#if you ever see me talking about a race that happened between july and February just know im talking from the vibes i got from the feed

[crimsonicarus]

I'll be very honest with you guys, since I moved here I don't have a convenient way to watch F1, I'm too scared of the German government to use illegal sites, and I'm not going above and beyond to watch the guy I dislike the most out of the entire grid do well

[blueskrugs]

In Between Being Young and Being Right | Mat Barzal

this is for  @yes-he-mccann and the @hockeynetwork fic exchange! I hope you like it!  

this was written on a stack of looseleaf over the course of about four hours and I used up like half of a brand new pen on it.

length: 4.1k words

the torture of small talk with someone you used to love

You met Mat Barzal the summer after his rookie year, fresh off the high of winning the Calder, all good looks and a quiet confidence. 

You fell in love under the fireworks over Lake Okanagan. 

It was a whirlwind summer romance, and you both knew it. It was one of those relationships that usually came with an expiration date, when the sun set earlier and the nights were colder. You and Mat didn’t care, though, because you fell so hard and fast for each other that you couldn’t imagine a life without the other one in it. Besides, you heard the whispers of all your friends and family, the way they said that you and Mat were made for each other.

It certainly seemed that way to you too, because you saw the love in Mat’s eyes when he looked at you, the way his face lit up when you laughed with him, and you knew that love was reflected in your own eyes, even when Mat pushed you off the dock and into the lake. 

The summer passed in a humid haze. You talked about the future as you laid in the grass under the stars, hands tangled together between you. About Mat’s career. About you graduating college in a couple of years. Moving to New York. Following Mat and his dream. 

You sat around bonfires with your friends, sitting on Mat’s lap and wearing one of his hoodies, watching the sparks fly into the dark sky and feeling Mat wrap his arms around your waist.

The end of summer was creeping ever nearer, but you and Mat were as inseparable as ever. Until you weren’t, until Mat went back to Long Island for training camp. 

You felt the 3000 miles between you as you talked on the phone each night. You could feel Mat pulling away as the distance stretched between you. You also knew there was nothing you could do about it. 

“I think we should break up,” he said one night just after the season started. The Islanders had won, and Mat had scored a goal, but he sounded tired, exhausted in a way that was more than just the hockey game. You choked back a sob, but Mat continued on. “I just don’t think this long-distance thing is working.”

It wasn’t working because Mat didn’t want it to. There was more to it than that, you knew, but you didn’t push as Mat hung up the phone. You stared at your phone long after the screen went dark. You were wearing an old Thunderbirds sweatshirt of Mat’s, and it still smelled like him, but instead of being comforting, it was suddenly cloying. You pulled the hood over your head to sleep, letting the familiar scent wash over you as the tears fell onto your pillowcase. 

Life went on. You learned to paste on a smile and laugh when someone told you that they’d thought you and Mat had been perfect together, that you would have been together forever. You’d thought that, too. Last summer seemed like a lifetime ago.

Summer rolled around again. You hadn’t spoken to Mat since that last phone call; you wondered vaguely what you would say to him if you saw him again. You went back to the Lake with your family and hoped you never had to find out. 

You bumped into Tyson Jost, literally, one day in July in the middle of the lake. He was in a kayak, and he was definitely intentionally trying to knock you off your paddleboard. You splashed him with your paddle as he laughed. 

It was nice for a moment, familiar as Tyson pouted at you and tried to fix his curls, like it was last summer again. Except nothing was the same, and Tyson must have realized it at the same time as you, because his smile fell. 

“Hey,” he offered quietly.

“Hey, Tys,” you said back, sitting down on your paddleboard, letting one leg hang over the side and into the water. 

It  was quiet for a moment, neither of you knowing what to say next, just the sound of cicadas filling the air. 

“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Tyson said.

You shrugged, tilting your face up towards the sun so you didn’t have to meet Tyson’s eyes. Tyson had always been nice to you, and you two got along, but he’d always been Mat’s friend, not yours.

Tyson nudged your leg with his paddle. “Miss playing Spikeball with you on my team,” he added. “We never lost when we were together.”

You laughed, looking back at Tyson, “That might have been because we’re ‘too competitive.’”

Tyson was grinning at you. “Nah,” he said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You laughed harder; you weren’t sure when the last time you had laughed this hard was. “Wanna join me out here for a while?” you asked when you caught your breath. 

“I’ll race ya,” Tyson said, already turning his kayak around for a head start. 

You beat him anyway. 

You didn’t see Mat at all that summer; you couldn’t decide if you were relieved or disappointed. His sister texted you once, but you didn’t respond. Mat still followed you on Instagram, too, would like your posts within a couple of hours, but he never interacted further than that. Your thumb hovered over the “remove follower” button on more than one late night, but it never actually got pressed. You still wore one of his hoodies to sleep sometimes. It no longer smelled like him, and it left you lonelier than ever come morning. 

When your work offered to send you to an important conference in New York City as a representative for the Vancouver area, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. You didn’t think about the fact that it was the middle of November, that hockey season in full swing, until a week later. You were in the middle of packing when your phone lit up with a notification that told you Mat had just scored a goal.

You looked at the Islanders hoodie that you had absently folded and placed at the top of your suitcase. 

New York was a big city, right? What were the odds that you would see Mat?

The odds were really fucking high, it turned out. 

You’d barely been in New York two days when you crossed paths with Mat. You were standing in line in a coffee shop, because your relationship was still a walking cliche, even after not seeing Mat for over a year. You heard his laugh before you saw his face.

You could never forget that laugh. You still heard it in your sleep, in the dark when you couldn’t chase the memories away. Except in your dreams it was never followed by a giggle that wasn’t yours. Like it was now. 

You resisted the urge to turn around, instead kept your eyes glued to your phone screen, but you weren’t really reading any of the words on it. 

A barista called out Mat’s name, and then he was brushing past you, murmuring an apology as he went past. He didn’t look at you, not really, more focused on getting his coffee. Not until he turned around, coffee now in hand, and you thought he was going to drop the cup for a moment as he did a literal double take. Frozen in the middle of a coffee shop in Manhattan. You would’ve laughed, but instead you felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

“Y/N,” Mat breathed. You almost didn’t hear him over the din of the conversations around you. 

His hair had grown out some, you couldn’t help but notice.

Someone else bumped into you, but you didn’t pay them any mind. Mat was still staring at you, but at least he’d closed his mouth. The barista called your name, and you moved to grab your cup from the counter. Mat grabbed your arm as you turned to leave but jerked back quickly, letting go like he’d been burned. 

You didn’t have enough caffeine in your system for this, and you didn’t have time for it, either. You were going to be late at this rate, but you paused anyway, looked into Mat’s eyes. You were both saved from speaking by a girl coming over and draping herself over Mat.

“Mat, baby, what’s taking you so long?” Mat shrugged the girl off of him, looking annoyed. She turned her attention to you then. “I’m Clara, Mat’s girlfriend,” she told you, her smile turning a little mean, as if she knew exactly who you were. She didn’t offer a hand, and instead, wound her arms around Mat’s bicep. 

She was tall, model-thin and model-pretty. Blonde in a way that was too perfect to be real. You were suddenly acutely aware of your own chipped nail polish. 

Mat didn’t say anything, but he refused to look at you.

You gripped your coffee cup tighter, turned, and fled, the bell over the door tinkling cheerily. It mocked you as you felt your heart break all over again. 

Mat had moved on; you hadn’t. And that was fine. Or, at least, that’s what you told yourself as you sipped your coffee and walked through the crowded streets of New York. Your phone vibrated with a text in your hand, but you turned it off without looking at it and threw it in your purse.

When you turned your phone back on later that night, back in the safety of your hotel room, the text at the top of your screen was from Mat. 

“I’m sorry,” it read.

Then, several hours later, another: “she’s not you.”

You scoffed. You felt a little bit like throwing your phone at the wall. 

Another text from Mat came through. You wondered if he’d been checking his phone all day, waiting for the little “read” to appear under all of his messages to you. “It’s just easier with her.”

You blocked Mat’s phone number through your tears.

That night as you fell asleep, you couldn’t help but wonder if Clara was the reason Mat had broken up with you. You wondered if she laughed at all of his stupid jokes like you always had. You wondered if she was friends with Tito, or if she had come to B.C. last summer and taken your place by Mat’s side. You wondered what would have happened if you had followed Mat to New York last year.

You would’ve followed Mat anywhere in the world once. Now, you were in the same city again, but you felt like you were worlds away from each other. You hoped whoever was on the other side of your wall couldn’t hear you crying. 

The Islanders came to Vancouver in February. You didn’t bother watching the game.

Soon, it was July again. You were going to a Canada Day party at a friend of a friend’s, and you were excited for it, for the chance to have fun on the lake for the day, just drinking and tanning. 

You didn’t know what impelled you to put on your cutest swimsuit, but you did it anyway. 

You’d barely walked into the backyard when someone barreled into you from behind, wrapping their arms around your waist and spinning you around. It took you a second, but you recognized the cheering voice as none other than Tyson Jost.

“Tyson, let go of me, holy shit,” you gasped. 

He did, but only long enough to turn you to face him and place his hands on your shoulders. He was out of breath and wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he was smiling at you.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he said excitedly. 

You had forgotten that your mutual friends at the lake overlapped. And if Tyson were there, Mat probably was, too. In spite of yourself, you peered over Tyson’s shoulder. You didn’t know if you were looking for Mat so you could avoid him or because you wanted to talk to him. 

“I need a drink,” you muttered when you finally spotted him, down near the lakefront. 

Tyson raised an eyebrow at you, but pointed you in the direction of the alcohol anyway, before you were being dragged across the lawn to meet his sister. 

Kacey was in a conversation with Mat, because of course she was, and you stood by and awkwardly sipped your drink as Tyson jumped straight into the conversation. They seemed to be arguing over whether or not a hot dog could be considered a sandwich. 

Kacey was sweet, and she seemed fun, especially when you teamed up to roast Tyson, but soon she was being called by someone else, and Tyson followed, leaving you with Mat. You glared at his back as he went. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Mat said quietly, dragging his bare toes through the grass. 

“Hey,” you said, taking another sip of your drink. “You had a great season,” you offered. It was true; Mat had put up great numbers, and the team had made it into the second round of the playoffs again. 

Mat looked up at you, startled, like he hadn’t expected you to still keep up with him and his team. He flushed a little and ran his hand through his hair. It was shorter again, you noticed. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

It was awkward, and you hated it. You could hear all the voices of your friends and family in your head, telling you that you and Mat were meant for each other, would be together forever, but right now it was like talking to a stranger. 

“How’re your parents?” Mat asked.

You forced a smile. “They just got a puppy.” You had pictures of him on your phone, but you had left it inside the house. “Where’s Clara?” you asked, willing your voice to stay even.

Mat flushed again and wouldn’t meet your eyes. “We, uh, broke up,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Before Christmas,” he added.

Not long after you’d been in New York, you thought, but you knew better than to hope that you’d had anything to do with it. 

“Y/N! Barzy!” Josty yelled then, effectively ending your conversation. “Come play Spikeball!” You both groaned good-naturedly. 

Your hand brushed Mat’s as you walked towards Josty, but he flinched and took a step away from you.

You glared at Tyson again as you moved to stand next to him. “I hate you,” you hissed. 

Tyson feigned innocence and tossed the ball to you. 

You and Tyson beat Kacey and Mat, because it had been a while, but you weren’t undefeated as a team for nothing. You let Tyson pull you into a hug and tried to ignore how you felt Mat’s eyes on your back. 

Mat and Kacey moved on from the game, but Tyson was already busy trying to pull in your next opponent. You ended up staying on Spikeball for a while, long enough that you were sweaty and in desperate need of water as the sun beat down from overhead.

You left Tyson and wandered off in search of the cooler filled with water bottles. Mat was already there, and you nearly turned around. He was about to twist the top off of a water bottle as you approached, but he paused. 

“Here,” he said, holding it out to you. “I think I took the last cold one, and I think you need it more than me.” 

You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him, and instead just muttered a grateful, “Thanks,” as you opened the bottle and gulped some down.

“You and Tys were tearing it up out there,” Mat commented. You narrowed your eyes at him as you screwed the cap back on your water bottle. There was a note to his voice that sounded a lot like jealousy. 

