed through to psychosis twice. I had my first (and to date, only quickly-controlled) manic episode age 16, following a few months as an inpatient at an adolescent psychiatric in Newcastle (remember when the NHS used to offer those kind of services lol). Up until that point, I had been being treated for major depression, which was my diagnosis until the mania emerged. I don’t quite remember the specifics – I celebrated the 20th anniversary of my bipolar 1 diagnosis last month – but one day it seems the depressive fog suddenly cleared and my mind, robbed of feel-good shit for so long, lurched as far as it could in the opposite direction as some kind of bizarre compensatory push.

Perhaps the flip was inevitable, perhaps it was triggered by a chemical predisposition to mania plus guzzling down combinations of all the anti-depressant variants that could be feasibly prescribed for the preceding three months. Who can say. Whatever the case, suddenly I was bouncing around the hospital halls like Sonic the Hedgehog, talking borderline-gibberish garbage incessantly, getting back deep into abandoned A-level art projects and attempting to start roughly 1,000 extracurricular projects simultaneously. The doctors quickly took notice, brought me down with lithium and revised my diagnosis.

Hypomania, (literally “below mania”), is something I experience on average a few times a year, hitting in waves, usually with a clear trigger. It’s a glimpse at the maelstrom of insanity without actually dipping a toe. Delusional ideas can creep into my head, but I can analyse and dismiss them rationally with a firm “No.” I now have enough insight and experience of my own sensations and mood pattern recognition to usually ward off a manic episode, typically with self-seclusion and/or self-management, sometimes with medication. Zopiclone, a sedative, has proven to be something of a magic bullet at sniping down incoming mania, so I try to keep a stash handy – I popped one Saturday gone just to try and keep the train on the rails after barely sleeping for two weeks straight.

After accepting I was an alcoholic six years ago, I’ve gone entirely teetotal, and that itself has greatly improved my ability to monitor myself, to try and regulate my own mood – previously, I’d (technically binge)-drink more or less every single day, and drown out any troublesome hypomanic episode with even more booze, remaining entirely functional (if prone to starting each day with a big purging sick and then having a couple of practically clockwork spew breaks at work) until my liver and my nervous system started wildly red-flagging at the sheer relentless demands I was asking of them, the perpetual nature of my misguided self-medication, so I decided to stop dead drinking or risk further ruining my health.

Without in any way wishing to belittle or underestimate the impact of the disease (severe, bulk-of-a-year depression episodes have also nearly killed me) I feel like depression is something even people who don’t suffer from mental health problems can at least begin to comprehend, can take a stab at imagining the experience. Perhaps not the depths – the eroding, claustrophobic mental space, the glimmer of hope on the horizon disappearing into darkness, all sensory input turning to a grey mush, the head-in-a–tomb depersonalisation – but most people can relate to being “sad”, most people have experienced tragedy at some point in their lives. Hypomania, however, is a trickier prospect to explain. But I’ll try.

I can’t speak for others who experience the condition, but in my case, hypomania manifests itself across my whole physical, mental, emotional spectrum. Although other factors come into play, the biggest single trigger for me seems to be sleep deprivation. It’s no news that circadian rhythms and bipolar disorder are intrinsically interlinked, and I have very real first-hand experience. As a shiftworker (occasional nightshift worker) who lives on the opposite side of London to my office and has a four-month old daughter, my current sleep hygiene is pretty... ropey to say the least, so I’m trying to be extra vigilant. A few nights back-to-back of little sleep (I’m talking a hour or two, at the best of times my sleep is shit anyway and five hours is a good stint) I can often feel my mood changing gears.

Simply put, when I’m hypomanic, the world is a more engaging place; more detail fills the cracks, more edges pique my interest. All of my senses sharpen up – my vision becomes cleaner, brighter, more vivid, sound seemingly has additional frequency space, imperceptible before. My senses of smell and taste overwhelm me, aromas become intoxicating and normal food takes on gourmet qualities. My energy level skyrockets without any additional external input; I have much more impetus, enthusiasm about life, work, whatever. I can literally feel my mind starting to function differently – but not necessarily more efficiently – taking shortcuts, randomly accessing memories in remarkable detail without any prompt. I can think faster, but with less focus; I’m more distractible and will happily shoot off on wild tangents with complete disregard for my goal. Depending on circumstances at home or work, hypomania is a mixed bag – any lethargy is dispelled and my agency and job satisfaction is heightened, but I might, say, approach 20 tasks simultaneously when sequentially would be more rational.

Depending on social context, I expend varyingly extreme amounts of effort to varying degrees of success attempting to mask a hypomanic episode. You know how your body never really “heals”, and scurvy horrifyingly opens up old scars and shit? That’s kind of what my ever-simmering mental illness feels like when i’m consistently deprived of sleep for whatever reason, the cracks start appearing and it kinda seeps out a bit lol. I am well aware my hypomanic demeanour and delivery can alarm people, and I do try really, really, really hard to suppress things or if absolutely required, just remove myself from situations where a lasting, detrimental opinion could be formed. I am also fully aware I can become borderline intolerable to my long-suffering and remarkably patient wife, and I try to mitigate the condition’s impact on domesticity, again, only ever partially-successfully (sorry, Kate). On any given day, high, low, or creamy middle, I’d estimate around about 90% of my effort is put towards just trying to appear normal to others, trying to blend in. I imagine many other mentally ill people are broadly intolerant to open-plan hotdesking (not to mention the insatiable clock-in-and-hit-marks demands of capitalism).

I can physically feel my body “running hotter” when I’m hypomanic, like an overclocked CPU frazzling on a motherboard; headaches spark quickly if I don’t drink enough water. I’m not especially clued up on chemical synthesis of naturally-occurring hormones etc. but I kinda get the impression hypomania is little like organic, high-on-your-own-supply MDMA.

Hypomania seems to foster within me a deeper connection to and longing to revisit all of my favourite music, art, writing, films, games, people – chiefly, I go on obsessive listening binges of records I adore. As I mentioned earlier, my hearing changes when I’m hypomanic – songs sound better, richer, more punchy. One of my fondest ever memories of mental illness (sadly ruined by slipping into psychosis shortly afterwards) was walking around out at night listening to My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless on shitty earbuds via a Spotify stream and still hearing subtle elements blossoming from the mix I’d never clocked before; layers of what sounded like processed flutes fluttering under the wall of guitars, gentle tonal ebs and flows, what seemed to be entire hidden tracks I was only just tuning in to, a secret sound world unveiled.

This might well just be wild conjecture, but I like to think maybe some bands – the bands who “get it” – deliberately bury this audio information deep within the mix, only to be decoded by specific mental setups, be they drug-indicted or naturally, hormonally occurring, breadcrumb trails left in the studio production as a little nod by whoever put the music together that they understand the confusion, the dislocation and alienation of mental illness, something extra beyond the lyrics. It might well be bullshit but it brings me great comfort. I’ve put together a playlist of some favourite tunes I suspect were written about hypomanic states, knowingly or otherwise, or instead conjure up that specific vibe.

To be honest, the hardest thing I find about dealing with episodes of hypomania is that they can feel so good it’s very hard to not attempt to stoke the sensation, prolong it, succumb deeper to it. That way oblivion lies; please stand behind the yellow line at all times.

[endless-bestiary]

BARNACLE

It's not often that a video game enemy truly feels alien, even in sci-fi games. All of the rank-and-file enemies in Halo, for example, are bipedal monster men that shoot guns and run around, just like you. There are occasionally quadru- or hexa-podal animals that you have to battle, but again, you can pretty much draw a through line from a given monster to its Earth counterpart. With the Barnacle, its name is only an approximation of what it does. It has teeth, moray eel-like secondary jaws, sticky setae, and either a crazy strong bioadhesive or physical integration with rocks. There's a lot going on biologically with this critter and I intend to write more than I should about it. 

The Barnacle is a sedentary ambush predator, choosing to hide in well-trafficked archways and nick passing prey before it can react. There are examples of this in real life, like the snapping turtle's tongue lure or trapdoor spiders as a family. The only difference with Barnacles is, as their name suggests, they are completely immotile and cannot relocate if their chosen spot becomes less favorable. We aren't shown the reproductive cycle of Barnacles in any of the games (even HL1), so I can only assume that there is a motile larval stage that can either crawl or float from place to place. I really wish we did see their larvae; I would have loved to watch them crawl along the walls and take "root". Like real barnacles, the adult form appears in clusters, so I can also guess that these larvae are released in bursts from the adult, with some only traveling a few feet to take up residence in an area that has already proven successful. One fun fact about barnacles is that they have the largest body-to-penis ratio of any animal in existence, so I'll posit one more idea: the Barnacle's "tongue" is also, you guessed it, its reproductive organ. The clustering nature of the adults combined with their already extensive tongue would make its use as a prehensile reproductive organ an excellent adaptation. I don't generally go for the easy, low-class jokes on this blog, but... try not to think about all of this when one grabs you. 

Typical barnacles in nature eat relatively constantly, due to the high density of plankton in the water and the low opportunity cost. Capital-B Barnacles, on the other hand, don't get many opportunities to eat. Terrestrial life has more energy per prey animal, but is much less common and doesn't move around on forced currents. Barnacles are seen eating birds, Combine, and antlions, meaning they don't have the luxury to be picky about what they eat. Two factors stick out to me: Barnacles can differentiate between edible and inedible substances, but they cannot differentiate between safe and dangerous prey; and their tongues are only sometimes sticky, as they can release objects they deem inedible. This leads me to think that the Barnacle has two types of sensory nerves, one in the tongue and one in its mouth proper. The tongue nerve is a straight on/off switch, reporting either "nothing" or "I caught something", which triggers the retraction reflex that draws whatever it caught into the mouth. The mouth's sensory nerves determine things like texture, temperature, and hardness, which then allows the Barnacle to decide whether or not to chow down. My biggest pieces of evidence for this are the fact that Barnacles won't drop a flaming explosive barrel, and will bite into acid antlions despite their lethal acid explosion. 

What does all of this mean? It means that Barnacles have evolved to sort of "shoot first, ask questions later" due to the low density of food in their environments. Barnacles can't waste time deciding whether or not to engage their setae when something touches them. Missing one potential meal could mean weeks until the next opportunity. To scale, the energy cost of retracting a "failure" is outweighed by the chance of getting even a small meal. Barnacles have no real need for any energy other than what is required for their xenobiological processes, so leaving a sort of idle light on with their tongue nerve active is all they need to do to acquire food. It's a genius setup and I wish I could do it.

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S2 Ep 33:  ᵇˡᶦᵐᵖ ʙʟɪᴍᴘ  BLIMP ԀꟽI⅂ꓭ

I usually don’t really do these during weekdays but lets just say today was a day where I felt the need for a healthy distraction.

Ah, it is episode 33. There are...so many episodes in a Yugioh season, guys. I was just not aware. But, here we are at episode 33 and we are finally going to start the finals.

For reals this time, no one’s going to get engaged, no one’s going to randomly murder a bunch of people. We are officially starting the finals this episode.

Sort of.

Man, Kaiba and his butterfly-wing shoulderpads. Sometimes it just looks like he’s just going to gently flutter away.

Also in this stadium with Kaiba and Mokuba is Marik and Odion, who is just as confused as to where the hell everyone went and why the hell Mai just flew by being carried off by a ninja in a jet pack. The hours it must have taken to wait for Yugi’s crew to walk 2 single blocks was enough time for Marik to formulate yet another back-up plan. I want to say this is plan #9.

It’s a good thing Pharaoh can’t read anymore, considering that Marik’s just walking around in a crop hoodie with a tattoo that just reads “SEASON 2 SPOILERS, PHARAOH, DO NOT READ” in hieroglyphs.

But if you wait long enough, even Yugi and his friends will accidentally wander the correct direction and actually show up.

(read more under the cut)

Not a joke, this is actually an unfinished public works project, congratulations, Kaiba Corps, there is nothing that Kaiba won’t try and then fail at, at least once.

Anyways, this shady-as-hell unfinished stadium seems kind of like a good place to get murdered and then tossed into a cement slab. Which honestly, would have been a very likely end to this season, considering what we have been through so far.

Marik decides to sneak around the bleachers, probably on all fours so no one would spot him, jump out a window, and then come in through the front door like he’s not been here this entire time. As he did, apparently he made everything very, very windy. In fact, everyone with a millennium item brought with them a spooooooky gust of wind except I think Yugi, who is probably too short to pull that one off.

Yugi did manage to get the vibe of “something bad is coming” before Marik entered the field, but like...there’s so many bad things at this point, Yugi. So many people that could be. It feels like that might be half the cast. You could say that at any given moment in this season and be absolutely right.

So, after possessing Tea for a second, for...some reason? Did she need threatening? Anyway, after doing that, Namu is in with the gang because literally nothing will prevent Yugi from becoming a friend with you, especially if you are trying to hide the fact that you just tried to kill him by drowning him in the ocean.

Funny how instead of them asking how the hell Namu got away from cultists, they have to fixate on the mystery of “is Bakura good at cards!?” because, and I kinda forgot about this, I guess they don’t remember the last time they saw Bakura play. How far up their own ass is Yugi and Joey to assume that just because Bakura doesn’t brag about cards all day, that Bakura hasn’t been equally good at cards? They kind of deserve this.

Yeah and PS Kaiba absolutely did not check the satellite to get the DL on why the hell Bakura got so many cards. Dayjob Saruman I guess went home for the evening so...although that shadow game was definitely being recorded on a computer, we’ll never know what that mess looked like on Kaiba’s end. Like there’s just three duel disks covered in ectoplasm hanging out in the cemetery and no one seems to have noticed?

Like for a competition that was huge about security and tech, they only seemed to watch the God Cards players and then Mokuba randomly monitored Joey Wheeler for some reason. That was it. That was all the people the Kaiba’s cared about.

So although Marik and Odion and Bakura could probably take on everyone right now. Like riiiight now. They decide not to because, well, I nearly forgot about someone that I was really looking forward to seeing again, that’s right, my favorite boy!

AW THERE HE IS!

to quote one of my actual favorite earworms,

Where has this big boy been hiding!? He’s freakin ginormous, but apparently he was just hiding behind a soft cloud or something, in anticipation of this grand reveal in a very sketch unfinished stadium that’s probably being used to bet on bum fights.

Mokuba gets excited for the first time since...I don’t remember if Mokuba’s ever actually been excited before. Like I’m digging through my memories here and no, Mokuba’s been mostly abducted, angry, bored, or scared, this is the first time he’s exuded that pure pre-teen energy.

