#good job will gluck you got me

[coconutcordiale]

y’all whatever pr they’re doing for glen’s new rom com is working on me i’m now convinced this movies gonna slap when originally I was like ew him & sydney sweeney look related 💀

[finniestoncrane]

Hiii!! In your ‘riddler as subs’ you mention that some riddlers need aftercare when they sub. What kind of aftercare do they like? Words, touch, snuggles?

Receiving Aftercare

Riddler Headcanons anon i am so sorry i forgot to specify the boys' preferred aftercare but i am here now do not worry my subby little butt has lots of ideas 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff but like... suggestive fluff

zero year

can't go wrong with a whole heaping mound of praise

anything that'll stroke his ego and heal the little bruises

something that makes him feel like a very good boy

who did a very good job indeed

so compliments on his looks, on his techniques

on how nice his body is, how good he is at using it

how wonderful he smells

and how delicious he tastes

and, most importantly, maybe make sure to uh...

big up certain aspects of him

gotham

his form of aftercare is mostly doing acts of service for you

anything that lets him feel useful and needed

that he's an important part of your life and that without him

maybe you wouldn't have a nice cup of tea

or a freshly made bed

or someone to pass you the soap in the shower

that's enough to make him feel in control again

and maybe listening to him tell you some riddles

maybe letting him give you a little lecture too

just until he feels soothed

arkham

laying still in complete silence

but obviously with your hand on him, just one hand though

no need to overdo it

anything more than that might be overwhelming

just a simple touch on his head or his chest

maybe holding his hand or stroking his arm

even just your hand curled round one of his fingers

no words, soft breathing

this is the only time he ever stops thinking about work or plans

it's nice to be able to decompress from everything

telltale

stoically against aftercare of any kind

either giving or receiving

because he doesn't need to be mollycoddled

and neither do you

that's what's wrong with every other generation

the constant need for reassurance and comfort

he never got any kind of comfort

no one ever told him he was the greatest

no one ever stopped to ask if he was ok

although, that might be nice... you should do it anyway, risk it!

unburied

aftercare is for pathetic, mewling little babies

so GOOD NEWS

because he is the most pathetic, mewling little baby!

and you better start cherishing him

praise, pets, pandering

everything good better be coming to him in spades

he deserves it after all, he did everything you asked

he did everything for you, look at his little pout

ideally though, his favourite form of aftercare is a promise

that you owe him one, and he can redeem it at any time

twojar

ok so he's not actually sure he needs aftercare

fuck, suck, gluck and then... duck?

not necessarily leave you all alone, or have you leave him

but a quick shower

something protein based to fuel him up

and he's good to go, either for the day or for another round

but uh, you can't go wrong with some ego boosting

it might be nice to lay together in the bed

pose for a few photos together

a memento of the time spent together that he can brag about

dano

you know when you get a puppy to do what you want it to do

that but instead of a proper puppy

it's a human puppy with big sad wet eyes looking up at you

so you break out the classics

a head ruffle, a stroke on the cheek

maybe a little pat on his soft tummy

and of course, a chorus of the following

"such a good boy" and "you are everything to me"

"thank you so much" and "that was perfect, you're perfect"

you'll know when to stop when he's silent and drooling

btaa

PRAISE but we need it big and loud and in copious amounts

whatever he's done for you, or whatever you've done for him

you better be parading around with a little horn

*toot toot* eddie is the greatest in bed *toot toot*

but i mean, if you're not willing to go all out like that

maybe just a simple hug would suffice

something that is gentle and understated

it's a bit of a contrast, but that's him all over

a riddle, an enigma, a conundrum

and having someone to help solve that would be lovely

young justice

another one in need of praise, but only a little bit

too much might overwhelm him

you'll have him all flustered and stressed

which is the exact opposite of the vibe we're going for

just enough that he believes you

but not so much that he thinks you're exaggerating

"you're a complete cutie" or "that was great" or "you were good"

that'll do, because his self-confidence levels...

well they won't really let him believe anything more than that

and the last thing he wants is to feel shitty after sex

[byronsmuse]

My mother made figs in wine— poached with cloves, sometimes a few peppercorns. Black figs, from our tree. And the wine was red, the pepper left a taste of smoke in the syrup. I used to feel I was in another country. Before that, there’d be chicken. In autumn, sometimes filled with wild mushrooms. There wasn’t always time for that. And the weather had to be right, just after the rain. Sometimes it was just chicken, with a lemon inside. She’d open the wine. Nothing special— something she got from the neighbors. I miss that wine—what I buy now doesn’t taste as good. I make these things for my husband, but he doesn’t like them. He wants his mother’s dishes, but I don’t make them well. When I try, I get angry— He’s trying to turn me into a person I never was. He thinks it’s a simple thing— you cut up a chicken, throw a few tomatoes into the pan. Garlic, if there’s garlic. An hour later, you’re in paradise. He thinks it’s my job to learn, not his job to teach me. What my mother cooked, I don’t need to learn. My hands already knew, just from smelling the cloves while I did my homework. When it was my turn, I was right. I did know. The first time I tasted them, my childhood came back. When we were young, it was different. My husband and I—we were in love. All we ever wanted was to touch each other. He comes home, he’s tired. Everything is hard—making money is hard, watching your body change is hard. You can take these problems when you’re young— something’s difficult for a while, but you’re confident. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll do something else. He minds summer most—the sun gets to him. Here it’s merciless, you can feel the world aging. The grass turns dry, the gardens get full of weeds and slugs. It was the best time for us once. The hours of light when he came home from work— we’d turn them into hours of darkness. Everything was a big secret— even the things we said every night. And slowly the sun would go down; we’d see the lights of the city come on. The nights were glossy with stars—stars glittered above the high buildings. Sometimes we’d light a candle. But most nights, no. Most nights we’d lie there in the darkness, with our arms around each other. But there was a sense you could control the light— it was a wonderful feeling; you could make the whole room bright again, or you could lie in the night air, listening to the cars. We’d get quiet after a while. The night would get quiet. But we didn’t sleep, we didn’t want to give up consciousness. We had given the night permission to carry us along; we lay there, not interfering. Hour after hour, each one listening to the other’s breath, watching the light change in the window at the end of the bed— whatever happened in that window, we were in harmony with it.

Louise Gluck, "Fig", from "A Village Life"

[howardpotts]

six: you got me like, oh

Love on the Brain - Masterlist in links

Pairing: MobBoss!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You’re just a student, living her normal daily life in New York. One night changes everything, without you even knowing. Steve Rogers slowly introduces you to his world full of money, drugs and violence. But are you able to handle what he has to offer?

Chapter warning: smuuuuuuuutttt!!!!

A/N:  Slowly but surely, this story will get finished. The last chapter will probably uploaded when I’m 52 years old.

You were waiting in the women's bathroom. You’d be lying if you’d say you weren’t nervous. The thing you’re about to do is pretty risky and public. But you try to not think about that. 

Your jacket feels even shorter than it felt an hour ago. Your nipples are already semi-hard, making the fabric of the BALMAIN jacket feel extra good on your breasts. That you’re not wearing any panties right now is a blessing, since they would��ve been soaked anyway.

Steve walks in and shuts the door behind him hastily, locking it swiftly. He looks at you with this big mischievous smile.

He isn’t giving you much time to talk, as his lips are already pushed on yours and his hands find their way to the end of the jacket he gave you. Your hands are already loosening his belt; you didn’t want to spend too much time here.

He squeezes your ass harshly, while he bites your lower lip. It’s amazing how turned on this man can get you in just a few seconds - even more than you were before. 

You undo his zipper too and pull his pants down and then check how hard he is for you. Turns out he’s already pretty hard; you can only imagine his underwear is very uncomfortable for him right now.

“Want me to suck your cock?”, you ask sultry as you watch him with hungry eyes. 

“Mm, yes babygirl”, he replies, releasing your ass immediately. It might be a bit fast, but you can’t waste any time in here. It won’t be long until other people would like to use the bathroom. 

You get on your knees and make sure that your cleavage is showing through the deep cut of the jacket. When you pull his underwear down, his cock springs out. God, you can’t believe this guy is so hung. Is there something that isn’t perfect about his body?

That question will have to wait for another time when you feel his right hand on the back of your head, suggesting for you to start. You first give his cock a lick from his shaft to the tip, swirling your tongue once around it. He groans lightly as he watches you. 

Slowly you take his cock into your mouth. Deeper and deeper with each trust you make, your lips firmly pressed on it. His fingers slightly grasp your hair. When you look up, you can see his lips in an ‘O’, his eyes drinking the sight of you taking his cock in. 

Taste of his precum slowly takes over in your mouth, his cock getting harder and more sensitive the more your lips stroke it. A little unplanned moan leaves your lips, vibration adding only more pleasure for Steve. Again you look up to him, and you can see how his pupils have turned darker; some kind of animalistic rage that was about to come out of him.

The tip of his cock is now in the back of your mouth. You’re letting yourself get used to his cock before you’re taking it into your throat. However - Steve is too impatient to wait. A second hand joins on your head, a groan comes out of his mouth. With a bit of force, he grabs your head tightly and pushes his cock further in. The first gag reflex shows itself right away.

He pulls himself out to let you breath for a literal second, before he gets his cock back in. The controlled and reserved Steve from the restaurant is gone, the beasty and wild Steve took over. This might sound insane, but you’re getting so turned on by how he manhandles you.

“Very good girl”, he hissed as he shoved his cock in and out of your mouth. A glucking sound is now echoing through the bathroom and your eyes are getting watery, while you still try and look at Steve. It seems like an impossible job, though, and so you close your eyes instead. 

He eases it a bit, giving your space to breath and to get yourself together again. Your nails were digged into his calves without you noticing, so you relaxed your fingers. He probably noticed how he went a little too hard for your body to handle. 

When he releases your head again, you pull his cock out of your mouth immediately and catch your breath again fully. 

“Are you okay, baby?”, he asks. You nod and get up op on your feet again.

“I like it how you use me”, you say with a coy smile, your hand again on his cock. One corner of his lips lift up, his eyes glister. You hope he gets the notion of you not minding him to throw you around.

“Then you’re in luck”, he says before he pushes you against the bathroom sink. “Because I’m about to use you like a little fucktoy.”

No one ever used that word on you. Hell, no one ever even said something close to it. It made you hot all over. It’s weird how you can turn from a confident woman to being all putty and submissive for him. 

He turns you around, his cock now grazing against your ass. His hand grabs your chin from behind and you look at him in the mirror.

“Keep watching”, he smirks. You nod excitedly. Have you ever seen yourself been fucked in the mirror? Definitely not like this, with a man like this.

His fingers slide over your pussy. It’s so wet, you almost feel embarrassed at how turned on you are. Slight moans leave your mouth as you lean your head against his chest. Still, you’re watching him and he watches you. It feels weirdly intense, even though you’re in a woman's bathroom of some restaurant.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, such a dirty girl”, he whispers in your ear as he slides two fingers in you with ease. The moans become a bit harder, but he shushes you softly. 

He pushes his fingers into you harshly once, before leaving your aching pussy and rubbing your clit for two seconds. Then he goes back to pushing his fingers into you with force, only to come back to your clit. This he keeps repeating, driving you crazy with lust. Something about this motion feels so incredibly good. 

Without warning, he slips a third finger into the motion. A hiss leaves you as you close your eyes, enjoying the sensation this movement gives you. 

A hand forms around your neck and squeezes it lightly, making you open your eyes again. “Keep watching for me.”

“Fuck me”, you whisper as you can feel yourself come closer to your orgasm.

“Beg me”, he answers. 

You look at him in the mirror, pleading eyes but still too stubborn to beg. His eyebrows knit together and he pushes his fingers in your pussy harshly again. But now, they stay there. You can feel them lightly crooking, hitting that spot. 

“I said, beg”, he roars, his voice low and stern. 

“Please”, you whisper, but clear your throat quickly.

“Please fuck me”, you now say more clearly and pleadingly. “Fuck me hard, please.”

You look at him with big puppy eyes. “I want to feel your cock so badly, please fuck me.”

As long as he’s not fucking you, you’ll beg for him to do so. You’ll keep saying things; hopefully the right things to make him go crazy. Would he like it if you called him ‘daddy’? Hm, maybe that’s for another time. 

“Please use me”, you now start, hoping the dirtier dirty talk will get him to fucking move, because all he’s been doing this entire time is smirking and cockily waiting for some more begging. “Fuck me however the fuck you want, I’m all yours. Just please, fuck me!”

“That’s more like it, babydoll”, he finally says. “As you wish.”

One hand pushes your back down, while the other slips between him and your. ass, guiding his cock to your dripping wet pussy. It slides in with ease. God, it feels great. Finally being filled up by him after waiting a long weekend. You’ve been using your vibrator, or maybe ‘abusing’ would be more fitting. Thinking about how his cock filled you up, wasn’t hard to orgasm to that fantasy.

But it feels even better than in your imagination. Last time you had sex, you were a bit intoxicated. But now you’re 100% sober and aware; and you also realise it feels bigger than you remembered it did. It stretches you, but not in a painful way, in a good way. 

He starts pushing, both of his hands now on your back to keep you low. You struggle to keep watching in the mirror, but you keep your head high and watch yourself before you watch him. He looks at you with animalistic eyes, before his eyes turn to your ass and where the two of you meet. He’s pumping harder and harder, you can’t keep silent anymore. Moans are flying over your lips. It’s like a motivation for him, every thrust gets harder. 

His shaft clashes to your ass. You put a hand on the mirror to keep yourself steady, your face now inches away from the glass. Even though you can’t look at him anymore, he doesn’t mind and you don’t either. It feels so fucking amazing, you don’t really care anymore on what you see or do, as long as this feeling sticks around.

“Fuck, babygirl, you feel so good”, he sighs. One hand grabs a hand full of hair and forces your head up again, the other hand smacks your ass one time before holding on to your hip. “I’m not going to last very long.”

“M-me neither”, you squirm. “Fucking me so good.”

“Yeah? You like it?”, he hisses. “Like having my cock in your pussy?” 