“Yeah, Tyson’s great,” you said casually. “I’ve missed hanging out with him.” 

Mat’s jaw tightened. “I think I’m gonna go get a beer,” he said, brushing past you before you could respond. You blinked bemusedly after him. 

You didn’t see Mat again for a while. It seemed like you were both trying to avoid each other now and succeeding. 

You were laying out in the sun on one of those giant lake rafts, catching up with a friend from high school when a boy took a running leap off the dock and hit the water with a spectacular splash. Mat surfaced near you a moment later, flipping his wet hair out of his eyes. His chain was backwards, and your fingers itched to reach out and fix it. 

“6.5,” you deadpanned instead. “Good form, too much splash.”

Mat latched onto the raft you were on and rested his chin on his folded forearms. He grinned at you, and it hurt a little bit to have that blinding smile directed at you again. 

“You wound me,” Mat laughed. 

“You got me wet!”

“You’re in a lake, babe, you’re gonna get wet,” Mat said. To prove his point, he grabbed your ankle and dragged you off the raft and into the water. 

“Mathew!” you shrieked, only just managing to close your mouth before you went underwater. 

Mat was laughing when you came back up for air. You pouted at him, but you couldn’t help but grin as well when you heard the rest of your friends laughing too.

“Just like old times, eh?” Mat said, quietly so only you could hear. He was still smiling, but his eyes were sad. One of his hands had come up to rest on your waist as you both treaded water. 

You placed your hands on his shoulders and dunked him.

It was after dinner when you crossed paths again, though it wasn’t by coincidence this time. The sun was setting over the lake, and you were settling on a blanket to watch the fireworks with your friend. Mat came over, stood awkwardly in front of you for a moment before he spoke, his words rushed.

“Y/N, can we, uh, can we talk?”

You shared a look with your friend. Mat was picking at the label on his beer nervously. 

“Sure,” you sighed.

Mat held out a hand to help you up, but you ignored it and clambered to your feet on your own. He still waited as you brushed yourself off before he started walking, and you fell into step beside him. Mat led you away from the party, back up to the mostly deserted deck overlooking everyone.

Mat looked out over the railing, still fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle. You rested your elbows on the rail and matched Mat’s pose.

“You blocked me, didn’t you?” Mat blurted. You bit your lip but didn’t respond. “Because I tried calling you after I saw you in New York, and I texted you when we were in Vancouver, but I could never get through.” Mat’s voice sounded accusatory now, and you felt a rush of anger surge through you. 

���What else was I supposed to do, Mat?” you asked. “You moved on, and then you have the fucking nerve to text me and tell me you dumped me because some other girl was ‘easier?’” Your voice rose, but no one turned to look at you. You took a deep breath. Your hands were shaking, and you gripped the railing tightly to steady them.

“What were you even doing in New York, anyway?” Mat spits back, definitely angry now, too. “What were you planning on doing?”

Oh. Mat thought you’d come to New York to beg him to take you back. You laughed, but it came out bitter. “I was there for work, Mathew. The world doesn’t revolve around you, asshole.” Except yours did once, and still did a little, but you weren’t about to admit that.

You pushed off the railing and spun around, wanting to be as far away from Mat and this conversation as possible. But Mat grabbed your arm tightly, kept you in place. His fingers wrapped around your bicep entirely. His hand was warm against your bare skin, and you shivered in spite of yourself. 

“Wait,” Mat said. His voice had softened. “This is so not how this was supposed to go.” He still hadn’t let go of your arm, and you made yourself meet his eyes. In the twilight, they were dark grey, closer to green, that wonderful shade you used to wake up to in the mornings when he had snuck into your bed. The wind blew, and you shivered again. “Here,” Mat said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. 

It smelled like him, and you closed your eyes and let yourself breathe it in. 

“How was this supposed to go then, Mat?” you whispered.

Mat sighed. “I got scared,” he said. His eyes were on the stars as they appeared overhead. “Which is a terrible fucking excuse, I know. But we were 20 years old, and I’d never been in love before, and then suddenly everyone is saying we’re soulmates or whatever. And we’re talking about the future, and I just got scared. Scared I’d fuck up and lose you, which I did anyway. Scared of never knowing anything else, but it turned out I didn’t want anything else. 

“I went back to New York without you, and I missed you. I broke up with you, and I missed you even more. But I didn’t know what to do to get you back. I can’t tell you the number of times Beau called me an idiot.” Mat broke off, shaking his head. “And then I met Clara, and, yeah, it was easier. But only because no one, not even us, saw a future there. I didn’t have to listen to everyone saying that we’d be together forever, but that’s all I wanted to hear.”

You had been quiet while Mat rambled, playing with a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket. He broke off then, took a swig of his beer, then made a face because it had gotten warm. You couldn’t help but laugh, and Mat looked surprised, but pleased.

“I missed talking to you on the phone every night,” you started. “Even when you called, you weren’t there, not really. I could tell something was off, but we were on opposite sides of the continent. I wanted to believe that you were just busy or something, but there was nothing I could do about it.” Mat’s face twisted, into something sad and pained, and he made a move like he wanted to take your hand. He didn’t, though, just rested it next to your arm on the railing. “I still sleep in one of your hoodies sometimes,” you admitted. 

It was Mat’s turn to laugh. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in, and you didn’t resist.

“God, I was so stupid,” Mat groaned. You hummed in response, and Mat pinched your arm. “Do you think we could ever try this again?” he asked.

You looked up at Mat. Everything about his face was familiar– his jawline, his nose, his eyes– but older now. A lot had happened since the last time you felt like you really knew Mat, for both of you. Neither of you were the same person you’d been before.

“I hated all that fucking small talk earlier, by the way,” he added. “I can’t believe I did that to myself. Asking the only girl I’ve ever loved about her parents as if we barely know each other.”

You leaned into Mat more. “What about you being jealous of Josty,” you teased. “Can we talk about that?” Mat’s arm tightened around your shoulders, but when you looked up at him he was smiling. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Mat said. You giggled, and Mat’s face relaxed.

“Did you mean it?” you whispered.

“What? That you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved?” Mat pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I have loved you since I was 20 years old, Y/N, and I think I’ll still love you in another 20, and another 20 after that.” He brushed a kiss against both of your cheekbones. 

His face was very close to yours, and even in the dark you could see that his eyes were suddenly full of hope. He brushed his nose against yours. You surged forward to press your lips against his. Mat smiled into the kiss as you turned and wrapped your arms around his neck. He tasted like beer and sunscreen, like summer and coming home. 

The first firework went off above you; Mat’s hands tightened on your hips. Below you, people cheered. Mat pulled back and rested his forehead against yours. 

“I love you,” you murmured, and then Mat was kissing you again, his hands warm against your lower back where they had slid under your shirt.

And just like that, you felt yourself falling in love under the fireworks over Lake Okanagan all over again. 

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

If You Love Someone, Let Them Go

Summary: Since starting with SVU, Sonny hadn’t kept much terribly close to the chest. The squad knew about his family, growing up on Staten Island, the classes at Fordam. What was hidden was why he didn’t date. Sonny Carisi was also separated from his childhood sweetheart, a separation neither ever took to divorce. They had the same haunts. They’d grown up neighbors. Their paths crossed every few months, and divorce talks would turn into reminiscing would turn into a night spent together, sometimes sex sometimes just talking until the early morning. It always ended with one of them waking up alone however. How will that change when the squad finds out? 

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Original Character,

A/N: I’ve outlined a few chapters of this. This is kind of set up, and I’m kind of toying around with it. I hope somebody likes it. I thought of it and had to try to write it.

June 1994

“You can’t catch me,” Victoria squealed, poking Sonny in his side before she took off running across the yard. The Carsisi girls, all three sisters and his mother, were on the porch with Victoria’s mother. Victoria was the same age as Bella, two years younger than Sonny, but he was always delighted to know she’d rather run through the grass with him. She always picked him. These were the days before hormones kicked in, he was only nine, but she was cool and funny and his favorite person, not just his favorite girl.

“I can to!” he took off, and the way she laughed as she ran across the yard made him slow down. His legs were certainly long enough he could have caught her quickly, but instead he jogged while she sprinted. When she dropped into the grass, he fell beside her, sprawling out lanky limbs beside her.

“I won.”

“You’re gettin’ fast, Tor.”

“I gotta practice so I can beat you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned. “I bet ma will get us pizza. Want to watch a movie?”

“Can we watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit? We been watching Gremlins a lot.”

“Can we get sausage pizza?”

“Deal,” she said seriously, holding out her hand, which he shook gladly. 

“Sonny!” Bella called into Victoria’s yard. “Ma and Ms. O’Toole said you gotta stay where they can see you.”

“We’re in their yard!”

“Where they can’t see.”

“Fine!” Sonny scrambled up, offering his hand to help Victoria up. “You can’t catch me.”

“Can to!”

“Try,” he laughed, taking off to his own yard again. He jogged again, and this time her sprint caught him. Victoria launched herself at him, tackling him and collapsing with him as they both laughed. Gianna Carisi and Irene O’Toole found the pair asleep by a pizza box that evening, giving each other a knowing smile.

April 2003

“I can’t believe your ma let you come,” Victoria grinned, looking up at Sonny. “Mom’s going to be mom so I was going to be on my own a lot.”

“In New Orleans? That ain’t safe, is it?”

“I been here a lot. I know the safe parts.”

“I still don’t like the idea.” What Sonny didn’t want to admit was what his teenage brain had realized about his best friend. She was really pretty. She was really pretty and really nice and really funny. That meant she wasn’t safe. It was at the new years eve party that he realized it, seeing her in a pretty dress and flirting with a guy. Johnny was fine, but he got a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, his mind racing as someone else got the attention that he always monopolized.

When he found her crying that February because Johnny actually wasn’t fine and had cheated on her with a cheerleader, he’d wanted to fight him. Instead, he took two of those stupid mud masks she and his sisters always tried to con him into, a pizza, and listened to her cry. His sisters always braided each other’s hair when they were venting, and Sonny had learned from them. That found him carefully braiding Victoria’s auburn hair as she transitioned from crying to laughing. Nothing made him prouder.

When Ms. O’Toole invited him to keep Victoria company on the pair’s vacation, he jumped at it, and not just because he didn’t want Tor to be left alone. He’d get a week of his summer to spend every day with her, knowing Ms. O’Toole would be busier partying and staying out than spending time with her daughter. That always seemed to hurt Victoria, so maybe his presence would lessen that while getting him the opportunity to piece apart if he’d do anything about how pretty she was.

“Well, good thing I got my bodyguard,” she grinned. “Mom’s at Jazz Fest until the end of the weekend. We might see her after, but we’ll probably see her at the airport. We can go to a day or two of the festival, if you wanna.”

“I happen to know a gal that likes the zoo and aquarium here. I got tickets to do the zoo and then take the ferry to the aquarium.” He hoped it sounded like a date, but he knew it wouldn’t to her. Only, it kind of did, and Victoria had butterflies and wasn’t sure how to process them or where to tuck them away.

“Sonny, that’s really, really sweet of you.” 

“Gotta make sure you get a good week, Tor.” 

When she stretched up to kiss his cheek, they both ducked their heads to avoid the other seeing their cheeks turning pink.

October 2003

“Are you okay, Dom?” she asked him softly. He’d been a mess all afternoon, foot tapping and hands fiddling with the pages of the book he was reading for English. Things had been different since New Orleans. There was a nervous energy that hadn’t been there before, and she found herself catching him blush at things that he hadn’t before. It worried her, but it also excited her because she’d started blushing more too. 

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I’ve known you twelve years, dummy. It’s not nothing. Tell me wha--” Her eyes widened when he cut her off.

“Do you wanna go to homecoming with me?” he asked, the words tumbling out quickly enough she had to process what he’d even said. Then, she was confused, brow furrowing as she looked at him.

“We always go to homecoming together?”

“Yeah. But do you want to, like, go with me? Like to the dance too.”

“Are you asking me to be your date?” Victoria could hear her heart beating in her ears, biting her lip as she watched him. For his part, Sonny didn’t look as much like he was going to throw up as he felt. Was she angry he’d asked? Was she assuming he meant as friends? He’d gone too far to back out.