PS a blimp’s max flying height is 1500 ft, and what surprised me the most about this was realizing that this entire time we’ve been watching this show, we’ve been getting measurements in US metrics. Didn’t realize that before today.

Also, on my wikipedia deep dive into blimps, I found out that like...this is probably not a “blimp,” but actually a semi-rigid airship but...I’m gonna keep calling it a blimp. Don’t @ me, blimp fandom on tumblr.

It’s so good to see more Blimp. Even though...probably the worst place to throw a tourney? Like...how many people are you even gonna fit in there? Like...is this televised? I mean I don’t know how Kaiba’s marketing works for this, honestly, he took over every TV in the city to get people to join this tourney, and now that it’s in full swing no one can watch it?

Whatever, it’s a blimp.

Duke Devlin is still here, despite the fact that I don’t think he’s going to do anything for the rest of this season. I guess they had to promote that gameboy game so his face will just be in the background always although as a dice player he um...he has no purpose here.

In fact it makes no sense, he works with Pegasus who straight up killed Mokuba and Kaiba like a month ago, why are they just letting him on their airship? Whatever.

I dunno, maybe there’s more that Duke will do eventually, but he just seemed like a replacement for Bakura at first--and Bakura’s back now, so why’s he still here?

Ishizu is here, and while every other time we’ve seen Ishizu, she’s been talking our ears off, the one time she should probably say something, she instead decides to lock herself inside her bedroom and avoid everyone.

I guess she was mostly avoiding Marik so they don’t have a sibling laser fight in the hull of a Blimp. That would have made things so awkward for Yugi and Bakura. Especially Yugi, who still doesn’t know that thing around his neck shoots freakin lasers.

Props the background artists who had to draw billions of small little buildings AKA the worst background in the world to draw. I will go through hoops to avoid drawing even a single building, but to have to sit down and paint just a whole page of buildings that someone’s going to smack a foreground on anyway? Mad respect. If you look closely you’ll see that this artist had to use a ruler and perspective and other annoying tools that take up time and energy. Even using editing tools like using blocks of black color to imitate the look of rooftops and crowded structures, it probably took them a few hours to make the background that went in a .2 second scene.

They’ll probably reuse these buildings later, don’t get me wrong, but oi, I feel for them in my carpel tunnel bones.

Seto keeps telling Yugi that they’re rivals but I don’t think anyone on this show other than Joey thinks of Seto as much of a rival at all. You almost feel a little bad for him, like he’s in a weird...hate triangle, but very much on the loosing end of it.

Next we get a good look at Kaiba’s interior design decisions, and much like his mansions, it’s a lot of very unexpected soothing pastels. Like this is a lot of seafoam blue. How can someone so angry make something so grandma-zen? Is it actually Kaiba’s grandmother who is just slapping down all these paint chips when he’s not looking? I mean it’s got muted pink stools even, with a makeup station.

Tea, Tristan, and Duke have no rooms to go to because they aren’t actually part of this competition, so they’re just squatting around until they’ll probably all end up crashing with Mokuba, the only other person who is not dueling in this competition. Reminds me a lot of the first week of college, where everyone is just coasting dorm room to dorm room and there’s like 10 people there who actually don’t actually go there but want to hang out with their high school friends and they just end up sleeping in your room for 7 days until they read your other friend’s diary, get hella indignant, and then storm off back to California. My apologies to my Freshman year roommate who had to put up with all that girl drama.

And because it’s this show, the men and their bottomless stomachs decide to raid the smallest little mini fridge and you wouldn’t believe what takes up about 1/4 of it

There is so many cheese wheels in this Japanese show, guys. So, I felt like doing a quick google search of Japan and Cheese and it’s just a bunch of ex-pats talking about how the European cheeses most of us are familiar with is harder to find in Japan. So, maybe that’s why? It's a status symbol that he can find round cheeses?

But even if you can only get your hands on a 30$ Swiss wheel every so often (because that really is just Swiss cheese, like lets be real.) how much Swiss cheese can one man eat??? Especially since, looking closely, there is not a single baguette here. No man can eat that much cheese without a bread!

Sorry, stuffing your face full of free cheese you pulled out of your friend’s mini-fridge is also giving me vivid flashbacks to my Freshman year of college.

Also little edit--just realized that flag is flipped 90 degrees from French so that’s probably a Holland flag? Although I looked up European flags and there is...none that have that color order so I don’t know which country they were originally going for.

YO I just realized there’s no curtains on any of these pelvis-height level windows. So, you can’t sleep because of the lights, and you can’t change into pajamas because like--the whole city will see.

Kaiba does seem like the type that would on purpose not install any curtains on any of the windows he’s ever owned, though.

Keto is gone, and now we just have Roland, who is probably too terrified to ever abduct the Kaibas by picking them up by the neck with one arm.

Anyway, in case you were wondering--since the show has decided to make a huge fuss over card prep time--how can they prep for a card game if they only have the cards they brought with them and they don’t know what the other people are even playing or which person they’re playing first?

Kaiba did nothing. He sat there and thought “If Yugi doesn’t even put that God Card in his deck this entire tourney will be absolutely pointless.”

Mai took little sips of milk. Probably paired it with Swiss cheese. Just a huge bite out of a wheel of Swiss cheese.

Odion never found the refrigerator.

Marik took a nap on this bed that looks like it’s just made of foam. Why is this the only one on the show who’s like “Youknow, I should sleep at some point.”

And Yugi’s prep involved talking to himself a whole lot, which explains why none of his friends wanted to stay here for that. I doubt very much Yugi kicked him out of the room. He was probably like “no, stay, stay” in that high pitched-low pitched voice combo until they were like “nooooo I don’t want to be present for your daily seance checkup byeeee.” while slowly backing out of the room.

Yo remember that time we were worried about Bandit Keith stealing the puzzle?

Apparently...Pharaoh could have just sort of done that dizzolving thingy and appeared right back on Yugi’s neck.

And remember that time Yugi handed that puzzle to Joey?

Apparently...Pharaoh could have just sneezed and then bam--right back around Yugi’s neck.

Like remember any time this season that we’ve been like “Oh no, the puzzle! We’re gonna lose it!” no that...that was never a problem.

I mean to be fair when it’s dismantled it might not work but um--apparently you can’t lose an item after it’s decided it likes you. At all. Which is kind of weird because Pegasus totally lost that eyeball, and aren’t all these items property of Pharaoh anyway?

I’ll try not to think about it as this rule seems to only really apply to Bakura. 

Anyway, next week--I’m pretty sure the finals are indeed actually starting next week. I could be wrong as I have been every single episode but maybe--probably--the finals are actually going to start. We shall see.

[disneykathy]

DISNEY WORLD

Disney’s Animal Kingdom

This is the other park I get lost in. I’ve been there a dozen times or more but it still feels like the Moving Island in “Lost”: “Wasn’t Africa to the left of Dinoland? How can I be in Asia? Where’s the damn big tree?? I can’t see the tree!!”

Never fear...when you first enter, you have no choice but to walk straight to the first “land” of this park: Discovery island:

Directly in front of you will be the weenie for this park: The Tree Of Life! It’s huge!

No...it’s not real! C’mon, sane up.

The “tree” is a 145 foot high sculpture of an African Baobab tree. Wander around the tree, under passages and through the Discovery Island Trails. Besides seeing some interesting real-life animals, you’ll see that the “Tree of Life” aka the “BFT”, (use your imagination), has 135 detailed animal carvings in its wood. They are amazing. Please take time to explore. You just got here-you can still feel your feet.

Under the BFT, in its roots, is a theater. This is where you will find the attraction: “It’s Tough to be a Bug”.

If you have a fear of bugs, take heed: although no real insects are involved in this production, it does evoke creepy crawly bugginess. The waiting area is an underground lair with the constant sound of chirping and buzzing. And the show does evoke a few fun special effects that make most of us laugh, but, if you are creepa-phobic, these effects may shoot you right through the wall. Just sayin’.

The show is a 3D movie with characters from “A Bugs Life” who will introduce you to the life of bugs and their importance in our little Earth lives. It’s fun. You can sit. It’s air-conditioned (actually TOO air conditioned).

And for those with a phobia, really, you’ll be fine... (spiders, roaches and bees, oh my!!!).

If you stay in the Animal Kingdom until dark, come back to Discovery Island and stand in front of the BFT. Once it’s dark, they do a new projection like show on the tree that is stunning! I had no idea they did this the last time I was there, and just happened to be passing... I was like “what the hell goes on with that tree?? There were all flashy lights coming out of its limbs- I thought I was having a stroke!

Pandora-The World of Avatar:

It’s beautiful! This newest area of Disney’s Animal Kingdom is gorgeous! If you’ve seen the movie Avatar, you’ll be completely amazed at how they captured the topography and flora of Pandora. If you haven’t seen the film, you’ll be confused. Just go with it.

Avatar Flight of Passage

If you didn’t fast pass this ride, enjoy your day standing in line.

I’d love to say “it’s worth it”. It’s not. Nothing is worth waiting in line for 4 hours. Nothing. If Elvis and John Lennon cane back from the dead to jam with Billy Joel, Elton John and Bruce Springsteen, I wouldn’t wait in line 4 hours.

However, it’s a great ride. This is a 3D flight simulator taking you on your Banshee and swooping over landscapes of Pandora. It’s only 5 minutes but it’s a memorable 5 minutes!

Warning: there are warning all along the queue area about thinking twice if you’re not healthy. Hey Disney-none of us are. I actually thought of not riding because of the excessive warnings. But...

The truth is, if you can ride “Soarin’” without getting extremely dizzy, having a coronary or bursting an aneurysm, you’ll be swell. Only dif here is, you are riding on something similar to a Star Wars speeder bike? It doesn’t actually go anywhere, just moves to simulate what’s happening on the screen. You are in a crouched position. So, if you have neck or back issues, you may want to rethink.

Na’vi River Journey

Your boat takes you on a river journey through Pandora at night. Again, if you haven’t seen the film, most if the trees, plants, animals, bugs in pandora are bioluminescent-a fancy word meaning that they light up at night in psychedelic colors. So, this ride is like floating through a college dorm room in 1968.

Rivers of light

Again, if you are going to be in Animal Kingdom after dark, you might want to get a fast pass for the Rivers of Light show. There are multiple viewing areas for this light show-one entrance is by The Voyage of the Little Mermaid theater And the other is by Expedition Everest.

I hear it’s a beautiful attraction. I haven’t seen it. It’s like, late, and my feet hurt and I’ve seen enough cool stuff to last me. But, if your still bright and bushy tailed, by all means, go. And let me know how it was.

Africa:

I love the atmosphere here. It really feels like you are visiting an African Village (I say that like I’ve ever been anywhere near a real African Village...). The village is called “Harambe” which I think means “spend money” in Swahili. There are some really interesting shops and food stops here-linger awhile...

Kilimanjaro Safaris:

You should have a fast pass for this excursion. You should also go first thing in the morning; the animals are much more active and visible before the heat of the day. They, as opposed to us, have common sense.

For this ride you will board large Jeeps and a driver will take you over muddy rut filled roads and over creaky rope bridges through a variety of African ecosystems where you will see indigenous animals. It’s a wonderful experience.

Last time I rode, 2 long horned Bongos blocked our way And we had to sit and wait until the mood hit them to wander off. And a Rhino jogged next to the Jeep, a little closer than my comfort zone approved of.

Lions, giraffes, crocs, gnus ...you’ll see them all with a steady stream of comments from the driver. You’ll love it.

Warning: pee first. The ruts are deep and the ride is long.

Gorilla Falls Exploration Trail/Wild Africa Trek

This section is right next to the Safari. It’s a walk through African nature trail where you can spend some leisure time really experiencing the animals. And you will get a close up view of the gorillas! I have an obsession with Silver Back Gorillas And will spend quite some time in this area photographing them. Unless it’s 90 degrees, then I photograph whatever lurks in the A/C.

Festival of the Lion King

This is a theater production where they re-enact the film with all the songs...it’s full of color and pageantry and people love it but I can sit in my house and watch the movie in the a/c without having to spend a gazillion bucks on a one day pass, so I am not a fan. But what do I know??

Asia: this area is also beautiful and evocative. Lots of photo ops to take advantage of.

Expedition Everest- I hate roller coasters, but I love this one! I love the theming in the queue, I love the speed, the yeti and even the drops. It doesn’t feel as wild as it looks, and it’s a smooth ride. If you can keep your eyes open, there’s lots to see.

Again: there are all the standard warnings. I had no problem and I am a major chicken with a bad stomach...so only you know you. Chose wisely.

Kali River Rapids- the signs read “You will get wet”. They should read “You will get soaked to your undies!”.

Kali River Rapids is a wild rapids ride that takes you down a raging Indian River. The theming revolves around an illegal mining/logging camp that you will come upon, showing the decimation of the forest.

You won’t notice this at all because you’ll be praying that the raft turns in your favor and drowns the guy across from you instead. I have ridden this a few times and have never not gotten soaked.

It’s a fun ride and it feels great to get wet in the heat of the day. However, it doesn’t feel great to still be squishing in your jeans 2 hours later or freezing while eating lunch in the A/C! So... don’t wear denim jeans, or, better yet, wear your poncho!

Maharajah Jungle Trek- this is similar to the wild Africa Trek, but with Asian animals-duh. The tigers are the Star of this walking tour and you’ll see them up close and personal. The theming of this Trek is lovely-you’re in an ancient ruin of a Hindi temple.

Up! A Great Bird Adventure:

This is a wild bird show like any other bird show you’ve ever seen except for two things:

1-it stars characters from the movie “Up”

2- it’s outside in Florida so, even though the partial roof keeps you out if direct sun and there are a few large fans, you will still be hot. Unless you go on a cool day, I’d say you can skip this and not live your life in regret.

Dinoland: -

The theming here is just...weird. When it first opened it had a sort of Paleontological bent with fossil beds and some Dino bone exhibits. Then Disney realized that people on vacation don’t care bout science, so they changed the theming to...

Weirder. Now the idea is: this is one of those tacky roadside attractions you’d find on Route 66 in the 50s or 60s. Run by “Chester and Hester”, this two bit Dino-Rama themed low rent stop over features two old fashioned carnival rides - the Primeval Whirl and the Triceratops Spin. The first ride being a small roller coaster and the second is the Dumbo the Flying Elephant Ride with triceratops (triceratops’? Triceratopses?). There are also carnival games and a tacky roadside shop and restaurant. Unless you are with desperate little ones, I’d walk through to pick up the atmosphere and Keep walking.