“Yes, god, yes.” The hand you placed on the mirror went from flat to a fist, showing him how you’re really close to your orgasm. You can feel it coming. “Please, don’t stop.”

“You gonna come for me?”, he grunts. “You gonna come like a good girl?”

“Fuck, yes Daddy!”

Oh shit. That’s not what i wante-

A big roar comes from behind you. Both his hand set on your hips, fucking your relentlessly. It’s like you unleashed something. Mother-fucking-yes.

Your whole body starts to tingle, knees are getting weak. The orgasm washes over you and you welcome it. You want to watch Steve, but you can’t get your head high enough. Moans leave your mouth, but you’re not sure how charming they are; but hell, you don’t really fucking care right now. 

“Shit, shit, shit, fuck”, you moan. 

Steve grabs your hair once again. “I’m gonna come-”

“Please, give me your cum”, you plead to help him to his orgasm. Should you say ‘Daddy’ again? That might actually be a bit too much.

“I want your cum”, you beg as you gain a bit of your strength again and watch him in the mirror. It’s a bit foggy, but you can still see him. “Give me your fucking cum.”

Your words sent him over the edge. His pace falters as he leans forward. A little smirk is on your face. It never fails to fill yourself with pride if you make a guy come for you. It gives you this sense of power; especially with a man like Steve. His hips stutter as he fills your pussy with his cum. 

His head lifts, almost like a sign that his orgasm is over. You smile at him through the mirror, he gives you a little smirk back. But he doesn’t leave. His cock is still in your pussy and he’s not making an attempt to get it out.

“I want you to be filled with my cum while we eat our dessert”, he says with a smug face.

“I thought I was dessert”, you comment quickly.

“Now don’t get bratty with me”, he says as he slaps your ass. He finally gets out of you. 

You both clean up pretty quickly, the only fixing was your hair. 

When you get back at the table, your face couldn’t turn more red when some waiter looks at you a bit confused. You just grabbed the menu in front of you, acting like you were way too busy reading whatever desserts they had to offer.

“Any dessert”, the waitress asks. 

Steve looks at you with a most innocent face. “We’ll have some tiramisu, two spoons please.”

It tasted deliciously, but Steve kept eyeing you, which in turn makes your cheeks turn bright red. Whenever you saw a lady walking to the bathroom, all you could think was what you just did in there. It can’t be possible to not notice the smell or the foggy mirror - with a handmark on it.

“It was a lovely evening”, you tell him as you get your coats - wait, no, he gets his coat. You were wearing yours the entire time. 

“Was?”, he says. “Did you think I was planning on bringing you home now? The evening is young, sweetheart.”

Love on the Brain taglist:

@mcueveryday  @mschellehitt  @thamuddagirl @hcwkward @buckysthot @what-if-i-am-weird @ornella0910 @steeeeverogers @babygirl-htx @estillion14 @my-super-musical-life @tranquil--heart @golddaggers @swanlakemikey @notyourtypicalrose @lollipopdomination  @star-spangledstud @tenaciousperfectionunknown @redstarsss @new-romanticz1989

Permanent Taglist:

@kitkatd7​

[sometimes-legal-blonde]

University of California, Riverside- hacks

so, when I first sent in my SIR to UC Riverside- I had not a clue what to expect from coming to this school. I didn’t hear a lot about their theatre department, I was nervous about greek life, I was anxious about finding a job, finding my way finding roommates, etc, etc. 

I scoured the internet, Pinterest, Tumblr, Reddit(which was honestly the best source) for real student opinions of what it’s like to go here. and I didn’t find much.

Since I am finishing my first year at UCR, I figure I will write out ALL the essentials and pass them down to you, reader, to be able to conquer UCR, make a solid college choice, and know what to expect. 

ORIENTATION

so highlander orientation is a mandatory thing. It’s a good thing too- you really start to understand the school and the people and the vibe. you learn the campus and how to get around. you meet really dope people. 

~You need to register for the earliest one you can find~

I am saying this because you register for classes at orientation. I went to the last orientation and didn’t even get into a major related LC. It sucked. 

You also need to take placement tests BEFORE you go to orientation so you know WHAT to register for. Spanish? Math? English? find a UC and take your test to get it done. It’s super helpful. 

It is HOT. Bring water. Bring good shoes (i walked 10 miles one day!). Bring a portable charger. 

MOVE IN.

it’s hard. + exhausting. +scary. + exciting. I’m from the bay so i had a long way to go with tons of stuff and it sucked. It was also super emotional for my family and so that’s draining. Just be ready for that. Get there EARLY. If your move in says 2pm, honestly you could get there at 1. Get the good closet + dresser + bed. snooze ya lose. 

GREEK LIFE

So I knew before coming to UCR i wanted to rush a sorority. It has honestly been such a great thing for me. Greek life at UCR isn’t everything. It doesn't define your life if you do/don’t rush- you can still be in a social scene without it. BUT- it IS really amazing if you do choose to rush. 

If you are considering rushing~

- bring cute clothes! you need like cute outfits for all the days of rush + things that make you look cute and happy and make you feel good about yourself. 

- follow the sororities on Instagram and get a little familiar with them. so when you go to the houses you kindof know what you’re getting into. 

- do NOT feel pressured to go to a certain house because of a reputation or because of a friend you’re rushing with. Find YOUR home, somewhere YOU love and that you feel like you’ll be so happy at. These are the girls you’ll have sleepovers with and cry about boys but also go to dances and banquets and parties with. find your right spot.

when you rush

get INVOLVED in your CHAPTER. Getting involved immediately made me feel more at home with the girls. Do the bake sales, go to LETTERS!! play moonball, anchor splash, do your volunteer hours with them. It makes it so much more fun and you love the girls so much more. 

Theatre, Film, and Digital Production

so my major is TFDP with an emphasis in acting and directing. I always loved stage and it is where I see my success but this program is really versatile and has you work on both. It’s a GREAT department. I LOVE the staff, people, and opportunities. GET INVOLVED. If you are a theatre major you NEED to be auditioning, working crew, meeting professors, going to coffee with the fourth years, and learning all you can from one another, There are SO many resources on campus. here are a few that helped me:

- R’ Shorts (a film club on campus! audition for their stuff)

- ALL THAT JAZZ MUSICAL THEATRE (I founded this club, we do musical theatre stuff and masterclasses, its GREAT)

- Latina Play Project/Model Minority (both theatre groups that work so hard and do great shows!)

-GLUCK (get paid to do IMPROV)

- and honestly just auditioning for everything on campus!! The department itself does fall play, winter musical/winter film, and a spring production as well. Also, there are a lot of other ways to get involved in the department- there is ALWAYS something going on. 

In my experience, getting involved with people in the theatre department was the best thing I did for myself because everyone is SO kind and generous and wants you to succeed. 

CONCERTS

UCR throws amazing- AMAZING concerts. The lineups are great, the food is great, the photo opps are great, the pregames/after parties are GREAT. Just go, have a great time, and enjoy yourself. 

CLASSES

so like usually college is where we go to do school and stuff- and classes are HARD(for certain majors). I’m TFDP/Dance but I still have to take breadth and do the whooole shebang so here are a few tips to boost your GPA (even tho C’s get degrees).

1. RATE MY PROFESSOR! LISTEN TO IT!! DO NOT TAKE POORLY RATED CLASSES! SRLSLY

2. Taking a class C/NC is not the end of the world. If it is going to tank your GPA- DONT DO IT FOR A LETTER GRADE. there is a form online that allows you to CNC until i think week 8?

3. take a dance practice class for an EASY A and a GPA boost. My first quarter I took 2 dance practices before I declared dance and bc I literally SHOWED UP i got an A. People who don’t dance take these classes! Take beginning ballet or beginning hip hop. or spanish dance. literally any beginning course will be easy and fun. 

4. Study rooms are orbach are coveted during finals week. reserve in ADVANCE. 

5. 1st floor orbach- loud. 2nd floor orbach- silent. 3rd floor orbach- greek. 

6. if youre desperate- go on reddit and make a post about a certain class. reddit has saved me a few times honestly. hidden gem. 

7. GO TO OFFICE HOURS FOR YOUR TA’s. THEY ARE THE ONES GRADING YOU, SO IF YOU NEED SOMETHING AND THEY KNOW YOU- YOU’LL GET IT. I always had my Hist TA look at my papers before turning them in and one time my paper got submitted wrong and she let me resubmit and saved my ass. Literally just because I asked questions and was on her good side. 

RIVERSIDE THINGS

+back to the grind coffehouse in downtown is open really late, good coffee, and it’s cute. it’s cash only tho. 

+iced coffee from Lee’s sandwiches works better than adderall sometimes. it’s cheap and amazing. 

+$1 tacos at the taco place on university next to asian fusion/walgreens

+ding tea is supreme, roasting waters is shitty boba(but good smoothies) with cool, reusable, glasses, boba tea house is the closest walk to campus, but Ten Ren’s is the BEST for studying. 

+ontario airport is closest to UCR. 

+everyone raves. so EDM is huge. 

+you don’t need a bike to get around campus. I walked everywhere. It was great. it takes 15 minutes TOPS to get from one side to the other. 

+taps works harder than the devil

+inkhouse tattoos in moreno valley is $35 tattoos on Tuesdays and 1/2 off piercings. 

+riverside is pretty sketchy in some parts. Make sure you stay with people if you’re exploring at night.

+THE SRC HAS FREE MASSAGES SOME DAYS.

+UCR is in the shape of a circle. if you get lost, go to the belltower and work from there. people are really helpful. 

+if you have to take an 8am, take it your first year when you live on campus. and take it your first quarter. after winter, you lose your will to LIVE...

+if you get shitty classes, try to register again 2nd pass. It’s worth a shot!!!!

+if you can’t get any classes you need, SHOW UP TO THE LECTURE AND ASK TO BE ADDED. 

[mtraki]

Nobody was surprised when Arthur decided to bow out and return to camp.  When it became clear that the evening was turning into a social affair at the saloon— complete with poker tournaments in one corner, loud betting over arm-wrestling in another, and Hosea and Dutch in the center, playing up the crowd with their cons and stories— hardly anyone paid any mind when the big outlaw pushed away from the bar, adjusted the hat on his head, and indicated to his companions that he was leaving for the night.

He wasn’t surprised, really, when nobody followed him.  He made even poorer company than usual after Tumbleweed and then Donald.  There was a lot to think about, and he was tired of thinking about it.  Unfortunately, lucrative jobs were starting to dry up as folks started hunkering down to prepare for winter.  Trains and stage schedules grew sparse as the weather worsened up north, and better guarded as reports made it back to the companies about the robberies.   That was part of the reason why most of the gang was here in town tonight, fishing up new and better leads for a few last jobs before they too planned to button-up for the winter.  Hosea was fishing around, itching ears, for details about some complaints concerning real-estate in the area.  Grifters maybe.  Hosea always did prefer robbing other crooks, assuming it could be done without violence.  He was planning to enlist Arthur’s aide, too, once he had a better idea of which direction to take it.  Arthur was fine with the idea.  But until then, he had too little to do, and too much he didn’t want to think about. He was in no mood for a big noisy crowd, especially as he’d have to stay sober so as to avoid a scene, so it was really better he left.  Nobody minded. Nobody was surprised. What did surprise folk was that Catherine had elected not to accompany Jenny and the other girls into town, and instead stayed behind with Pearson, Strauss, the badly hungover Reverend, Abigail, and Jack.  She was helping the boy practice his reading while his mother took some much needed time for herself.  Arthur heard them on his way to his tent, searching for something to do to occupy himself.  Writing or sketching didn’t suit his current mood.  He needed something to focus on… Something besides all the dark corners he didn’t want to inspect in his own head. Something besides the ever-increasing tangle he’d wound up in concerning Miss Schofield…

“… ‘no… body… else would…v…ven…ven’…?”

“What’s the next letter?”

“… ‘t’?…” The boy answered, confused but not yet frustrated, “and then a… ‘u’… and… a ‘r’… and a ‘e’.  ‘Ven…too…ree?’”

“That’s pretty close.  You say it ‘venture’.  Do you know what it means, Jack?”

“No.”

“It means ‘to go out and try something risky’.  Sometimes it can also mean ‘something risky being tried’.”

“Both?”

“Yes.  Here, Gluck is saying ‘nobody else would venture to knock a double-knock at the door’.  Meaning nobody would go and try to do it. But if someone did decide to go and try, it would be their venture to do it.  But that second meaning isn’t used too often anymore.  It’s an old word.  Do you know what word is used more often instead?”

“…What?”

“’Adventure’.”

“I know that word!  I know what that means!”

“You do?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, do you suppose Gluck is going to have one?”

“No,” Jack told her emphatically, “He’s just sitting in his house.  Nobody has an adventure in a house.”

“Are you sure?” Catherine replied, “What if an adventure is coming to find him?”

“…Is it?!”

“Well… I guess we’ll have to read more and find out.”

Catherine had noticed from her peripheral that Arthur had returned early and stalked to his tent.  She also noticed when he came back out again and gathered up all the longarms used for camp guard duty.  Moments later, she noticed when he looked around, as if torn about where to go next. Daylight was starting to fade and of the two campfires, both were occupied: the main one by Jack and herself, and the other by the Reverend. Jack noticed him too. “Uncle Arthur!” He called out, “What are you doing?”

“Don’t mind me, Jack.  I’m just gonna clean these.”

“… All of them?” The boy pressed, little face scrunching in a mix of confusion and disgust, “Why?”

“Needs doin’ is all.” The big outlaw answered back, distracted, watching the silhouette of the Reverend like he was willing him to disappear somewhere else.

Jack seemed to think about this a moment, then said, “… I’m reading with Miss Schofield.”

Nodding to himself, Arthur’s response was little more than a mumble, “I heard. Yer doin’ a good job.  You shouldn’t let me disturb you…”

“You’re not a disturbance at all, Mister Morgan,” Catherine said quietly, “provided you take a seat so we aren’t left desperately wondering what you’re after.”

He looked at her, expression carefully tucked into something unreadable and guarded, “… I-I don’ want to interrupt.”