“Yeah. I realized something when you dated Johnny. I like you a lot, Tor. More than as my friend. When I dated Julia, I kept getting in trouble for hangin’ out with you because I liked you more. She said I was crazy about you and I didn’t think she was right until you were flirting with Johnny and I got jealous. And then we went to New Orleans and I figured I’d realize I didn’t but I just liked you more, and now I probably fucked up our friendship and--”

“Shut up, the answer is yes,” she finally said, cutting him off by grabbing his face between her hands.

“Really?” he asked, smiling broadly. 

“Yeah. I like you too, okay? That’s why I hated Julia. But I didn’t want us to mess up our friendship.” He pulled her against him in a hug, this time tighter than usual. Victoria’s arms looped around his neck, and she kissed him sweetly.   “Ma!” Bella’s voice rang through the house. “He finally asked her! And they’re kissing!”

“Finally. Leave them be.”

June 2006

“I been basically living with you,” Victoria said, playing with his fingers as they laid in the dorm bed. “What if we moved in together when you find an apartment?”

“Ma ain’t going to handle that until we’re married, Tor. You know that.”

“But we’re going to end up married.”

“I know, but we gotta be married first.”

“Then let’s get married.”

“Doll, I’m supposed to propose.”

“Well, if we get married, when you move into an apartment we can live together, and I know I’m gonna marry you.”

“I know I’m going to marry you too. But what about a ceremony?”

“We could get married at the courthouse. Have a wedding later.”

“We could,” he mused, rubbing her back. “You still planning to go straight to work?”

“Yeah. I want to maybe go to pastry school. But I worked in that bakery the last year. I think I’d be a really good baker.”

“Me too.”

“Well, you willing to run off with me?”

“Gimme a minute,” he said, untangling from her and digging into the lock box under his bed. Victoria watched him, her brow furrowed. When he pulled out a little wooden box and moved to sit by her, her eyes were wide. He huffed, blowing hair from his face. “Ma gave me this last month because I think she knows us getting married is gonna happen. It’s Nonna and Nonno’s rings.”

“So you been thinking about it anyway?” 

“Was thinking about proposing in October for our anniversary. But now seems like just as good of a time.” 

“You wanna like propose or just be engaged?”

“Well,” he hummed, before giving her the grin she loved so much and setting the little box to the side and taking her hands. “Victoria O’Toole, you’re the best thing in my life. I’ve known you since I was five. And when I kissed you the first time, I knew we were gonna end up married. Our Mas were right. Will you marry me, Tor?”

“Of course, Dominick,” she grinned, tearing up as she pulled him in and kissed him. He fumbled to get the engagement ring from the box, the bands remaining as he slid the ring on her finger. 

“Thank God it fits,” he chuckled, hand smoothing her hair back. “Now, we gotta book at the courthouse? Or do we just show up?”

“We book it. And then we go change my last name afterwards.”

“We can go tell Ma and the girls. Getting yelled at for keeping them outta the loop is worth it for this to be just about us.”

“I love you, Sonny.”

“And I love you, Tor.

July 2008

“So, do we stay here? Or do we go back to Staten Island? Or somewhere half way?”

“You’re close to manager at the bakery,” he said, rubbing her back as they laid on the couch. “Are you okay with that commute? I know you love working with Ruth.”

“I really do. And the commute isn’t too bad. I can do it at least a year. And we can get a better place there. Plus, I think being a cop’s gonna make you more tired than being a baker makes me.”

“We’ll start looking. Could be nice to be closer to family too.”

“Yeah,” she smiled softly, brushing his hair back. “Proud of you, Officer Carisi.”

“I don’t think dad and your mom thought we’d be able to get by.”

“We’ve done a damn good job, huh?”

“Been married and on our own two years. I know we got married young, but I’m glad we did. Dad was worried I’d feel like I was missing out, but I get to go out to bars with you. Way better. If we hadn’t started dating, same thing would be happenin’, y’know?”

“Yeah. I like doing all this stuff with you. Makes it better.”

“Good. Because you got like eighty more years, Mrs. Carisi.”

“I better.”

October 2010

“What’re these for?” Victoria asked, kissing Sonny softly as she took the flowers.

“Was doing traffic stops and remembered it’s been seven years today since I got smart enough to kiss ya.”

“You’re a sap.”

“But I’m your sap. Glad you’re still dressed. I’m taking you to dinner.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Doll.”

November 2011

“I thought you could use a little time. Something’s been up with you.”

“I’m fine,” he said flatly, eyes on the road as they drove towards the cabin.

“We can go home if you don’t want to,” she said softly, and he shook his head.

“I want to. I’m excited, doll.”

“Good. It’s your birthday. We ain’t had much time together.”

“I appreciate it. I’m sorry if I’m actin’ weird.”

“It’s okay. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

December 2012

“Sounds like we’re celebrating a lot,” Ma Carisi smiled, hugging her daughter in law. “A birthday and a big purchase?”

“Sonny told ya?” she grinned. 

“Bella. I’m so happy for you, Tori. You worked hard for this.”

“Yeah. It’s really nice. Ruth told me she was retiring and I got nervous. Then she said she’d sell the bakery to me, and I thought she was joking.”

“She’s been like family to you. Think she knows it’ll be in good hands.”

“Thanks, ma. And thanks for planning this dinner. We aren’t ever all in the city.” She settled into her seat across from Bella and beside Gina. They all ordered drinks, and, after waiting a little while, appetizers. When the plates came and Sonny still wasn’t there, she excused herself, slipping outside. She dialed his number, cradling it to her ear as she bounced nervously in place.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Sonny, where are you?”

“I just got home. Where are you?”

“Dinner…”

“Shit, I forgot something didn’t I?” She could hear him fiddling with his calendar before he let out a groan. “Tor, I’m so sorry. Work’s just been crazy and-”

“It’s fine,” she said tightly, able to feel his family looking at her through the window. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“I can come out now.”

“It’ll take you at least an hour, Dominick. We already ordered appetizers. I’ll just see you at home.”

“Okay. we’ll celebrate when you get home.”

“Yeah.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Dom.”

May 2013

“I’ll be home after class. I can’t make it home before.”

“Okay,” Victoria nodded, leaning against the counter. “I guess I’ll stay late tonight. Margy wanted to go early anyway.”

“Cool. See ya.”

He hung up, and it jarred her at first. He’d never hung up without an “I love you” and goodbye. She hated the feeling it gave her in the pit of her stomach. 

I miss you. Can we have a date soon?

I’ll figure something out.

When she got home, she tried to stay up and wait for him, but she got a text he’d gone back to get some overtime. When she woke up to get ready for work, she let him sleep, heading out and leaving coffee on the warmer.

August 2013

“Hey, I’ll be home late again tonight,” he said down the line. 

“Again?” she asked softly. 

“I need the OT. And then I have class.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, fiddling with her wedding band. “Will I get to see you sometime soon?”

“You always do?” he said, obviously confused. “Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll see ya.”

And like that, he’d hung up, and she wanted to hurl the phone. Five years in, and it felt like she was losing him. He was working overtime, which she knew they did need. That said, it had been months since they’d spent time together, and even that time was only because they went to Easter at his mom’s house. She’d bought the bakery from Ruth, and there wasn’t any acknowledgement. He’d stopped saying goodbye in the mornings, and their phone calls didn’t end with an “I love you” as they always had. 

Can I come stay with you awhile? She texted Rachel, who agreed easily.

“What’s up, Tori?” Bella asked when she answered the phone. “Sonny okay?”

“Same as he’s been,” she said softly, and Bella let out a sympathetic hum. Victoria had always been open with Bella, usually because she’d had a couple of glasses of wine. 

“He’s not been himself.”

“He won’t talk to me about it,” she said, tearing up. “He doesn’t even say I love you any more. Bella, I can’t keep running in circles. I can’t do this.”

“Are you leaving?”

“He doesn’t really care if I’m here.”

“He does, Tori. He really does.”

“Then he can come and fix it. I can’t, Bella.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea…”

“I have to.”

“Keep in touch, okay? I want to know you’re okay.”

“I will. I just wanted someone to know.”

“I appreciate that.”

[tehri]

Look, I’ve been writing stuff using Tolkien Gateway’s handy page for explaining the Shire Calendar for a long while now, and basically every dang time I see someone refer to the Shire Calendar in fics, there are errors, and I am a nitpicky damn person and I will therefore write this post.

Have I said lately that hobbits are nuts? Because they are. They are so nuts. So insanely bonkers. So nuts that they, some 300 years prior to the War of the Ring, simply because they didn’t like the old one, worked through a reform of how their calendar works so that the following things would happen:

The new year would begin on the first day of the week, and it would end on the last day of the week.

Every month would have 30 days in it and would always correspond to the same weekdays. No more moving dates, the way we have it. Also means no month ever begins on a Friday.

12 months of 30 days each. You can guess a few days are missing. Well, thanks to this Handy New Reform, five additional days are added to make out the 365 day year. Plus a sixth for leap years.

This reform came about in the days of Thain Isengrim II, during his reign between 1083-1122, by Shire-reckoning. Which in, you know, actual Third Age years is around 2683-2722. Because hobbits also have that little thing that they count the years with year 1 being the year TA 1601 - when the Shire was first colonized.

ANYWAY I’m not here to talk about the Shire-reckoning, but about their calendar, F̫͎͍̤͍ͪ͌͂͂͞ͅO̩̹ͣ̅̇͛͢Ċ̷͉̙̱͈̳̥̙ͯ̃̎U̵͈͈͛͐Ŝ͍̫̖̘̘̤͇͑͊͊͟

Okay. So. It used to be that hobbits did not count weeks, but months - the passages of the moon ruled their calendar. In that calendar, the new year began right after harvest. But through contact with other races, they began to count weeks as well. This new way of reckoning was based on what is called the Kings’ Reckoning - the calendar system used in Númenor, Gondor, and Arnor - but with some minor alterations to fit the hobbits.

But the hobbits thought that this constant shifting of weekdays in relation to dates was untidy and inconvenient - so they made it tidy and convenient, by ensuring that Mid-year’s Day (and their Leap Year day, Overlithe) would not correspond to a weekday. They would be their own thing.

Sounds simple, right? Well, let’s face it, there were some issues around it, but the hobbits worked through it and formed their new calendar, which goes roughly like this:

2nd Yule - first day of the new year

Afteryule - first month of the year, roughly corresponding to the dates of 23rd December - 21st January in our calendar

Solmath - month 2, 22nd January - 20th February

Rethe - month 3, 21st February - 22nd March

Astron - month 4, 23rd March - 21st April

Thrimidge - month 5, 22nd April - 21st May

Forelithe - month 6, 22nd May - 20th June

The Lithe-days: 1st Lithe (21st June), Mid-year’s Day (22nd June), Overlithe if there’s a Leap Year (no corresponding date), and 2nd Lithe (23rd June)

Afterlithe - month 7, 24th June - 23rd July

Wedmath - month 8, 24th July - 22nd August

Halimath - month 9, 23rd August - 21st September

Winterfilth - month 10, 22nd September - 21st October

Blotmath - month 11, 22nd October - 20th November

Foreyule - month 12, 21st November - 20th December

1st Yule - last day of the year

Little bit confusing, isn’t it? But well, hobbits, you know. To add to it, their Mid-year’s Day is meant to correspond to the summer solstice, and is approximately 10 days earlier than our mid-year’s day.

So. The main holidays that the hobbits had were the Yule-days and the Lithe-days - the end/beginning of the year and the middle of the year. Plus that Highday, the last day of the week and corresponding to our Friday, was considered a holiday where hobbits often held evening feasts. As it stands, the 1st of Yule and the 1st of Lithe both fell on Highday, too. Fun fact - it corresponds to the day Orbelain in the Númenorean week, which is dedicated to the Valar. This would reasonably have been a thing also in Arnor when the hobbits settled the Shire, which would likely be why the hobbits grew to consider Highday a holiday and a time for feasts.

Alright, so what can we even get out of this mess? Well - first of all, we can’t actually use our own calendar as example of when important events happened for the hobbits. And beyond that, have a nitpick of mine that has bothered me for ages: Bilbo and Frodo were born on the first of Winterfilth, NOT in Halimath. Halimath kind of corresponds to September, yes, but the LAST day of Halimath is the 21st of September, the day BEFORE Bilbo’s and Frodo’s birthday.