The real attraction here is Dinosaur!- the ride. This is a dark ride in an enhanced motion vehicle through the Cretaceous period to capture a Dino...And time is of the essence because you have to find said Dino before the great extinction comet hits!

This is a fun trip with lots of bumps, quick turns and jolts..with a few true honest thrills. It is a not to be missed e-ticket ride.

I just rode it and came away unbroken. But, if you have back or neck issues I’d think about skipping it. And, again, use the facilities first.

The Boneyard, which you should save til the end of the visit, is a play area for the kiddies: there are bones to dig up, slides, ropes and climbs and all kinds of stuff to work out any energy they’ve stored up. (You want them to sleep tonight, right?). There are only a few sitting spots for parents/grandparents though. I guess Disney thought we’d be running around sharing joy with our precious darlings. They guessed wrong. They need more seats. And wine.

Well, if you followed my order... and there’s no reason you needed to... you’re done with Disney World!!! Now go back to your room and relax...cuz tomorrow you’re probably spending the day at Universal Studios! ThenThe World of Harry Potter...then Sea World...And Legoland...then of course you’ll have to take the fam to the beach... maybe Clearwater... then you might as well spend a day at Busch Gardens...wait!

You didn’t tour Kennedy Space Center??

[i-know-you-can]

Love to Hate You - Chapter 1

Summary: AU - There is something about the way she looks at him. The way her cheeks flush and her beautiful green eyes sparkle. Like she wants to wrap her hands around his neck and strangle him, but she thinks better of it. It amuses him like nothing else. No other woman has been able to fire him up like Betty Cooper. And yet he hates her.

Rated: T

Chapters: 1/11

A/N: My first Bughead multi-chapter is finally seeing the light of day. All the chapters are already written and I’ll try to post them every Monday and Thursday (so the second chapter should come tomorrow). I hope all of you will enjoy my take on an enemies to lover fanfic and leave me your thoughts.

The biggest thank yous go to @birdlovesafish and @ladybughead my wonderful betas and to @ladybughead for making the edit above. 

read on AO3  

read on fanfiction.net

Betty rushes into the shared office of Clickfeed ten minutes after nine, pieces of hair falling from her usually slick ponytail. She has only been working there for about six months, but she has never been late. Betty Cooper is not the kind of person to be late for work. But this morning her alarm didn't go off and ever since then her day has been a mess. She didn't have time for her usual morning workout, nor a proper breakfast and since she was late, she didn't even have time to stop for coffee on her way to work like she usually does.

So now her stomach is rumbling and she feels her anxiety levels are higher than they should be at this point of the day. To be quite honest, she’s not exactly late. Her boss doesn't care when she comes in or even what she does when she’s working as long as she meets the deadlines. But this is Betty's first job since graduating university and while it's far from what she actually wants to do, she believes that putting in the hard work will eventually pay off. But over the course of time she has spent in this company it hasn't brought her many benefits. Instead of slowly climbing up the career ladder. She’s now basically known as Clickfeed’s very own girl Friday. Much like she did in high school. So now apart from her job of writing articles for the least interesting and visited corners of the website she also helps the editor when she gets overwhelmed. On top of that she’s currently standing in for her boss's secretary who left for maternity leave two months ago and has yet to be replaced. She strongly suspects her boss, Mr. Weatherbee, has never even made the effort to look for someone.

But Betty is a people pleaser. She can't say no when her colleagues ask her for help. Despite everything, she still believes that one day someone will notice her hard work and she will actually get promoted to something better than writing articles like “10 things every housewife needs to know”. She has always dreamed of being an investigative journalist, but even graduating top of her class at Columbia couldn’t guarantee her the offer of a lifetime right off the bat. So she tries to do the best she can, hoping her hard work will be rewarded eventually.

She finally slides into her chair in the corner of the big office that she shares with ten other people, only separated from them by a half wall. The words on the big wall she’s in front of are mocking her. When we all work together, we all win together. In reality, most of her co-workers have headphones on 90% of the time, buried either in their work or in whatever they're doing to avoid working. Sharing the office is more of a nuisance than help.

Deciding that the growling of her stomach and the lack of caffeine in her system would be an unwanted distraction, at least until lunchtime, Betty decides to head straight for the kitchen. That place is usually stocked with a bunch of unhealthy snacks and coffee that is nowhere near as good as the one she tends to get at Starbucks, but it will have to do.

The moment she enters the kitchen she regrets sleeping in once again. Because there he is. Jughead Jones, leaning against the kitchen counter as he sips from his huge cup of coffee and scrolls through something on his phone. Today he’s wearing his usual outfit. Checkered flannel shirt over a pale grey shirt, suspenders hanging down his legs and the beanie that never leaves his head covering the mass of black waves. Betty has to admit that there is something about that dark brooding look of his that makes him incredibly attractive to her, but she quickly pushes those thoughts away. For a second she considers just walking away from there and waiting until he leaves, but she's pretty sure he has noticed her by now and she doesn't want him to think she's avoiding him. It's not like she's scared of him or embarrassed by the situation. She just hates him. More than hates him.

Jughead Jones, with a name she's sure is made up and makes her wonder how bad his real name must be for him to prefer such a stupid nickname, is a fellow journalist for Clickfeed. He seems to be about the same age as Betty, but he has been working there since before graduation and therefore acts like he owns the place and she’s an unwanted bug he can’t get rid of. She isn't very close with any of her co-workers, but at least they have been nice and friendly since her very first day. Jughead, on the other hand, didn't even acknowledge her for the first month, probably assuming she was just one of the many interns who came and went. According to their co-workers, Jughead is a loner who doesn't really make much effort to talk to anyone in the office. A self-proclaimed weirdo, a title nobody is fighting to take away from him, who always stumbles into the office late, looking like he hasn't slept for weeks, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indication. Sure, he has a way with words, his witty articles in which he reviews and criticizes local food places bringing a lot of traffic to their website, but that doesn't make him a good colleague. Betty always tries to see the best in people, so she could just look past all that and assume he’s simply very introverted or antisocial and let him be.

However, his attitude isn’t something she can get over. Ever since he realized she was not just another intern to ignore, he couldn't stop himself from sending the occasional snarky remarks her way. She was the “preppy”, the “suck up” or even the “brown noser”. “I see you've been promoted to secretary,” he said to her once after witnessing her trying to juggle her boss's correspondence, while planning the next board meeting. Sure, he was right that she was now devoting more time to managing their boss's activities than actually writing articles for the website, but the condescending tone he used made her blood boil. Being her well behaved self, she just shot him a dirty look. She knew that the best way to deal with bullies was to ignore them and they would get bored. But this was not the kind of bullying she was used to from high school. So eventually, instead of just ignoring him, she started shooting insults back at him. They weren’t always the most thought-through or creative, but it felt good to let her anger out on someone she didn’t have to worry about impressing since he already made up his mind about her anyway.

After a moment of hesitation she steps further into the room, trying to avoid eye contact with Jughead. She rummages through the cabinets and the fridge for a few minutes, finding a bag of nuts, slightly stale bagel and a very brown banana. Not really close to the protein pancakes and a smoothie she’s used to, but she assumes it will have to be good enough. However, when she reaches for the pot of coffee and finds it empty, she can’t avoid letting out a grunt of frustration.

“Seems like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed,” Jughead mutters into his mug, well aware of the fact that he poured himself last of the coffee, not bothering to make a new pot.

“Says someone whose bed doesn’t seem to have the right side,” Betty bites back quickly. Not the wittiest reply, she admits, but she is in no mood for games. She, like many others, became a coffee addict during college and not getting her usual dose of caffeine makes her forget all about being nice. Or in this case, about coming up with a better reply.

“Don’t you know how to make your own coffee?” he asks mockingly and raises his left eyebrow. “Besides I thought you’d be more of a pumpkin spice latte kind of girl. We don’t have anything that fancy here. Just plain old coffee.”

Betty rolls her eyes at his response, wondering why she actually tried to befriend him for the first few weeks on the job. She read his articles, attempted to find a shared interest and start a conversation with him, she even brought some food to the office, trying to match the criteria that she discovered from his reviews. But even though the pie she left for him was gone by the end of the day, he never said a word to her about it. Neither thank you, nor criticism. Which, looking back on it now, was one of the nicer things he has done. Eventually she just decided to give up and pour her energy into something that could actually have a future. Even if it was playing a secretary for the time being.

“It’s April. And I know how to make my own coffee. But I’m pretty sure your stupid face made all the milk here go sour.” She scowls at him, but he doesn’t seem offended. Self-deprecating jokes seem to be his thing and he never fights her back on her insults for him. If anything, her attempts to insult him make the corner of his lips turn up. Betty wishes she had such a careless attitude. But years of her mother telling her to be perfect make her not take mean remarks all that lightly. “What people think about you means everything,” Alice Cooper used to say to her regularly and while Betty tries to break free of that mindset, it’s not always easy. She values other people's opinions even in situations when she shouldn't.

“I’m sure your super sweet personality can fix that right up.” Jughead gives her a cheeky grin and takes a big gulp of his coffee, making sure his face shows just how much he’s enjoying it. “But I guess even little miss perfect can’t fix everything.”

Betty’s hands start curling into fists, but she stops herself before her nails have the chance to cut through her skin. A habit she has been battling since her early teenager years and she isn’t going to break her progress for some stupid emo’s comments. “I hate you. You… jerk,” Betty spats, grabs her snacks and storms out of the room before she has the chance to do something stupid.

“I hate you more,” he calls after her as a smirk spreads across his face.  

[omegatheunknown]

...In which I thoroughly (yet naively) survey Metallica.

More than a month ago I finished reading Masters of Doom, which in addition to being an interesting history of PC Gaming’s pioneering id Software and stirring nostalgia about the halcyon days of 90s first-person shooters, made frequent and compelling reference to the influence of heavy metal on the aesthetic sensibilities of John Romero (though he’s ultimately more of a Dokken fan, which I can’t speak to.) Listening to the actual soundtracks of Doom, Doom II, Quake, Duke Nukem 3D led me straight into a curious survey of Megadeth, then Metallica, briefly Slayer, Anthrax, back to Metallica, Exodus, Sepultura, Suicidal Tendencies, Overkill, back to Megadeth and then back Metallica, over and over Metallica. I am listening to Metallica now. 