Smiling in response, she saw the realization in his eyes that he was already an interruption, and was, in fact, only prolonging his interruption.  The outlaw looked away and moved to one side of the campfire to settle and clear a workspace without another word.

“What do you think, Jack?” Catherine prompted, regaining his attention.

He looked up at her and made a face, “… Cleaning guns is boring.”

She was forced to disguise her laugh with a delicate cough, then shook her head, “About Gluck and the knock at the door, I meant.”

“Who is it?”

“Let’s see…”

Their voices, and whatever book the pale-eyed lady was having Jack read, faded from the forefront of Arthur’s attention as he got to work.  It was an ideal sort of task— just detailed enough to require his attention, but familiar enough, too, that his mind could settle in an inactive fashion, and not pester him with nagging thoughts.  Flushing barrels with kerosene before brushing them out.  Scrubbing hammers and chambers.  Wiping everything down before applying the gun oil.  On the road or in the saddle, a quick dab of oil here, and a quick wipe down there could mean the difference between an accurate shot and a malfunction— and ending up on the wrong end of a bullet— but it was good to take the time now and again to break the guns down and give them a real cleaning.

Jack was right: it was boring work.  That’s why nobody had bothered to do it in awhile (if the state of these repeaters was any testament).  But it was just the sort Arthur needed now.

Catherine closed the book, smiling indulgently as Jack scampered off— she could only hold his attention for so long before the boy succumbed to the demands of all his youthful energy. Off he went to play, leaving the adults to their boring chores and the mysteries of unfinished books.  Uninterested in finishing the fairy-tale on her own, the lady instead turned her pale gaze over to the outlaw, intending to only give a quick glance to verify that his attention was on his task instead of elsewhere, but then found her interest piqued. Arthur’s hands moved with practiced skill, and his attention on his work, eyes hooded, brow creased, nose slightly scrunched.  His mouth worked, seemingly thoughtlessly, full lips pressing tightly together before slipping open as he tilted his head to better inspect the carbine in his hands.

She was helplessly transfixed, and something fluttery beneath her breast started to race. How peculiar… Fighting back the smirk that threatened to curl at her lips, as well as the blush which was wanting to bloom in her cheeks— though unsure how well she succeeded against either— Catherine shifted in her seat to lean a bit nearer him, resting her weight on a hand that dropped near her hip. The big man must have noticed her movement toward him— as he had not seemed to notice her staring until that moment— and spoke up without shifting his attention from his work, “… Somethin’ you need, miss?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted some help with that.”

“No, thank you.”

Now the smirk was irresistible, “That’s alright, I wasn’t sure I wanted to help anyway.  It’d be more difficult to enjoy your face if you gave me something to do…”

“… Enjoy what?” His entire expression scrunched, not sure he’d heard her correctly.

Leaning further still, Catherine answered, “Your face.  You make the most delightful facial expressions when you’re concentrating on something.”

Working his jaw, Arthur resolutely did not lift his eyes to look at her, even though his hands paused in their task while he exhaled slowly out his nose, “… I ain’t of a mind to be played with today, miss.” He told her.

“… I’ll forgive you your assertion that I’d do you the disservice of treating you in such a way,” She answered, hiding her smile behind her rounded shoulder, “Surely you are aware I have only the highest respect for your profound stodginess.”

Arthur wasn’t sure he knew what she was talking about, but regardless he determined to put it out of his mind and refocus on his work.  He hoped she’d find something else to occupy herself with and leave off of him. He should have known better that he’d be better off setting down over with the Reverend instead… The pale-eyed lady quieted, but Arthur couldn’t quite ignore her and concentrate fully as he had before, knowing he was in her sights.  Was she still looking at him— at his face, she’d said?  He noticed immediately when she scoot closer.

“Miss, this is what I was saying,” He grumbled at her, “I know you can find somethin’ better to do than toy with me…”

“Do you want me to leave you alone, Mister Morgan?”

“It’s for the best…”

“I don’t agree, but if it’s what you’d prefer, then I’ll do so if you do something for me.”

Catherine watched him sigh, “What’s that, then?”

“… If we’re to bargain, Mister Morgan, you really ought to look at me like a man, don’t you think?” She frowned.

Cautiously, and a little begrudgingly, the big outlaw stilled his hands and turned his head to look at her, “… Well?  What you want to get you to let me work in peace, woman?”

“… I want you to give up your share of the blame for Tumbleweed,” She told him quietly, meeting his impatient gaze, “I want you to lay it at my feet.”

He held her look, searching her eyes, her expression, then shook his head and looked back at his hands, “It don’t work like that…”

“It absolutely does if you permit it to, sir.” He heard her contradict, “Simply accept that I took advantage of your… disorientation.”

“… That ain’t what happened.”

“Isn’t it?” Catherine allowed the sly smile.

“No.”

She sighed, “You seem awfully sure…”

“… You said you wouldn’t use me…”

It caught her off guard, admittedly.  She remembered that night, though apparently their conversation had lingered longer in his thoughts than hers.  She’d meant it then, in a way, and hadn’t meant it in others.

That was the usefulness of words— they could be twisted and shaped so easily by one who knew how… and she certainly did know. “… I did say that.”

He nodded and started working again, “… You must be gettin’ desperate.  Even I can see what yer doin’…”

“What is it that I'm doing?”

Instead of answering, he only shook his head again, “It won’t work…”

“Won’t it?” Catherine mused, then adjusted her skirts to scoot all the way over to him, until they were shoulder to shoulder.  She was pressing close, so that the tip of her nose almost touched his when he turned to look at her— even though he’d tried to flinch away.

She watched the recognition and acceptance of her challenge scramble across his expression, and so she was not surprised when he finally elected not to retreat from her.

“… What really happened in Tumbleweed?” He asked instead, voice little more than a whisper.

He’d been trying to figure it out all this time on his own.  He didn’t have the answers.  Not by himself, anyway.

The vulnerable sincerity in his question sent that fluttering thing into a dizzying panic, bashing itself recklessly against all her ribs and sending her guts into knots.  Her first instinct was to reject it— to laugh and answer in a light tone that all that had really happened in Tumbleweed was that he’d lost his temper after a very short, likely fairly poor bit of handiwork.

It was all but on her lips— the laugh and smile.  The easy, playful tone, and matter-of-fact words.

But his eyes were on hers, and she could not watch him close himself off again after opening himself this way to her.  She could not betray his trust and see what it looked like in the aftermath…

When had she become so sensitive to him?  When had his feelings begun to mean anything to her? And they did; why else was she willing to play the villainess to expunge his guilt? Was his avoidance of her so galling that she’d rather he hate her instead?  Or was she simply trying to make him commit to one or the other— either fully avoid her and leave off arranging nice things for her, or give up his avoidance and let her return to his good graces? … Since when had she invested so much of her energy into what Arthur Morgan thought and felt for her?

 Run.  He’ll chain you if you don’t.  Run.  Run!

That soothsayer had said she would be betrayed and lose everything she’d hoped to gain.  From the very beginning, the purpose of this entire enterprise was to secure her own freedom.  So she’d laughed at the portents, because Catherine wasn’t foolish enough to gamble her freedom by entrusting it to another now that she’d slipped Dutch van der Linde’s leash.  She couldn’t— didn’t— trust anybody that much. … But then that meant the only one to betray her would be herself…

With a gasp, the lady suddenly drew back.  Arthur bit his tongue to keep from the reflex of asking after her— it was written all over her face for just a few spare moments.  Abrupt, naked emotion in her gently parted lips and the blood in her cheeks, pale eyes wide. “… I-I’m not… sure.” She said quickly, “… Excuse me.”

The outlaw was not surprised to see her go, but it still took a little while to regather himself and resume his work on the guns.

[carrotnosewitch]

feeling blah? check your space. (long step-by-step)

my husband, who is probably the smartest and most spiritually awesome person i’ve ever known, has been trying to instill this kind of mental acuteness within me for years. sometimes i remember it, sometimes i forget. sometimes i remember it but it’s a high pain day. y’know how it is.

this is a little things kind of thing at first. a lot of my time is spent in front of my computer and a lot of it is spent on the sofa or in bed. but wherever i am, i try to keep my surrounding area clean.

why? well let me explain, both in a spiritual way, and for practical reasons.

in a small space, like my desk and on my side table of my bed, it’s imperative to feel open and spacious. if my side table or desk gets cluttered, i feel claustrophobic, or overwhelmed by Stuff. even if it’s things that are there to give me positive thoughts. If there are too many, it’s time to declutter.

a lot of people (anxiety sufferers, a-spec folks, adhd people) have this thing that makes them block out things that stick around for a while. things that stay in a static place for too long become background noise, but they give a feeling of clutter. it also sucks when you’re looking around you and you’re hit with a wave of knowing it’s there to make you feel better, but you’ve gotten mentally weary of that exact thing that’s been there for a long time.

So, go over this checklist with me.

 Things up on the wall near you. How long has it been there? Is it helping? Is it mental/visual clutter? If it’s not stimulating it you how it should, it’s time to take it down.

Your horizontal space beside you. Does it have a bunch of unnecessary clutter? Are there things in that space that don’t have any important or special reason for being there? If you can, remove all the clutter, and re-arrange the important things to suit your space better. Don’t move things you have a reflex of it being there. (Y’know. tissue boxes, meds, your tablet pen, etc) 

Your outer bubble. Are there things in your immediate area beyond where you’re sitting which is distracting you or making you feel nervous, claustrophobic, or overwhelmed? Do your best to find a solution to this problem. Clean up, brighten the area, and put something there that helps you relax. 

Another big help is getting your whole area clean. Don’t push yourself to do everything at once. Take your time to do a little here and there, don’t rush yourself or stress yourself out about it. This is an in-depth reason for keeping things clean, how to feel super accomplished even in the littlest tasks, and respecting your own area. Here’s YA BIG ASS LIST.

Your bedroom: Clothes. are there dirty clothes around you, or clean clothes that haven’t been put away? Do yourself a favor and unclutter this first. Take all the dirty clothes you’ve been tripping over and sort them into light and dark piles. Put those light and dark piles. now you can start putting your clothes away. how i do this is i sort my clean clothes by what they are and which drawer they go. then i fold them and put them away. it gives me a chance to stretch and pop my back between the steps. And that’s like, six whole steps. now you’ve got two clean baskets (presumably) that you can use to put your dark and lights into for easier laundry. This is usually the worst and most draining job of the bedroom. break it into easy to do steps. drink some water while you’re doing it, just to make sure your joints aren’t getting tired while sorting and folding and putting away! Dishes. Are there any dishes in your room? Even if they’re stinky and weird, bring them into your kitchen. Get a clean glass for your water. Hey! that only took a few minutes, I’m sure. Give yourself a rest. A+ cleaning, and I’m not being condescending. That’s a great job! Garbage. I’m sure you’ve got some papers or snack wrappers, or drink cans/bottles/disposable cups. go from the door of your room with a plastic bag, gather stuff up as you pass by it. bring that out of your room, and suddenly you don’t feel like you live in a landfill. Bedding. How long have you been sleeping in between the same top cover and sheet? When’s the last time you changed out your pillowcase? It’s time for a change. remove them, throw them in a pile, and put some clean ones on. If you don’t have other ones, wash those and once they’re dry, put them back on. You’ll feel cleaner and get to sleep better. Clutter. Hell, this is me all over. I’ve got too much cool stuff and paperwork cluttering my shelves. I follow the six month rule with paperwork, clothes, and useful stuff that barely gets use. Are you going to need it or use it within six months? If no, get rid of it or pack it away. Bring the clothes to your local thrift store if you can. If you’ve got decorations that have gotten dusty or grimy, take one of your bored days to clean them up. not only will you be doing something that makes you happy, but it’ll make your room far less apt to accrue negative energy. Your knickknacks bring you joy. Treat them respectfully! Floor: Vacuum. get the dust, dead skin, and whatever else up out of there. Side note: If you are having bad dreams, there’s a few neato things you can do to help you sleep. Some people swear by amethyst under your pillow. Some others suggest other stones. idk about y’all but stones under my pillow are somehow worse than troubles with dreams or sleep. I prefer sachets for in your pillowcase. even if you aren’t the best at sewing, you can do this. Just get a tiny white fabric baggie. whatever works for you. Just make sure it’s secure, so the herbs don’t get loose and make your bed an itchfest. lavender is the primary scent people go with, though I’m not the biggest on that scent. anise is another one that works, because this is silly but true: it’s shaped like a star. cedar, since the middle ages, has been thought to cure persistent nightmares, and open you to lucid dreaming. jasmine is such an awesome flower and scent, so mellow and enchanting. i’d suggest this because of its calming and kind vibe. find dried jasmine and add it to the bag. there’s a ridiculous many herbs worth exploring here. If you want to get spicy with it, I suggest adding a sigil or even an amulet of the one you want to look over you in your sleep. I use an amulet of the archangel Gabriel, who presides over dreams and sleep.

