#i literally didn’t know how to write himmel at first but he’s now a cool nerd in my eyes

[tomaytow]

we do not mess with the gods

— afab reader, implied one–sided himmel/reader, lots of cursing, probably some inaccuracies about barbatos lore, alternate universe

summary: “you are free to join if you want to,” himmel glances by his shoulder and sends her a gentle smile. “i’d prefer if you were with me.”

“are you kidding? of course I’m coming with you, dude!” [name] pushes her chair backwards, and grabs another cupcake. she pulls her satchel from the coat rack and scowls at him, before putting on her shoes. “you think i’m gonna leave you there all alone? in those ruins that may or may not be cursed? no way in hell, man. not on my watch!”

or: two best friends engage themselves that may put them both in big trouble, but what’s new, anyway?

“Whaf du fu meen yul gow tew de tawsund weends tempol tif lef ot nayt!?” [Name] quickly swallows the cupcake she’s eating when Himmel hushes her to keep her voice down. She glares at him and points him accusingly in the chest. “Shit, dude. Don’t tell me to be quiet ‘cuz this ain’t a private matter!”

It’s currently eleven pm in the evening. A couple of minutes ago, Himmel just simply barged out of his room, wearing some clothes that screamed he’ll be out to go somewhere, with his backpack in tow. He sauntered so casually to the dining room to find [Name] consuming Amos’ homemade cupcakes—and caught her attention by pulling on her sleeve.

Apparently, he was going to announce something.

And this something involved the Thousand Winds Temple.

Himmel sighs and grasps the index finger that belonged to his friend. “[Name], cursing is bad. You better lower your voice or else Mr. Ragnvindr will scold you again. Also, can you please hear me out first? I promise you will be interested!”

[Name] stares at him in disbelief. Himmel. Her crazy nerd friend who’s in love with history (ew, boring), science (convoluted as fuck), and mathematics (barf). Himmel, who excels in every class may it be related to the arts or not, implies that she, [Name], who does not give a fuck about education at all and who prefers just playing around since she’s just still a dumb teenager exploring the world, will be interested in what he’s planning…?

She scoffs, “Don’t say things you’re not sure of! If this is one of those tedious study sessions with you regarding the mechanisms of the Guizhong Ballista or the Sakoku Decree in Inazuma, I swear to the archons, Himmel — I will not hesitate to shove my cupcakes down your throat.”

Himmel giggles amusingly (whispering those don’t belong to you though, they’re for Amos!), and puts both of his hands over [Name]’s shoulders comfortingly. “Please do not attempt that, you know I am already weak—”

“That’s why I can exactly—“

“I’m going underground for the Anemo Archon’s statue.”

[Name] freezes in her position. Interested? Himmel promised that she’ll be interested?

Well, she is now but—

“Okay. I get it. My best friend’s losing his mind.”

Himmel giggles at her once again, before putting on his backpack. [Name] realizes that Himmel is dead serious about this! About visiting (or trespassing?) the underground ruins, where Mondstadt citizens are prohibited to go, but...

For a kid whose wisdom is endless, he’ll find his own ways to break the law just to satisfy his curiosity. [Name] knows that much.

“You are free to join if you want to,” Himmel glances by his shoulder and sends her a gentle smile. “I’d prefer if you were with me.”

“Are you kidding? Of course I’m coming with you, dude!” [Name] pushes her chair backwards, and grabs another cupcake. She pulls her satchel from the coat rack and scowls at him, before putting on her shoes. “You think I’m gonna leave you there all alone? In those ruins that may or may not be cursed? No way in hell, man. Not on my watch!”

Himmel looks happy. When [Name] catches up to him by the door, Himmel smiles even wider. “I knew I can always count on you.”

“Duh. You can always count on me.” [Name] puffs and stretches her arms. “Though, I am reminding you—“

She sways her cupcake with her hand, “We seriously are going to get in biiiig trouble with Jean this time if she finds out. And if Jean finds out, Amos and Mr. Ragnvindr will do, too. That means you’re going to be grounded. And I’m going to be grounded. You know how my mom is literally besties with Amos.”

There’s a twinkle in Himmel’s eye. “Then we will just have to be furtive.”

[Name] is already used to Himmel’s antics.

Well, it is known by the people that [Name] is far more ‘‘troublesome” between them, when it comes to crazy sports activities that involve wind gliding or windtrace. But in actuality, it’s them both.