Can’t say I’m sure why. Without meaning to sound condescending, I’d always assumed if thrash metal appealed to me, it might have happened when I was a teenager. Perhaps environmental factors were at play, but at my most susceptible and angst filled years, the garage rock revival was in full swing, as was something of a (perceived? I will never know if this was a widespread thing. I wasn’t nearly as online then) grunge renaissance. Grunge was locked in as tonal and aesthetic sensibility and my friends’ bands were grungy pop punk with a bit of emo sprinkled on top. As I said, the questionable excesses of youth, complete with pretension about what is good (The Stooges, The Pixies, The Strokes and NIRVANA) and what is silly and ridiculous (Nu-Metal’s relative strength and the silliness of bands like Korn and Slipknot did not help Metal’s esteem.) A respect but low level of enthusiasm for Deep Purple, Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden didn’t manifest anything serious any time in the last fifteen years. Thrash’s underground roots put some doubt in the mind re: whatever vague supposition my teenaged peers and I had about the opposing forces of punk and metal (though I do remember actual arguments with a fan of what I described as ornate but soulless arpeggios who thought PJ Harvey’s oeuvre was unsophisticated and boring.) There’s a lot of grunge’s DNA in early Metallica. Which kind of makes it all the more bewildering that I haven’t been here before. All that wasted time listening to Mudhoney! Also, not to spoil the ending, how bewildering it is that Metallica absolutely fell to pieces in the 90s.    Kill ‘em All is a stupidly exciting record. Had I been around to hear it in the 80s, it would’ve melted my brain. I assume if I heard it in the 00s it would’ve done the same. I think part of the issue with Metallica is that when I was a precocious kid/tween they were not nearly at their best and the only second hand exposure you get to a well-established but no longer thriving band is their hits, and even post-survey I don’t particularly care for ‘One’ or ‘Enter Sandman.’ (Then again, at the height of Metallica v Napster you’d think young Zaq would’ve been a little more curious... and those mp3s would’ve be right there...) Anyway, Kill ‘em All: devastating and fun. Imagine if Mötley Crüe was ever any good (were they?) No, that’s insane. And gives a person very little to go on. High energy from the jump, utter shred. Reminiscent only of a slower, hopelessly outclassed version of the same thing, which is to say I think if you slowed a track like The Four Horsemen down you’d end up with a dreary sounding Sabbath number but why would you want that? (A different day perhaps.) Definitely the sexiest of the Metallica albums, just a little bit of the electricity of hair metal bleeding in at the edges, though the most wicked excesses are in flurries of virtuosity. “Bass solo, take one” -- much as I enjoy ‘Hit the Lights,’ ‘Jump in the Fire,’ ‘Seek & Destroy’ (and other imperative calls to action,) I think the bass solo ‘(Pulling Teeth)’ that splits the album is my favourite bit. Ride the Lightning -- actually, speaking of Cliff Burton, he of the improbable bass solos -- supposedly he planted the seeds of music theory/actually thinking about the music in his bandmates’ heads, leading to acoustic guitars, curious instrumentals and harmonies winding their way into the sophomore album. This probably also led them to getting way ahead of themselves and veering out of their lane, but in the meantime, Ride the Lightning is a lot more varied to listen to than their debut. Yes, it continues to wail, but it wails in new and exciting ways. ‘Creeping Death’ and ‘Trapped Under Ice’ are the choicest tracks. ‘Fade to Black’ is a pretty good song by the standards of a power ballad and is a nice dimension to add to the album but I’d point out that it portends Metallica’s inevitable doom.  Master of Puppets is considered (nearly anywhere I’ve looked) the undisputed champion of thrash metal albums. I would kinda love to have a dissenting opinion here, but it feels impossible to deny. It is stunningly heavy and loud and kinetic. It’s definitely a twin to its predecessor, they share a layout, right up to track 4 being a power ballad. As a set they’re the Pokemon Red/Blue of Thrash. Anything other than the subtle evolution in the playing and production would’ve been weird as hell -- album number three and they nearly perfect the genre. On the subject of Metallica’s power ballads, I’d make the point that ‘Welcome Home (Sanitarium)’ is the pinnacle of their efforts -- gorgeous and grotesque in equal measure. And like Ride the Lightning follows ‘Fade to Black’ with an extra-heavy track, ‘Sanitarium’ is followed by the vicious gatling gun of ‘Disposable Heroes,’ as emphatic an anti-war song as one could imagine. Again special mention to a Cliff Burton feature -- ‘Orion’ is an oddity in the Metallica canon, can’t imagine there’s anything else like it that I’ve missed. It’s the most appropriate space marine soundtrack I’ve ever heard, it previews a much nerdier version of Metallica that starts writing about horrors from outer space. My impression is that long after I’ve moved on to another passing phase I’ll retain a fondness for their instrumentals, all five of the main ones are excellent.   ...And Justice for All just isn’t as good as the previous two. This is becoming less about Metallica and more a tribute to Cliff Burton, but fact is -- his phenomenal bass lines are the secret sauce, and in the absence of Burton (and apparently due to Ulrich’s hearing loss?) the bass is often lost in the mix. It still wails, though relying more on arpeggios and prog-y tempo changes and layered arrangements -- with ‘loud’ as the governing principle in the mix, the instruments all have a bit of a unnatural synthetic quality, the effect is much more processed than the earlier albums and it occasionally sounds like a flat wall of sound... which is about to become a theme, oh boy. Though it does convincingly sound like a mutant off-shoot of the Ride the Lightning/Master of Puppets aesthetic, just a shaggier and excessive cousin prone to wild mood swings. Seven of the nine tracks are at least six and a half minutes long. At 9:48, ‘To Live is to Die’ is the first song in the catalogue that I would consider straight tedious (Though the title track is about the same length and it’s quite good!) At the end of the album, ‘Dyers Eve’ appears as a great redeemer, probably the best expression of what they were trying to do here. Oh yeah -- ‘One.’ Honestly it gets there. It’s a very pretty song. I think what I don’t like about the ballads is Hetfield’s voice when he’s singing (as opposed to when he’s growling, yelling, barking) may as well be someone trying to do a Brad Roberts impression. Though maybe that’s not the issue, I always enjoy The Crash Test Dummies. Metallica/Black Album. I don’t like this. Or, I don’t like it very much but I recognize it’s pretty good. Definitely has its moments (’Of Wolf and Man,’ ‘Through the Never.’) Seems like an odd stumbling block. This was a massive hit. ‘Enter Sandman’ is a classic rock song. Of sorts. It ain’t thrash, though it’s definitely still a heavy metal album in the vein of Black Sabbath and the like. Reading about the composition I understand they were tired of what they had been doing, they felt like impostors and wanted to strip it back some, and in that sense it’s an accomplishment. It’s dark and heavy and somber and pretty sad in parts. I feel like if Metallica had collapsed into the sea and never been found afterward/gone their separate ways this would’ve been an interesting finale, but as it stands, through the lens of history I have to reckon with the fact that this is the first of four albums produced by Bob Rock and it’s easily the best of them. It’s going to get worse before it gets... less worse. Which is not to say I don’t appreciate the orchestra and the cellos and a bit more variation in the compositions but... whither Thrash? ‘Holier Than Thou,’ silly as it is, captures a bit of the lost spirit, Maybe it’s exhausting to be that band for too long. It’s a perfectly natural thing to want to progress and not make the same album over and over again, but I can’t help but feel like they abandoned their perch atop a style where they were the greatest of all time to be (at first) a pretty good metal band and then a ‘hard rock’ band. This is Jordan switching to baseball and then for some reason trying ice hockey. I’m reasonably sure ‘Nothing Else Matters’ sucks pretty viciously, though Metallica writing a love song has a conceptual appeal and I could understand people liking it. Load. Gosh, what an appropriate title. I think if you asked Chad Kroeger what his favourite Metallica album is, he’d absolutely say Load. Metallica skipped over grunge and went straight to post-grunge. It’s also so long! There’s so much of this very mediocre album.  Reload. What the fuck is this. It starts off with the Soundgardenesque (well, Rusty Cage-esque) ‘Fuel’ with its fun but asinine chorus, it doesn’t do anything particularly interesting after. Just like its sibling, it’s almost eighty minutes long of sluggish, middle of the road 90s rock.  Garage, Inc is amazing by comparison to anything else put out by Metallica in the 90s. Two discs, the second compiling covers from as far back as 1984, 1987′s Garage Days EP and the b-side to some awful Load song that’s just four Mötörhead covers. ‘Whiskey in the Jar,’ of course, but also ‘Am I Evil?’ Sabbath’s ‘Sabbra Cadabra’ and an exuberant cover of Queen’s ‘Stone Cold Crazy.’ It’s not solid gold but there’s a lot of stuff to like. S&M (Symphony and Metallica, but... you know.) Definitely has it moments, particularly with the older stuff -- ‘Call of Ktulu,’ ‘Master of Puppets,’ ‘The Thing That Should Never Be’ with symphonic accompaniment is very cool.   St. Anger is the big ‘comeback’ album that came out when I was 15 and thus acutely aware of big music releases. I feel like I could’ve skipped the opening paragraphs of this essay and just written that as explanation of why I didn’t care about Metallica. I’m sure there was some good heavy metal happening around the turn of the century but at the time this was happening, Limp Bizkit, Saliva, Staind, Kid Rock, Godsmack, Sevendust, Slipknot, Drowning Pool, Korn, Trapt and Linkin Park (probably the best of the bunch? right?) were the biggest things in metal. Hence, in 2003 we are gifted... Nu Metallica. The title track is very bad. There are no guitar solos to be found. There aren’t any ballads to be found (that’s mostly fine.) I’ve done three tracks. I’m not listening to the rest of this. It’s just not worth it. Death Magnetic was a big surprise as a I soldiered on. Bob Rock is gone, Rick Rubin is in. Say what you will about Rubin (another time, perhaps) but for whatever reason, after a twenty year hiatus (1988-2008,) the thrash is back. I was beginning to grapple with the idea that Metallica had been past their prime my entire life, and while that’s still probably true, here they are at least dabbling with the style that made them such a big damned deal. Which is not to say this is an amazing album. It’s good though! But you can hear, even on the opening track, how exceedingly compressed the sound is. Everything is loud on this album! Without exception! All the time! It’s all peak! Consequently it’s a tiring thing to listen to all the way through. Apparently there are different versions available that turn down the mix a bit, but the Spotify version is evidently the original, as it is just a brutal onslaught of noise. It’s not a great album to sit through, but individual tracks are welcome. There’s even an instrumental for the first time since ...And Justice For All. Lulu (with Lou Reed) -- Laugh all you want, I don’t think this is as bad as Load and Reload. It’s really god damned weird, sure, and it’s not ‘good’ by any conception of (what is ‘the good,’ etc) but it’s at least interesting here and there.  Hardwired... to Self-Destruct suggests a certain inevitability to the path. With or without the play-acting in the 90s (Hetfield has speculated that Ulrich and Hammett were interested in being a U2-sized band complete with the frivolous and monolithic pretensions) they might have ended up here anyway, a bunch of dudes in their 50s making a heavy metal record that is doomed to be nowhere near as vital and electrifying as the groundbreaking stuff of their youth, but is practiced, professional and what the fans have come to expect. It’s pretty good, but there’s no chance it’s their best work. Read a review that called it their best work in 25 years, which is... damning with faint praise, but definitely true. Anyway they’re in the zone. ‘Moth Into Flame’ is a pretty good example of what we’re dealing with here -- thesis, antithesis, synthesis, in this case, arriving at ‘generic Metallica.’ If there’s more Metallica on the way it’ll be pretty much like this, chugging along like Springsteen or the Rolling Stones. It seems super unlikely they’ll ever surpass their first five albums, but I think that’s true of just about every band ever.  In conclusion, I’m not doing this same process for Megadeth. :P

[onceuponamirror]

heart rise above

///// CHAPTER 1

summary: It wasn't an experiment with freedom borne of some Americana fantasy; rather, a road trip of purely logistical intentions. The plan was simple. Drive from Boston to Chicago for his sister's college graduation. That's it.

Or, he drives a Ford Pickup Named Desire.

Mechanic!AU

fandom: riverdale

ship: betty x jughead

words: 4.5k

chapters: 1/?

[read on ao3]

I took my love, I took it down I climbed a mountain and I turned around

.

.

.

.

He will later regret saying anything. And he will want to blame Archie, desperately. Will want to throw him out of his moving car—if the car was capable of moving at all.

But really, he will blame himself. He was the one who wanted to stop. He was the one who listened to Archie in the first place.

.

.

.

It starts innocuously enough; he and Archie are in his living room, frantically pressing away at their video game controllers, his large floor fan blowing cool air straight onto their flushed faces. It’s still May, but the heat came early to Boston this year, and with a vengeance.

However, Jughead is too broke to touch his A/C—or, too uncomfortable with the fact that he is no longer too broke to justify the frugality that makes his life more difficult than it has to be—so he convinces himself the fan is satisfactory.

(He will also later blame the fan. And the heat. It made him delirious. Susceptible to terrible ideas.)

Archie cries out as Jughead’s character delivers a last, fateful blow. The screen turns to victory credits and the redhead throws down his controller. “Damn,” he mutters, as Jughead flashes him a smug grin and cracks his neck.

“I win. You’re buying the pizza,” Jughead grins, stretching his arms out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Archie mumbles, getting out his phone. While Archie places their delivery order, Jughead untangles himself from his fortress of pillows on the ground to check his own phone. JB has called and left a voicemail requesting that he bring an extra, empty suitcase because she may or may not have accumulated more clothes than she realized and whoops!

He sighs, and goes to his hall closet, where he pulls a duffle bag from the pile of things JB has already left in her wake. He’s not leaving for a few weeks, but he knows he’ll forget if he doesn’t put it right in front of himself. He throws it onto his bed to be dealt with later, and as he’s quietly closing the door behind him, he looks up and realizes Archie is watching him.

“What are you doing?” He asks, big eyebrows wrinkling. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Oh,” Jughead says distractedly, pulling his beanie from his head and using it to fan himself. Why does he always wear this stupid wool hat? It’s 90 degrees out with what feels like 99.99% humidity and he’s starting to suspect he’s got a problem with masochism. “Remember that JB is graduating this year? I’m driving out to Chicago for the ceremony and to help her move back to Boston.”

“Wow,” Archie says. “Is she really graduating college already? Damn bro, we’re getting old.”

“I’ve been old my whole life,” Jughead sighs wearily, hopping over the back of his couch to rejoin Archie, who is still on the floor in front of him. His friend grins up at him, and then, with a gasp, scuffles away to face Jughead head on.

“Dude, I’ve got a great idea,” he says, and that’s the moment that Jughead will later curse as he bangs his head against his steering wheel. “Why don’t I come? We’ll do the road trip we always talked about. We’ll camp, or stay in weird towns, go to all the stupid kitschy stuff you love to hate—it’ll be hella fun. My mom has been bugging me about visiting her in Chicago anyway, and I’ll just fly back when you meet up with JB. Come on. It’ll be so fun.”

Jughead wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead, watching the big floor fan chug along. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I was just planning on driving there and back.”

Archie raises an eyebrow. “What’s the point of two best friends both having freelance jobs if we don’t take spontaneous road trips?”

He throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know, why do we pay rent anywhere either? Why do we bother working on this mortal plane? Why don’t I astral project my manuscripts? Why don’t we work from the fucking moon?”

Archie looks exasperated. “Dude, what else are you gonna do for the next month? I know you’re in a writer’s block.”

Jughead responds with an annoyed glare; he is a bit stuck on his latest novel, but he’s not about to admit it out loud. Somewhere in his inbox, an email from his editor is sitting and waiting, almost accusatorially, to be opened, and he’s doing his damn best not to think about it.

He settles for a shrug. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”

“Look, what’s that book you were obsessed with in high school? On the Road Again, or something?”

“Just On the Road,” Jughead corrects with a sigh. “And I’ve long shed my preoccupations with that kind of faux, ritualistic idea of American masculinity.”

Archie gives him the look he usually gets when said something beyond his vocabulary. “Whatever. My point is—you need it. I need it. I could write a few road songs. I bet it would help shake you out of your rut.”

He may have a point. Jughead stares at the fan again. He probably will need to get out of this swamp masquerading as an apartment if he’s going to get anywhere on his sequel, anyway, and he and Archie have been making vague plans for a road trip since childhood…

“Once again, not confirming I am in any said rut,” Jughead says in a bored voice, “but it doesn’t sound completely terrible. I guess.”

Famous last words, he’ll realize.

.

.

.

They made plans to leave that weekend, deciding neither of them (read: Jughead) could come up with any reason not to start sooner than later. Archie had happily announced he would take care of the schedule, and although Jughead thought he maybe sounded too happy to be in charge of the itinerary, he also couldn’t muster up the energy to protest.

The trip starts innocently, and even with the potential for fun. They load up Jughead’s ancient mint green Ford truck with snacks and strap down their bags (and JB’s extra duffle) and first head to the cape for a couple of days at their friend Reggie’s beach house.

Reggie is more Archie’s friend than Jughead’s, but he still greets them both with open, drunken arms. “Bros!” He hollers, grabbing both of them in a crushing hug. He’s wearing a tank top that says Y’ALL READY FOR THIS? and Jughead thinks plainly that he’s not, but returns the hug all the same. “Welcome, welcome, to Casa de Partay.”

“Is that the formal Spanish translation?” Jughead mutters under his breath, but it goes unnoticed.

“Glad you two bachelors are here,” Reggie says cheerfully, “because Moose and Midge have been all coupley and it’s been fucking boring. Let’s shotgun a beer and head down to the water.”

Archie happily complies, although he shoots a worried look at Jughead beforehand. Jughead shakes his head and reaches for a Heineken of his own. He always appreciates the concern, but at 26, he’s long been around enough casual drinking that it no longer makes him feel small and alone in a trailer park every time he sees someone with a beer.

After they polish off their drinks, Reggie leads them down to the sand, where Moose and Midge are waiting for them. Despite also being people that know Archie better than they know Jughead, they’re still friendly towards him.

But they’ve always reminded him of Archie’s popular friends in high school, so it almost makes him more uncomfortable than if they’d been outright rude. He tries to tell himself that he is a damn adult now and the cliquey social judgments that plagued his adolescence are behind him.

They all want to head into the water, while Jughead volunteers to watch the stuff. Archie shoots him a look, but Jughead repeatedly insists he wants to read and will join them later. He settles onto a beach chair, sheds down to his undershirt (and spares Archie a lecture on calling it a wife-beater) and pulls his battered copy of Howl out of his back pocket.

He’d meant what he’d said about Kerouac, but as far as Beat writers go, Allen Ginsberg had always spoken to him. He leafs through it, and tries to focus on the poems, but his mind is elsewhere and after a few moments on the same paragraph, he accepts he’s not going to get anywhere.