Your Bathroom: Your area rugs. These little buggers need to be washed. They’re usually made of fabric. Fabric that hangs out in your dampest room, no less. You probably don’t think of it often, but mildew is not a good thing for your health, and those things get mildew like crazy. Time for the washer and dryer again! Your towels and washcloths. How long has that washcloth been chilling there? Okay, if it dries and becomes a stiff nasty mess? Time to switch them out. Towels (especially hand towels) need to be washed frequently, too. Not only because the mildew thing is still y’know. a thing. but you deserve to be cleaned by clean things. it’s better for your body, and it’s so good for your spirit, to know that you’re doing right by yourself. Your place you keep things. You know, that place you keep your products, makeup, whatever. Is it in disarray on a messy shelf or counter? Time to fix that up! Set all those things aside, clean the surface they’ve been chilling on. Then you can get things sorted and aligned. Did you know straight lines are satisfying? Try it. Also if you have a candle in there, just light it for a little bit. Not only is it trés romantic and luxurious, but it burns the stank out of there, not just physically, but otherwise, as well.  Your toilet. Not only the bowl. The bottomside of the seat, and the hinges that attach the seat and lid. and back behind those hinges, where the shitter meets the tank. Goodbye stink goblins! Also bye that general gross feeling.  Your tub. You dissociate there a lot, think your thoughts, and get clean, but that means your dead skin, hair, and oils are all over that. I personally use either orange cleaning solution or magic erasers, and those fucking rock that shit out. Oh, don’t forget to de-hair your drain. Gross nasty gluck. Personally, my mom told me to stop associating those oils, hair, and all that other stuff with yourself. (and nail clippings.) This makes sure you don’t wind up getting hexed. (Those nail clippings and that nasty hair can VERY easily be used in a hex bag.)  Your sink and mirror. First off, how the hell are you going to take bathroom selfies if this makes you always internally go “yikes”, and not at yourself. Scrub the toothpaste grit from around and in the sink. Side note: If you don’t like what you see when you look in the mirror, you can set rose incense near the mirror, use that hypothetical bathroom candle, and turn the light off. Speak into the mirror, “I am the best me so far.” or something similar. Remind yourself that you are okay, no matter what kind of imperfections you think are there. You are incredible. Nobody’s seeing your flaws because they’re too busy fretting about their own. It’s cool. you’re cool.  Floor. while those stinky area rugs are out and on their way to the large cloth water vortex, take a minute to sweep. Envision yourself sweeping away not only the garbage and grut, but the anxiety and bad feelings. Dustpan, garbage, good. Trash. I left this for last. You’ve got a lot of stuff you’ll need thrown out.  If you use a plastic shopping bag in a tiny little garbage pail like i do, it’s time to clean it out. If you’re also a nasty bitch like me, you’ve gotta also put the stuff that missed the garbage can in there too. Go take that to your main trash to go out with you next time you leave your place. Well now your bathroom is flawless and won’t make you subconsciously make you anxious. You’ve got things looking like they’re almost meant to like, exist in the fictional world Jenna Marbles apparently lives. 

Kitchen: Fridge: Clean out all the nasty shit. Wipe it down. Put the containers over near the sink to wash. Dishes. Do you have piles of these nasty bitches fucking up your day, every time you go on a raid for sustenance? First step is to gather them, then take your time for each step. Wash them. Put them away. As you do this, speak to yourself, chant to yourself, or just think to yourself, that by cleaning these, you are doing right and fair to your body. a clean dish is a healthy dish. a clean pan is a pan that will cook happy foods. This whole room is capable of so much, and can do so much for your joy and health.  Sink. After you’re done cleaning the dishes, you can unstink your sink. Again, I’m all about that orange solution, but if you like another scent that makes you feel energized, go for it. This is the part of the kitchen that shares like, a third of the work. This is where all the negative and gross goes. Down the drain both physically and emotionally. Get the fuck out of here, nasty! Counters. Just wipe them down until they’re not nasty and crumb-laden and have spatters on them. tell them that they’re going to do great things for you. If you’re a kitchen witch, you’re making all your cool shit on them. Stove/microwave/the heaty thingy. Ungrut it. our friend the stovetop is the unfortunate victim of nasty cooked on things. So is our screwy science friend, the microwave. Scrubby dubby! sometimes you’ll need to soak ‘em. Whatever makes it easier for you.  Floor. It’s time to sweep! again, take that broom and use it, not just to get rid of sugar, cereal and even the dried corns nibblets that fell under the fridge, but the negative energies. again, be firm about it. Fuck outta here, dark spookies! carefully pour the stuff in your garbage. Ya Cabinets. Before you pull out the mop and bucket, don’t forget the surfaces of the cabinets. A Happier kitchen is a kitchen that doesn’t tell you the story of the ill-begotten incident of the chicken parm. You see that squidge of marinara on the cabinet door and have been annoyed by it since it was made. Time to get it gone.  All the while, think about the things these cabinets have seen. All the weird utensils you never use that live in this drawer. The fondue machine you bought with the aspirations of having a 70s night get together, as told to you by that very convincing guy at IKEA. Think of all these cool things in your kitchen. Focus on the positive moments you’ve spent in here. Picture the future of this kitchen. And thank it for the memories to come. Floor 2: Slippery Boogaloo. Mop and bucket time!!! No seriously if you don’t like mopping, idk what to say. Do your kitchen a solid and scrub away all that nasty crap that didn’t make it into the dust pan. Once you’re done and it’s drying, feel fucking awesome about a job well done.  Side note: Hey y’know what kicks ass in a kitchen? The scent of the season. A lot of people get down with the welsh calendar, and that’s a great way of cycling through the seasons comfortably for people. then there’s the regular four seasons, but do it how you want. It’s imbolc as of the time I’m writing this. I personally love cinnamon and sandalwood, since they’re both wonderfully warm scents, to balance out the wintry shivers of the outside. You can use essence oils, or like, airwicks, or candles, or even make a wreath with those fun things in there that are aromatic on one of your walls. 

Living room Seriously, all these hot takes can be used in the living room now. Clean under and between the couch cushions. clean your decorations. declutter. Remember the good times as you clean. And then to cleanse it of all the gross energies, do what you do. Use white and sweet flower/herb scents to reset the most important room of your house’s energies.  Side note: If you want to keep your stuff from disappearing, place a pin safely deep under your couch/chair cushion. This is called pinning the devil. you’re literally pinning down whatever it is that’s keeping you from finding - or straight up disappearing - your stuff. If you have guardians - decorations of animals of some sort - make sure they have a full spy of the room. I prefer putting one on each corner of the room so everything can be seen. This makes sure the energy you want in your home is respected. If someone has bad intentions, this will give off a vibe of them being unwelcome and feel your guardians’ eyes on them. If they’re someone that you appreciate, and you feel comfortable around, these guardians will keep things nice for you and give your home a welcoming feeling. don’t forget to dust them. 

[peter2filmteljes]

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Rendező: Will Gluck Forgatókönyvíró: Will Gluck, Patrick Burleigh, Beatrix Potter Szereplők: Margot Robbie, Domhnall Gleeson, Rose Byrne, James Corden, David Oyelowo Bea, Thomas és a nyulak egy igazán különleges családot alkottak meg, de valahogy Péter még a legnagyobb erőfeszítései ellenére sem tudja levetkőzni korábbi rossz hírnevét. Miután.

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Its somewhat ironic that a movie about time travel can’t be reviewed properly until your future self rewatches the movie. It’s bold of Nolan to make such a thoroughly dense blockbuster. He assumes people will actually want to see ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő more than once so they can understand it properly, which some may not. This movie makes the chronology of Inception look as simplistic as tic-tac-toe. Ergo, it’s hard for me to give an accurate rating, without having seen it twice, as I’m still trying to figure out whether everything does indeed make sense. If it does, this movie is easily a 9 or 10. If it doesn’t, it’s a 6. It’s further not helped by the fact that the dialogue in the first 15 minutes of the movie is painfully hard to understand / hear. Either they were behind masks; they were practically mumbling; the sound effects were too loud; or all of the above. The exposition scenes are also waayyy too brief for something this complex — a problem also shared with Interstellar actually. (Interstellar had this minimalist exposition problem explaining Blight, where if you weren’t careful, you’d miss this one sentence / scene in the entire movie explaining that Blight was a viral bacteria: “Earth’s atmosphere is 80% nitrogen, we don’t even breathe nitrogen. Blight does, and as it thrives, our air gets less and less oxygen”). I guess it’s a Nolan quirk. Hopefully, a revision of the film audio sorts the sound mixing out. I do like the soundtrack, but it’s too loud initially. I liked all the actors. You think John Washington can’t act at first, but he can, and he grows on you as the film progresses. And Pattinson is his usual charming self. Elizabeth is a surprise treat. And so on. Its worth a watch either way. See it with subtitles if you can. And definitely don’t expect to fully understand whats going on the first time around. Its one hell of a complicated film. It will be very hard for an average viewer to gather all the information provided by this movie at the first watch. But the more you watch it, more hidden elements will come to light. And when you are able to put these hidden elements together. You will realize that this movie is just a “masterpiece” which takes the legacy of Christopher Nolan Forward If I talk about acting, Then I have to say that Robert Pattinson has really proved himself as a very good actor in these recent years. And I am sure his acting skills will increase with time. His performance is charming and very smooth. Whenever he is on the camera, he steals the focus John David Washington is also fantastic in this movie. His performance is electrifying, I hope to see more from him in the future. Other characters such as Kenneth Branagh, Elizabeth, Himesh Patel, Dimple Kapadia, Clémence Poésy have also done quite well. And I dont think there is a need to talk about Michael Caine Talking about Music, its awesome. I dont think you will miss Hans Zimmer’s score. Ludwig has done a sufficient job. There is no lack of good score in the movie Gotta love the editing and post production which has been put into this movie. I think its fair to say this Nolan film has focused more in its post production. The main problem in the movie is the sound mixing. Plot is already complex and some dialogues are very soft due to the high music score. It makes it harder to realize what is going on in the movie. Other Nolan movies had loud BGM too. But Audio and dialogues weren’t a problem My humble request to everyone is to please let the movie sink in your thoughts. Let your mind grasp all the elements of this movie. I am sure more people will find it better. Even those who think they got the plot. I can bet they are wrong. ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő is the long awaited new movie from Christopher Nolan. The movie that’s set to reboot the multiplexes post-Covid. It’s a manic, extremely loud, extremely baffling sci-fi cum spy rollercoaster that will please a lot of Nolan fan-boys but which left me with very mixed views. John David Washington (Denzel’s lad) plays “The Protagonist” — a crack-CIA field operative who is an unstoppable one-man army in the style of Hobbs or Shaw. Recruited into an even more shadowy organisation, he’s on the trail of an international arms dealer, Andrei Sator (Kenneth Branagh in full villain mode). Sator is bullying his estranged wife Kat (Elizabeth Debicki) over custody of their son (and the film unusually has a BBFC warning about “Domestic Abuse”). Our hero jets the world to try to prevent a very particular kind of Armageddon while also keeping the vulnerable and attractive Kat alive. This is cinema at its biggest and boldest. Nolan has taken a cinema ‘splurge’ gun, filled it with money, set it on rapid fire, removed the safety and let rip at the screen. Given that Nolan is famous for doing all of his ‘effects’ for real and ‘in camera’, some of what you see performed is almost unbelievable. You thought crashing a train through rush-hour traffic in “Inception” was crazy? You ain’t seen nothing yet with the airport scene! And for lovers of Chinooks (I must admit I am one and rush out of the house to see one if I hear it coming!) there is positively Chinook-p*rn on offer in the film’s ridiculously huge finale. The ‘inversion’ aspects of the story also lends itself to some fight scenes — one in particular in an airport ‘freeport’ — which are both bizarre to watch and, I imagine, technically extremely challenging to pull off. In this regard John David Washington is an acrobatic and talented stunt performer in his own right, and must have trained for months for this role. Nolan’s crew also certainly racked up their air miles pre-lockdown, since the locations range far and wide across the world. The locations encompassed Denmark, Estonia, India, Italy, Norway, the United Kingdom, and United States. Hoyte Van Hoytema’s cinematography is lush in introducing these, especially the beautiful Italian coast scenes. Although I did miss the David Arnold strings that would typically introduce these in a Bond movie: it felt like that was missing. The ‘timey-wimey’ aspects of the plot are also intriguing and very cleverly done. There are numerous points at which you think “Oh, that’s a sloppy continuity error” or “Shame the production design team missed that cracked wing mirror”. Then later in the movie, you get at least a dozen “Aha!” moments. Some of them (no spoilers) are jaw-droppingly spectacular. Perhaps the best twist is hidden in the final line of the movie. I only processed it on the way home. And so to the first of my significant gripes with ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő. The sound mix in the movie is all over the place. I’d go stronger than that… it’s truly awful (expletive deleted)! Nolan often implements Shakespeare’s trick of having characters in the play provide exposition of the plot to aid comprehension. But unfortunately, all of this exposition dialogue was largely incomprehensible. This was due to: the ear-splitting volume of the sound: 2020 movie audiences are going to be suffering from ‘~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipőis’! (LOL); the dialogue is poorly mixed with the thumping music by Ludwig Göransson (Wot? No Hans Zimmer?); a large proportion of the dialogue was through masks of varying description (#covid-appropriate). Aaron Taylor-Johnson was particularly unintelligible to my ears. Overall, watching this with subtitles at a special showing might be advisable! OK, so I only have a PhD in Physics… but at times I was completely lost as to the intricacies of the plot. It made “Inception” look like “The Tiger Who Came to Tea”. There was an obvious ‘McGuffin’ in “Inception” — — (“These ‘dream levels’… how exactly are they architected??”…. “Don’t worry… they’ll never notice”. And we didn’t!) In “~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő” there are McGuffins nested in McGuffins. So much of this is casually waved away as “future stuff… you’re not qualified” that it feels vaguely condescending to the audience. At one point Sator says to Kat “You don’t know what’s going on, do you?” and she shakes her head blankly. We’re right with you there luv! There are also gaps in the storyline that jar. The word “~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő”? What does it mean. Is it just a password? I’m none the wiser. The manic pace of ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő and the constant din means that the movie gallops along like a series of disconnected (albeit brilliant) action set pieces. For me, it has none of the emotional heart of the Cobb’s marriage problems from “Inception” or the father/daughter separation of “Interstellar”. In fact, you barely care for anyone in the movie, perhaps with the exception of Kat. It’s a talented cast. As mentioned above, John David Washington is muscular and athletic in the role. It’s a big load for the actor to carry in such a tent-pole movie, given his only significant starring role before was in the excellent BlacKkKlansman. But he carries it off well. A worthy successor to Gerard Butler and Jason Statham for action roles in the next 10 years. This is also a great performance by Robert Pattinson, in his most high-profile film in a long time, playing the vaguely alcoholic and Carré-esque support guy. Pattinson’s Potter co-star Clemence Poésy also pops up — rather more un-glam that usual — as the scientist plot-expositor early in the movie. Nolan’s regular Michael Caine also pops up. although the 87-year old legend is starting to show his age: His speech was obviously affected at the time of filming (though nice try Mr Nolan in trying to disguise that with a mouth full of food!). But in my book, any amount of Caine in a movie is a plus. He also gets to deliver the best killer line in the film about snobbery! However, it’s Kenneth Branagh and Elizabeth Debicki that really stand out. They were both fabulous, especially when they were bouncing off each other in their marital battle royale. So, given this was my most anticipated movie of the year, it’s a bit of a curate’s egg for me. A mixture of being awe-struck at times and slightly disappointed at others. It’s a movie which needs a second watch, so I’m heading back today to give my ear drums another bashing! And this is one where I reserve the right to revisit my rating after that second watch… it’s not likely to go down… but it might go up. (For the full graphical review, check out One Mann’s Movies on t’interweb and Facebook. Thanks.) As this will be non-spoiler, I can’t say too much about the story. However, what I can is this: ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő’s story is quite dynamic in the sense that you won’t understand it till it wants you to. So, for the first half, your brain is fighting for hints and pieces to puzzle together the story. It isn’t until halfway through the movie that ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő invites you to the fantastic storytelling by Christopher Nolan. Acting is beyond phenomenal, and I’d be genuinely surprised if neither Robert Pattinson nor John David Washington doesn’t receive an Oscar nomination for best actor. It’s also hard not to mention how good Elizabeth Debicki and Aaron Johnson both are. All around, great acting, and the dialogue amps up the quality of the movie. The idea of this movie is damn fascinating, and while there are films that explore time-travelling, there’s never been anything quite like this. It has such a beautiful charm and for the most part, explains everything thoroughly. It feels so much more complex than any form of time-travelling we’ve seen, and no less could’ve been expected from Nolan. Oh my lord, the score for this film fits so perfectly. Every scene that’s meant to feel intense was amped by a hundred because of how good the score was. Let me just say though, none of them will be found iconic, but they fit the story and scenes so well. In the end, I walked out, feeling very satisfied. Nevertheless, I do have issues with the film that I cannot really express without spoiling bits of the story. There are definitely little inconsistencies that I found myself uncovering as the story progressed. However, I only had one issue that I found impacted my enjoyment. That issue was understanding some of the dialogue. No, not in the sense that the movie is too complicated, but more that it was hard to make out was being said at times. It felt like the movie required subtitles, but that probably was because, at a time in the film, there was far too much exposition. Nevertheless, I loved this film, I’ll be watching it at least two more times, and I think most of you in this group will enjoy it. I definitely suggest watching it in theatres if possible, just so you can get that excitement. (4/5) & (8.5/10) for those that care about number scores. At first, I want to ask Christopher Nolan one question, HOW THE HELL YOU DID THIS? Seriously I want to have an answer, How did he write such as this masterpiece! How did he get this complicated, fabulous and creative idea? What is going on in his mind? The story is written and directed perfectly, the narration style was absolutely unique. I have no idea how can anyone direct such as this story, that was a huge challenge, and as usual Nolan gave us a masterpiece that we’ll put beside (Memento), (Inception) and (Interstellar) The movie is so fast-paced in a good way, there was no boring moment. The chemistry between John David Washington and Robert Pattinson was great and funny and both of their performance was really good. Elizabeth Debicki performance was the best in the movie because she had the chance to show her acting abilities and she cached up that chance and showed us an A level acting. The music wasn’t unique and distinct as the music of Interstellar for example and I think this movie needed the touch of Hans Zimmer, I’m not saying that Ludwig Göransson failed but Hans Zimmer in another level. If there was something I’d say that I didn’t like it in the movie would it be that Nolan discarded any set up or characters backgrounds except Elizabeth Debicki dramatic story but it wasn’t that bad for me, I didn’t care about that, the exciting story didn’t give me the chance to focus on it. But the actual problem was the third act, it was really complicated and I got lost and I convinced myself to discard the questions that were in my head and enjoy the well-made action sequences and Elizabeth Debicki performance. I think this kind of movie that gets better with a second and third watch. I honestly don’t quite know where to begin with ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő. I love Christopher Nolan’s work but I have never seen a more complicated film (and I understood Memento). ~After nearly three hours, I came away from ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő not knowing myself, my mind reduced to nothing more than piles of ash. Was there time travel involved? Hmm, there was definitely something about time inversion. I mean, does Nolan even understand what he wrote? Look, I give credit to the director because he’s one of the few directors left who knows how to create a compelling and intelligent blockbuster. ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő is full of Nolan trademarks — the gratuitous Michael Caine cameo, a loud, really loud score, complete with stunning cinematography and slickly inventive action set-pieces. This time around however, Nolan has finally managed to ‘out-Nolan’ himself: the palindromic plot, whilst creatively ambitious, is simply far too complicated for its own good. ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő is overlong, overstuffed, pretentious and too exhausting to comprehend in its entirety — it makes Inception and Interstellar look like Peppa Pig by comparison. I’m aware of the technical wizardry and creative mastery in this film and lord knows I’ll have to watch this again. For those who want a puzzle, ~Nyúl Péter 2 - Nyúlcipő at least provides a unique cinematic experience. But to actually enjoy solving it Nolan wants you to work very very hard