Himmel can be a little mischief maker too. He will do absolutely everything just for knowledge and [Name] knows that much.

Thankfully though, they have each other – they have each others’ backs when someone is getting lost or maybe a bit too invested with their ordeal. If Himmel is forgetting to take care of himself due to his studies, then [Name] is there to bonk him on the head. If [Name] is pushing herself too far (to her own limits), then Himmel is there to give her the longest lesson about the dangers of over exertion on the human body.

But when they join forces, here’s where no one can predict what happens next.

They will be literally magnets for risks and misfortunes.

Usually, it’s Himmel who follows [Name] around—either to support her or even accompany her—but this time, it’s the opposite. [Name] knows what they’re doing is a bit (or maybe even more) risky but it’s where the fun is. It’s where the thrill is!

Though, she can’t help but be worried over Himmel’s sudden interest regarding the Anemo Archon. She’s figuring it out with her brain, pondering over possible answers. Why, out of all the things in the world, was Himmel intrigued with a god?

So she asks.

“So uh, Himmel,” [Name] calls out, and Himmel hums in response. Right now, they’re inside the Thousand Winds’ Temple underground cave, where, according to the grandfathers and grandmothers, the Anemo Archon’s statue resides. (There’s a story that it sank due to a powerful earthquake, but that’ll be for another time.) “…Yeah. I hate it here. Anyways. What drove you to explore the oh–so holy cavern of the Anemo Archon, huh?”

It was a miracle that she and Himmel had even gotten outside the walls of Mondstadt city without attracting any of the Favonius officers. (She starts to believe that they’re useless, because of a certain red–haired male.) However, she can’t even call it a miracle too when they simply just walked inside the steep entrance of the cave. No one bothers to come here since it’s declared closed to the public, according to Jean.

With their flashlights in hand trying to illuminate the whole area, [Name] inches a little closer to Himmel, who’s just right beside her. Fucking eerie shit. And it’s even quiet! All she can hear is their footsteps echoing through the stone walls.

“Hey. Himmel, answer me.”

There’s a water droplet in the distance. Himmel seems to not be shaken at all. Now the tables have turned – the weakest of the pair is brimming with such courage right now, while the one with the fists and strength is apprehensive. ([Name] should definitely tell him again her fabricated ghost stories so they can be afraid together.)

“Oh, I just want to try something out,” Himmel replies, and they head to the right side. His flashlight reveals an extremely long staircase, where the light can’t reach, so they’ll have no choice but to go down there. [Name] focuses on a graffiti text that said DO NOT ENTER HERE in red. [Name] just cringes and averts her gaze away. Focus on Himmel, focus on Himmel… “And it involves the Anemo Archon Lord Barbatos himself.”

[Name] elbows him on the ribs, hard. Himmel whines from the contact, whimpering how it hurts. If her panic is showing, then so be it. She’s seriously freaking out.

She literally felt a shiver run down her spine when he mentioned their archon—their archon who is still being worshipped, despite being rumored to be gone a long time ago. The famous archon of Mondstadt who’s probably never going to come back anymore.

“Motherf– dude! Come on dude, come on. Don’t make me regret this, dude. Don’t make me regret joining you because I just thought that you wanted a little trip to see the damn Lord Barbatos himself, but nooooo, you’re going to experiment on him!?” She inches closer to his face, “Are you outta your mind!? Remember what the boomers said, we do not mess with the gods. I repeat, we do not mess with the gods. It’s like, the ultimate first commandment of Teyvat! BAH! Who am I kidding? Himmel, I literally don’t give any flying fucks about the archons, but I’m telling you this. Do you know how insane you sound right now?!”

([Name] doesn’t notice how Himmel’s cheeks are flushing faintly.) Himmel puts his hands up in defense sheepishly. “I–I appreciate your concern for me [Name], really, but I got it under control. I– I promise.” His expression turns serious, but there’s still a smile on his lips. “I researched. I would not just go here unprepared! You know that, yes?”

He’s right. Memories come rushing over [Name]’s mind: there are times that their plans almost failed because of external factors but Himmel manages to always find a way. That’s how calculated he is, and it never fails to impress [Name] everytime. Himmel is so damn reliable, even in a life or death situation.

[Name] groans and takes a step back. “Fine, fine. I trust that you have thought this through, but I am still scared of the outcome, okay?” She starts going down the stairs and she wonders where she got her sudden confidence from. Whatever. Everything for Himmel, she guesses. “But if shit goes down, we’re leaving this place, okay? And we will never speak of what happened. Okay?”