Have we all learned something today? Yes? Good? Good. Byebye, it just snowed, I’m going outside to enjoy the hobbit-calendar new year, it’s already the 5th of Afteryule!

[woeismyhoe]

Spill the tea, what's the deal with you and the BSG group (avatar-chang and her squad in particular)?

Ok anon, sorry for taking so long! I wanted to get everything right and honestly collecting the posts took a longass time xD

Anyways, the only ones I have a problem there are avatar-chang, hexful/dykesia/bizukos, catrademption, cardboardseagulls (never seen interacted b4) and bizulas (also never interacted b4).

I’m going to be really transparent about this whole thing so it’s gonna be long as there’s gonna be several links and I’ve included the dates so it’ll be easier to understand. Since I’ll be fully transparent about this, i’ll probably get hate or whatever. Honestly, I just want to put everything out there without being biased or hiding anything. I’m going to disclose everything here.

So, the whole thing between me and avatar-chang started off with this post I made last year on 10 March 2019. Afterwards, she PMed me on the same day and this was the conversation:

After that, I thought the argument was over because she blocked me lmao. The only ones I spoke to about this was nbw and my real life friends (who had nothing to do with ATLA lmao I just ranted to them).

And then the next incident I think was on 16 March 2019 when I made this post about Azula’s abuse of her friends. I was new and 16. I genuinely wanted to know why people labeled Azula as an abuser. It was dykesia who responded to me at the time.

Now, unlike avatar-chang, I had a few conversations with dykesia (who was bizukos then) that was generally civil. I first interacted with her when she made a post calling out Zucest shippers or something?? I was very new. Like fresh newbie baby ATLA tumblr fan new lmao so I thought what she said was too aggressive. I didn’t realize that there were actual Zucest shippers until after some time. And then she PMed me on 13 March 2019, saying that she doesn’t always agree on characters with me but I do write some interesting pieces on Azula— that she’s a huge fan of Azula but she just tends to stay away from her fandom. I apologized about the previous incident of the Zucest thing and it was fine after then. We talked about zuko, the fandom, the comics, Mai etc etc. I thought we were on fine terms.

And then I made a post about the cliff scene in the comics on 16 March 2019. Avatar-Chang made a post that was pretty directed at the post but it seems like she’s deleted it.

On 17 March 2019, I received an anon mail telling me that avatar-chang was talking shit about me behind my back. I censored her name then because I didn’t want to believe without any evidence. No one sent me any screenshots about it so I just dismissed it.

On the same day, avatar-chang answered an anon and talked about the 13 child post theory I made on 9 March.

On 23 April 2019, I received another anon mail about avatar-chang, asking if I’d seen the post she made about Azula. I censored her name again cuz I didn’t want to start any shit over having differing opinions. I’m assuming this is the post the anon was referring to.

On 28 April 2019, dykesia/hexful/bizukos PMed me to ask if I was talking shit about other people behind their backs, and her. I denied this because I hadn’t. This was how the conversation went:

Yes, I didn’t censor any name because as I said, full transparency. I have afp blocked because we’ve clashed several times and he’d still come for my posts last year despite already being blocked. If you’ve followed me long enough, you probably would’ve rmbered that time lmao

Anyways during then, I don’t think I realized that dykesia was actually being passive aggressive. It’d been barely a year since I started the blog and I just didn’t want to full out make enemies. Reading the messages now tho lmao she really was passive aggressive. But yeah then she said this in bsg so I don’t even know why she bothered to ask me if she wasn’t even going to consider believing me.

The 9th of June 2019 was the last time she messaged and it was to ask if I mind her discoursing this Zuko post while ‘hard and drunk’. It was the first time she could apparently agree with me so it was I quote a ‘Yay??’. Afterwards I don’t know when she did it but she blocked me lmao

On 17 July 2019, I received another anon mail telling me that avatar-chang publicly called me a bitch when she was answering an anon about me posting the scans of the EK Chronicles. She mentioned this in bsg again on 19 April 2020 lmao (she’s that petty) it seems:

On November 8 2019, an anon (one of avatar-chang’s friends actually) asked about my thoughts towards the allegations against Aaron Ehasz. I still believe in the system of ‘Innocent before proven guilty’, so I didn’t side with anyone. I tried to be as objective as possible. When I said that I hoped men would also come forward, I said that because I don’t want men to just sit on the sidelines and let the women get the heat if they were telling the truth. At the end of this whole thing, I concluded that Ehasz was a dick of a boss to the girls. Being called an abuser carries more weight than just being a dick. Everyone has been a dick at one point, but being an abuser is something else. Just because Ehasz was a dick doesn’t mean I’m going to stop watching TDP or dismiss his involvement in ATLA.

The next day, BSG brought the issue up despite both avatar-chang having already blocked me by then lmao

On 5 February 2020, after Legacy of the Fire Nation came out, I made a post calling out Iroh’s bs to Azula (guy literally blames Azula for everything that happened to Zuko (something which avatar-chang agrees with apparently, and Iroh even sees Ozai in a better light).

That’s so far what I’ve remembered that involved avatar-chang and dykesia.

Moving on to the next three attackers: catrademption, cardboardseagulls and bizulas.

I’ve seen catrademption around, but I don’t remember if we’ve clashed before. We must have though cuz she’s got me blocked lmao and I mostly only debate back to people when they reply to my posts. For cardboardseagulls and bizulas, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them them before but obviously they’ve seen my blog and misinterpreted everything I’ve written.

But according to them, I’m apparently a Azula apologist, extremist, irrational, toxic, coddles and woobifies Azula, justifies everything she does and invalidates abuse victims.

You can see the posts I’ve made to judge whether I actually am an irrational Azula apologist who blames everything on Zuko. One of the most recent posts I made about Azula’s character is this, and there’s still several more posts like that. Just search #meta or #analysis in my blog search and all of them will just pop up. I can assure you, I have never acted as if Azula has done nothing wrong or did everything right or whatever lies these people are spewing.

If anyone has proof that I’ve talked shit about people in the fandom to other people before, please, present your evidence. I highly think this is impossible because I actually don’t have many friends on Tumblr, nor do I usually initiate conversation because I’m awkward af.

I’ve also tried approaching those I recognized in bsg to find out more about the situation (and at least give my side of the story). Most of them have chosen not to speak to me LMAO but one of them who’s chosen to remain anonymous for their privacy, admitted that dykesia (hexful) forced them to block a blog before (after realizing they were interacting with said blog) and if not, they would be blocked themselves. I can’t post the conversation publicly because they’re afraid their speech mannerism will give away their identity. @space-sword has also shared his experience with avatar-chang on his blog and was pressured to cut off ties with ppb21 just to join the oh so magnificent Ba Sing Gay.

There’s absolutely no reason to judge someone based on their sexual orientation, race, color or age either. They rant about being discriminated against or being generalized or stereotypes but they’re the ones hypocritically committing these actions, and then justify their actions by saying ‘we’re oppressed, they’re not, so it’s not racism or discrimination’. And yet people still wonder why discrimination is still rampant LMAO

I can’t speak for the blogs they victimized in bsg, but I personally don’t agree with talking shit about them on a public server and then criminalizing them as if they’re actually predators. I also don’t agree with involving the blogs’ friends simply because of their association. I also don’t agree with demanding people to block blogs they don’t like because that’s just pure manipulation. That’s wrong and marginalizing people. Unless someone has actually been harassing or literally preying on people, then there’s no reason to actually go around warning blogs about them unless they’re asked about it.

If they feel uncomfortable about something? Then avoid that blog, filter their tags or even block that blog if they’re that uncomfortable—BUT they shouldn’t demand others to do the same just for their own benefit. It’s not up to them to decide what a person can or cannot see or who they can or cannot interact with. They’re not their parents, and they obviously have no right to pressure people into doing things they don’t want to. If they think it tactless that I shared the conversations? Oh honestly, a line was crossed when they spread shit about me so idc. If they actually feel terrible for being called out? GOOD. That’s what they should feel, because in no way was any of what they were doing right or justified. If they’re going to shit on me then expect to be burned because I’m not someone who’ll just shrivel in fear because they have a bigger following.

[freetobcubed]

For Louis

I wrote this story for a competition. Not even an honorable mention, which I’ll be honest, is a stab in the heart because I really poured my soul into this one. Better luck next time, I guess, but here’s the story:

The notebook’s small and faded. The little thing is speckled with dust and the spine is bent to a near-ninety-degree angle except where it’s belted shut with a shoelace. I shouldn’t care; there are real books in the yard sale, books that aren’t falling apart. But I’m curious. Why bother to keep basically scraps?

I throw the thing on top of my pile of books. The eighty cents will come from the money I’ll make selling the others online. I pay for my loot and load it into the trunk of my ’93 Pontiac. I stop, snag the notebook, and tuck it into my coat with my COVID mask.

On my drive home, I get stopped at this intersection that’s seen an accident. Annoyed, but with nowhere to be, I throw the car in park and pull the little black book out. I try the knot in the shoelace with my fingernails before realizing it’s just loose enough to slide off.

Twelve hundred-dollar bills kerflumph into my lap.

I choke. My mind spins as I cough; what in the world? That’s a grand. Where—do I have to return it? How—

No, I don’t have to return it, I reason as I finish spluttering. Nervously, subconsciously, I glance at the cops in the intersection. They aren’t even aware that I exist. Besides, I paid for the notebook. It’s not my fault that that girl didn’t know.

Feeling slightly better, I open the notebook. Three more hundred-dollar bills fall out.

No way.

I flip the notebook around. Peeking out between stained pages are more bills. One per page. I do a quick calculation in my head.

“That’s twenty thousand dollars,” I say aloud, stupefied. That’s insane. Thoughts tumble through my head: riding in an airplane to Europe. Paying my overdue rent. Do I have to pay taxes on this? Amazon, and the things I saved there for “someday.” A full cart at Walmart.

Unsure what else to do, I start to read.

“June 9, 1983

Today I am a dad. I’m a dad! Louis is so small, so perfect, so… what do you say about a baby? It’s all been said before. But this is my baby. My son. He has tiny toes and he eats until it hurts Marie (and then some.) I’m looking forward to playing catch and eating burgers together, and then I stare down at the blanket-bundle and tears fill my eyes because he’s here, he’s real, and he is mine. Ours. Marie’s and mine. My boy. My son.”

“Hey!” I glance up, the words of the book and the words of the cop waving me forward blending in my brain because twenty thousand dollars is still swirling around up there too. I put the Pontiac in drive, my left hand trying to cover the fortune in my lap just in case the officer looks through the window.

I race home. I stuff the bills in my pocket, worrying about neighbors. I try to walk normally, but I feel shifty. Nervous. I run through my crappy apartment, then dump the money onto my bed, triple-checking that I’ve gotten every bit out of my pockets.

Then I flip the book, pinching the spine, and wag the pages.

A rain of cash descends to the quilt Mom made for me. Mom. Mom could use a hundred bucks. I suppress the generosity. This money is mine now, and I definitely need it. Mom will be okay.

I’m tired. I climb into the unmade bed, careful not to knock the bills onto the floor where they could vanish under the bed or the laundry, and I read again.

“July 4, 1983

Louis’ first Independence Day. He doesn’t care, except when the neighbors set off fireworks that woke him. I’m not sure if the baby or Marie was more upset, but Louis screamed more. I decided this journal is for when he graduates high school; I put a hundred dollars in the back. It’s more than we can afford, but this is our son. And I can always take the money back out, I guess. I just wanted to say: I love you, son. I’m already proud of you, and you’re just a little lump on the floor.”

Something in me twitches. I don’t think my father ever said he was proud of me, even when I was—what was it? I glance back at the page. A little lump.

“December 25, 1983

It’s been a little while since I wrote for you, son. Work has been… insane. You’re rolling now. I saved another hundred for you, tucked it in the back with the other one. I’m sorry you’re not getting much this Christmas, but we’re doing our best, and as your mom points out, you don’t care. Not this year.

January 1, 1984

Happy New Year, Louis!

You’re almost seven months old. Hard to believe. You’re nearly ready to sit on your own, and even better—your mom is getting past the baby blues. It’s nice to get my wife back. Don’t feel bad, son, but it’s been hard. I always said I wanted two kids, but now I hope you’re okay with being an only child.