[nyfacurrent]

NYFA Inducts Sanford Biggers, Karl Kellner, and Min Jin Lee into its Hall of Fame

NYSCA/NYFA Artist Fellows and Patron of the Arts celebrated at April 11 Hall of Fame Benefit in Manhattan.

The New York Foundation for the Arts (NYFA) inducted three arts luminaries into its Hall of Fame during its annual benefit on April 11 at Capitale. The evening’s honorees were Sanford Biggers, a visual artist whose work speaks to current social, political, and economic happenings while examining the contexts that bore them; Karl Kellner, patron of the arts, Senior Partner, New York Office Managing Partner, McKinsey & Company, Inc., and a former NYFA Board Member; and Min Jin Lee, novelist of the best-selling books Free Food for Millionaires and Pachinko (Grand Central Publishing, 2007 and 2017). The gala was Co-Chaired by Marc Jason and J. Wesley McDade, both members of NYFA’s Board of Trustees. The silent auction was Co-Chaired by Marjorie W. Martay, a NYFA Board Member, and Marjorie Croes Silverman, a NYFA Leadership Council Member.

Guests included Tom Finkelpearl, Commissioner, New York City Department of Cultural Affairs; Anne del Castillo, Acting Commissioner, New York City Mayor’s Office of Media and Entertainment; artists Derrick Adams, Samira Abbassy, Debi Cornwall, Phyllis Galembo, Ekwa Msangi, Rajesh Parameswaran, Dread Scott (also a NYFA Board Member), Michael Stamm, and Nina Yankowitz; Thomas Bouillonnec, President & CEO, Graff Diamonds; Liz Christensen, Curator, Deutsche Bank;  Cameron Esposito, Comedian; Stephanie Gabriel, Director, Marianne Boesky Gallery; Suzanne Gluck, Literary Agent, William Morris Endeavor Entertainment; Lorin Gu, Founding Partner, Recharge Capital and NYFA Board Member; Colm Kelleher, CEO, Morgan Stanley; Huriyyah Muhammad, Founder, Black TV & Film Collective; Sang Lee, CEO, Volta Talent Strategies; Howard Pyle, SVP, Customer Experience Design, MetLife and NYFA Board Member; Lucy Sexton, Executive Director, New Yorkers for Arts and Culture; Justin Tobin, Founder & President, DDG and NYFA Board Member; Tiana Webb Evans, Founder, ESP Group and NYFA Board Member; and Shelley V. Worrell, Founder, caribBEING. Artist and NYFA Board Member Carmelita Tropicana served as the event emcee.

Nearly 300 guests gathered to celebrate the 2019 Hall of Fame inductees over cocktails, dinner, and a silent auction of art, experiences, and more. All tickets came with a signed, limited-edition print by Biggers that was created exclusively for the event. Each year, the glamorous gala recognizes the sustained achievements of artists who received early career support from NYFA, and the vision and commitment of enlightened patrons of the arts. Biggers and Lee are past recipients of the NYSCA/NYFA Artist Fellowship, which is an individual unrestricted grant made to artists who are living and working in New York State.

NYFA Board Chair Judith K. Brodsky described NYFA’s support of working artists and why the arts are especially meaningful. “Artists pave the way for dialogue and understanding among diverse viewpoints and voices, something that we desperately need in today’s world,” said Brodsky.

Karl Kellner was the first honoree of the night to be inducted into NYFA’s Hall of Fame. In his acceptance remarks he described his personal interest in the arts, how it led him to NYFA, and how he’s helped to support NYFA through his work at McKinsey & Company, Inc. Here, he describes the value that the arts bring to society, and why they’re worth fighting for: “Artists play a critical role in the world-at-large. For me, art is one of the most energizing, the most incredibly inspiring parts of the fabric of life. It needs supporters, it needs benefactors, it requires appreciators and even aficionados. So I think art is something that we all need to invest in and the return that you get is something that’s unique and personal, and very, very special.”  

Fellow honoree Sanford Biggers spoke about how he came to be an artist and described the varied influences and materials that he incorporates into his multidisciplinary work. He recounted when he received a NYSCA/NYFA Artist Fellowship, saying: “When I got the NYFA award in 2005, I was not showing with a gallery. I was extremely excited for multiple reasons: number one, I got a check, which was a good thing. But beyond that,” Biggers added, “I was acknowledged as the artist that I was becoming and I was in this interdisciplinary field. It was a validation that I didn’t have to put myself into ‘sculpture’ or ‘painting’ but I could sort of traverse between many different forms including performance and video. And I think that that acknowledgement at that point was extremely important to me, and it was an affirmation.”

Min Jin Lee discussed her process and interests, and reflected on the hardships of being a professional artist, especially as a woman of color. She also described the impact of receiving a NYSCA/NYFA Artist Fellowship: “I needed to have this kind of support that somehow what I did mattered. And that was so important to have NYFA recognize that my little question was worth supporting, and I think that when the average person in this country thinks that art matters, that’s a huge step. Because it is so often seen as less important than food, and housing, and jobs, and healthcare, and all those things are really important for me, too. But I chose this path because I think that literature can create the level of empathy that many things cannot. I believe that, I believe that with everything that I do.”

Following the award ceremony, multidisciplinary artist and choreographer Angel Kaba spoke about her experience as a mentee in NYFA’s Immigrant Artist Mentoring Program. Born in Belgium to parents from the Congo and Martinique, she moved to New York five years ago to chase her dream of being an artist. She recounted how she made $250 a month and lived with eight roommates during her first three years in the city. Kaba, who began to question her artistry, found positive change by participating in NYFA’s Immigrant Artist Mentoring Program: “It was about the support system. That they really cared about us, they really gave us the opportunity to be ourselves, to express, to connect, to learn to share stories and experiences with amazing talented artists of different nationalities. At the end of the program, I learned more about myself than anything else,” she said. Kaba now teaches across the United States and is a member of Alvin Ailey’s extension faculty.

The evening concluded with dessert and remarks from NYFA Executive Director Michael L. Royce. “I think everyone in this room knows that without artists many stories would not be known. Stories allow us to share who we are, what we’ve experienced, and what we imagine. They are a special communication from one individual to another, and as I was thinking about this event I realized that all of us together are making up the story of NYFA,” said Royce.

Past NYFA Awardees include Ida Applebroog, Paul Beatty, James Casebere, Christopher d’Amboise, Anna Deavere Smith, Phil Gilbert, Zhou Long, Christian Marclay, Terry McMillan, Mira Nair, Lynn Nottage, Eric Overmyer, Suzan-Lori Parks, Wendy Perron, Dwight Rhoden, Faith Ringgold, Carolee Schneemann, and Andres Serrano.

There are still items available for purchase in NYFA’s online Benefit Auction, which features artworks, event tickets, and one-of-a-kind experiences. Click here to view and buy now to help support the arts.

Legends Limousine, a family-owned car service based in Park Slope, Brooklyn, is NYFA’s transportation partner for the 2019 NYFA Hall of Fame Benefit.

Sign up for NYFA’s bi-weekly newsletter, NYFA News, to receive announcements about future NYFA events and programs.

Images: Michael L. Royce, Tom Finkelpearl, Karl Kellner, Min Jin Lee, Judith K. Brodsky, and Sanford Biggers; Dread Scott, Sanford Biggers, and Derrick Adams; Angel Kaba and Lorraine Bell; All Images Credit: Jay Brady Photography

[holmesoverture]

In Sherlock’s Room, Part Two

Part One Be Here

Title: In Sherlock’s Room Rating (for this half): PG Total Word Count: 6431 Pairing: bi Watson/ace trans Holmes Universe: Modern AU of the original canon Summary: Holmes solves a case in his jammies.  Watson does laundry and makes ravioli.

TW for this half: very vaguely implied past acephobia; another mention of past acephobia (probably past transphobia also) which is immediately followed by petty revenge

Editing was tedious work.  My editor, for all his many redeeming qualities, invariably failed to appreciate the flowery endings to my tales and insisted I cut them off far earlier than I should have preferred.

“People read your stories for two reasons,” he once told me after nearly a half-hour of increasingly stormy debate on the subject; “the mystery, and the solution to the mystery.  No one cares what happens to you once the crook is sitting in a jail cell.  You can spend the night giving each other gob-jobs for all anyone cares.  Oh, I’ve said something funny now, have I?”

The bundles of fan mail I received every week inquiring as to whether I was single and whether Holmes was any good at finding hidden sausages made me question his judgment, but I was paid very handsomely for my work.  I could afford to assume that he had been made editor for a reason.

My efforts to curtail the offending epilogues on my own proved futile and so I had given up altogether, allowing my fingers to stretch the story for as long as they pleased, knowing that my editor would cut it all anyway while cursing my name. I was well into an appallingly purple passage in which Holmes and I compare the seasonal changes of the leaves to the arc of the average criminal’s career when Holmes burst in, catching the door before it could slam into the wall.

“Ceromancy!” he cried.

“Gesundheit,” I said.

“Kommst du mit, Naseweis.”

One did not need to speak German to understand what he wanted.  I followed him back to his room.  He had turned on some music since I left, a whiplash-inducing blend of classical pieces and Eurovision finalists.  Several new items had taken up residence on his desk.  His laptop now sat amongst the clutter rather than on his bed, along with a large, overly fragrant lavender candle, either borrowed or stolen from Mrs Hudson, and a bowl of water with a vaguely egg-shaped bit of hardened wax floating in its centre.