It’s illegal to come down here, after all.

“Yes. Also, language please.”

“Okay, so how are we gonna do this?” [Name] questions, a brow raised as she shines over the gigantic statue of the Anemo Archon in front of them. They’ve finally reached the biggest area of this cave — where the statue of Barbatos is located. [Name] can feel the sacredness of the statue so she’s trying to be cautious. Archons only know what could happen if she commits a mistake. “Fuck, it’s dark everywhere…”

“Don’t worry, I brought candles.” Himmel starts bending down and putting on lit candles around the wide space. Even if it’s just a little bit, the candles helped because they can see each other a little better now without the flashlights. [Name] assists him by grabbing more candles from his backpack—this damn nerd brought lots, by the way—and lit up some more.

After a couple of minutes, [Name] finds herself admiring their handiwork. Now the cavern looks like a safe place, but there’s still some creepiness lingering around. [Name] places her hands on her hips and flatly remarks, “Yeah. What we’re doing is literally cult activity. Ugh. This is why I am atheist.”

Himmel motions her to come closer from where he’s standing. “[Name]. Come here.”

She approaches him, and he shows the written symbols beneath Barbatos large feet. They both observe the old writing, and [Name] looks at him questioningly. She’s not that dedicated like him to study the field of linguistics. Himmel lifts on finger, “It's ancient Teyvat language. It translates to: gateway to celestia.”

[Name] is mystified. “Celestia… wait, isn’t that like. Where the highest form of beings live?”

Himmel nods, delighted that his friend is invested. “Indeed! It’s where the supreme beings settle and watch over the whole of Teyvat.”

“Oh, so you want us to go there? Oooookay. And I’m assuming it requires our souls? Damn, dude. You didn’t even tell me that we’re gonna die here—we’re gonna sacrifice our bodies! Well, if we’re going to die here, might as well confess—”

“No, no! Stop, [Name]! Do not say that! We are not going to… also, did you say you are going to confess—?” Himmel stares at her expectantly. Himmel moves closer, who looks more interested than before. “C–confess about—?”

“I’m gonna confess about how I stole your—”

“Alright, alright. Let us talk about that later,” Himmel sighs disappointingly, and [Name] just grins cheekily at him. “Regardless, I am going up there—“

He points at the statue’s cupped hands.

“And I will be performing the ritual.”

“R–ritual— hold on, you didn’t say anything about rituals! Also, no way in hell I’m leaving you out there and you leaving me out here. We’re going together, Himmel.” [Name] flicks him on the forehead. “You’re insane. Now give me your bag.”

Himmel complained a lot, but [Name] just threatened to punch him in the stomach if he wouldn’t shut up. [Name] offered to carry him on her back, because she knew all about his breathing problems. She also didn’t want Himmel to pass out due to exhaustion while climbing the statue. It would even be a bigger problem if he did.

Thankfully, Himmel wrapped his arms around her neck, and his legs around her stomach without any qualms. (For some reason, Himmel immediately accepted the idea and clung to her like a koala. Himmel apologized for being such a burden though, and [Name] reassured him that it was fine. Himmel was light as a feather so it was no biggie.)

It wasn’t an easy feat, because the statue was slim (why is the Anemo Archon petite and slim, anyway?) and [Name] almost fell twice due to her stupidity and due to the statue’s slippery stone clothes. Or robes. Whatever.

It didn’t help that Himmel wasn't a fan of heights either so he just clung himself tighter to her. He whimpered that he didn’t want to fall, not like this, and [Name] did not understand what he meant, so she just did her best to climb over the statue’s body swiftly as possible.

(It would be more of a problem if they both plummeted down the ground. They wouldn’t be able to stand up and go to the Cathedral for some healing if they have fractured bones.)

When [Name] reaches Barbatos’ shoulder, she maneuvers Himmel safely to the other side. Himmel bows her head in gratitude. A tired [Name] just grunts to get over with the ritual already, so after five minutes, they both sit on the statue’s hands.

“Sturdy. We’re not gonna fall, are we?”

“We are not. The statue is built with—”

“No nerdy shit. Explain. Now.”

Himmel shakes his head. “Language…”

[Name] clamors, “Dude, the clock is ticking.”

Himmel snickers. Then, he ducks to unzip his backpack and pulls out two things: one is an apple, and the other… is a bottle of Mondstadt’s speciality.