He presses it against his chest and sighs, watching Archie and his friends frolic amongst the waves.

Truthfully, he doesn’t want to swim. He’s not a beach guy. The water’s always a little too cold. Sand just gets everywhere and stays everywhere for days. The idea of swimming out so far you can’t touch the ground terrifies him, and not just on a metaphorical level. And he’s definitely never gotten the point of getting thrashed around by 5ft waves for fun.

But seeing the four of them leap and duck under the water, Jughead feels annoyingly like a teenager again, watching awkwardly from the sidelines. You’re an adult. You don’t care. He rubs his temples and closes his eyes, tugging on his hat until it covers his whole face.

About half an hour later, he snaps to attention when something hits him gently across the chest. He pulls the hat above his eyes and sees Reggie standing over him and toweling off his hair.

“Sup, Infinite Jester,” he says, and Jughead has to admit that joke is a little more than clever. “You’re getting a little red. Lube up.”

Jughead realizes the object that had been dropped into his lap is a bottle of sunscreen. “Thanks, Reggie,” Jughead says slowly, still waiting to see if this is a trap; if the bottle is filled with actual lube or something worse. But with a concealed sniff, Jughead determines it to actually be benign and starts spreading it over his forearms and neck.

“No prob,” Reggie says easily, joining him on the neighboring beach chair. “I’m nothing if not a damn perfect host. You having a good time?”

He gives his book a little shake. “Just catching up on some reading.”

Reggie fixes him with a studying look. “Speaking of, I liked your book, man,” he says finally.

This surprises Jughead immensely. Despite having known Reggie for years as one of Archie’s college friends, he realizes he doesn’t know much about him other than that he works in finance and was already rich anyway. “You read my book?”

If he didn’t know any better, he might say Reggie looks somewhat self-conscious. “Yeah. I’m not all bros and beer 24/7, Juggalo. It was good. I mean, fucking sad. But good. Archie says you’re working on the sequel?”

Trying to, he thinks bitterly. Would be, if he had any idea where to start. “Yeah,” he says instead.

“Nice. Well, when I read the first one I was like, mad depressed for a week after. So give the guy a happy ending this time,” Reggie says, closing his eyes and settling back into his chair. He twists his arms up to the sun, as if beckoning it towards him.

Jughead pulls his hat back over his eyes.

A happy ending. What a concept.

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.

.

The next few days follow in a similar pattern: Reggie, Archie, and a fluctuating company of beautiful people having a rumpus, drunken time, while Jughead ruminates on the poor life decisions that led to him sitting alone by a bonfire and assuring himself that he’s beyond such hedonistic pursuits.

If this wasn’t such a common occurrence—following after Archie’s plans and finding himself wishing he hadn’t when it always ends with him at the edge of a party, alone—he might actually be annoyed with his friend.

But he wonders if he’s lying to himself when he says that it doesn’t bother him. He and Archie don’t have as much in common as adults as they did as children, and Jughead sometimes speculates whether nostalgia alone is enough to keep their friendship going.

Not that they don’t still have things in common—they both like to write (if albeit in totally different forms), they both like video games…Jughead wracks his brain for an embarrassingly long moment before also deciding they have similar senses of humor.

Sort of. Archie likes his sense of humor, anyway, which is usually the thing that wards most people off.

But none of their differences mean shit, at the end of the day. Archie is like a brother to him, and so if that means he has to be a fringe element at the edge of a beach party for a night, so be it.

Besides, he’s always teetered at the edge of things his whole life. Teetered on the edge of childhood abandonment, on the edge of foster care, on the edge of his family’s addiction, on the edge of his peers, his schools, his life.

Looking in from the outside is an easy place to be; that’s what got him his New York Times starred review, anyway.

So quite literally, no good will come of questioning his comfort zone, and that’s that.

.

.

.

But once they hit the four-day mark, Jughead is itching to get back on the road, so they both pile back into the truck after long and surprisingly emotional bro hugs from a completely stoned Reggie.

The truck squeals a bit as he turns the ignition. “Did you hear that?” He asks Archie, though the engine is purring fine now.

Clearly also still a little stoned from Reggie’s wake-and-bake breakfast, Archie looks over at him, red eyed. “Hear what?”

“When you drove the car into town last night, did it make a weird noise?” Jughead presses.

“Nah,” Archie says, his head falling against the seat. He closes his eyes. “Man, I’m beat.”

“Good road trip, then,” Jughead says wryly. “Ready to go home to Boston?”

That gets Archie’s attention; he opens one bleary eye at him. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he says firmly. “I’ve got a lot more planned for us.”

Jughead snorts. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy anyway. “Where to next?” Jughead asks, as they pull out of Reggie’s driveway and into the morning light.

“Not telling,” Archie says, pulling up his phone map. “Take a left here.”

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.

It turns out that Archie has led them back across the state to something called the Basketball Hall of Fame, which Jughead couldn’t find more boring if he’d tried. Archie loves it, and spends the whole time wondering aloud if he’d chosen the wrong sport in high school. But Jughead can’t stand it much longer, and wanders off to find a place to read until Archie’s ready to go.

“Got you an ice cream cone, buddy,” Archie says soothingly, finding the bench Jughead has long since camped out on.

“Great, because I’m twelve,” he mutters, though he eats it anyway.

“Sorry, I know this place isn’t your cup of tea, but the next thing is for you. You’ll like it, promise, or I’ll buy you two dinners.”

“Here’s hoping I hate it, then,” Jughead says dryly, as they make for the car. It makes that weird sound again, but it’s gone in an instant, and the Ford roars to life, so Jughead doesn’t have time to dwell on it before Archie starts feeding him new directions.

When they cross the border into New York state, Jughead gets nervous, but Archie is practically bouncing in his seat with excitement, which appeases him a bit. But if it turns out to be the Football Hall of Fame or the Baseball Hall of Fame or, hell, even the Racquetball Hall of Fame, he swears he’s turning around and going straight back to Boston.

But they turn into a parking lot with a sign reads Welcome to the Motorcyclepedia Museum! and Jughead is awash with relief. Motorcycles. This might actually be good. 

They pay for their tickets and head on in; the experience is completely wacky, and just as kitschy as Archie promised it would be, but actually kind of cool. There are famous motorcycles from history, including one that road in the motorcade the day JFK was shot, and even some from movies, which he particularly geeks out over.

Granted, the bar was pretty low after Archie dragged him to a weekend long beach party of self-indulgence and then the fucking Basketball Hall of Fame, but Jughead has to it to him: this one was pretty fun.

Especially because Jughead always wanted a motorcycle, like his dad, and he’d even learned to ride and gotten as far as the special program certificate as required by the state of Massachusetts. He’d been all set to get one—but then life got in the way, as it does, and the motorcycle suddenly seemed like such a silly idea. He had responsibilities thrust upon him and he wasn’t gonna drop his sister off at school from the back of a bike. So he turned to the truck, and it hasn’t proved him wrong yet.

“Knew you’d like this place,” Archie grins as they head back towards the parking lot. Dusk is settling low over their heads. “So you’re buying dinner.”

“That was not the deal, so, no,” Jughead chuckles, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Alright, I propose we drive a little more, grab some grub, and then find a motel to crash for the night.”

“Sounds good, dude,” Archie says, pulling out his map. “Alright…we wanna get on 90, so we should take highway 87 up the state. Let’s head towards Hudson and stop there for food and beds. Midge told me about how cute it is up there and said we should check it out. Apparently she and Moose went antiquing there once.”

“Golly, Archie,” Jughead drawls, “I didn’t realize this was an elaborate excuse to go looking for the perfect shabby chic bedroom set of our dreams.”

“Shut up,” Archie laughs. “Just drive. It’s getting late and I’m a growing boy. Need to eat.”

“Hate to break it to you pal, but you’re 26. Officially, you’re done growing,” Jughead says, as he puts the key in the ignition. It squeaks at him again, but once again starts without any other issue. He stares at his steering wheel. “Why does it keep doing that?”

“Dunno,” his friend yawns. “I’m sure it’s fine. Come on. Food. Archie hungry. Archie want to eat.”

“Ugh, don’t get all caveman on me. I’m hungry constantly and I still manage to use all my grammatical articles,” Jughead sighs, pulling out of the parking lot. The ride upstate is quiet and twinkling as the stars come out to greet them. Even on the road, the further upstate they get, the brighter the stars become.

However, also the further upstate they get, the hungrier Jughead gets. He realizes he hasn’t eaten much all day and, with an audible growl from his stomach, he decides he might not make it all the way to Hudson.

“What are you doing?” Archie asks, as Jughead starts to cross lanes towards an exit.

“Taking the first exit I see,” Jughead says grouchily, his appetite making him grumpy. “I’m suddenly starving.”

“Dude, it’s not far left to Hudson, just keep going,” Archie says.

But a bright neon sign is visible from the far right lane and Jughead gives a triumphant, “A-ha! A diner. I want a damn small-town-diner burger and I want it now. We’re going there.”

Shrugging, Archie doesn’t argue. That’s another thing that Jughead likes about his best friend: he’s as impulsive as he is go-with-the-flow. It sometimes makes for a disastrous combination of attitudes, as Archie tends to believe following the yen to make a ridiculously sudden 180 in his life will just “work out” but right now, Jughead appreciates the hell out of it. His stomach howls at him.

They pull off the highway and follow the massive neon sign, which just reads Pop’s in bold red letters. Jughead might’ve expected some kind of truck stop diner, given it’s proximity to the road and the set of train cars ambling along a track behind the restaurant, but it seems quaintly doo-wop and almost straight out of time.

He and Archie throw a tarp over their bags in the bed of the truck and hustle inside. Soft, ambient music welcomes them and the crowd is mostly families and teenagers. It just might be a wholesome as it appears.

A round-faced man meets them at the door. “Two?” He asks amiably.

Jughead nods, taking in his surroundings. Something in his chest unlocks to the tune of a jukebox, and the soft red light falling gently over the restaurant sets him at a peace he didn’t know he was missing. It’s quiet. Safe. Calm. Everything a small town diner should be.

Something pokes his shoulder, and he realizes it’s Archie gesturing to follow after him to their table. He slides into his booth and heaves a deep sigh. “This looks good,” Archie says lightly, glancing over his menu.

Good doesn’t begin to cover it, Jughead thinks, gears whirring in his mind. The character in his first book would love a place like this. He’d been planning on setting the sequel in the same city as the first, but now he’s wondering if plopping the hero in a completely new setting is what the manuscript has been missing.

But then what? Move him for what reason? What is he looking for? What would be his motivation?

Jughead wishes he had his laptop, or a pen and paper at least, because this is the first burst of inspiration he’s had in months and he doesn’t want to lose it. But his computer is locked away in the car and he’s too hungry to properly focus anyway.

Their waitress appears at their table expectantly, and she’s very pretty, so Jughead waits for the inevitable drooling and clumsiness from Archie. True to form, the redhead tries to rest his elbow on his menu, but it slips under him and he practically hits his forehead on the table.

She watches with mirth. “Hi,” she says, in a cool, sophisticated voice. “I’m Veronica, and I’ll be your server tonight. Do you need another minute, or do you boys know what you want?”

Jughead thinks that Archie certainly does.

So with a sigh, he folds himself over his menu. “Double cheeseburger. The works. Fries. Pickles. Chips might be good too, actually. Vanilla milkshake. And a black coffee.”

Veronica raises an arched eyebrow. “That’s all for you? Or is there a tapeworm in there somewhere paying rent?”

Archie laughs loudly at her joke—a little too loudly, because she turns to him with a curious, amused look. But, Jughead notes, not an uninterested look either. He’s not surprised. This is the perpetual riddle of Archie Andrews—makes a total clumsy buffoon of himself, yet somehow still gets a date anyway.

He assumes it must have something to do with Archie’s looks and gym schedule, but it’s still always been a bit of a mystery to him. He knows he’s not completely without positive traits, but if he slipped on his own menu and then guffawed loudly at a girl’s joke, she’d look at him like a piece of old gum under a shoe.

Archie ends up ordering a regular cheeseburger and just fries, and Veronica whisks away. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Archie gets a star struck look in his eye and says, “Man, I’m glad you picked this place.”

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.

Dinner is good—quite good, actually—and surprisingly not too greasy given it’s a small town diner off the side of the highway. Jughead is bereft to go, but he orders a burger for the road, and it’ll have to do.

They load up into the truck; Archie has been sighing for the past ten minutes, like some tortured Shakespearean lover. “Why didn’t I try to get her number?” He asks, for the third time.

Jughead puts the keys in the ignition. “Because we’re going to Chicago, you live in Boston, and she lives in some random small town in upstate New York. I’ll get you a fishing rod when we get home so you can see how many fish there are in the sea.”

Archie just sighs moonily again.

Jughead turns the keys, the now familiar squeaking and clicking sound greeting him. Only this time, it doesn’t immediately stop. In fact, it doesn’t stop at all.

Jughead curses, and tries to turn the keys again. The engine makes a terrible whirring sound and, to Jughead’s horror, smoke starts to rise from the hood of the truck. He immediately pulls the keys out of the ignition and stares, jaw-slacked, as Archie rushes out to open up the hood. He steps back and waves the smoke out of his face. “This looks bad, Jug,” he coughs. “Uh, I think we're stuck.” 

Jughead bangs his forehead against the steering wheel. Hits it once, hits it twice. Repeats it again for good measure.

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[hoopslab]

By request: Garnett’s early impact (1990s Timberwolves)

In the  RealGM Top 100 Project 2017, there was a call from multiple posters for someone to look back into the early days of Kevin Garnett’s career, in the 1990s, and try to get a handle on his impact in those seasons. To whit: 

“Anywho, lost in all this chatter about how high Russell could jump (lol), next thread I'd appreciate some input on KG's 90's seasons. I feel like the prevailing thought on them is solid allstar level seasons, but not too special, but looking back at some stats/Minny's play at the time I feel that that take underrates him by quite a bit.” -- eminence 

“I'm with eminence - I want to see more about his 90's seasons”.-- micahclay

This sounded interesting, especially since I've written quite a bit in previous threads about Duncan and I've written several posts in the last day about Wilt and how he compares. Since they're the two frontrunners for this spot, and so far no one's really engaged or pushed back on any of my recent posts, it seems like a good time to do something different. So, 90s KG. 

KG graduated high school the same year that I did, so I paid attention that he was drafted. But I was going to school myself, Georgia Tech, so I didn't have as much time to watch the NBA as I had before and would in a few years. I got to Tech the same year as Stephon Marbury, who electrified campus, and when he went to the pros I paid more attention to his team...the Timberwolves, who the year before had drafted Garnett. So, let's step back a bit and look at Timberwolves history, and how KG came in and changed it. And try to get a better grip on what level his seasons were.