“I take it this is somehow connected with cera… ciril—”

“Ceromancy.  It is the art of divining the future via wax images in water.  One of the methods involves adding certain ingredients to the water, including seeds of the cuminum cyminum, which Mrs Mulvehill reports smelling in her wife’s vehicle on more than one occasion, and sprigs of ruta graveolens, a toxic herb that can cause blisters.”

I recalled the neatly torn note in the package that had started Holmes’ day, in which Mrs Mulvehill remarked upon the blisters on her wife’s hand.

“Further,” Holmes continued, “this particular set of instructions involves tying two candles together with a red ribbon.”

He spun the laptop so I could see the screen, though I hardly needed to look to know what would be there: the photograph of the red ribbon tied to the rearview mirror.

“That looks about long enough to bind a pair of candles, does it not?” said he.

I thought it strange that a woman should drive five hours one way every weekend simply to have her fortune told, and said so to Holmes.

“I have not yet finished examining all of the evidence.  There may very well be another explanation for these clues that will become apparent once I reach the end of my investigation.”

“So there is still a chance that Polly Mulvehill is seeing another woman?”

“Unfortunately for our client, yes.”

He lifted a hand to swipe to the next photograph, then gave it a second thought and turned to me instead.

“Why do people do it?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Cheat.  Polly Mulvehill has a perfectly devoted and intelligent wife, but that wasn’t enough for her.  She still felt the need to fill her time and, presumably, various other things with someone else, all in pursuit of a few sweaty, sticky moments on a flat surface. What can possibly be so thrilling about sex that it drives people to betray those closest to them?  It can’t be any better than a concert at the Barbican, and I wouldn’t cheat on you for a box seat.”

That hadn’t ever been a concern of mine, but it was nice to know.

“Sex is pleasurable for a lot of people,” I said, “and for some, it confers a certain status that concert tickets don’t.  It makes them feel powerful, attractive, special, even loved—”

“That hardly justifies cheating.”

“Of course it doesn’t.  I suppose some people never learned the same sort of self-control that you have with regard to box seats.”

He laughed at the jab and began setting up his chemical apparatus as the delicate dénouement of Gluck’s Melodie ceded to the gravelly bombast of Lordi’s Hard Rock Hallelujah.

“What are you going to do now?” I asked.

“I must test the dirt samples sent to me by Mrs Mulvehill to determine if there is anything distinctive about them.  The definitive answer to the question of how Polly Mulvehill has been spending her weekends may well be lurking in one of these test tubes.”

He muttered a few more disparaging comments about unfaithful spouses before returning to work.  I sat on the edge of Holmes’ bed and ran a finger along a seam in his blanket.  It had some peculiar stains that I would have to remember to ask about, to make sure he wasn’t slowly poisoning himself in his sleep.  Not for the first time, I was grateful that we had elected to retain separate bedrooms even after starting our relationship.

At that time it had been almost a decade since I last slept with someone.  Her name was Allie, or something like it.  She was tall and dark and sarcastic and just barely passable in the bedroom.  I suppose it was the lingering memory of her mediocrity that helped reinforce the idea of there being more important elements than sex in a romantic relationship when Holmes wrote me the first of what would become an entire drawerful of love letters.  He made it clear from the very start that he could offer me every sort of intimacy except that one, but that does not make our relationship in any way less.  Maybe it’s the fact that I will never have the chance to confront this issue in my published works that compels me to be perfectly clear about it here: we are lovers, in every sense of the word except that one upon which our society places the most importance.

Well, I suppose I shouldn’t judge others for their ignorance.  I held a similar view in a past life.  “Experience of women on three continents” was, despite what my editor prefers to believe, not an exaggeration.  Nor is it an exaggeration to say I have never once regretted abandoning my old ways.  Who wouldn’t give up sex for love?

Perhaps not Polly Mulvehill.  Or perhaps she really did learn her lesson and would agree with me after all.  It seems to me such an obvious decision, but on those infrequent occasions when I have attempted to explain our relationship to an outsider, I am almost inevitably met with disbelief at best.  Mrs Hudson took it in her stride, bless her, but Lestrade got very confused when I responded to his barely veiled innuendos with the truth. I am slightly ashamed and very satisfied to say that I went for the jugular almost immediately.

“If your wife got sick and wasn’t able to have sex with you anymore, or if her hormones change as she gets older and her libido drops, which does happen by the way, would you walk out on her just because she wasn’t giving you any?”

“Of course not!”  To Lestrade’s credit, he looked scandalised at the very suggestion.  “She’s my wife, the mother of my children—”

“It’s the same with us.  Well, not exactly the same.  Obviously, there are some differences in our lines of reasoning, but my point is that you love your partner more than you love sex and so do I.  That is, I love my partner more than I love sex, not your partner.  You know what I meant,” I said, irritated, when he started laughing.

“You’re much more eloquent as a writer than as an orator,” he replied, but he bought me a pint as an apology and we never spoke on the matter again.

I suppose I could have laughed along with his jokes instead of lecturing him on asexuality, but I should have felt guilty allowing him to continue operating under the assumption that Holmes and I were doing it.  The mere idea of engaging in such activities makes Holmes so terribly uncomfortable.  Having to endure ribald ragging, no matter how good-natured, from the one police inspector he respects could only end unpleasantly for both parties.

Feeling suddenly maudlin, I moved my bad leg so it rested fully on the stained blanket, leaned back against the headboard, and watched as Holmes went about his work.  His hands, despite appearing ill-fittingly large on his slender wrists, always managed to look graceful when engaged in one of his chemical experiments.  But I suppose everyone looks more themselves when they are doing what they are best at.

I believe I drifted off a bit after that, lulled into a contented daze by the rhythm of clinking glass and the scratch of pencil on notebook paper.  I began to come out of my trance when he came out of his.  He tried and failed to control a smile.  A few scribbles later and he gave up all pretense of dignified detachment, jumping in place and clapping, sending the pencil clattering into the dustbin beside his desk.  That was alright.  He preferred to keep his writing implements in there anyway.

With but a short moment of warning he swept me into his arms, then released me and tugged me towards his desk before I had the chance to hug him back.

“This is far better than I could have hoped for!  What a splendid case this has turned out to be!”

“Such excitement for a bit of dirt,” I remarked.

“No mere ‘bit of dirt’ is this.  Have a look at the results of the soil analysis I ran.”

I did as he asked.  Even with my limited understanding of soil composition, I knew at once what had brought the light to his grey eyes.

“Iridium?”

“Yes.  It is exceedingly rare on Earth but much more common in meteorites.”

“I know what it is.  I just didn’t think you would, given your extreme disinterest in astronomy.”

“I looked it up,” Holmes said, witheringly.  Then, perking up, he added, “I suspect the sample in Polly Mulvehill’s boot came from such a meteorite, or perhaps from an object that was found within the iridium anomaly.”

“You did say she works at a museum.”

“She volunteers as a tour guide.  I rather doubt she has the authority to take archaeological treasures home with her.”

“So you’re saying—”

“Museums are a study in contrasts, my dear Watson.  In their exhibition rooms, they are well-organized, often beautifully laid out bastions of knowledge dedicated to preserving the past into the future.  However, safely shielded from the public eye is invariably an overcrowded and poorly catalogued backroom littered with valuables that could be missing for months or years before anyone noticed.  Why, I stole this very spoon from the British Museum over a decade ago and still they’re none the wiser!”

“Holmes!”

“Oh, come now, Boswell.  This is a soup spoon from my mother’s flatware collection.  Do you really think so little of me?”

“On the contrary, I think highly enough of you that I expect you could abscond with the British Museum’s entire collection of Egyptian antiquities and return them to Egypt before the guard could leave his chair.  Why do you have your mother’s soup spoon?”

Holmes abruptly stopped preening at my inquiry.

“After my last visit to Sussex, you asked why I was in such a strop and I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Yes?”

“She kept asking when you and I would give her grandchildren.  I should have run out at once and arranged for a hysterectomy if Mycroft hadn’t been there to stop me.  Instead I took her soup spoon.  Are you very angry with me?”

“Not with you, no.”  But the next time I was misfortunate enough to encounter Mrs Holmes, I thought I might distract her long enough for Holmes to make off with the rest of her flatware, and possibly a vase or two.  I did not tell him the specifics of my thoughts, instead running a careful hand through the tangles in his hair.  He was much more appreciative of such gestures when not occupied by a case.  Had I attempted to demonstrate any form of affection prior to the discovery of the iridium, he should have pulled back and shook his head, putting a stop to my ministrations.  Now, he not only permitted the display, he encouraged it, throwing back his head with a contented sigh.  He grasped my free hand with both of his, enjoying the light scratch of my callouses across his own, eyes closed so he could focus on the sensation.

At length he straightened in his chair and looked around, as if in search of something.

“I believe we have gotten rather off the subject,” he said.  He crowed with victory when he made visual confirmation of his laptop teetering precariously on the edge of his desk, where it had been shoved to make room for the chemistry equipment.  “I must get in touch with Mrs Mulvehill—Mrs Evelyn Mulvehill, that is—and alert her to the happy news.”

“I would hardly call the fact that her wife is stealing from her place of employment happy news, Holmes.”

“Perhaps not to you or I, but to a woman bracing herself for the news that her beloved has yet again been unfaithful, it may well be the highlight of her day.”

I never saw Evelyn Mulvehill’s response to the longwinded email Holmes sent containing his deductions, but Holmes informed me it was cordial and grateful and would I please stop scribbling in my notebook?  He had just learned the most wonderful new waltz that I was sure to love if only I’d pay it the attention it (and he) deserved.

We did not hear from the Mulvehills for nearly a fortnight.  At that time, as a harsh rain assaulted the streets and the rooftops of London, Holmes thrust an open envelope, sent from Kendal, Cumbria, under my nose.  Along with her cheque came a letter from our former client, thanking Holmes for his help and informing us of the full meaning behind the clues he had deciphered for her.  Evelyn confronted her wife about the matter the moment she returned from work on the day of Holmes’ revelation.  Polly, to her credit, admitted to the scheme at once, but the story which followed her confession was one that neither of us could have expected.

Polly Mulvehill loved her museum and the history it saved and displayed, but the longer she worked there, the more she realised how dependent it was upon artifacts illegally obtained when Britain was at her most imperialistic. What right did any museum, even the one she held so near and dear, have to keep such items?  She made then a vow to smuggle what she could out of the museum and back to the lands from which they had been taken.

She sought out a fence, a man based in Aberdeen who was very superstitious and insisted upon consulting a friend who specialised in divination, including ceromancy, before each and every step of their exchange.  At least twice, to Polly’s intense displeasure, the fence interpreted the candle drippings negatively and refused to accept the goods, forcing Polly to return with the stolen artifacts to Kendal until the following week.  Still, the trouble was worth it, Polly Mulvehill insisted, for the fence was just as devoted to repatriation as she and would do most anything, so long as the candles gave their blessing, to bring the haughty English down a peg. Upon receipt of the stolen items, the fence made his escape on a flight from Aberdeen International Airport, which Polly only made the mistake of booking a hotel next to once, compared with the eleven times she had travelled to Aberdeen on her self-imposed mission. One was also the number of times she made the mistake of handling the herbs which the fortune teller used to predict their chances of success.

Evelyn was so awestruck by her wife’s courage and integrity that she quit her accounting job and started an organisation dedicated to negotiating the legal return of all stolen artifacts to their countries of origin.  It is an organisation the Mulvehills run to this very day.  The missive ended with a plea veiled as a compliment, stating that Evelyn Mulvehill knew Holmes to be a gentleman of the utmost discretion, and that she trusted him to breathe not a word of her wife’s rashness to the authorities.  The final item enclosed in the envelope was a familiar, stout red ribbon.  Holmes smiled when I held up the ribbon and requested I put the note into the fire.

“Another mystery over and done with,” said he, snapping the blinds shut against the sight of the driving storm.  “Will you be writing up this case for your eager public?”

“I doubt it.  I spent more time folding your laundry than doing anything related to the case. Perhaps I could end it with a big car chase through Aberdeen between us and the superstitious fence.  Maybe throw in the Mulvehills for good measure.”

Holmes chuckled around the empty pipe in his teeth.

“It is no more or less ludicrous than anything else you have written,” he said.

I chose to interpret this remark in a positive light.

Were this a polished and published work rather than a hastily scribbled collection of remembrances in a shabby moleskin notebook, my editor should have ended the account with my destroying the evidence of Polly Mulvehill’s crimes and her wife’s complicity.  It is just as well.  Holmes is, despite the great fame I have inadvertently thrust upon him, an intensely private man.  I doubt he would appreciate the whole of the English-speaking world reading about how we sat together on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, he kneading the pain from my bad leg with a practiced hand, I reading selections from the story I had been editing and taking note of the parts he disapproved of.  He certainly wouldn’t want anyone else knowing about how our light bickering over whether or not I was allowed to describe him as gentle ended in several minutes of kissing that served my argument rather better than his.  And, most of all, he would recoil at the slightest possibility of strangers spying after the fact as he pulled out his laptop and helped me work out plans for a weeklong holiday in Cumbria.

[duaneodavila]

Short Skirts At Work: A Form Of Sexual Discrimination?

Last week, we addressed the pressing issue of whether “bro hugs” at work could be considered sexual discrimination, an issue which originated with a reader of the The New York Times “workologist” who said that she felt excluded when the bros at work hugged each other.

She admitted to feeling “almost left out” when the males at her job “constantly hug and grab and bump each other in a friendly way.” Even though she said that she did not want to be bro hugged, she asked the “workologist”: “Should I let this ‘bro contact’ bother me?”

The “workologist” felt (as did I, and my partner, Amy Epstein Gluck — the “Notorious AEG”) that “it doesn’t seem as if your colleagues are trying to exclude you,” but conceded that such conduct can become a “coded way of excluding people. We don’t want people like you because you don’t fit our culture,’ can turn out to mean, ‘You’re not our race, or our gender.’”

The “workologist” emailed us after ATL posted the piece that “that’s my favorite question in quite a while.”