Dandelion wine. [Name] squints at him suspiciously. “Seriously?”

“We are not going to drink it,” an amused Himmel says. “It is an offering to the Anemo Archon.”

Now it clicks. “Oh. Now I understand why Barbatos is absent… dude’s drunk as hell he can’t even get up.”

“Careful, you may anger the archon, [Name].”

“You know, I am perfectly fine with it. I might even die here anyway so why not seize the moment. You only live once.”

Himmel pouts at her cutely. “Stop that. No one is going to die.” He puts the apple and bottle in front of them—or in the statue’s stoned fingers. Himmel brings his arms over his crossed legs and opens his palms. “Now… my objective here is that we are going to summon the absent archon.”

[Name] doesn’t budge. She glances at the statue’s face for a sec—at least, she tries to—and notices that the head is covered in a hood. “Insane behavior.”

“That is rude, [Name].”

“Am I lying, though? Where and how did you even get this information, huh? About the summoning?” [Name] quips and crosses her arms. “Was it the nuns? Sister Rosaria?”

Himmel closes one eye. “I would love to answer your question, but I am afraid that you will just have to read my paper. It will be in chapter three, and once you are done, you can ask me the questions you desire.”

“Forget it. So, Himmel the Nerd. How are you going to perform this?”

“Hold my hands.”

Easier said than done. Himmel stares at their intertwined fingers for a moment, until [Name] blows a raspberry. Continue, [Name]’s expression says.

Himmel just laughs for the umpteenth time. “Next, we just need to say mea libertas meus canor three times. Though, I presume that it only needs one person for the ritual, but maybe us saying it together will allow the summoning to strengthen.”

“What happens if we say it four times?”

“Mhm, I am not entirely sure. We will find out.”

“Greeaaat, science mixed with divine shit. We seriously are signing ourselves to death.”

Himmel gives her a warning glare—at least, he’s trying to. Himmel’s too much a softie to give someone the stink eye anyway. “[Name]...”

“I’m kidding! Let’s start?”

Himmel nods. He shuts his eyelids. “We’re gonna say it in three.”

[Name] can feel something building up. She guffaws. Himmel looks so damn silly. “Should I, uh, pfft, close my eyes, too?”

“It is up to you. I closed mine for personal reasons, so…”

[Name] doesn’t. It’s better she’s watching in case some stranger things ensue. “Nah. Go start.”

Himmel complies. [Name] knows that what they’re doing is not what teenagers nowadays do unless you’re some part of religious shit. No, what they’re doing is entirely out of pure curiosity and for Himmel’s academics.

Sure, the consequences are unprecedented; they’ve gone through lots of challenges together, but [Name] can surmise that this is definitely the craziest.

Involving themselves with the Archon of their land… man.

[Name] won’t admit it, but she just hopes this summoning won’t work. She’s being a meanie right now, but she doesn’t want anything bad happening to her friend! It’s always bad when gods are included.

“Mea libertas meus canor.” They both say out loud.

They say it again.

And again.

Nothing happens.

It’s silent.

[Name] gulps. Creepy eerie shit fuck. Her eyes check sideways if there’s anything below that seems out of place. Nothing. Just the candles. She returns to Himmel again.

Himmel is not speaking. He still has his eyes closed. Their hands are still latched onto one another.

“It’s not working,” [Name] whispers. Her stomach churns. Now she’s really having a bad feeling. She repeats, “Himmel, it’s not working. Can we go now?”

But Himmel doesn’t reply.

Instead, he grips their fingers. [Name] flinches at this and voices out, “…Himmel?”

“Mea libertas meus canor.”

And just like that, harsh gales of wind gust over the cavern. [Name] quickly scans her surroundings, dumbfounded and utterly confused of what is happening. What the fuck, where did these winds come from?!

She quickly looks back at her friend, who is still somehow inactive (unconscious?) and [Name]’s heart sinks in terror. The bad feeling—! Fuck! She immediately clambers close and removes her hold with his. She starts shaking him, crying out his name, but the winds just get harsher and harsher by the minute.

“Himmel! Hey! You didn’t tell me about this! Himmel, snap out of it! This isn’t funny!”

The candles’ wicks go out, and [Name] watches with wide eyes when Himmel begins to levitate into the air. “Himmel!”

The ends of Himmel’s braided tips begin to glow in a blue light, and other parts of his body begin to brighten as well. In his arms. In his leg. In his neck.