The Timberwolves were an expansion team that came into existence in 1990. Like almost all expansion teams, they basically reaked. In the three years before the 1995 season, they averaged 18 wins a year. In 1995 they won 21 games with a -8.22 SRS. Their main players to end the season was Isaiah Rider, Christian Laettner, Doug West and Tom Gugliotta.

KG as rookie, 95 - 96 season

In the 1995 draft, the Timberwolves became the first team to draft a player straight out of high school in decades. Garnett was a great prospect, but there was no template on what to expect from high schoolers. He started off the season coming off the bench. Googs, Rider, and Laettner were the main starters with Sam Mitchell and Terry Porter also in the mix. Here's a Youtube video of highlights from KG's first career game:

There are some fun elements in this five minute video. First, it's incredible how skinny he is. Second, right from jump, he's playing small forward (he's guarding Walt Williams). He comes off the bench, but one of the announcers mentioned that in preseason he was the team's leading shot-blocker. He has a couple of really good passes, one of them a semi-no look on the break off a steal. And, he knocks down a 22-footer from the top of the key to show that he already had a solid jumper even straight out of high school. KG came off the bench for the first 40 games of his rookie season, as the team tried to take it slow with him. In the games before he became a full-time starter (he did have one spot start in there), KG averaged 19.5 minutes per game, in which he scored 6.3 points (40.6% FG, 69% FT), grabbed 3.8 rebounds, dished 1.2 assists, blocked 0.9 shots, and added 0.8 steals with 1.2 turnovers. His average game score was 5.1. The Timberwolves were 11 - 29 in those 40 games (28% win percentage), similar to the pace that led them to their 21 - 61 record the year before (26% win percentage). About halfway through the season, he moved into the starting line-up. And he immediately began to play more like a future impact player. Garnett was "all legs and arms", as my grandma used to say, and he was youthful exuberance. He started hitting the glass, and more aggressively looking for his shot. He was everywhere on defense, guarding everyone. In some of the Youtube games I came across, I saw him guarding every position. He has multiple plays guarding point guards (see next clip, against Boston, for him on Dee Brown on multiple plays). Against the Lakers, he guarded everyone from Magic Johnson to Elden Campbell. He was stupidly mobile for a 7-footer, and also seemed to have springs in his legs. He was aggressive on help defense, and since he defended everyone from point guards to centers, the angles of his help defense are unique. On offense, he was comfortable operating in the post with his back to the basket; his jumper was a bit flat, but he showed he could knock it down out to 22 feet; and he showed good court vision with a real willingness to pass. Here's a video from later in his rookie season, in his best scoring effort of the season against Boston.

KG ended up with 33 points (14-for-21 FG, 5-for-6 FT), eight boards, four assists, three blocks, a steal and three turnovers. A few things I noticed in clip. The first two touches they show are both post-ups on the right block, and on consecutive moves he spins over opposite shoulders, making the resulting jumper in middle and getting fouled when he spun baseline. Also in this clip, he switches onto Dee Brown twice on D, once getting a steal and in the other forcing a contested jumper. He also, in the clip, has a nice on-ball blocked shot that he blocks softly to himself, then gets the rebound (and showboats a bit). In the second half of the season, with Garnett starting, the Wolves went 15 - 27 (36% win percentage, but worse MOV than first half). In the 42 games after he became a full-time starter, Garnett would play 36.9 minutes per game, averaging 14.1 points (53% FG, 67% FT) with 8.5 boards, 2.4 assists, 2.3 blocks, 1.3 steals and 1.6 turnovers.

Second year, 96 - 97 season

After finishing the previous season 26 - 56, in the offseason the Wolves drafted Ray Allen, but swapped his rights on draft night for Marbury. Marbury and KG were friends from childhood, and were styled to be the next generation Stockton and Malone. Right away, it was clear that the Wolves were a different team. Led by KG, Marbury and Tom Gugliotta they started piling up wins at a rate unseen in franchise history (low bar, but still).The only Youtube clip I can find for '97 is them against the Bulls. It was put together by a Bulls fan, but there are a few Wolves highlights in there.

Some points of interest from clip. KG is being guarded mainly by Rodman, and at least in the plays shown in the clip, he was giving it to him. At about the 5:30 mark on the clip, then in a montage from about 8 minutes to about 9 minutes, it's just a sequence of KG post-ups, defended mainly by Rodman, where KG just does his drop-step and shoots right over him. Shows his comfort in scoring from the block, and out to the midrange jumper. Around 9:45, KG is guarding Pippen, but helps off onto Jordan (actually overhelps), and Pip goes to the rim and get sthe pass for an easy shot. At 12 minute mark, KG and Rodman get into a pogo contest for the rebound. It's interesting, because one of Rodman's strengths is the quickness of his jumps, but KG gets up and down just as quickly for three straight jumps and wins the match-up as Rodman knocks it out of bounds. This is the lead-up to the famous Rodman-kicks-cameraman incident. On the season, Googs, KG and Marbury lead the squad. Gugliatta has by-far the best season of his career next to Garnett (a phenomenon that would be common in KG's career) and made his only All Star team (ditto); Marbury makes the All-Rookie team; Garnett makes his first All Star team as well; and the Wolves win a team-record 40 games and make the playoffs. In the postseason they face the Hakeem/Barkley/Drexler Rockets (57 - 25), and the young Wolves look happy just to be there as they are swept by the veterans. On the season, Garnett averages 17 points (54% TS), 8 boards, 3.1 assists, 2.1 blocks, 1.4 steals and 2.3 turnovers. He leads the team in win shares, BPM and VORP while Googs leads the squad in PER.

Third year, 97 - 98 season

After the success of the year before, the Wolves entered the '98 season feeling like a team on the rise. Garnett and Marbury were a year older and more experienced, and Googs was looking to build on his All Star season. And for the first half of the season, things went fairly well according to schedule. Here's a Youtube clip from their game against the Bulls in that period, where the baby Wolves snuck a win over the 2-time defending champs.

The Wolves straight-up out-energied them. In the clip, KG spent quite a lot of time on Jordan. Jordan quicked past him several times to score; KG ripped him clean once; on another, KG helped onto MJ and blocked his shot but teammate called for foul. KG was everywhere on the boards again, even in game featuring Rodman, and always sprinting the court. He hit clutch jumper with 30 seconds left to seal the upset. At the 41 game mark, the Wolves were 24 - 17, on pace for by-far the best season in team history. Up to this point, Garnett was averaging 17.3 pts (50 % FG, 76% FT) with 9.1 boards, 4 asts, 2 TOs, 1.6 stl, 2 blk. But, at that very point, Googs had to leave to have surgery on bone spurs in his ankle. He wouldn't play another game that season, nor would he ever play another game in a Timberwolves uniform. After Googs went down, Garnett had to take a more active role as both a scorer and rebounder. Over the last 41 games, in which the Wolves went 21 - 20, Garnett averaged 19.7 points (48% FG, 73% FT) with 10.1 boards, 4.5 assists, 2.7 TOs, 1.8 steals and 1.7 blocks. The Wolves would finish with the best record in team history and make the playoffs, both accomplishments for the second straight year. Their reward was a match-up with the 61-win Sonics. In the playoffs Gary Payton gave Stephon Marbury fits, as Marbury struggled to average only 13.8 points on 30.6% FG% with 7.6 assists and 3.6 TOs (regular season, Steph had been 17.7 pts, 42% FG, 8.6 asts/3.1 TOs). And Googs was long gone, on the sidelines. But through four games, Garnett led his young squad toe-to-toe with the more powerful Sonics. Powered by his 18 points (52% FG, 86% FT), 11 boards, 4.3 assists, 3 TOs, 2.5 blocks & 0.8 steals, the Wolves went back to Seattle for the deciding Game 5 tied 2 - 2. Alas, they weren't ready for the big time yet. Garnett had a disastrous Game 5, scoring 7 points (27% FG, 50% FT) with only 4 boards, 3 assists and a whopping 10 turnovers. Terrible way to end the season, but on the whole was a very, very promising season. In addition, 1998 is the first season that we have PI-RAPM for. Garnett's boxscore numbers were very good, especially for a 21-year old, but they weren't quite as good as the 1998 Rookie of the Year, Tim Duncan, who was in the process of taking the NBA by storm. Interestingly, though, it was Garnett that would finish 5th in the NBA in PI-RAPM for the year, behind Shaq, Zo, Mookie and Jordan and just ahead of Tim Hardaway, John Stockton and Karl Malone. Duncan would finish 23rd. Looking at the offense/defense breakdown, Garnett came in a very respectable 34th in ORAPM (slightly behind Duncan's 29th-place finish) that season. But it was in defensive impact where KG shined, finishing 14th (just behind Olajuwon). This would support the notion that Garnett's unique brand of versatile, be-everywhere defense was already making a bigger impact on his team's scoring margins than his box score stats would suggest (a trend that would be true for the length of his career).

Fourth year, 98 - 99 season

Garnett would get a huge contract extension in the offseason that many credit as the one that led directly to the NBA lockout. Also, it was widely rumored that Gugliotta and Marbury couldn't get along, and Googs would leave for Phoenix. The lockout lasted into 1999, a huge disruption, but eventually the league would start back up with a shortened, 50-game season planned. Through the first 18 games, Garnett and Marbury continued to show growth in their games (even if there was clear rust in their shots), as they led the Wolves to a 12 - 6 record out of the gates.

Garnett was averaging 19.9 points (45% FG, 74% FT) with 11 boards, 4.3 assists, 2.8 TOs, 1.9 blocks and 2.5 steals.

But, it turns out that Googs wasn't the only Wolves star that Steph couldn't get along with anymore. Amid swirling rumors that Marbury was jealous of Garnett's status as the franchise player, Marbury would force a trade that sent him to New Jersey. The Timberwolves could have accepted a young Sam Cassell back in the trade, but instead opted for a talented but injured point guard named Terrell Brandon.

Over the next 32 games, the Wolves would struggle to re-find their balance without Marbury. Brandon only played in 21 of the games as he nursed his injuries, and KG would miss three games as well. The Wolves would close the season 13 - 19, to end the season .500 and make the playoffs for the third straight season.

In the last 29 regular season games he played that year, Garnett increased his scoring but saw his blocks fall off the table to the tune of 21.3 pts (47% FG, 67% FT), 10 reb, 4.3 ast, 2.9 TO, 1.5 stl, 1.3 blks. 

In the playoffs, the Wolves would get the #1 seeded (and soon-to-be NBA champion) Spurs. While the Wolves were clearly outclassed, this gave us our first Garnett vs Duncan head-to-head match-up in the playoffs. They wouldn't disappoint. The Spurs won the series 3 - 1, but the 8th-seeded Wolves challenged them more than any of their higher-seeded foes on the way to their championship. In the head-to-head:

Duncan averaged: 18.8 points (51.8% TS), 10.8 reb, 3.3 ast, 3 blk, 0.8 steal, 1.8 TO

Garnett averaged: 21.8 points (48.9% TS), 12 reb, 3.8 ast, 2.3 blk, 1.5 steal, 3.3 TO

For the rest of the playoffs, Duncan would have much more success scoring than he had against Garnett...

Duncan (after 1st rd): 24.6 points (58.7% TS), 11.7 reb, 2.7 ast, 2.5 blk, 0.8 stl, 3.5 TO

This is also the second year we have of PI-RAPM, and again Garnett shined there.

Garnett finished 6th in the league in PI-RAPM in 1999

(Duncan improved to 10th). Looking at the breakdown, again Garnett finished slightly behind Duncan in offensive RAPM (34th, vs Duncan's 30th) but ahead in defensive RAPM (Garnett 8th, again essentially tied with Olajuwon, with Duncan 31st).

Summary

Garnett played four full seasons in the 90s. Almost all of them had some sort of big shake-up mid-season, and we can see his production and the team's outlook change with each one. As far as accolades, he was a two-time All Star (but, there was no All Star Game during lockout-shortened 1999, which would have been his third selection). He made 2nd team All Rookie in 1996, and 3rd team All NBA in 1999.KG showed the tools that he would build upon, from his first game. His combination of length and mobility may just be unprecedented in NBA history, as not only was he playing small forward at 7-foot, but he was spending legitimate numbers of possessions defending guards (in the video clips, we saw him 1-on-1 several times on Jordan and Dee Brown). He was playing a lot of help defense all over the court, starting to show his rebounding chops, and generally being a nuissance on defense. He also showed a great comfortability and repertoire of post moves on offense, had soft touch on his fadeaway and mid-range jumper, and displayed range out to 22 feet. He also had great court vision and was a willing passer.Just as they would in his prime, these tools helped him put up strong boxscore numbers. However, just like in his prime, his on-court impact was clearly better than those numbers. Playing next to KG, Gugliotta had the best season of his career and made his only All Star game. Marbury was looking electric, like a superstar in his own right, but after he left Garnett he would go on to be a marginal impact player at pretty much every stop for the rest of his career. Garnett would finish 5th and 6th in PI-RAPM for 1998 and 1999, demonstrating the big impact that he was having on his team's scoring margins even as a very young player. Early in his career, it was his defensive impact that would outpace his offense. While that flipped in his prime in Minnesota, he returned to that defensive bent later in his career with the Celtics. We also got our first Garnett/Duncan head-to-head playoffs match-up in the 90s, and KG more than held his own (if only someone could have neutralized that Robinson guy, it may have been a more interesting series).All told, not a bad first few years at all for a guy that would still be making strong impacts out to at least year 18.

[reportfruit8-blog]

Bulls fail to close out the Pacers, 107-105

It was a loss for the Bulls Friday to the Indiana Pacers that surely Billy Shakespeare would find strange and unnatural. It was the third time this season in just nine games the Bulls lost on what essentially was the last possession of the game, this time missing three chances to tie or win after a Darren Collison 19 footer with 18.5 seconds left gave Indiana the eventual 107-105 final margin.

It was also a loss most foul as the Bulls, and certainly Antonio Blakeney, believed Blakeney shooting a potential game winning three was tripped before Myles Turner blocked his attempt. Though perhaps it never would have come to that if Zach LaVine and Wendell Carter Jr. within two minutes of one another hadn't been called for their fifth fouls with the Bulls riding a LaVine hot streak to a 99-92 lead with six minutes left.