If I could convince you to sleep, that would be something—though it’s nice to cuddle you in the rocking chair at night. Your mom gets you most of the time—boy, you eat a lot!—but after you’re done, I take you and we rock. Sometimes I sing. You won’t remember me singing, because I don’t do it where adults can hear, but for now, you seem to like Dad’s rusty voice. Who knows? Maybe you’re knocking yourself out so you don’t have to listen anymore. I‘d understand.”

My phone rings, and I jump, searching around for it with one hand.

“Hello?”

“Tim? It’s Grandma.” I know. But telling Grandma that won’t keep her from identifying herself on the phone or signing her texts.

“Hi,” I respond, unsure what Grandma wants.

“Are you going to come change my lightbulbs today?”

Crap. I was. Mom has been haranguing me to help Grandma, guilting me with the idea of an old lady living alone, in quarantine, in the dark. Stupid COVID—normally, Grandma’s neighbors change the lightbulbs and stuff, but she’s been insisting to Mom that I need to do it now. As if a pizza delivery guy has less germs than her work-from-home neighbor. Whatever.

“Sorry, Grandma.” I find my keys. “I’ll be over in half an hour.”

“What, dear?”

“I’ll be over in half an hour!” I all but shout into the phone. Then I hang up before she can babble at me. I look at the money; my room is private, but my roommate is nosy. I go to the kitchen and, after hunting in the cupboard, come up with an almost-empty bread bag. I hurry back to my room, eating the last slice, and stuff the money inside.

Bring it or hide it? I consider for a minute. Finally I throw the bag and the notebook into my pocket.

I climb into my car. Grandma’s house is ten minutes away and I have twenty—oops. I pull out the notebook. Suddenly, it hits me—the money was still inside. What happened to Louis? How did the yard sale lady end up with the notebook, and the twenty grand?

I check the inside front cover, find an address. Finch Drive isn’t even that far away--I verify with my GPS.

I don’t even know what I’m hoping. It’s been, what, almost forty years since Louis was born? I open the notebook again, this time to the last page.

“February 18, 1999

I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry I’m going to miss so much. Your high school graduation. Your college graduation. Your wedding, your children. I was excited. I think you were too.

And you won’t really remember who I was. I mean, we have a lot of great memories together. Lots of catch and burgers. But we’ll never have an adult-to-adult relationship, and I’m really, really sad about that.

In a selfish way, I hope you’re sad too. I hope you miss me. Is that terrible? Anyway, I guess the best I can do is leave you with some advice.

Be a good person, Louis. You’re a good kid. Take care of your mom. Heck, take care of my mom. Be smart. Be hardworking. But most of all, be kind.

I love you, kid.

-Dad

P.S. Cancer is the pits.”

I stare at the last few words. “Cancer is the pits.”

I can’t do it. I can’t leave Louis hanging. I turn the car on, head to Finch Drive. Knock.

A lady answers. She’s 60-something.

“Are you Marie? I’m sorry—I totally forgot my mask.”

“Yes, I’m Marie.”

She’s puzzled, I can see it in the top half of her face, the only part showing. Funny, I thought somehow that she‘d be blonde, like Mom.

“I found this,” I say, holding out the journal. “It belongs to Louis. From his dad.”

She gasps as she looks down, and a tear splatters onto the cover. One more spot among dozens.

“I—how—”

“And, um,” I’m not sure how to explain, so I pull the bread bag out. “This was in the pages. It’s for you. Or, for Louis.

“Is he okay? Louis?”

She nods mutely, her shaking hand moving up to take the little black notebook. She doesn’t even look at the money, just stares at the book. I realize I never replaced the shoelace.

“He’s actually here.” She turns. “Louis!” A guy pops out a second later. His hair is dark and messy, like Harry Potter’s.

“You okay, Mom?” He asks. She nods. He squints at me, like he’s trying to decide if I made his mom cry on purpose.

“Your dad wrote that for you,” I say, waving a hand at the notebook Marie clutches. “And he left this.”

“My—” Louis stops talking as he realizes that the bread bag is full of money. A bread bag full of dough, I realize silently, trying not to laugh. “My dad?”

“I found the book at a yard sale. With the money inside. I read some of it—sorry.”

“It must have been in what I donated,” Marie says with a sniffle. “This young man—” She pauses, looking at me.

“Tim,” I supply.

“Tim. You brought Dennis home to us.”

“Dennis?” I blink a few times.

“My dad,” Louis says, and I nod idiotically.

“I didn’t consider his first name—I just thought of him as “Louis’ dad.” I mutter.

“He’d have liked that.” Marie smiles under her mask.

“Well, thanks,” I say, and hold the bread bag out again.

“’Thanks’?” Louis asks. “Thank you,” He stares at the bag. “Can I give you some of that? A finder’s fee? Times are tough.”

I swallow, and it comes down hard.

“Nah,” I say, and I fake a smile.

“But—” Louis’ eyes find the Pontiac.

“I got this,” I say. “I’m alright. Besides, your dad saved that for you.”

Louis nods, takes the bag, and puts his arm around his mom.

“Thank you, Tim. Really. I wish you’d known my dad.”

“He loved you,” I say. “Read the book. You’ll see.”

Louis stares.

“I know he did,” he answers. I smile for real; Louis was lucky. I nod, uncomfortable, then turn and walk down their porch steps. I don’t hear the door close.

Maybe I’m lucky too, I realize as I get back in the car. I’ve got Mom. I’ve got Grand—

Shoot.

I pull out my phone. I’m fifteen minutes late for lightbulb duty. I hit my recent calls and start the car while the phone rings.

“Tim? Are you alright?” Grandma’s voice is strained; she’s worried.

“I’m fine. It’s a long story.”

“You can tell me about it. Maybe…” she pauses. “Maybe over lunch?”

“Sounds great, Grandma,” I say. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Thanks if you read the whole thing. It’s dumb, but I could use some Internet-stranger validation on this one. If you feel like reading it in the original doc (I get like 1/3 of a cent from the site if you do,) it’s here: https://vocal.media/stories/for-louis

All the best. Over & Out.

[ataswegianabroad]

Alone Amongst the Gum Trees Part 3 - It Was Murdoch All Along

NOTE - this article has been migrated to Medium. As of 2021, A Taswegian Abroad will be closed down, and all of my writing will be published on my Medium profile.

“For some time, Australia’s democracy has been slowly sliding into disrepair. The nation’s major policy challenges go unaddressed, our economic future is uncertain and political corruption is becoming normalised. We can’t understand the current predicament of our democracy without recognising the central role of Murdoch’s national media monopoly. 

There is no longer a level playing field in Australian politics. We won’t see another progressive government in Canberra until we deal with this cancer in our democracy.”

- Kevin Rudd - THE CASE FOR COURAGE

Foreword

I started this as a brain dump on July 25th, 2016 just before I flew back to Australia for 4 weeks. I decided to wait to finish it as an “Alone Amongst the Gum Trees” piece after the 2016 US election as it would have directly impacted the outcome. 

That was the plan, anyway. I forgot entirely that I had written this draft for almost 5 years. The next thing you know: it’s early 2021, I’m married, have a dog, a car, and my first child is due in August. 

My last political opinion piece was from April 11, 2016: a piece on how Bernie Sanders was being treated in the lead-up to the 2016 presidential election.

So what happened from mid-2016 to early 2021? I didn’t jump back down the political commentary rabbit hole. No more rants on Tumblr blogs. No angry posts on Facebook. The odd spicy tweet about the current election happening between my old home (Australia), my new home (Canada) and the messed up cousin next door (United States). I instead chose to divert my love of writing to sports (see https://thefiftyfooty.com/), technology, and music.

From a political standpoint I chose to mostly stop talking, and to listen. Now don’t become misconstrued: I did not ignore it. I was very active over the Provincial and Federal Canadian elections of 2015 and 2019, I followed the unprecedented US political climate very closely given our proximity to the United States (and learned a lot in the process), and I voted in the most recent 2019 Australian election (my third from Toronto since leaving in 2012).

If I take a step back - I still need to be self-critical: I was defeated and I surrendered to the tidal-wave of the far-right. I was watching the US tear itself in two over race, alternative facts, and radical ideology. I was watching the UK go down a similar path with Brexit and Boris Johnson. I was watching my beloved homeland of Australia continue to confusingly elect damaging conservative governments despite the polls, trends, movements and more indicating it was time for a change.

As I matured into my late 20′s and now early 30′s (*gulp*) I was asking myself: was this how it was going to be? Did the western world just decide “we’re done with progressive views, let stick it in reverse for a bit and see how we go”? If that was true, then why did Canada buck this trend with Trudeau in 2015 & 2019? Why was New Zealand thriving under Arden after 2017 and 2020?

I went to a dark place on this. 

But then something amazing happened. Enter former Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd talking about wanting a royal commission into Rupert Murdoch and his News Corp empire who control 70% of print media in Australia.

Did he say 70% of all print media in Australia?

I STRONGLY recommend taking 15 minutes to watch this video. It will do a much better job of painting the scene than I ever could. If not, you can still read on through.

After doing some looking into this: all I can say is that I didn’t have to dig very far to have my fire reignited. All I can think about now is this #MurdochRoyalCommission

My world view has changed, and what I am about to write next will explain a few things that I hope will change yours too.

This is not a left vs right piece. This is not a blame, shame, or complain piece either. I won’t curse or abuse, because this is a self reflection, a cry of encouragement, and a call to action to all who live in and want to protect the political integrity of democracy around the world.

I am here to explain my thought patterns with the goal of having at least one more person under the thumb of Murdoch’s “beast” realise just what’s going on, and to encourage that person to make more informed decisions knowing the facts.

The Path to En-frightened-ment

February 2014 was the last time I updated the long-form political arm of my blog. Back then as a young man exposed to his first bout of political and social disappointment after the 2013 Australian election - I felt the need to get it all out and I did in a little more linguistically brash Part 2 of “Alone Amongst the Gum Trees”.

I was in an interesting position then. I was a 23 year old finding his place in the world - personally, politically, spiritually, environmentally. I was mostly deciding whether or not I was done with Toronto and it if was time to stay home permanently after spending 3 months back in Australia.

I chose no. I left. I came back to Toronto and the rest is history.

Then one day a couple of years later I got us flights back to Australia for a visit. After nearly 3 years avoiding it (mostly because of my post-election distaste for Australian ignorance), it was time to bite the bullet and go home for a bit.

In 2014 I mentioned:

...let’s talk about Australia, how things changed, how it looked from outside the huge wall that the government apparently has built around the country now, and how it looks from a bloke who literally can not wait to leave again.

I had been anxious about that trip for a while. Not because I hadn’t seen everyone for so long or because it was my wife’s (then girlfriend who became my fiance on that trip) first time visiting, it was because Australia had a chance to move away from the “ignorance, inequality, narrow-minded idiocy, and over-conservatism” I mentioned in 2014. 

But we didn’t. Turnbull won the 2016 election. I was so angry at the Australian people. I was so scared of that ignorant, greedy, racist, xenophobic, homophobic, narrow minded, privileged, climate denying creature that seems to be slowly devouring the planet.

From that point in time, all I could think about was some sort of big right-wing populist shift happening across the globe. Outside of the obvious ones: Trump in the USA, Johnson in the UK and Abbott/Turnbull/Morrison in Australia, there were a few more extreme cases: Putin in Russia, Marine Le Pen in France, Viktor Orban in Hungary. Then there’s Cambodia, Brazil, Turkey, Egypt etc who saw this as a huge advantage as well. It may not be the end of a progressive vision of the world but it definitely seemed like the beginning of a big switch.

One thing I learned during my political writing hiatus while serving my self-induced “exile” to Canada is that this country was one of the few blips in this trend. Why did Canada choose to elect Justin Trudeau in 2015, a left wing liberal, after 9 years of Harper’s conservative government? Was it simply because Canadians were good and fair people? Did they just fundamentally understand that you need both conservative and progressive governments to advance society? Perhaps they do, and Canadians are most definitely good and fair people regardless of election results. I am even set to become a Canadian citizen myself (and a dual-citizen overall) in 2021.

So where is this all coming from? Why are the United States, Australia and the United Kingdom on a continued path to segregation, protectionism, populism and division while Canada and New Zealand show basically zero of these tendencies?