In any event, the question sure seemed a little odd and out there.   But it got me thinking — how far can this issue (or non-issue) be extended? That is, how far from what we clearly understand as sexism can the issue be pushed? If last week’s question was somewhat silly, how far can silly be pushed?

We may be getting far afield here, but I pose the following question as a thought experiment — and that’s what thought experiments do — push the boundaries of an issue. And I guess that’s what lawyers do — take a fact pattern or issue and explore its outer bounds and its implications.

So here goes: Can wearing short skirts at work somehow be deemed sexual discrimination?

I know, I know … sounds absurd, but hear me out.

If a bro hug could be felt to be exclusionary if it excludes women, then what could be the reverse of this?   What if a woman wears a short skirt for the very purpose of getting the boss to look at her, to notice her — to favor her in the terms and conditions of employment? The sexist past almost dictated that for a woman. But what about now? Does this somehow exclude males in the workplace, at least to the extent that the woman is favored?

We know that there are cases where employees claim discrimination when the boss is romantically involved with another employee — on the ground of favoritism based upon gender. Anyway, that being so, would wearing a short skirt somehow be akin (albeit distantly) to being romantically involved with the boss — perforce an exclusion of males who generally do not wear short skirts at work?

Of course, to ground my answer to this admittedly out-there question, and to see if there was even a flicker of appeal to the proposition, I made inquiry of my partner Amy, the Oracle of FisherBroyles. Would she entertain the question? In the heat of the summer? Would it be a silly question which was beneath her dignity?

I worried about these things but asked anyway.

Well, the Notorious AEG, never one to disappoint, ignored the dog-days-of-summer heat and humidity, took a break from her sun bathing, gave me a squinty look, and got down to researching the relevant original scriptures (the “Dialogues” that she and I had and which was published by ATL here, here and here). She read and pondered. She pondered and read.

And she eventually came down from Olympus to render her opinion.

“My brother,” she said, as I bowed my head in reverence, “you have asked a lot. Some may consider this a silly question, even a question designed to provoke the gods — to get me involved in a silly issue and discredit me.” I blanched visibly. Nonetheless she said slowly, “Relax, dude. I know that you ask in good faith, so I will respond.”

First hurdle cleared.

She continued:

I don’t think the two scenarios [bro hugs and short skirts] are even remotely comparable. Women who wear shorter skirts in the workplace do so for various reasons (confidence building, preference, etc.) — not just to ‘curry favor’ from a boss or any other man. What if she just likes wearing short skirts? Think Ally McBeal. [Here, the Oracle referenced an old, fictional TV series based, I think, upon a play by Euripedes, or Aeschylus, or someone like that.]

Her tiny skirts were just her preference, not to curry favor with a boss. And how do you determine intent? Saying that this is the reason any woman wears such a skirt sounds like sexual stereotyping a la Price Waterhouse v. Hopkins.

Her point was well taken. Intent is usually pretty important in these things. And the question was a little silly.

The Oracle had taken me down a peg — frankly, made me feel a little foolish.

Takeaway

As I have learned over time, and especially from Amy, when it comes to knowing and feeling what another person feels and experiences, even years of studying and the best of intentions cannot substitute for “walking in someone’s shoes.”

Richard B. Cohen has litigated and arbitrated complex business and employment disputes for almost 40 years, and is a partner in the NYC office of the national “cloud” law firm FisherBroyles. He is the creator and author of his firm’s Employment Discrimination blog, and received an award from the American Bar Association for his blog posts. You can reach him at Richard.Cohen@fisherbroyles.com and follow him on Twitter at @richard09535496.

[survivor-flops]

Immunity Challenge #1 Results

tribes did a flag challenge. But before we get to the flags let’s meet our judges..

Eric

Intro: I'm the flop that wasn't able to join my fellow floppers. Good luck everyone and sorry to whichever of you gets first boot on a season called flops that will suck.

Christian

Intro: Hey, I'm Christian. I got 2nd in Sicily and 9th in FvF5. Good luck in this season flops, even though I don't know who 90% of you are. 

Zachary 

Intro: paras atashnak won bbcan6 by a vote of 6-1

Danny Gluck

Danny. Man, Myth, Legend, 4 time TS Flop

So let’s get to the flags 

TAPA DESCRIPTION: Tapa, or the Social Flops as we are known for this season. There are many key things to point out in our flag. The emojis, the transparent background of Aurora Borealis and the eyes of our Survivor avatars.

The emojis represent the three major aspects of this game. The social, the strategic, and the physical. We were all placed in the tribe where social relationships were nonexistant in our first and/or second seasons of Tumblr Survivor. We have the strategic and physical aspects down because those did not fail us. Thus the biceps and the brain emojis are in bold and on the left and right sides of the tribe name. The third emoji, the "speak no evil", well its obvious. We didn't speak to anyone or didn't speak enough to save us from our imminent departure from the game.

The background of Aurora Borealis and the mountain is remeniscent of Iceland- the location of this season. We just thought it was nice to pay homage to the country that "hosts" us in this game.

The eyes of our avatars are used in this flag because it shows that we are keen and have sharp focus to go far in this game. We will be at a 100% on our surroundings and make sure that no repeats will be made from our first trips on TS. We are well aware as a tribe and even though the social game was at a low, we're gonna keep on our toes and hone in on the prize: the title of Sole Survivor.

Eric

Creativity -  8 Effort - 10 Overall Appeal - 7

Comment: This is one of my favorite flags I have ever judged, but more so for the effort in making a second image of the flag from afar and the effort put into that huge presentation. After a second look, it wasn't the prettiest flag I've seen, but you deserve a great score for this flag

Christian

Creativity: 7/10 Effort: 8/10 Overall Appeal: 8/10

Comments: No offense but your flag looks cheap. I don't see a lot of creativity or effort. But I do love the colors and the images you used at the  top of your flag. I do like the simplicity though.

Zachary

Creativity - 7 Effort - 7 Overall appeal - 8

I like the concept and all and the background & everything wooh!! It’s cute that yalls actually put it on a flagpost and all that good stuff. The only negative was that the eyes of the castaways are just like cropped on. i'm not rlly sure how to explain it but overall its good!! better than any of my flags wig

Danny 

Effort: 6 Creativity: 5 Overall Appeal: 6

Total: 87/120

BILUN

comments for judges: We aimed for a monochromatic cultural tone for our flag. We stuck with the green theme throughout which involved editing the northern lights and our goddess Frigg (goddess of the sky, and of which is native to Norse culture). We used photoshop to make this, and we decided to incorporate our names also with our names in an Elvish language. Our flag is culturally accurate, and is very polished for a flop tribe.

Eric

Creativity - 8 Effort - 7 Overall Appeal - 8

I love this flag. I see the northern lights which you can probably see in Iceland which is really cool. I also think it's AWESOME that your names are all shown in Elvish too. I think that's a game of thrones character in the middle but idk. This is a well thought out flag so the people who made it should be proud.

Christian

Creativity: 8/10 Effort: 9/10 Overall Appeal: 9/10

Comments: I love simplicity and clean lines, so this flag definitely met those two criteria. I hate when tribes throw in a bunch of extra shit. It just clutters the flag and y'all did none of that. I enjoy how you included your names in both English and Elvish language(whatever y'all said). Nice photoshop skills! I love the Northern Lights.

Zachary

Creativity - 8 Effort - 8 Overall Appeal - 9

This is cute too!! I love the space-like background (it’s probably not space but i’m an intellectual i promise). I like the additional border with the names and the translated variation!! its cute and it’s like, simple yet intricate!! I enjoy it!!

Danny

Creativity - 8 Effort - 5 Overall Appeal - 8

Total: 95/120

HEIMSKUR What you see before you is nothing you’ve seen before - it is a hand-sewn tribe flag. The orange in the background is, of course, our tribe color. Entire scene is an Icelandic, snow-topped mountain range, with a long road driving off into the mountains. The road represents our journey to the end of this game, and the sign says ‘Caution: Flops Ahead’ as a touch of humor and to bring our season theme into the flag. The patches of the mountains represent both our tribe coming together to form something bigger than ourselves and the pieces of our former (not so great) games coming together for the same purpose. I hope you enjoy - I am covered in ink and I literally bled for this flag to be made over the last 6 hours. Thank you very much!”

Eric

Creativity: 10 Effort: 10 Overall Appeal: 8 They literally made a flag!

Christian

Creativity: 10/10 Effort: 10/10 Overall Appeal: 9/10 Comments: I would have gave y'all a 9.5 for overall appeal but I'm pretty sure that's not allowed. I can't believe you guys ACTUALLY HAND MADE A FLAG for Tumblr Survivor. I'm shook. You just blew the other tribes out of the water. The only reason you didn't get a 10 for overall appeal, is because I honestly don't like the position of the road. It would have been better going diagonally. Other than that, whoever made the flag can you make mine if I ever play survivor again? Thanks in advance. 

Zachary

creativity - 10 effort - 10 overall appeal - 8 uhm,,,, yes. “other flags found dead in ditch”, states inside source. this was really unique compared to any other flag which that in itself is phenomenal. it’s really a neat design n all, and the effort it must’ve taken is beyond me. good job, i adore this!!

Danny

Creativity - 10 Effort - 8 Overall - 7

Total: 110/120

So Bilun and Heimskur, this means you have won Immunity. Tapa you are going to tribal. Live Tribal at 10pm EST, tomorrow, May 16th.

If you cannot be here, please send in votes by 9:55pm EST. 

[kidsviral-blog]

A Definitive Ranking Of "Twenty-Four Italian Songs And Arias"

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/a-definitive-ranking-of-twenty-four-italian-songs-and-arias/

A Definitive Ranking Of "Twenty-Four Italian Songs And Arias"

Tu lo sigh.

24. “Alma del core” by Antonio Caldara

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=-ajdlXM-XPI.

youtube.com

What it means, basically: I like you. I really like you. KISS ME.

From La constanza in amor vince l’inganno, this aria’s tepid melody manages to make the joyous emotions of love sound dreary and mundane. Caldara just confirms that pastoral relationships are a total snooze-fest.

23. “Non posso disperar” by Giovanni Battista Bononcini

View this image ›

James Caldwall / Via britannica.com

What it means, basically: I know you said you’re not into me, but I like you so much it hurts.

This aria tries to worm its way into your heart with an interesting tune, but it’s creepy to the core. The eerie tone ensures most singers won’t touch it with a 10-foot pole.

22. “Vergin, tutto amor” by Francesco Durante

View this image ›

calabriaonline.com

What it means, basically: Hey, Virgin Mary, please be chill about the sinners.

Not your best work, Durante. This song might get you into heaven, but it’s hard to win over even the most pious audience if they’re asleep before the second chord.

21. “Lasciatemi morire!” by Claudio Monteverdi

View this image ›

Bernardo Strozzi / en.wikipedia.org

What it means, basically: Let. Me. DIE.

Thank god this aria from “Ariana” is a one-pager. It’s not often that the audience wants to die, too.

20. “Come raggio di sol” by Antonio Caldara

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=Dz7iRZ1TlIY.

youtube.com

What it means, basically: I might be smiling on the outside, but I am a HOT MESS on the inside.

While the lyrics might be relatable to some, this tune always ends up sounding like a total dirge. “Come raggio di sol” is the Debbie Downer of Italian art songs.

19. “Se Florindo è fedele” by Alessandro Scarlatti

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=PiQ9tjHRWnQ.

youtube.com

What it means, basically: I’m hard to get, but if Florindo wants to be exclusive, I’m down.

This is a jolly aria, but since Scarlatti makes four appearances in this book, he’s competing against himself. This time, he loses.

18. “Le Violette” by Alessandro Scarlatti

View this image ›

en.wikipedia.org

What it means, basically: Don’t be so shy, babe. Let me hit on you.

This jaunty number has a great beat and delightful melody. It might have gotten higher marks if it didn’t rely on the cliché of equating women to flowers. That was tired even in 17th century.

17. “Pietà, Signore” by Alessandro Stradella

View this image ›

en.wikipedia.org

What it means, basically: Lord have mercy.

This is a dark, churchy song for the guiltiest of souls. It’s kind of a cosmic bummer. The next time you do something awful, like hooking up with your best friend’s ex, blast this and beg for forgiveness.

16. “Pur dicesti, o bocca bella” by Antonio Lotti

View this image ›

classical.net

What it means, basically: Yeah, that sweet mouth finally said “yes”.

For one of the few pieces in the book about requited love, this song is awfully bashful. But that’s to be expected from a choir boy like Lotti. Still, it’s not bold enough for what could totally be your make out anthem.

15. “Il mio bel foco” by Francesco Bartolomeo Conti

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=bdL6L0n1NwI.

youtube.com

What it means, basically: My love flame burns for you, and only you, babe.

It’s easy to get swept up in this seductive proclamation of love. It manages to be seductive and robust at the same time. The only thing holding it back is that fake-ass recitative at the beginning.

14. “Che fiero costume” by Giovanni Legrenzi

View this image ›

en.wikipedia.org

What it means, basically: Love is awesome, and totally not the blind baby everyone said it was.

This tune can really get your blood flowing and your hips shaking. Still, the whole weird blind baby metaphor keeps it from being the dance hit that it could be.

13. “Nel cor più non mi sento” by Giovanni Paisiello

View this image ›

Marie Louise Élisabeth Vigée-Lebrun / en.wikipedia.org

What it means, basically: Love is literally making me crazy.

From L’amor contrastato, ossia La molinara, this darling aria is pretty cutesy for a song about insanity. It’s a little safe and sugary for a song about how loves bites, pinches, and pricks you.

12. “Nina” by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi

View this image ›

en.wikipedia.org

What it means, basically: Nina hasn’t gotten out of bed for three days. Someone blast this music and wake her the fuck up.

Poor, poor Nina. She can’t even hear this great song that was written for her. Pergolesi hits you right in the feels with this brooding tune. This is the quintessential rainy day art song.

11. “Sebben, crudele” by Antonio Caldara

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=vpyURWxU5jI.

youtube.com

What it means, basically: I’m gonna play the waiting game until you lower your standards.