With LaVine and Carter sitting, the Pacers hit the Bulls with an 11-0 run to take a 103-99 lead with 3:20 left before the hot shooting Blakeney, now generally known as Little Ben Gordon, converted a four-point play for a tie with 30.5 second left. The Bulls then tried to trap Victor Oladipo and were left to scramble out of position when the Pacers rotated the ball to the left corner for Collison's winner.

Two Carter offensive rebounds on the final possession wasn't enough to save the Bulls, who fell to 2-7. Indiana is 6-3.

"We were trying to get Zach curling off a screen (on the last play)," said Bulls coach Fred Hoiberg. "I thought Zach had a good look, 15 footer on the baseline, kicked out to Justin; had a great look at it and Antonio tried to make a play at the buzzer.

"Came out of the gate with unbelievable energy," Hoiberg noted. "Proud of the guys for stepping up and playing with that type of grit on the defensive end coming out of the locker room (with a 15-point first quarter lead). After that Golden State game, I felt we had a very good performance against a very good Denver team and against Indiana, one of the top teams in the Eastern Conference. We just have to find a way to make one more play, a rebound, take away a three, a loose ball. Have to find a way to make that play under two minutes to get the win."

The Bulls were led by Blakeney off the bench with a career high 22 points in a remarkable shooting run in which he's 11 of 15 on threes the last three games. He's second in the league in three point shooting and shooting a rollicking 55 percent overall. LaVine as the primary target on the Pacers' scouting report had a rough seven of 21 shooting for 20 points. Though LaVine had it going in the fourth quarter with nine points in just over two minutes before his fifth foul, and a very questionable one, after doing a good defensive job against Oladipo. LaVine went out for about 90 seconds, but his feel and the Bulls momentum was gone as the Pacers moved ahead and LaVine was zero for four the rest of the game.

"They hit me with some fouls; it was tough," LaVine said diplomatically. "I try to stay in the game regardless, like ‘I'm good.' But it makes sense (to go out with five). You don't want to foul out the next play and I'm not playing for the rest of the game; just sucks. I shouldn't have fouled him."

It seemed a questionable call on LaVine coming around a screen, a pattern which burdened the Bulls all game after Carter got the Bulls off to that exceptional start with seven of the Bulls first 10 points and nine in the quarter. But fighting quick foul calls all game, Carter played just 24 minutes to finish with 11 points, eight rebounds and six assists.

Justin Holiday added 19 points with his second consecutive game with five threes, his 11th attempt also a potential winner that bounced off before Blakeney's attempt.

"When it bounced to me I thought it was cash," said Holiday. "I most definitely was ready for it."

"The best thing is experience and that's what we're going through right now. You can see the improvement every game."

- Zach LaVine following the loss to Indiana

Jabari Parker added 11 points, Cristiano Felicio had nine points and nine rebounds and Robin Lopez even got in the game with the fouls and had two blocks in four minutes. Cameron Payne and Ryan Arcidiacono combined for 14 assists and zero turnovers at point guard, though just two of eight shooting for a combined six points. Oladipo had 25 points and 14 rebounds for the Pacers and Turner had 18 points and six blocks.

"It is a process when you have young guys on the floor," said Hoiberg. "Zach is in a new role, Wendell, too bad he got fouls after how easy it was for him in the first quarter. Guys like Antonio Blakeney stepping up and making big plays for us. Arcidiacono, he's never been in a position like this; Justin was hitting shots, playing a complete, consistent game. We had a seven-point lead with just over six to play. We needed those guys down the stretch and we made the subs and, unfortunately, they claimed the lead right back. I loved the start of the fourth. They had a (seven) point lead and we came out and hit eight out of nine shots and really locked up defensively. Unfortunate that happened; it's part of the game. The fouls it certainly hurt us tonight."

I'm not generally one to blame officials, but it's certainly unusual to see two of one team's top players out so quickly on fouls. Especially for a team not exactly known for physical play, though LaVine was excellent defensively. And then Blakeney sprawling on the floor to end the game after Bojan Bogdanovic seemed to stick his leg out.

"I think I got tripped up," said Blakeney. "Did I get fouled on the three? I don't really know; the play's over. I definitely got tripped up. That's why I fell and tried to throw it up. I think he might have gotten a clean block, but I definitely got tripped."

Perhaps the shot doesn't go in, and players and coaches cannot say much without risking punishment. But it seemed most foul when the Bulls basically outplayed the Pacers.

"We came out and played so well in stretches it's almost like you are deserving of a win," lamented LaVine. "But we give it away or they get back into the game or something like that. Just have to play four quarters. Light handed like we are you can't have that many mistakes; have to play almost flawless basketball."

For the Bulls with four core players out injured—Hoiberg said none are close to a return—it was about as flawless as they might get against a top opponent.

The Bulls shot better than Indiana from the field, from three-point range and almost on free throws, where the Pacers had a curious 22-9 edge in attempts despite being the visiting team without the usual momentum from the home crowd and with the more physical players. The Bulls outrebounded Indiana despite being smaller and had a huge 33-20 edge in assists in a game, especially at the start, when the Bulls played faster and with the ball swinging like it was a Lindy Hop. Talk about swing.

"It's just frustrating knowing you played well," said LaVine.

When Carter rebounded a miss and slammed it in one motion for a 19-7 start that Hoiberg said was as good as the team has had all season, it looked like a special game. It proved exciting and entertaining with 11 lead changes and 10 ties. And any fair minded observer would have to say the players are responding favorably to Hoiberg the way they are competing, improving and bouncing back from devastating losses like against Charlotte and Golden State with some of their best play of the season. Literally with one defensive play, a rebound and a shot, the Bulls easily could be 5-4. Though as we know you are what your record is. So the Bulls face Houston Saturday in the United Center with the return of James Harden from injury.

"The best thing is experience and that's what we're going through right now," said LaVine. "You can see the improvement every game."

Carter drew a second foul seven minutes into the game, though early in the second quarter the Bulls led 42-24 after five straight Blakeney points. Carter quickly got a third and the Pacers evened the game with a late second quarter 12-2 spurt bashing their way to the free throw line with 10 attempts in the quarter to two for the Bulls. It was 60-58 Indiana at half. The Pacers looked liked they'd pull away in the third quarter, but the Bulls hung around with Holiday making a trio of threes.

"You leave me open, I am shooting the ball," Holiday said.

Then the Bulls jumped on the Pacers to start the fourth quarter, stretched out the lead with LaVine on a run and looking like he could carry the Bulls down the stretch until he was technically sidelined. Yet even seemingly demoralized, the Bulls responded impressively with the Blakeney four-point play to tie and then Carter pulling two offensive rebounds away from a pack of Pacers. It all came up one shot short.

"Some fall," reasoned Holiday. "Some don't."

Source: https://www.nba.com/bulls/gameday/bulls-fail-close-out-pacers-107-105

[bacondriver55-blog]

Bulls fail to close out the Pacers, 107-105

It was a loss for the Bulls Friday to the Indiana Pacers that surely Billy Shakespeare would find strange and unnatural. It was the third time this season in just nine games the Bulls lost on what essentially was the last possession of the game, this time missing three chances to tie or win after a Darren Collison 19 footer with 18.5 seconds left gave Indiana the eventual 107-105 final margin.

It was also a loss most foul as the Bulls, and certainly Antonio Blakeney, believed Blakeney shooting a potential game winning three was tripped before Myles Turner blocked his attempt. Though perhaps it never would have come to that if Zach LaVine and Wendell Carter Jr. within two minutes of one another hadn't been called for their fifth fouls with the Bulls riding a LaVine hot streak to a 99-92 lead with six minutes left.

With LaVine and Carter sitting, the Pacers hit the Bulls with an 11-0 run to take a 103-99 lead with 3:20 left before the hot shooting Blakeney, now generally known as Little Ben Gordon, converted a four-point play for a tie with 30.5 second left. The Bulls then tried to trap Victor Oladipo and were left to scramble out of position when the Pacers rotated the ball to the left corner for Collison's winner.

Two Carter offensive rebounds on the final possession wasn't enough to save the Bulls, who fell to 2-7. Indiana is 6-3.

"We were trying to get Zach curling off a screen (on the last play)," said Bulls coach Fred Hoiberg. "I thought Zach had a good look, 15 footer on the baseline, kicked out to Justin; had a great look at it and Antonio tried to make a play at the buzzer.

"Came out of the gate with unbelievable energy," Hoiberg noted. "Proud of the guys for stepping up and playing with that type of grit on the defensive end coming out of the locker room (with a 15-point first quarter lead). After that Golden State game, I felt we had a very good performance against a very good Denver team and against Indiana, one of the top teams in the Eastern Conference. We just have to find a way to make one more play, a rebound, take away a three, a loose ball. Have to find a way to make that play under two minutes to get the win."

The Bulls were led by Blakeney off the bench with a career high 22 points in a remarkable shooting run in which he's 11 of 15 on threes the last three games. He's second in the league in three point shooting and shooting a rollicking 55 percent overall. LaVine as the primary target on the Pacers' scouting report had a rough seven of 21 shooting for 20 points. Though LaVine had it going in the fourth quarter with nine points in just over two minutes before his fifth foul, and a very questionable one, after doing a good defensive job against Oladipo. LaVine went out for about 90 seconds, but his feel and the Bulls momentum was gone as the Pacers moved ahead and LaVine was zero for four the rest of the game.

"They hit me with some fouls; it was tough," LaVine said diplomatically. "I try to stay in the game regardless, like ‘I'm good.' But it makes sense (to go out with five). You don't want to foul out the next play and I'm not playing for the rest of the game; just sucks. I shouldn't have fouled him."

It seemed a questionable call on LaVine coming around a screen, a pattern which burdened the Bulls all game after Carter got the Bulls off to that exceptional start with seven of the Bulls first 10 points and nine in the quarter. But fighting quick foul calls all game, Carter played just 24 minutes to finish with 11 points, eight rebounds and six assists.

Justin Holiday added 19 points with his second consecutive game with five threes, his 11th attempt also a potential winner that bounced off before Blakeney's attempt.

"When it bounced to me I thought it was cash," said Holiday. "I most definitely was ready for it."

"The best thing is experience and that's what we're going through right now. You can see the improvement every game."

- Zach LaVine following the loss to Indiana

Jabari Parker added 11 points, Cristiano Felicio had nine points and nine rebounds and Robin Lopez even got in the game with the fouls and had two blocks in four minutes. Cameron Payne and Ryan Arcidiacono combined for 14 assists and zero turnovers at point guard, though just two of eight shooting for a combined six points. Oladipo had 25 points and 14 rebounds for the Pacers and Turner had 18 points and six blocks.

"It is a process when you have young guys on the floor," said Hoiberg. "Zach is in a new role, Wendell, too bad he got fouls after how easy it was for him in the first quarter. Guys like Antonio Blakeney stepping up and making big plays for us. Arcidiacono, he's never been in a position like this; Justin was hitting shots, playing a complete, consistent game. We had a seven-point lead with just over six to play. We needed those guys down the stretch and we made the subs and, unfortunately, they claimed the lead right back. I loved the start of the fourth. They had a (seven) point lead and we came out and hit eight out of nine shots and really locked up defensively. Unfortunate that happened; it's part of the game. The fouls it certainly hurt us tonight."

I'm not generally one to blame officials, but it's certainly unusual to see two of one team's top players out so quickly on fouls. Especially for a team not exactly known for physical play, though LaVine was excellent defensively. And then Blakeney sprawling on the floor to end the game after Bojan Bogdanovic seemed to stick his leg out.

"I think I got tripped up," said Blakeney. "Did I get fouled on the three? I don't really know; the play's over. I definitely got tripped up. That's why I fell and tried to throw it up. I think he might have gotten a clean block, but I definitely got tripped."

Perhaps the shot doesn't go in, and players and coaches cannot say much without risking punishment. But it seemed most foul when the Bulls basically outplayed the Pacers.

"We came out and played so well in stretches it's almost like you are deserving of a win," lamented LaVine. "But we give it away or they get back into the game or something like that. Just have to play four quarters. Light handed like we are you can't have that many mistakes; have to play almost flawless basketball."

For the Bulls with four core players out injured—Hoiberg said none are close to a return—it was about as flawless as they might get against a top opponent.

The Bulls shot better than Indiana from the field, from three-point range and almost on free throws, where the Pacers had a curious 22-9 edge in attempts despite being the visiting team without the usual momentum from the home crowd and with the more physical players. The Bulls outrebounded Indiana despite being smaller and had a huge 33-20 edge in assists in a game, especially at the start, when the Bulls played faster and with the ball swinging like it was a Lindy Hop. Talk about swing.

"It's just frustrating knowing you played well," said LaVine.

When Carter rebounded a miss and slammed it in one motion for a 19-7 start that Hoiberg said was as good as the team has had all season, it looked like a special game. It proved exciting and entertaining with 11 lead changes and 10 ties. And any fair minded observer would have to say the players are responding favorably to Hoiberg the way they are competing, improving and bouncing back from devastating losses like against Charlotte and Golden State with some of their best play of the season. Literally with one defensive play, a rebound and a shot, the Bulls easily could be 5-4. Though as we know you are what your record is. So the Bulls face Houston Saturday in the United Center with the return of James Harden from injury.

"The best thing is experience and that's what we're going through right now," said LaVine. "You can see the improvement every game."

Carter drew a second foul seven minutes into the game, though early in the second quarter the Bulls led 42-24 after five straight Blakeney points. Carter quickly got a third and the Pacers evened the game with a late second quarter 12-2 spurt bashing their way to the free throw line with 10 attempts in the quarter to two for the Bulls. It was 60-58 Indiana at half. The Pacers looked liked they'd pull away in the third quarter, but the Bulls hung around with Holiday making a trio of threes.

"You leave me open, I am shooting the ball," Holiday said.

Then the Bulls jumped on the Pacers to start the fourth quarter, stretched out the lead with LaVine on a run and looking like he could carry the Bulls down the stretch until he was technically sidelined. Yet even seemingly demoralized, the Bulls responded impressively with the Blakeney four-point play to tie and then Carter pulling two offensive rebounds away from a pack of Pacers. It all came up one shot short.

"Some fall," reasoned Holiday. "Some don't."