The News Corp cancer that is Rupert Murdoch’s media empire is the deciding factor.

So What Does Kevin Rudd Have To Do With It?

Mr. Rudd has been living in the USA for the last 5 years and is firmly spearheading the charge in that Rupert Murdoch’s media behemoth “News Corp” has been unlawfully influencing Australian opinion and undermining elections in Australia, the United Kingdom, and the United States for close to 3 decades (more predominantly in the last 8 years). 

Before you read any further I have to be transparent about my opinions of Kevin Rudd. I accredit his “Kevin 07″ campaign as the catalyst for my interest in politics, my decision to study economics at university, and my ongoing support for progressive policies in every federal and state election since 2007. His work has played a big part in shaping me into the person I am today.

Despite my positive position on Mr. Rudd, I am also disappointed he did not action this during his time as prime minister. However, I am “all in” when it comes to what he is standing for, and that is:

Eradicating monopolies in all forms (be it political, business, journalism, etc)

Improving media literacy to encourage fair and unbiased journalism

Avoiding the pitfalls of Murdoch's divisive influence on the USA happening to Australia

There’s a few key factoids to his claims of mass-media bias:

70% of print media in Australia is owned by ONE MAN: Rupert Murdoch (100% owned in Queensland)

Print media influences the national conversation on a daily basis

Rupert Murdoch owns the biggest YouTube channel in Australia (news.com.au)

The line between fact-based and opinion-based reporting continues to blur, resembling that of CNN (Democrats) and Fox (Republican) extreme partisanship in the USA

All of Murdoch’s papers have backed the Liberal/National party in all 19 out of the last 19 federal and state elections 

The ABC is breaching the Australian Broadcasting Act of 1983 by not standing up to Murdoch media purely out of fear

Politicians are not standing up out of fear of character assassination

Whether or not Murdoch is backing left or right, Labor or Liberal, the question still remains:

Do you think it is healthy for a FOREIGN PRIVATE ENTITY to own a monopoly level of influence on a sovereign country’s political system for that private entity to use for their own personal gain through targeted media attacks and character assassinations? 

Watch This Space...

There are utter mountains of evidence to accompany these claims, and to make sure you can digest what I am trying to say, I recommend that you sink your teeth into the following videos to validate and truly comprehend the size of the tumour we are dealing with:

Feb 20, 2020 - 1h - Friendlyjordies informal interview with Kevin Rudd

This is right before the Covid outbreak in March, which delayed Mr. Rudd’s ability to move for a formal commission into media bias

Provides excellent insight into the ABC’s lack of action, the opportunism of the Green party, and the complete absence of unbiased reporting in Australia

Feb 18, 2021 - 1h 30m - Kevin Rudd Officially Requesting Royal Commission to Australian Senate

The first 20-30 minutes provide Mr. Rudd’s summary of the situation

The remainder of the video consists of questions from both Labor and Liberal senators about Mr. Rudd’s claims

Mar 1, 2021 - 2m - Kevin Rudd speaks to Sunrise about the Murdoch monopoly

Mr. Rudd went on a national flagship morning show to discuss his concerns regarding News Corp

LISTEN to the questions being asked of him: completely disregarding his valid points and dismissing him as “sour grapes”

Channel 7 is not News Corp, so why try to discredit Mr. Rudd? Fear of being targeted by News Corp

Mar 9, 2021 - 1h - National Press Club: The Case for Courage

Mr. Rudd stands up in front of The National Press Club of Australia to promote the four big challenges facing Australia in his upcoming book “The Case for Courage” 

He takes questions from journalists from both Murdoch and non-Murdoch media outlets

As I start to conclude this piece, for action to happen, an independent royal commission is required to get to the facts. Mr. Rudd already gathered over 500,000 signatures that were recently sent to Prime Minister Scott Morrison asking for the royal commission to take place, but this is not enough.

Even former Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, a friend of Rupert Murdoch and political opposite to Mr. Rudd, signed the petition and said the following:

Mr Turnbull, a former Liberal prime minister, said the Murdoch media used to be a group of traditional right-leaning outlets but has now become "a vehicle of propaganda."

He told ABC television's Insiders program on Sunday that Australian democracy was suffering for allowing the "crazy, bitter partisanship" of social media to creep into the mainstream.

"We have to work out what price we're paying, as a society, for the hyper-partisanship of the media," Mr Turnbull said.

"Look at the United States and the terrible, divided state of affairs that they're in, exacerbated, as Kevin was saying, by Fox News and other right-wing media."

I recently sent a (somewhat long) letter to Mr. Rudd expressing my concern for the state of Australia’s media landscape, with it culminating in the following questions:

I am deeply moved and inspired by your bravery to take on "the beast" as you so aptly name it, and I want to boldly ask: how can I help? How can I get involved? 

I am yet to hear back from Mr. Rudd himself - but I think if you’ve gotten this far, you know what I am about to say next.

I want to help, learn more, or get involved.

That’s amazing. We’re not asking for money, just action. Here’s some ways you can help is stop the rot:

SUBSCRIBE TO and FOLLOW direct updates from Kevin Rudd:

Website / Newsletters

https://newsroyalcommission.com/ 

https://kevinrudd.com/

Social media alongside the #MurdochRoyalCommission hashtag on all platforms:

Twitter

Instagram

Facebook

YouTube

Boycott News Corp media sites, publications, and channels

I’ve linked a list of all assets by News Corp above

This includes steering clear of ALL mediums of news owned by these publications and outlets including the respective:

Social media channels and pages

Television and radio news channels 

Print and online newspapers and articles

SHARE and spread the word of this cancer affecting our democracy

Talk TO your friends and family (not AT them) and LISTEN to their views - people are not dumb: this will make sense if given time to digest

WATCH the videos posted above as a start, alongside a few more recommendations:

This interview between Friendly Jordies and former Labor Leader Bill Shorten from earlier in March 2021

I learned more about Bill Shorten in the last 20 minutes of this interview than I did in his entire run as opposition leader. 

This just goes to show you how utterly mistreated he was by Murdoch media

For a laugh - every episode of Kevin Rudd: PM from Rove McManus’ late night show

I want Australia to remain a safe, secure, and lucky country to raise my family in someday. I care about this very much and plan to ramp up my content around this until we are free from the Murdoch beast and its lies.

Thank you so much for reading, as always, I am happy to discuss.

List of Murdoch (News Corp) Owned Outlets [Expanded Below]

Television

Foxtel (65%)

Australian News Channel

Fox Sports Australia

Streamotion

Fox Sports News

Fox Cricket

Fox Footy

Fox League

Kayo Sports

Binge

Sky News Australia

Sky News Weather

Sky News Extra

Sky After Dark

Australia Channel (News Streaming channel)

Sky News New Zealand

Sky News on WIN

Internet

Punters.com.au — Australian horse racing and bookmaker affiliate.

SuperCoach

Australia Best Recipes

hipages

odds.com.au

Mogo

One Big Switch

Knewz, a news aggregator

Realestate.com.au

Advertising, Branding & Tech

Global

Storyful

News UK

bridge studio

wireless Group

wireless studios

urban media

First Radio

Switchdigital

TIBUS

ZESTY

News Corp Australia

SUDDENLY - Content Agency

Medium Rare Content Agency

HT&E (Here, There & Everywhere)

News Xtend

Radio

News UK & Ireland

wireless Group

talkSPORT

talkSPORT 2

talkRADIO

Virgin Radio

FM104

Q102

96FM

c103

Live 95FM

LMFM

U105

Scottish Sun 80s

Scottish Sun Hits

Scottish Sun Greatest Hits

Times Radio

Magazines and Inserts (digital and print)

News Corp Australia

Big League

body+soul

Broncos

Business Daily

delicious

Escape

Foxtel

GQ Australia

Hit

Kidspot

Mansion Australia

Motoring

Sportsman

Super Food Ideas

taste.com.au

The Deal

The Weekend Australian Magazine

Vogue Australia

Vogue Living

Whimn

Wish

News & Magazines (digital and print)

News UK

The Sun

The Times

The Sunday Times

Press Association (part owned, News UK is one of 26 shareholders)

The TLS (Times Literary Supplement)

News Corp Australia

The Australian including weekly insert magazine The Deal and monthly insert magazine (wish)

The Weekend Australian

Australian Associated Press

news.com.au

New South Wales

The Daily Telegraph

The Sunday Telegraph including insert magazine sundaymagazine

Victoria

Herald Sun

Sunday Herald Sun including insert magazine sundaymagazine

Lions Raw

Samizdat

Queensland

The Courier-Mail including weekly insert magazine QWeekend

The Sunday Mail

Brisbane News

South Australia

The Advertiser including the monthly insert The Adelaide magazine

Sunday Mail

Tasmania

The Mercury

The Sunday Tasmanian

Northern Territory

Northern Territory News

Sunday Territorian

Community suburban newspapers

Cumberland/Courier (NSW) newspapers

Blacktown Advocate

Canterbury-Bankstown Express

Central

Central Coast Express Advocate

Fairfield Advance

Hills Shire Times

Hornsby and Upper North Shore Advocate

Inner West Courier

Liverpool Leader

Macarthur Chronicle

Mt Druitt-St Marys Standard

NINETOFIVE

North Shore Times

Northern District Times

NORTHSIDE

Parramatta Advertiser

Penrith Press

Rouse Hill Times

Southern Courier

The Manly Daily

The Mosman Daily

Village Voice Balmain

Wentworth Courier

Leader (Vic) newspapers

Bayside Leader

Berwick/Pakenham Cardinia Leader

Brimbank Leader

Caulfield Glen Eira/Port Philip Leader

Cranbourne Leader

Dandenong/Springvale Dandenong Leader

Diamond Valley Leader

Frankston Standard/Hastings Leader

Free Press Leader

Heidelberg Leader

Hobsons Bay Leader

Hume Leader

Knox Leader

Lilydale & Yarra Valley Leader

Manningham Leader

Maribyrnong Leader

Maroondah Leader

Melbourne Leader

Melton/Moorabool Leader

Moonee Valley Leader

Moorabbin Kingston/Moorabbin Glen Eira Leader

Mordialloc Chelsea Leader

Moreland Leader

Mornington Peninsula Leader

Northcote Leader

Preston Leader

Progress Leader

Stonnington Leader

Sunbury/Macedon Ranges Leader

Waverley/Oakleigh Monash Leader

Whitehorse Leader

Whittlesea Leader

Wyndham Leader

Quest (QLD) newspapers

Albert & Logan News (Fri)

Albert & Logan News (Wed)

Caboolture Shire Herald

Caloundra Journal

City News

City North News

City South News

Ipswich News

Logan West Leader

Maroochy Journal

North-West News

Northern Times

Northside Chronicle

Pine Rivers Press/North Lakes Times

Redcliffe and Bayside Herald

South-East Advertiser

South-West News/Springfield News

Southern Star

The Noosa Journal

weekender

Westside News

Wynnum Herald

Weekender Essential Sunshine Coast

Messenger (SA) newspapers

Adelaide Matters

City Messenger

City North Messenger

East Torrens Messenger

Eastern Courier Messenger

Guardian Messenger

Hills & Valley Messenger

Leader Messenger

News Review Messenger

Portside Messenger

Southern Times Messenger

Weekly Times Messenger

Community (WA) newspapers

(50.1%) (Formerly)

Advocate

Canning Times

Comment News

Eastern Reporter

Fremantle-Cockburn Gazette

Guardian Express

Hills-Avon Valley Gazette

Joondalup-Wanneroo Times

Mandurah Coastal / Pinjarra Murray Times

Melville Times

Midland-Kalamunda Reporter

North Coast Times

Southern Gazette

Stirling Times

Weekend-Kwinana Courier

Weekender

Western Suburbs Weekly

Sun (NT) newspapers

Darwin Sun

Litchfield Sun

Palmerston Sun

Regional and rural newspapers

New South Wales

Tweed Sun

Tweed Daily News

Victoria

Echo

Geelong Advertiser

GeelongNEWS

The Weekly Times

Queensland

Bowen Independent

Burdekin Advocate

Cairns Sun

Gold Coast Bulletin

Gold Coast Sun

Herbert River Express

Home Hill Observer

Innisfail Advocate

Northern Miner

Port Douglas & Mossman Gazette

Tablelander – Atherton

Tablelands Advertiser

The Cairns Post

The Noosa News

The Sunshine Coast Daily

Townsville Bulletin

Toowoomba Chronicle

Townsville Sun

weekender

Daily Mercury (Mackay)

Tasmania

Derwent Valley Gazette

Tasmanian Country

Northern Territory

Centralian Advocate

International

Papua New Guinea

Papua New Guinea Post-Courier (63%)

United States

New York Post

Wall Street Journal

realtor.com

Move (80%)

Dow Jones & Company

Consumer Media Group

The Wall Street Journal – the leading US financial newspaper

Wall Street Journal Europe closed

The Wall Street Journal Asia closed

Barron's – weekly financial markets magazine

Marketwatch – financial news and information website

Financial News

Heat Street - news and opinion website

Mansion Global - global luxury property website

Enterprise Media Group

Dow Jones Newswires – global, real-time news and information provider.