Stunned, [Name] just can’t help but gape at her friend hopelessly in the darkness. She ransacks her mind to figure out what’s truly going on, until—

“Himmel!”

—it abruptly stops.

The candles’ wicks below the statue are mysteriously lit up again. The winds are suddenly gone.

Himmel falls, and [Name] screams his name once more to catch him barely in her arms. Himmel rubs his eyelids as he groans weakly.

[Name] clutches Himmel intimately and tightly to her chest. “You fucker! Don’t do that shit! I was so scared, my heart was about to leap outta my chest! Fuck you!”

“Mhm… that is… some obscene language I’m hearing first thing in the morning,” Himmel croaks out, and [Name] blinks. Wait a second. Huh? Why did it sound… a little different? Is this one of the side–effects of the ritual? Does Himmel have a runny nose or something? Is he sick? Also, morning?

[Name] withdraws herself slightly from him to scrutinize any signs of weirdness, but Himmel remains in her touch.

Himmel yawns, and then opens his eyes slowly—revealing what’s supposed to be cerulean irises, but they’re green. An emerald green. Himmel murmurs weakly, “Is it morning yet, though? If it is, good morning – to whom do I owe the pleasure of cradling me so gently and so lovingly in their arms…?” He smiles sweetly. “And you are…?”

[Name]’s jaw drops.

Signs of weirdness? Forget that. It’s all over him.

Himmel has this under control? He has everything planned?

No.

He doesn’t.

So who the hell is this dude in [Name]’s arms, who’s using Himmel’s body?

“Oh shit.”

[theliterateape]

The Primary Reason I Didn’t Vote in the Illinois Primary

By David Himmel

“The flag should never be displayed with the union down, except as a signal of dire distress in instances of extreme danger to life or property.” —U.S Code 176

I didn’t see the usual “I VOTED” stickers from my darling and my annoying social media friends on Super Tuesday III—as MSNBC was calling it in further effort to make the news feel like a Rocky film. That is due in part because I didn’t spend much time on social media yesterday. I couldn’t afford that time. I was busy with other stuff. But it also could be because a lot of those social media friends didn’t vote, and if they did, things are so goddamn dour now that bragging about running an errand wasn’t worth the energy it takes to frame, filter, and post a pic proving your citizenship.

I also didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary on Super Tuesday III—again, MSNBC’s title for a voting day because MSNBC is run by dorks who get hard and wet over the most mundane but important aspects of American life.

Yep. I’m that guy. I’m that guy who didn’t vote in the most important primary of our lives. Right? That’s what this is, right? Eh. I’m also that guy who is married to a woman who didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary on Super Tuesday III. 

Allow me to digress… Okay, look, I realize that MSNBC didn’t create the Super Tuesday III moniker, but that was the channel my wife had on most of the day as we were holed up in our apartment trying to dodge COVID-19. And I dislike MSNBC almost as much as I dislike FOX News, so I’m easily coerced by my own ego—maybe my id, I don’t know—to take a barely clever shit on its dumb, smug face whenever I can.

Now, back to the important thoughts… I’m that guy who didn’t vote. And I’m that guy whose wife didn’t vote. And I fully expect friends of ours, friends like Rory Zacher to comment on this story or its Facebook post, or to text me and say something to the effect of: “I hope Trump comes into your home, grabs your two-year-old-son by the pussy and builds a wall around your toilet. That’s what you get for not voting.” And that’s fine. Because my son doesn’t have a pussy. Just ask him. He will proudly tell you he has a penis and that “Mommy penis… bye-bye.” And that reminds me… I need to teach my son that a penis is not something that all people have then goes “bye-bye.” That’s sexism. And it only applies, respectfully, to rich trannies.

I’m a politico. I even write and host podcasts for POLITICO. But I didn’t vote. Why? Well, duh…

The primary reason I didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary yesterday—Rachel Maddow’s third best orgasm of 2020—is simple: It wasn’t important.