Source: https://www.nba.com/bulls/gameday/bulls-fail-close-out-pacers-107-105

[berna2206thames19-blog]

A Few Ideas For Valuable Liquid Grip Methods

Astute Climbing Chalk Canada Programs For 2017

Fitness is an activity that many people enjoy. But it can be difficult to learn everything you need to about fitness. The following article will provide Climbing Chalk|Canada the proper techniques to help you in reaching your fitness goal. If you want to increase your commitment to fitness, pay for a multi-month gym contract. This will "lock you in", so to speak, and keep you coming back over time. However, you should really only do this if going to the gym is something that is difficult for you. If you are serious about becoming more fit, you should select a routine that improves flexibility, burns calories and tones multiple muscle groups. Search for classes in your region. In order to reduce the risk of injury you should be careful to use proper form when you are walking. Walk up straight and draw your shoulders back. Your elbows should fall at 90-degree angles. Your forward foot should be opposite your forward arm. Your heel should always touch down first. Let your foot roll forward naturally and push off with your toes when you start your next stride. You will never get yourself a six pack of abs by doing crunches all the time. Abdominal exercises will strengthen your muscles, but they won't burn off your belly fat. For six-pack abs, do lots of cardio, resistance training, and changing your diet. Before starting your workout, test the padding thickness of the bench by pressing fingers down into the cushion firmly. If you are able to feel the wood through the padding, the machine is either cheaply made or worn out. Choose a more comfortable one. A machine with thin padding can cause discomfort and bruising, failing to provide the support necessary during your exercise routine. Don't exercise when you're ill. When you are ill, your body needs the energy to heal. In addition, your body is not really able to build muscles while you are sick. So, you should refrain from working out until your body has recovered from illness. Meanwhile, eat properly and rest as much as you can. Always pay a trainer prior to actually starting your workouts. This practice increases the likelihood that you will actually show up for your workouts. The reason for this is that your money is already spent. You will want to get your money's worth, so therefore, you will probably endure these sessions. You should lightly workout the muscles that you worked hard on the day before. When exercising tied muscles it is important to use less effort when using them the next day so that you do not cause injury to the muscles. Focus on alternating your fitness routine to concentrate on your frontal muscles, then your back muscles. If you're just working out your lower back or just your abdominal muscles muscles, be prepared for back pain. If you work out both of these you will stave off any back pain you might have. When you are doing situps or crunches, try pressing your tongue against the top of your mouth. This engages your neck muscles and keeps them aligned properly while you are exercising your abs. You can avoid harmful strains or injuries this way. Prior to beginning a workout routine for your arms, make sure you know your goals. Are you trying to increase your muscle mass? If so, you should be lifting larger weights so that your intensity level is increased. If you want to sculpt and tone, simply do more reps with lighter weights. Get the whole family involved in your fitness plan. Let each family member choose activities for the entire family to do together. Keep fitness diaries for the whole family to monitor their progress. This way, everyone in your family is working towards both a common goal of better fitness and their own unique goals. Volunteer at your child's school fitness program in order to show him or her your interest in fitness. Getting yourself involved will help your child be more enthusiastic about their own participation. No matter how important it is; there will always be people who aren't willing to learn about proper fitness. These people may not want to learn or they may just be lacking the right methods. This article will not only help you get fit, but stay fit as well.

Some Questions For Picking Out Important Elements For Canada

Lobster with Pepsi logo 'tattoo' on its claw caught in Canada   A lobster caught in Canada with a Pepsi logo imprinted on its claw is drawing attention to the harmful impact rubbish can have on the ocean, conservationists say. The branded crustacean was trapped by a fishing crew off the Canadian island of Grand Manan, New Brunswick, on 21 November. Karissa Landstrand told CBC she was banding and loading lobsters into a crate for transportation to a buyer when she spotted the instantly recognisable red and blue logo of the fizzy drink .   “I can't say how he got it on,” Ms Lindstrand, who posted the image on Facebook, said. “It seemed more like a tattoo or a drawing on the lobster rather than something growing into it.” She told Canadian media it appeared as if the logo was “tattooed on the lobster’s claw”, causing a debate among the crew working on the boat, however she could not explain how it got there. “They believe that maybe there was a can in the bottom of the ocean and when [the lobster] was growing, it grew around the can,” said Ms Lindstrand, who has been lobster fishing for four years. Another speculated that cardboard Pepsi packaging may have been stuck on its claw for years, with Ms Landstrand adding it could be scraped off but was not paper. “This tells me that there is a lot of garbage in the ocean, if that’s what’s happening to the lobsters we get out from the water,” she added. Matthew Abbott, a marine program coordinator at the Conservation Council of New Brunswick, said it showed “garbage [is] infiltrating even into the deep water”. “I was surprised by unique turn of events that led to this lobster being imprinted with an image of a Pepsi can, but sadly not surprised that marine animals, even found at some depth, are coming into contact with human waste,” he told The Telegraph. “It certainly helps illustrate how widespread marine debris is. While we often think of marine debris as being on the surface it is indeed spread throughout the water column both as large pieces and micro-plastics. “This may have been a fairly harmless case, but often when marine animals come into contact with human rubbish the outcome is much worse.

For the original version including any supplementary images or video, visit http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/12/01/lobster-pepsi-logo-tattoo-claw-caught-canada/

Basketball Tips You Will Not Find Elsewhere

It's difficult to overestimate just how many fans of basketball there are around the world. To fully enjoy basketball, whether as enthusiastic spectator or player, you need to fully understand this game. This article below can help with that. Dribble the ball correctly. Finger tips, not palms, are the key to successful dribbling. This method gives you much more control of the ball. Dribble on the sides of your body instead of directly before you, and bounce it waist level. Keep your eyes up. Make sure you dribble properly by keeping your head held up, facing forward. You haven't practiced enough if you keep looking at the basketball while you're dribbling. One of the best ways to improve your dribbling is to bring your ball along anytime you need to walk somewhere. Try dribbling even when walking to a store. Get used to looking up as you go so that you can focus your attention on the court and not on your hands and the ball. You must learn how to dribble, how a crossover is done and other important ball handling skills. In a crossover, you transfer the basketball from hand to hand. The action needs to be performed quickly in order to be successful. When done correctly, the crossover dribble help you to change direction in order to move down the court efficiently. If you want to be a jump shooter, avoid pumping iron excessively. Although it's true that strong muscles are beneficial, additional bulk can impede your ability to play effectively along the perimeter. Some pro shooting guards make their arms large enough to decrease their own field goal percentage. Need to dupe the opposition? Trick them using a back pass. To do this pass, hold on to the ball with your dominant hand. Now, pull it behind your back. The last step is to flick your wrist in the direction you want the ball to land. This should help to trick the other team. Keep your skills sharp in the off-season by playing different challenging games. Basketball is usually a team sport, but just because you can't find others, doesn't mean you have to just stop thinking about it. That is not a problem. You'll still be able to get a lot done when playing solo. Work on free throws or practice pivot moves. Additionally, you can practice vertical jumping and dribbling. Your child should work on their core muscles if they want to become a basketball player in high school. This includes their abs, lower back, and hips. A core that is not strong enough limits the linkage between arms and legs. A strong, sturdy core allows force from the legs to fuel movements like running and jumping. The excitement that basketball creates for millions of fans across the globe s hard to match. People new to the sport, may be confused if they don't understand all the rules and subtleties. This article should provide a guide for you to use in improving your game.

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[noeffortbigchange]

https://i0.wp.com/noeffortbigchange.com/wp-content/uploads/pexels-photo-226568.jpeg?fit=3264%2C2448&ssl=1 Here’s how I used SMART to write a book. This video is about me describing my own experiences of how I set SMART goals and how this process ultimately lead to completing a book. As you can see, I believe in SMART goal setting so much that I even have an entire wall dedicated to future goals! Below the video I talk about Scottie...

Below you can read about Scottie .... and how he went through a SMART process to achieve weight loss. If you keep reading we’ll go through some of examples of how to set and achieve SMART goals. Earlier in January 2017 I met a guy named Scottie at work. Scottie and I got along really well because we both valued psychology. I super appreciated Scottie’s interest in psychology because while Scottie was a computer engineer, he wasn’t limited to the computer screen. A few months after meeting Scottie, Scottie’s interest in psychology deepened because he was getting profound results. His stress levels were way down. He’d succeeded in meeting 3 mini weight loss goals and felt confident he could shed the rest of the weight. One day Scottie said to me, “I am so glad I finally got off on the right foot.” Scottie’s comment - I am so glad I got off on the right foot - is what this article is about today. It’s about how you can get off on the right foot too. What happens when you start correctly? The rest comes fairly easily. It’s a like a gym workout. If you pack food, change clothes, and drive to the gym then the odds are high you will go into the gym and exercise. Packing food, changing clothes and driving is starting correctly. Everything else becomes way easier. Yet so many people don’t start off on the right foot when they begin their health journeys. In fact, 90% of people quit their New Year’s Resolutions. It’s not that these people were lazy. It’s just that they didn’t start properly. They went to the gym without following the proven formula to starting SMART. Then a few weeks or a few months later they quit the gym and all the weight they lost came back. All the muscles and endurance they gained evaporated. They didn’t start SMART so they failed. Now when their family and friends ask about the gym they were once so passionate about, these people look off into the distance. They feel bad about quitting. Yet something just wasn’t working. So many people then feel like weight loss isn’t for them. They had one failure after giving their best shot and now feel hopeless. It’s a dang shame they didn’t started SMART. If they’d started SMART they’d be more like Scottie. With a SMART start you can actually achieve results. In fact, there’s plenty of scientific evidence as well. People who start off SMART achieve their goals with 40% more success. When they write down their results of SMART and share their results with someone, the success rate goes up to 70%. So do you want a 70% more likelihood of success. Do you want to be like Scottie a few months from now - with less stress, more muscle, and less weight? Honestly though ... it’s not even about the weight or the muscle. It’s about feeling good about yourself, feeling hopeful for the future, and just being a happier, healthier, more vibrant person overall. You want this for yourself, right? So let’s dive in:

What is starting SMART?

SMART stands for Specific, Measureable, Achievable, Relevant, and Time-Bound. We’ll dive into what these mean and how to apply them in a moment. If you'd like to learn more then here is an excellent resource. First however, start by thinking about what you want. Just think about what you want for one second. What do you want?

Weight loss

Muscle

Energy

Vitality

Scottie wanted weight loss. First, me being a counselor, I asked him to really dive in and understand why he wanted to lose weight. Scottie was tired of feeling tired. He was tired of feeling like his handsome guy friends didn’t respect him. He was tired of not respecting himself. He wanted a change. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted but he believed he could do better. I told him that wasn’t good enough. (note: generally speaking going this deep into motivation is ‘good enough’ but when you work with me I make sure we really get clear on why). Scottie kept circling around the answer. Eventually he said in a downtrodden voice, “I’m just not able to attract the girl I really want into my life. I’m not able to really pursue my job because I don’t believe in myself ...” I nodded. This was the truth. Scottie wanted to believe in himself. “Okay,” I said, “if we can lose weight and build muscle, that’ll be great, but more importantly, it’ll build confidence.” “Once you start making progress and seeing results, you’ll gain confidence. Then you’ll be way more motivated to keep going and you’ll get even more confident. In a fairly short amount of time that confidence will seep into other areas of life ... and things will get better.” “Not because they magically got better ... but because you got better. Because you upped your game. Because you got it.” Scottie nodded. “Let’s do it.” That’s making things relevant. That’s the R, in SMART.

Specific

Then we moved on to S, which stands for specific. We knew Scottie wanted to lose weight so that he could build confidence. But how much weight? I told him that we didn’t need to know precisely the “right” number. All we had to do was pick a definite goal that was ‘good enough’ and start working towards it. “What do you think would be better? 25 or 50 or 100 lbs?” I asked Scottie. Scottie replied, “Well, 100 of course!” This was a good start. Scottie was getting specific. Yet I was worried that I gave him a choice that wasn’t achievable for him. Sometimes a huge goal can seem out of reach. It can feel unattainable, unachievable.

Achievable

“Okay, Scottie, here’s what we are going to do. If you want to lose 100 lbs, first we have to lose 10 lbs, right?” “Right.” “So what we’re going to do is break 100 lbs into 10 mini-goals, of 10 lbs, 20 lbs, 30 lbs, 40 lbs, etc... Do you understand?” Scottie replied, “Yeah, that makes sense. First lose 10 and then 20 and so forth... I can do that.” I beamed. “Yes, you can do that.”

Time-Bound

I knew that proper weight loss guidelines indicate that weight loss can be dropped approximately 1-2 lb a week. I asked Scottie about this goal. He said that he understood the importance of losing weight sustainably as part of lifestyle change, rather than a strict diet which he would ultimately quit and regain all the weight. Scottie said, “It’s pretty simple math, right? I mean, my first goal is to lose 10 lbs. That means like 5 weeks if I lose 2 lbs a week, right? “Yup, you got it!” I grinned in reply. I was about to say something but then Scottie interjected .. “You know, maybe it’s better to make it achievable. Let’s shoot for losing 10 lbs in 7 weeks. That way I’m not under any pressure to lose 2 lbs a week. I should be able to do that.” Note: This is why I love training. People start understanding how they can take control of their health. With the mentality of SMART, people can start doing proper weight loss, muscle building, all on their own. In fact, as you saw in the video, you can even apply SMART to writing books, relationships, you name it.

Measureable

“Okay, last step Scottie, you ready?” He nodded confidently. I took out a piece of measuring tape. We measured his waist, biceps, chest, and legs. We measured his BMR, his BMI, and his weight. I felt it was important to elaborate on this step. I actually forget what I said to Scottie at this point but I’ll put the gist of it below. We need accountability. We need to be certain that we are making progress, or if we are not making progress. Why? Because either way, whether success or failure, we become massively more motivated. When we have a track record of our losses, then we become way more motivated to overcome those losses. This is especially so when you go through a SMART formula when everything is achievable and you know why you are doing it. When you have a trainer on your side, losses become serious fuel to keep growing and achieving. When we win, records show progress and we feel good about ourselves. Scottie has already lost 10 lbs, his waistline is getting smaller, and this are improvements he feels great about. Most importantly, and something I do above and beyond as a trainer, is using SMART for not just workouts while in the gym, but for the food Scottie and other clients eat outside the gym. We are what we eat. Nutrition is much more important than working out. What’s beautiful is the SMART process works for nutrition as well. With a broad vision to build confidence and lose weight, Scottie and I began talking about diet. “What some achievable stuff you can do?” I say. Scottie thinks, “I can refrain from sodas!” I held up a finger, “Wait, let’s make it specific and achievable!” Scottie nods, “Ah, yes, I can refrain from sodas on Tuesdays!” “And since I can’t measure if you actually didn’t drink sodas...are you willing to just tell me straight up, with honesty and clarity, knowing that I’ll respect you either way, that I’ll cheer for you either way?” Scottie held out his hand. “It’s a deal.” I grinned, my eyes teared up a lil bit. This is why I love training. https://noeffortbigchange.com/smartstart/