Factiva – provides business news and information together with content delivery tools and services.

Dow Jones Indexes – stock market indexes and indicators, including the Dow Jones Industrial Average. (10% ownership)

Dow Jones Financial Information Services – produces databases, electronic media, newsletters, conferences, directories, and other information services on specialised markets and industry sectors.

Betten Financial News – leading Dutch language financial and economic news service.

Strategic Alliances

STOXX (33%) – joint venture with Deutsche Boerse and SWG Group for the development and distribution of Dow Jones STOXX indices.

Wireless Group

Talksport

TalkRadio

Books

HarperCollins

4th Estate

Collins

Ecco Press

Harlequin Enterprises

Harper Perennial

Harper Voyager

Kappa Books

Modern Publishing

Unisystems Inc.

Zondervan Publishing

Christian publishing company taken over by HarperCollins in 1988

Inspirio – religious gift production

[randomabiling]

First of all, I just want to say that you are an amazing writer and I love every one of your stories! You bring so much to the Cobert fandom

Oh anon, thank you so much for your kind words! This is a little different than what you asked for, but I hope you enjoy it.

July, 1891

A teardrop of sweat slowly rolled past his brow, across his temple and down the slope of his face. Robert took the handkerchief he had been wringing and brought the abused square of paisley fabric up to his cheek. He rubbed the silk across his face and then balled it up in his first once again. It damped his already clammy palm. With a sigh, Robert walked over to the buffet, the accouterments of tea time still laid out with picture perfect precision, untouched. He fingered a sandwich before letting it fall back onto its platter. Gazing at the teapot, Robert thought about pouring a cup to soothe his dry throat, but steam still rose like a genie from its spout. The idea of taking in more heat, when summer had descended on Yorkshire like a wet blanket, made him feel faint. Besides, tea wouldn’t do at the moment. Robert turned to the small cabinet in the library where Papa kept his Scotch. Gripping the decanter, Robert poured himself a healthy portion before tipping it back. One large, quick gulp that caused his nostrils to flare and his chest to burn. He placed a hand against his breastbone.

She’s dying.

The words repeated themselves again and again, she’s dying she’s dying she’s dying…No amount of Scotch was going to erase the morning from his mind. He’d known Cora wasn’t feeling well, for a number of days now but he hadn’t been prepared. He could still see Mitchell, the new stable boy, racing the gelding down the dirt path to Yew Tree farm. Papa had made some remark that Robert couldn’t quite decipher, though it had caught his attention.

Lady Grantham has sent me to find you, m’ lord.

The chap had been panting, the horse braying in protest. Robert had known, a clench of his gut, a palpitation in his chest, he’d known right away it was Cora. Bits of the road flew behind him as he raced his own horse back to the house, clamoring up the stairs to find her ill, more ill than he’d ever seen someone.

Childbirth fever.

His mother had whispered it to Papa as they both paced outside of the room, thinking he couldn’t hear as he comforted his whimpering wife. And then Dr Monroe had arrived and he’d been regulated to the library, a dizzying wave of deja vu tossing him between the present and five months prior. Mary’s birth, he’d thought that was a prolonged hell, but no one had seemed to share his distress that night. Mama had been quite sedate, as sedate as Mama could be, during her updates. The length of Cora’s labor had been the only real concern, everything else about Mary’s arrival had been normal, or so Mama had kept reminding him on that night.

“Lord Downton?”

Robert spun to see Carson, his thick brows meeting over his nose with deep concern. The man looked old suddenly and Robert felt woozy.

“Her Ladyship sent me. She’s asking you go up.”

Robert expected to sprint up the stairs. Hadn’t he been jumping for some news?

She’s dying.

But he couldn’t now, he didn’t want to know. Wasn’t it just yesterday he’d been planning Cora’s twenty-third birthday party in secret? Rosamond was helping him, he had picked out a beautiful necklace and had talked to Mrs Stanholp about the perfect menu. Mama had even addressed the invitations, feigning apathy, though he knew she was as secretly proud of Cora as he was. His wife had taken to motherhood so completely. Baby Mary was thriving, they’d brought new life into the house, and with her, a sunshine that could be felt the moment she’d made her first sound on a cold, February night.

How could the effects of childbirth be plaguing her now, so many months later? Robert couldn’t understand. His feet refused to move.

“Lord Downton…” Carson tried again.

Robert closed his eyes and took one step, then another, then another, until he was out of the library. Adrenaline surged through his fugue and Robert scaled the staircase, barely cognizant of touching each step. He stopped short at the sight of Dr Monroe, Mama and Papa outside of Cora’s door. The Scotch raced back up his throat and Robert swallowed down the acidic taste left in his mouth by fear. Mama turned to him first, her eyes shiny. Oh God! Robert sucked in a breath. They’d only celebrated their third wedding anniversary, a week before Mary’s arrival, but already, Cora was so much more to him than just his wife. He needed more time with her, and their baby, she needed her mother….

Violet stepped close to Robert and placed her hand on his arm. Robert wanted to both shake it off and crumple at her feet.

“Go to her.” Mama said.

Robert nodded, dumbly. He opened Cora’s door, the room surprisingly cooler than the library. He’d expected to find the shades drawn, the room’s air stale and suffocating, but the windows were thrown open, the sun shining in and illuminating everything it touched. Even the sour smell of sickness that had assaulted him earlier had evaporated. Footsteps followed softly behind his own, but Robert ignored them, transfixed on Cora, who lay in their bed, propped up on their pillows. Her dark curls were fanned out around her head and her chest rose and fell steadily. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, a wan smile lighting up her pale face.

“Oh darling,” Robert croaked, going to her side instantly. He was afraid to touch her, to scoop her up in his arms as he wished to do. Instead, he settled for burying his face in her neck.

“They told you? I asked them not to tell.” Robert shook his head against her, but Cora took no notice. “Isn’t it the most extraordinary news?”

Robert paused, leaning up. His wife, his waxy complected, cracked lip wife, wore a smile that stretched from one ear to the next. She’s feverish; she’s delusional from the fever. Robert placed his hand on her forehead, but to his shock, it was cool. Cora gripped his hand.

“A baby, Robert! Another little darling!”

“What?!” Robert exclaimed.

“Lady Downton is expecting.” Robert turned, noticing Dr Monroe and his parents. Papa wore a jubilant grin.

“Wait…what?” Robert repeated.

“I would estimate Lady Downton is about two months along. We must take care, this little one being so close on the heels of its big sister, but mother and child seem healthy.”

Robert shook his head. “I thought you were dying!” He blurted out.

To his chagrin, everyone in the room laughed, including Cora.

“It’s not bloody funny!” Robert yelled. He took a few deep breaths and ran his hand through his hair. A baby! Robert spun around and looked at Cora.

“We’re having a baby?”

Tears welled in the corner of her eyes as she nodded at him. Robert slapped his knee. “By golly, we’re having a baby!”

Robert rushed toward the bed again, and this time, he swept Cora up in his embrace.

“Oh my dear, we’re having a baby!”

[bee-kathony]

Four Years | July 29th, 2014

January 2nd, 2014 - February 15th, 2014 - March 8th, 2014 - April 12th, 2014 - May 2nd, 2014 | Year One - June 13th, 2014

Year One - July 29th, 2014

The past forty-four days were some of the darkest days of my life. My cheeks no longer remembered what it was like to smile. I could try and sugar coat this by saying that it wasn’t all that bad but chemo sucks and brain tumours suck and they can all go fuck themselves.

Countless nights I spent awake in pain. Not even Jamie’s touch comforted me anymore. I was a shell of who I once was. It sometimes annoyed me how much Jamie was there for me. I should be grateful. I should be more appreciative of the fact that he had been sleeping in hospital chairs and missing so much work, leaving it all to Murtagh. It was the fact that I knew deep down I was wrecking his life.

If he hadn’t met me then he would be happier, that’s what I tell myself when I catch him dozing off in the chair beside me.

“Jamie,” I whisper, my foot stretching out to nudge against his knee.

He pops his head up and with a wide eyed gaze he comes back to life. “Sassenach, are ye alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” I can’t help but be short with him. It’s not his fault. It’s this damn medication.

“We don’t have any food in this house and I’m starving for once.” My stomach rumbles, confirming my need.

Jamie leans up and stretches his hands above his head, a tiny sliver of skin shows as his shirt raises. My eyes drift down his body and I feel nothing. Once, I wanted to pounce on him, lick his face and make love to him until the end of time. A bit dramatic, Beauchamp.

I love him, God do I but I didn’t feel sexy, didn’t feel like I was desirable anymore. Brain tumours are a turn off, in case anyone ever wondered.

“What are ye in the mood for, Sassenach?” He asks me cheerfully.

“I don’t know, just something that won’t make me sick.” Good luck finding that.

He stood to his feet and walked past me on the couch, then I felt a kiss on the top of my bald head, the scarf had been irritating my skin. “I love you, Claire.” He took a breath or was it a sigh and left the loft, keys in hand.

Tears of frustration begged for release but I wouldn’t give in. I wished so badly that I could show him how much I loved him. If we made it out of this alive then I would. I would show him with my mouth, with my hands, with my words I would tell him everything I loved about him.

What I needed right now was my little ball of fluff, Adso. Geillis had brought him over for a visit just last week and it pained me to see him leave. I was looking forward to the day when his little paws roamed the floors of this home.

My spot on the couch had become like a cocoon, a protective layer that encompassed me in warmth when I needed it and a shelter when I couldn’t stand to lay next to Jamie in bed, his body heat leaving me drenched in sweat.

An hour later, after finishing yet another episode of “Queer Eye”, a knock came from the front door. Who the hell could that be?

I rose weakly from my dip in the couch and padded over to the door, “What, did you lose your keys, Fraser?” He’d done it before, dropped them out of his hands and they’d fallen down in between that little spot between the elevator and the hallway.

Opening the door, it wasn’t Jamie I found, but a short, brown haired woman with brown eyes starting back at me.

“I’m probably no’ the Fraser ye were expectin’ but I ken the one ye were.” She smiled brightly but I still couldn’t place her.

Flustered, she stretched her hand out for me to shake and I gripped it like a fish, the strength in me gone a long time ago. “Jenny Fraser,” she said, “Jamie’s sister.”

Oh. I’d never actually seen pictures of Jamie’s family and suddenly I felt selfish for not having asked. We spent so much time focusing on me and my health that I had neglected him.

“Please,” I stood back from the door, “Come in, Jenny. Jamie should be back soon, he just went to grab some food.” Looking at the clock on the oven panel I realised that was over an hour ago, where was he?

“I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, Claire,” so she knew my name? “I was in Edinburgh for work, ye see I help manage the books at the Distillery and needed to visit some of our clients up here.” She had a rather cheery yet commanding disposition. Not unlike her brother, I thought.

“Oh, I didn’t know you worked with Jamie and Murtagh!” I led her over to the living room and took my place back in my cocoon. “He told me about your father’s passing, I’m very sorry.”

“Och, dinna fash, was a long time ago.” Waving her hand in the air, she then looked around at the loft like she’d never seen it. Maybe she hadn’t.

“Is this the first time you’ve been to Jamie’s loft?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

Nodding, I saw something in her, a hesitancy almost. “Claire…” she met my eye, “Ye ken about Jamie’s scars? On his back?”

“Yes. I’ve seen them,” a blush creeped it’s way up my neck, “He told me about the plane crash and his recovery.”