This aria from La costanza in amor vince l’inganno is the ultimate anthem for unrequited love. Though it’s a little gloomy, Caldara brightens it up here and there to remind you to never give up hope.

10. “Amarilli mia bella” by Giulio Caccini

View this image ›

allmusic.com

What it means, basically: Amarilli, babe, I totally love you. Seriously, rip open my chest, your name’s written on my heart.

Caccini set a new standard for musical orgasms by writing this sultry song that has the power to get anyone in the mood. Once you hear that final “amore” your panties practically drop themselves.

9. “O cessate di piagarmi” by Alessandro Scarlatti

View this image ›

britannica.com

What it means, basically: You’re colder than ice and you make me want to die.

From Il Pompeo, this morose little aria perfectly captures overwhelming sadness without being a total drag. Play it when your crush doesn’t text you back and you need to let those tears out.

8. “Vittoria, mio core!” by Giacomo Carissimi

View this image ›

en.wikipedia.org

What it means, basically: Good job, heart. We’re finally over that bitch.

Love sucks, and everyone can relate to a good break-up song, especially one as cheerful as this. Carissimi truly had a timeless hit on his hands.

7. “Se tu m’ami, se sospiri” by Alessandro Parisotti

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=aTwyTNIIIC0.

youtube.com

What it means, basically: It’s great that you like me, but if you think I’m going to give up other dudes, you’re sorely mistaken.

There’s some debate over whether this flirty tune is by Parisotti or Pergolesi, which gives this piece a seductive air of mystery. Who knew an Italian art song could be so coy?

6. “Già il sole dal Gange” by Alessandro Scarlatti

View this image ›

en.wikipedia.org

What it means, basically: The sun makes things pretty.

This aria from L’honestà negli amori has a toe-tapping beat and a saccharine melody that will have you prancing with unicorns and vomiting rainbows in no time.

5. “O del mio dolce ardor” by Christoph Willibald Gluck

View this image ›

Joseph Duplessis / en.wikipedia.org

What it means, basically: I’ll find someone, someday. Maybe.

Originally from Paride ed Elena, this aria loses a few authenticity points for being written by a non-Italian. Still, Gluck managed to capture the Italian musical spirit by writing a thrilling song about being a loveless loser.

4. “Danza, danza, fanciulla gentile” by Francesco Durante

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=Lel5Gyfqh2Y.

youtube.com

What it means, basically: Dance, girl. Dance to my singing.

This jig earns its high spot by being the most booty-shakin’ tune in the whole book. Durante’s had people gyrating in auditorium chairs for centuries.

3. “Per la gloria d’adorarvi” by Giovanni Battista Bononcini

View this image ›

Pier Leone Ghezzi / en.wikipedia.org

What it means, basically: Those eyes, girl. Dayum.

From the opera Griselda to the stage of Jewel, this glorious aria set the bar high for songs about eyes. Van Morrison ain’t got nothin’ on Bononcini.

2. “Tu lo sai” by Giuseppe Torelli

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=UY-J8zzgUg8.

youtube.com

What it means, basically: You def know that I like you, so can we just be exclusive already?

Torelli truly delivered the drama with this piece. Never has there been a more gripping, heart-wrenching song about confronting your crush. Bring out the tissues!

1. “Caro mio ben” by Tommaso Giordani

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=hogFSGjXGPY.

youtube.com

What it means, basically: Bae, my heart’s sad without you.

“Caro mio ben” is the bread and butter of classical singers. Everyone’s done it, and everyone loves it. You may also recognize this tune from Raise Your Voice, further proof that this exquisite melody will continue to transcend genres for years to come.

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/ninamohan/a-definitive-ranking-of-twenty-four-italian-songs-and-arias

[jamalgreene325-blog]

The next night at the compound Jamal has all his team together Prince is rolling with Jamal and Trigger Supreme is rolling with Wise and West all of the men dress in black hoodies black timberland booths carrying Gluck’s for close quarter fighting and shot guns the night is cool and the air crisp and fresh the music inside the vehicle fill it with sounds relaxing the men they have all been through this more times than they would like to remember….

Ghetto Boys pump out the speakers Trigger lights up his joint as usual and take a deep hit and blows out clouds in rings twice he takes a hit then pass it puff puff and pass West is singing along with the song checking his weapons and extra clips...

Meanwhile down the road four men sits inside angry about being send out tonight this puta has us running out tonight when those mother fucker are sitting back in that nice big house and that fine ass Maria damn I would love to have her for one night I would dig her back out…

You wouldn’t know what to do with a lady like that puta with your crazy ass self how was the run from home the policia were watching the borders but Mr. Ortiz has paid them off the border patrol so they allowed us through without any problems the boss has been acting nerves lately since Maria been up here we use to be fifty strong and now we are down to twenty men

Yeah pepo he’s has been on our asses ever since Senior Herma’s from the other Cartel paid him a visit and after he left Ortiz been acting jumpy he order more men to patrol the house well keep your eyes on the road!

Inside the truck key loads of Heroin assign to customers who has already paid for their product from Mr. Ortiz and his cartel hidden inside creates with coffee beans to hide the smell from the border patrol dogs each of the men sat inside watching for intruders with their weapons at ready…

Aisha and her team of professional killers drives the road in silent heading for their destination while Jamal and his team get off the cross Bronx expressway onto the FDR heading for lower east side where Miguel manager Alberto is running product out of an abandon building warehouse on the east side Alfredo and Daniela Miguel enforcers watch the rooftop and connecting buildings for renegades on each floor pitchers are slinging cocaine or crack and dope chicken heads hookers sucking dudes dicks for a hit or shot of that powerful shit dope fiends shooting speed balls off in the corner…

Baby give me some pleases one of the fiends asked I will suck your dick for a shot of that speed ball baby I am sick and I need a little bit to ease the sickness just a G-shot baby to get off E Black Linda use to be a queen bee on the streets of New York she is an outcast outlaw doing whatever for that shot of dope…

Dirty Sharon her crime partner in crime has gotten two bags from Alberto for some head and she does her thing well she got that dope to release her sickness she had a bad day hustling he knew she is good for it she shoplifts clothes to take care of her speedball habit she spends plenty of money with them but he wanted to take advantages of her situation he caught her on a bad day and she wouldn’t ordinary sell her body but tonight she is in a bad way her sickness control her actions tonight so she gave in that dope held her hostage to her sickness…

Sharon swore she wouldn’t ever sell her body as long as she could steal… the low life people gather inside the building getting high doing whatever it took to get high some on crack some on that dope tearing their lives apart Sharon was a college graduated working at an investment firm and got strung out by her boyfriend after he gotten busted and she had lost her job for being late and errors in her accounting she turned to the street after her saving had been used up taking care of her bills and her habit she thought she would have found another job soon but it didn’t happen that way the drugs took priority over finding a job so she turned to the streets for her needs… the building smell like piss and dirty water but it was the perfect spot to sell their drugs in out of! Miguel men patrol the shooting gallery building…

Meanwhile Jamal and Prince cruise the block there is a man outside selling water but he is pretending he is one of Miguel soldiers Chucho he is dress with a black parker and brand new booths giving himself away with that fresh gear Jamal text Aisha are you setup she texts back we are ready the plan is to hi-jack the truck on it way there and that get them inside the building..

Aisha and Carmen stretch out a line of iron pikes across the road to blowout the tires in the dark the drivers cannot see the deadly pikes on the road…

Jamal and his team watched the traffic coming and going from the building from the corner their vehicle park in the shadows and the lights are out for better cover…

Miguel and Maria heads back to their house un-aware that they are about to take another horrible hit crippling the Yetas organization in New York before they could get a strong hold inside Jamal territory…

Alberto and his partner drives down the silent road heading for destruction the moon is bright a romantic moon light for lovers inside the truck Spanish music played Julio Iglesias the ladies spotted the headlights coming down the road China position their vehicle facing in the direction of the truck coming in their directions the truck is coming in the dark…

Here they come get ready Aisha said and adjust her nine mm Alberto is driving and he is conversing with the men inside he calm and then he runs over the pikes blowing out a tire he curb trying not to crash and China turns on her high beams lights blinding the occupies inside the first trailer of the truck the lights hit Alberto straight in his eyes un-suspected catching then off guard he immediately held up his hands to cover his eyes shock and startle bullets start popping off the ladies are firing they have them in a cross fired Alberto crashes into the telephone poll…

Asia stands up firing at the passengers inside of the truck hitting Adalbert across his chest creating a gaping whole his head is bleeding from crashing into the window and breaking it the men in the back stumbles out the truck firing blindly…

Fatima opens up on the first man who stumbles out dizzy and confuse from the crash heavy boxes fell inside the truck on the men Chucho kicks the boxes off of him moaning from the heavy boxes falling on his body bullets flying through the covers draped over the truck Fatima blast Chucho jumping out of the truck with his companions yelling in Spanish Fatima yell back puta in Spanish the men are caught in an ambush bodies falling to the ground blood is running onto the ground bodies jerking from the automatic weapons hitting their bodies like a ragdoll back and forth Asia is firing straight at them Aisha pulls Alberto body out the driver’s seat dead and bloody and torn from the face down !

[duaneodavila]

Are Bro Hugs At Work Sexual Discrimination?

Hmm. What is this about?

A bro hug … sexist?  How?  Why?

Huh?

Well, it turns out that at least one person may feel this way. A female reader of The New York Times “workologist” wrote this past week that at her blue-collar job “[n]o one ever touches me, and it’s not that I want anyone to. That would be weird.”

So far so good. Right?

The Question

But the “workologist” was told of her concern of “almost feel[ing] left out” when the males at her job “constantly hug and grab and bump each other in a friendly way.” She asked: “Should I let this ‘bro contact’ bother me?”

Should she?

(The headline in the Times’ online edition referred to an “extremely chummy” workplace, while the hard copy edition headline “equivalent” speaks of “when the bros hug it out.” Seems to me there is a difference as it relates to the reader’s question — and different tenor to each of the headlines — which changes the meaning significantly. What do you think?).

The Workologist Responds

After pondering the issue, I then read the response of the workologist to compare my response. He said that “[i]t can be irritating or even troubling to feel left out at work — even if whatever you’re being left out of doesn’t appeal to you.” He noted that “[i]nformal social rituals from happy-hour gatherings to the office Oscar pool can improve an office’s culture — unless they leave some people feeling that they just don’t fit in.”

He also quoted a psych professor who said that this can become a “coded way of excluding people. We don’t want people like you because you don’t fit our culture,’ can turn out to mean, ‘You’re not our race, or our gender.’”

Good point. Channeling Justice Scalia, not every workplace slight or incivility — or exclusion — is actionable, unless it involves things like gender, race, religion, age, etc.

Is A Bro Hug Exclusionary?

But what about a bro hug … is it exclusionary? And if so, is it a “coded way of excluding people” by gender? What if a bro tried to hug the female reader? She said that she wouldn’t like it. Is that harassment?

After setting out the basics, the workologist concluded that “[t]he good news is that it doesn’t seem as if your colleagues are trying to exclude you. In fact, they seem to be behaving respectfully, and they probably don’t suspect their ‘bro contact’ might be bothersome, and almost certainly don’t intend it to be.”

Happy Ending? Or Not??

I tended to agree with the workologist, but then I recalled the famous Dialogues (published here) that I had with my widely known employment partner, the “Notorious AEG” (you may know her as Amy Epstein Gluck, but I like the “notorious” moniker). In them, she gently deconstructed my (enlightened?) males-eye view of workplace gender issues, and provided her view from a female’s perspective. This view was eye-opening, and I re-learned that “you gotta walk in someone’s shoes” …

Maybe The Dialogues Hold The Answer?

I therefore consulted the Dialogues to see if I could get a better handle on the reader’s question and the workologist’s answer. However, it did not provide me with anything directly on point; the closest I got was this exchange:

RBC: Don’t treat co-workers as friends, confidants, or potential dates. They are there to do a job — to make a career — to support a family. Being friendly and supportive is one thing — and a good thing; but being “a friend” is a slippery slope that can land you into trouble. …

AEG: It is a slippery slope to advise “don’t be friends” … this can’t be understated, saying “don’t be friends” would likely lead to male-dominated workplaces and cliques — especially where men are the arbiters of a woman’s promotion or partnership potential. … Bottom line: I don’t think you want to tell men not to be friends with women. It could have unintended and unfortunate consequences.

Amy’s point was a good corrective to my initial view. It is a “slippery slope to advise ‘don’t be friends.’” But this did not quite answer question posed to the workologist.

So, in Talmudic fashion, I consulted the oracle herself for a learned exegesis. (Talmud? Oracle?).

The Oracle Speaks

Amy listened carefully, chewed on the issue, consulted the Dialogues and other primary source material, and after a silent, lengthy deliberation declared that “I generally agree. Generally, yes. Under this limited circumstance. In general, I don’t think the bro hugs are exclusionary. I am glad they recognize not to hug her too.” A true oracle!

Whew! So, I wasn’t entirely out of touch!

Amy explained her reasoning:

“I’m glad they’re being respectful of her and not touching her, BUT are they excluding her from other things such that they’re treating her adversely in the terms and conditions of her employment? Do they meet for lunch, dinner, happy hours, and not tell her AND she’s the only woman? If they invite other women, then it’s just her.

There’s nothing wrong with ‘not hanging out with everyone’ or not liking everyone you work with. It is a problem if they all go to lunch regularly and that benefits their jobs and they exclude just her as the only woman or just the women. (Also, they should consider that some of them don’t want to be hugged).”

Takeaway

Sometimes these things are not so easy.

But as the oracle noted generally: “Men must be AWARE … we want to promote and remind men about good, decent, proper, and expected behaviors in the workplace and everywhere. The workplace is a microcosm of society at large.”

Richard B. Cohen has litigated and arbitrated complex business and employment disputes for almost 40 years, and is a partner in the NYC office of the national “cloud” law firm FisherBroyles. He is the creator and author of his firm’s Employment Discrimination blog, and received an award from the American Bar Association for his blog posts. You can reach him at Richard.Cohen@fisherbroyles.com and follow him on Twitter at @richard09535496.