My vote would not have mattered. Nope. I don’t want to hear it. It wouldn’t have mattered. I would have chosen a Democratic Ballot. Between the job, trying to keep Literate Ape functioning, missing Don Hall like the deserts miss the rain, being an engaged dad and attentive husband, and thinking through two film projects, one novel, and a book of poetry, I did not have the bandwidth to consider those down-ballot elections. I like to think of myself as non-partisan. I would easily vote republican if I thought a republican candidate could do the job right. But if I had voted today, I would have asked for a Democratic ballot, which means I would have ben voting for the best of the most useless so-called liberal. Maybe there were general contests to vote for, I don’t know. Because I mostly don’t care. And I’ll come back to that in a moment. As it relates to voting for the president, well… I’d prefer Bernie. But, if Old Joe Dementia gets the nomination, that’s fine. I know Bernie won’t get done all he wants to get done because he’ll never have the support of Congress required to do it. See, the thing that most people forget is that the president is designed to be the Face, not the Ruler. It’s Congress that makes the difference. And come the general election, I’ll likely vote Democrat all the way down. Except for judges. But that’s a complicated story for another time.

 The primary reason I didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary yesterday—Rachel Maddow’s third best orgasm of 2020—is simple: It wasn’t important.

So even I had voted, it wouldn’t have mattered. Some excited wank aligned with the Democratic Party would be elected over an equally excited wank aligned with the Democratic Party. And then it’ll be a fight to the finish against a republican cocknozzle who wants to be as (un)cool as Devin Nunes. And my vote for Bernie, and my wife’s vote for Bernie, would not have helped keeping him from getting trounced the same way the Houston Astros trounced the rules of baseball. Thing is, if I had voted, I’d feel far more disappointed than I am right now. And you should know, dear reader, that my secondary goal in life is to master disappointment. The first goal is to convince myself, my wife, and every girlfriend I’ve ever had that I was worth the lay.

Yeah, yeah, Zacher, I know, I could have early voted. And I thought about that. “Maybe we should do that,” I said to my wife, Katie. Or maybe she said it to me. But we didn’t. Why? I dunno. Because this primary didn’t matter much in our household, I suppose. And that’s selfish, I know. But we’re white and not broke, and we own a boat, and we have so many friends who can afford in vitro and all that shit—like multiple times, all of them—so what the fuck do you expect from us?

So, the primary reason I didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary is because it wasn’t important. And not just because I don’t care about the flawed system or the sub-basement candidates. But because when I considered the risk of casting a vote for one fuckhead over another at risk of contracting COVID-19, I chose to stay home and have Zoom meetings with co-workers.

But here’s the other thing—that goddamn coronavirus. Yep. I’m not afraid, but I’m not an idiot. I’ve been a healthcare journalist to varying degrees for ten years. I was the editor in chief of Chicago Health magazine for six years. I’m a senior healthcare reporter for POLITICO. I’m not bragging (should I?), I’m just setting the stage to tell you that I’m not an everyday idiot. I’m a special kind of idiot! I recognize this shit is real. It was real the moment it left Wuhan. And really, it was real the moment it left the bat and made its way into the first human, or however the fuck this goddamn thing began.

Katie was sick on Sunday. A slight fever, which dropped quickly, was not the great concern. The great concern was her hydration because she was—how can I put this politely—shitting out of her mouth and pissing out of her ass for a good twenty-four hours. Three days later, she’s still struggling to find her normal. And now our boy has a fever. Tuesday afternoon, he broke through 100ºF with the gusto we all wanted Hillary to break through that glass ceiling. (Alas, another white male out did a woman. Yeah, I’m as perturbed by it as you are, brah/sista.)

Do they have COVID-19? Probably not. But were/are they ill? Yep. And in a time when we know less than almost fuck all about this pandemic, should someone exposed to their snot, breath, and farts venture out to a voting booth, take hold of a communal pen, and breathe on every available surface? Nah. Probably not.

As of this writing, I feel great. My bowel movements are as liquid as they usually are and my ability to breathe is as normal as it usually is, which is to say, I can smell all the farts in my house. The lingering ones… the ones living in the couch cushions, the ones that aren’t mine or Katie’s or Harry’s, but those of some of our dearest friends. You know who you are, couch farters.

My office shut down last week after the news that someone in one of the largest downtown Chicago office complexes was tested positive for COVID-19. The agency I work for has taken some drastic measures to ensure its survival as has almost every single organization in the United States with employees and clients to consider. This shit is ugly. And with each passing day, it look smore and more like a more devastating. I mean, they’ve stopped the money. No NBA. No NCAA. No goddam casinos! When America shuts down it’s money, you know shit is real. This is stranger and more dire and more uncertain than 9/11. And 9/11 was fucking  fucked up. You remember, right?

So I didn’t vote. I’m on a minor quarantine. Since I’m the only person in our household—other than the dog—without any flu-like or ass dynamite symptoms, I’m the one who makes the Walgreens runs and walks that mooch of a dog (whom I love). And as In pass other dog walkers, or the rare jogger or Walgreens runner, we take extra steps aside to avoid each other—three feet at least! And we give a knowing nod to say, “Don’t vote, dude. Those pens are not getting whipped down. I know they say they are, but come on. We all know that’s not true. The wipedowns are dependent on poorly paid democratic (lowercase D, morons, calm down) do-gooders who would rather be at home than have you breathing and coughing on them.”

The outcome of the 2020 election, presidential and every more important down-ballot ticket will not be determined by my staying at home. And if it does, it doesn’t matter. Because even if Old Joe Dementia gets the nomination, even if Trump is reelected, even if Kim Fox marries Jussie Smollet’s straight alter-ego, my vote yesterday—Super Tuesday III when Brian Williams and Rachel Maddow scissor to the tune of Europe’s “The Final Countdown” during Morning Joe, nothing is more important than the health of my family, myself, and my neighborhood. Especially when stacked against our decaying democracy, or whatever the fuck we call this shitshow now.

[theliterateape]

Las Vegas Stinks... of Possibility

By Don Hall

I pull up the Zillow listing for the house on Alpine Road In West Las Vegas.

“This is where we will live in a few months. Mark my words. This is the one,” I declare with the certainty of someone who has never been disappointed by expectations thwarted.

“Do you really believe that or do you just believe if you will it to be so, it will be?”

“It has a pool in the back yard, fucker. We’re buying this one. Trust me.”

When we pulled up to the house on Alpine Road, I tried to maintain my unshakeable optimism about this specific property. But after about five minutes in the building it became abundantly clear how miserably wrong I had been. This place was a fucking dump in direct contrast to the deceptive photos on Zillow. Alpine was a 75-year old, 350-pound woman with facial scarring from botched Botox treatments who presented herself as 30 years and 250 pounds ago.

The place on the corner of Treasure Avenue was unassuming but had a huge yard, a giant African oil palm tree and a garage that had been turned into a one-bedroom apartment on top of the three bedrooms in the main house. It was far better than advertised and we loved it.

✶

One of the most asked questions I’ve been fielding lately in this new pursuit for a home in the Mojave is “Why Vegas?” Proffered in the same way one would ask why I was wearing that gold sequined tube top to church or why I got that Joey Laurence neck tattoo.

The simple answer is opportunity. Lately, I’ve found I have plenty of opportunities to create and make a living and to make art in Chicago, but they are the same opportunities I’ve been recycling for twenty-odd years. Time for something new, some fresh challenges, different problems to solve. Sure, I could accomplish all that by becoming a nursing student, a carnie or opening an adult bookstore in Pilsen, but moving to Vegas seems a lot more practical.

So two weeks prior to Christmas, Dana, our friend Matthew, Joe Janes and I found ourselves driving a rented KIA SUV along the Las Vegas Beltway with Bob, a 72-year old Harley-riding real estate badass from Henderson, chasing down leads for the perfect Vegas home.

To clarify, we are buying the place with Matthew who presented us with an idea that was just too good to pass up. He had just sold his home in Chicago and wanted out of town. Dana and I have been talking about a move for well over a year now. We sat down, crunched numbers and realized that buying a larger place together was more advantageous than going it alone, so we joined forces and finances to find the perfect nest in the heart of The Meadows. 

Leading up to the trip, we did a ton of research on homes we could afford and were big enough. By the time we hit the ground, Bob had our list and we rocked through all of Vegas. I did most of the driving mostly so that I could get used to the landscape and traffic patterns. We saw ten houses over three days — some were immediate Nos once we saw them but most had huge potential. We were so organized that at one point Bob commented that he loved showing us places because he didn’t have to do most of the work. This was key because we had four days and I had a few other things to accomplish while we there.

About six weeks before we went out, I got a phone call from the Make-a-Wish Foundation of Nevada. They had seen that I was looking for work in Vegas, checked my online resume, and wanted to know if I was interested in interviewing for an events position. I told them I’d be in town on the 18th, so we scheduled an appointment. Soon after, MGM Grand Hotel and Casino asked the same. I booked an interview with them shortly after. Then Caesar’s Palace called. So on Tuesday, I threw on my jacket and tie and spent the morning interviewing for jobs that pay more than I’ve ever made to-date in a fiscal year.

The first was pretty standard and it turns out I’m in the running. Lots of travel but I’m cool with that. The second was a walk-and-talk throughout the casino with eight people interviewing me. Apparently, with regard to the immensity of responsibility, the modern way is to actually have employees whose job it is to vet one’s social media presence. And they still called me in. The third was super laid back. The initial question was “Why do you want this job?” I replied “I don’t. You called me, remember? Tell me what the job is and I’ll tell you if I want it!” And we both laughed.

It was invigorating. It was exhausting. Given I hadn’t even applied to these places, it was a portent of good things to come. Honestly, I don’t anticipate getting any of these gigs. Some things really are too good to be true. I did, however, find value and a certain thrill at being invited.

If there is sort of a Big Takeaway from our trip (you know, beyond looking at houses and the anticipation of a brand new life) it was the number of people I met who made some sort of comment to the affect that I was exactly what Las Vegas needed. From the Big Events folks to the underground arts scene, I was pretty much bombarded with good will and affirmation. Vegas seems to be welcoming me and that feels damn good. It’s exactly what I’d hoped for without even knowing what to hope for.

On top of all that, I finally got to meet one of my writing heroes: Eric Wilson of Literate Ape’s American Shithole column. Eric is one of those fuckers who writes so well and with such laser wit that he makes me want to be a better writer. Monday night I sat in a pub with three of those types who force me to really try when putting my thoughts on a page: Dana, Joe and Eric Motherfucking Wilson. 

I also got to swing in to Gordon Ramsay Burger and eat at one of my man-crush’s restaurants. I’ve grown to love Ramsay, his television persona and his offline good works. It was the best hamburger and fries I’ve ever had. Hell, the woman next to me had a Gordon Ramsay veggie burger and practically moaned as she ate it. Even a vegetarian like the magnificent Joe Janes could enjoy Ramsay’s standards of cuisine.

Speaking of Joe, who could ask for a better friend than he? Dude cashed in his vacation trip to come to Vegas, hang out and go on house-seeking excursions. Sure, he saw some shows and ate at Guy Fieri’s (not as cool as Ramsay’s but whatever) but his reason for coming was to help me out. There’s something special about Joe coming out — he was my best man a little over four years ago right there on the strip. Before we left, he sent some links of attractions we could see but, man, I was all business on this trip.

Himmel and I figured out that there was no real Live Lit scene in Vegas and that it was my challenge to bring it. He hooked me up with Ryan Pardey at The Bunkhouse Saloon so we arranged a meeting there for Tuesday night. Right off the Old Vegas Strip on Fremont Street, The Bunkhouse resembles The Empty Bottle in Chicago and there’s a vinyl record shop, 11th Street Records, right around the corner. Within about five minutes of meeting, we got the first Vegas BUGHOUSE! booked for Tuesday, April 9, 2019 and our newest Ape, Erik Lewin, has agreed to be a part of it.

I did a tiny bit of gambling (I’m lousy at it and after declaring so earlier in the week, Wilson commented “That’s why you work so hard.” Which is probably true.) We ate at a buffet at Green Valley Ranch Resort Spa & Casino, and rounding out my Vegas experience, I was propositioned at 6 a.m. by a couple of prostitutes.

Standing outside the Cosmopolitan, a pipe and a Vente Dark Roast from Starbucks, two ladies dressed for maximum “Check Me Out” approached.

“Just say Yes!” she said. “…yes?” “Wanna hang out?” “Nah. I’m just waking up.” “I’ll take your clothes off… it won’t cost much…” “Hmmm…in another life, maybe. But…” and I pulled up the picture of Dana and I at the Chapel of the Bells on my phone. “I’m really married and not into anyone but her.”

And for five minutes, I shared the romantic story of Dana and I as these two ladies of the night — er… early morning — coo’d over the story.

We made an offer on the place on Treasure Avenue and the seller accepted. As in all things, it isn’t a done deal until the ink dries but things are looking right.

✶

That’s the thing about this move. It could be Alpine — deceptive promise with hopes dashed to the ground. It could be Treasure — all possibility and anticipation. We’ll certainly see in the new year which one it is but for right now, Las Vegas stinks… of opportunity, potential, possibilities undreamt of, and a genuine sense of something different for which to look forward.

I haven’t been this excited since I packed up my Blue Bronco II in 1989 and drove north, randomly seeking a home and ultimately landing in Chicago. That was easily one of the best cliff leaps I’ve made in my life, so this bodes well.