Jenny pressed her lips together and fiddled with a loose string on her pants. “I’ll bet my life that he didna tell ye the full story,” she smiled and it didn’t make me nervous to hear this, only more interested.

“Well, why don’t you tell me and we’ll see if he has.” Leaning back against the softness of the cushions, I settled in as Jenny began to speak.

“There was a plane crash, that did happen. All of it, the recovery in the hospital, his arse in the air for everyone to see while his back healed,” she laughed and then continued, “during that recovery though, he wasna awake for most of it, ye see, Claire… and I dinna mind sayin’ this cause yer a doctor. His flesh it — it’d been shredded, parts of it down to the bone.”

“This is the part he probably didna tell ye.” My heart rate quickened then, anxiety creeping in. Was it a secret lover? Was I a mistress or did he have one? So many thoughts raced through my mind in the five seconds that Jenny paused before continuing.

“Our father, his name was Brian, one day he looked at Jamie and I could see the pain in his eyes. His only son, practically torn from him.” She gritted her teeth, “He had a heart condition but we didna ken that until the autopsy. My Da took one look at Jamie lying there, helpless on the bed and collapsed. It didna even matter that we were in a hospital when it happened.” Jenny sniffed and I reached forward to hand her a tissue from the box on the coffee table.

“Thank ye,” she took it and blew her nose, “The worst part was that Jamie didn’t fully wake up for another week and a half and by then we’d already had the funeral. We couldna wait for him to wake since we werena sure he ever would.”

“Oh Jenny, I’m so sorry.” While she told me, I had begun to picture it all in my mind. Jamie lying there, oblivious to the happenings around him.

“So when he finally did wake up, we were so happy as ye can imagine. Murtagh and I called the nurses and doctors right away. They checked him out and said that he would be okay but needed to remain on his stomach to heal properly. He asked about Da then,” Jenny looked down again at the loose string. “I ken he could see it in our faces before we even told him. He thought it was all his fault ye see, that if he hadna gotten hurt that Da would still be alive today.”

“He really thought that?”

“Aye, a stubborn wee fool he is, my brother. After he healed, I tried to get him to come home, to Lallybroch but he wouldna have it. He went back to his apartment, this was back before he moved here to Edinburgh, and shut himself off from us. The damn fool thought it was better if he wasna there to remind everyone of what he’d done.”

My heart was breaking for Jamie. I knew why he wouldn’t have told me the specifics of his father’s death, because he blamed himself. I began to understand why Jamie was the way he was, strong, caring and maybe a bit over protective at times. He’d seen me at my absolute worst but chose to stay. He chose to love me when I only had the smallest amount to give him back.

“That’s why I���m here, Claire. Ye see, I started working at the Distillery only four months ago.” My diagnosis was four months ago.

“Jamie came to work one day and told Murtagh that he needed an extended amount of time off. It’s his own business so he can do what he likes of course but Murtagh couldna handle it all on his own. Ye ken of course Jamie has had to work a little here and there I’m sure. I knew yer name because I overheard him talking to Murtagh about ye when he popped in one day.”

“After the accident and my father’s death, Jamie did shut himself off.” Jenny took another tissue, “But after a year he reconnected with Murtagh but he didna talk to me save holidays.”

I moved over on the couch to be closer to her and took her hand in mine. “I always thought I musta been a reminder of what he thought he’d done. When I overheard him say that the woman he’d been seeing, Claire,” she smiled at me, “was sick and he needed to take care of her — well it broke my heart. I’d always wanted to be there for Jamie when he finally gave his heart to another.”

“You still can be, Jenny.” I squeezed her hand, weakly but she returned it.

“Now I see ye and ken it’s no’ the flu,” her hand reflexively pointed up to my head and it was then that I realised I had been talking to her this whole time without my head covered. Usually when Joe or Geillis had come over I would wrap my head up in a scarf, I didn’t need to constantly be reminded that I wasn’t me anymore.

Before I could say anything the sound of keys jingled from outside the door. “That’ll be Jamie.” I released her hand and watched as the door opened and he stepped in, carrying three large bags of groceries.

“I didna ken what ye wanted so I bought… well I bought everything, come and take a —“

“Hi bràthair.” Jenny stood and walked over to the kitchen. I stayed seated and watched all of this from my spot on the couch.

“Jenny,” he sighed, “What are ye doin’ here?” His eyes shifted over to me and I just smiled.

“I came to see ye, it’s been so long and I —“

“I dinna want to see ye Jenny so if ye dinna mind,” he crossed back to the open door, “please leave.”

I thought Jenny would leave as she walked over to the door but she slammed it shut instead. Stubborn, just like her brother.

“Jamie Fraser. Ye havena talked to me and I mean really talked to me in almost four years. I hear ye talkin’ to Murtagh about a woman yer seeing and all I ken is her name,” her hand pointed back to me, “and that she’s ill.” Jenny crossed her arms and Jamie looked fully enraged. “But I didna ken it was like this Jamie. Ye shoulda reached out, ye know I woulda helped. Been there for you and her.”

Jamie was radiating with anger, his body shaking as he took hold of Jenny’s arm and started walking to the bedroom. Of course, we lived in a loft, a rather spacious loft but the bedroom didn’t exactly have walls to keep out unwanted noises.

Sighing, I leaned further back into the chair and listened to Jamie and Jenny hash it out, what other choice did I have?

“I know ye blame yerself, Jamie. For Da.”

“Ye dinna know what I blame myself for, Jenny.” He whisper-shouted back.

“Aye, I do. After Da passed ye shut everyone out. Ye thought it better that way, thinking it was yer fault and ye were a reminder of Da’s passing.”

“I was a — aye… I did shut myself out. But only cause I thought ye couldna bear to see my face. It’s cause of me, Jenny and you know it is!”

“Jamie…” a pause.

“He died and I wasna even there to say goodbye.” I wasn’t sure but it sounded like Jamie was crying.

“Ah bràthair, yer face is no’ too good lookin’ but I could bear to see it. All this time I thought ye hated me.”

“No, Jenny, I dinna hate ye. It was you who I thought hated me, for takin’ Da away from you.”

This heart to heart was gut wrenching to listen to. Jamie had blamed himself for so many years and distanced himself from the only sister he had. And Jenny had spent all this time thinking she was to blame.

“Yer a fool, James Fraser and ye know it. Can we have this over and done wi’ now? I’d like to have ye back in my life and I’d really like to ken yer woman out there.”

“Aye. As long as ye forgive me?”

“Of course bràthair.”

I turned my face forward as I heard their approaching footsteps. Jamie came up behind me and rested his hand on my shoulder.

“Mo nighean donn, I need to feed ye.”

“Yes sir, you do.” He laughed, a sight I hadn’t seen in awhile. Seeing the joy on his face stirred something in me that I feared had been lost.

“Will you stay and eat with us, Jenny?” I asked, noticing her looking over towards the door.

“Aye,” Jamie answered for her, “She will.”

We spent the evening eating, drinking - water for me - and telling Jenny of how we met. Our embarrassing, on both ends, encounter in the men’s restroom. The first date we had and finally my diagnosis. It was nice to meet someone that was so much a part of Jamie. All throughout dinner he kept his hand on my thigh and I felt that thing stir in me again; hope.

[newstfionline]

Man of Letters

Stephen Meyers, City Lab, July 24, 2018

My fourth day delivering mail for the U.S. Postal Service, it snowed-one of those heavy, wet, spring-in-Colorado snows that knocks down tree branches and crushes newly-bloomed tulips. I was training with a veteran letter carrier on a walk-out route, the type where the carrier pushes a blue buggy full of mail and small packages. It’s a lot harder, I discovered, to push that thing through slush.

I schlepped my disheveled, wet self into downtown businesses where concerned secretaries took pity on me as I handed them their soaked mail.

Welcome to the Postal Service.

“Neither snow nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night ...” that’s how the saying goes right?

The rude welcome to the Postal Service quickly taught me mail delivery is no leisurely stroll through the neighborhood, dismantling the idyllic image of a smiling Mr. McFeeley handing out birthday cards in “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.” My first week on the job, I lost 5 pounds.

Being a mail carrier is hard.

I’d eventually get used to the physical rigors of the job and learn the rhythms, tricks and routines of delivering mail, but what surprised me the most over the next 15 months working on the front lines of this vast, imperfect, but essential big-government institution is how the Postal Service delivers much more than just letters, magazines and Amazon packages to a neighborhood.

I met elderly residents who lived alone and just wanted someone to talk to for a couple minutes a day. I saw how critical the Postal Service is for local businesses, like the one that ships dozens of Priority Mail boxes of custom-made zippers for wedding gowns across the country every day. I met strangers willing to donate grocery bags full of food during the long-running Letter Carriers’ Stamp Out Hunger Food Drive, which tallied 71.6 million pounds of found collected nationwide. I learned the value of a powerful union and experienced the most diverse workplace I’ve ever encountered. And most importantly, what I found while roving from house to house on foot was an intimate insight into my community and fellow Americans.

Like many who come to work for the Postal Service, I didn’t find my way into the USPS because I had a burning desire to deliver mail; I just needed a job. A laid-off journalist, I’d spent six months striking out on landing a writing gig and grew tired of the soul-sucking grind that is job searching. An old college friend was working happily delivering mail, and making more than I ever did in newspapering: The benefits are good, you don’t take the job home with you, and there’s lots of overtime if you want it.

And the USPS is nearly always hiring, especially in metro areas in advance of the holiday shopping season. Colorado’s Front Range, which includes Denver, Boulder, and Fort Collins, is currently short more than 500 positions. The hiring process is long--I applied in mid-February and didn’t start until May--and includes two exams, a personality assessment, and the 473 Postal Exam, which tests your ability to check addresses for errors, accurately fill out forms, and memorize and recall lists of street addresses. I had to also pass a drug test (that’s the biggest hurdle to hiring in weed-legal Colorado, the Fort Collins Postmaster told me) and an exhaustive background check. Then it was off to city carrier academy, where veteran carriers taught my fellow classmates and me the tricks of organizing and carrying mail and how to drive the postal vehicles. We each got a navy blue USPS hat and T-shirt and were sent to our respective post offices to begin our postal careers; I was now a USPS employee, working as a city carrier assistant.

In the evenings I’d continue my search for a Plan B career after journalism, but for the other 8-to-10 hours a day (and up to 12 during holiday season) I’d deliver mail and packages to residents of Fort Collins, Colorado.

A lot of packages.

Receive an Instant Pot for Christmas? Yeah, so did your neighbor. My record was 18 delivered in one day--we saw that craze coming on well before Black Friday.

The old-timers at my office remember the days they’d deliver, five, maybe, 10 packages a day. Now it’s more like 50 or 60 a day, from 40-pound bags of dog food to furniture and food-in-a-box meal kits. The Postal Service wasn’t really built for the Amazon era: Our (badly outdated) vehicles don’t have enough space to house them, and few have shelves, leaving carriers to play an Amazon box-sized game of Jenga every day.

(Sidenote on those trucks, called LLVs, or Long Life Vehicles: Most are about 30 years old, with that many years of cigarette smoke soaked into the seats; they lack airbags or air conditioning, and the heaters are less than effective. The USPS is facing a major budget challenge because it needs to replace up to 180,000 of these elderly machines over the next several years, which is going to cost more than $6 billion.)

Every Sunday we’d fill our LLVs with 100 to 175 Amazon packages, thanks to USPS’ exclusive contract with the e-commerce giant--that’s the one that the president keeps objecting to, though it’s been a revenue source for the cash-strapped service. And, no fail, every Sunday, customers would ask why I was working and I’d jokingly (is it a joke, though?) tell them “Because Amazon is taking over the world.”

Other comments I’d hear almost every day:

“You bringing me a check today?”

“You can keep the bills.”

“This one better be a winner!” (I had no idea Publisher’s Clearing House was still a thing, but it is, especially in low-income and senior-living communities.)

“You staying cool out there?” (The answer is always “No, but I’m trying!”).

No one is ever upset to see their mail carrier, you know? This was so foreign to me, as a journalist who was used to being less warmly received. And while predictable and routine and mostly about the weather, I loved these little conversations with residents along my route.

When kids saw me driving around the corner, they’d drop their ballgame and race me down the sidewalk. Others were excited to see me because I was about to be a lucky customer at their lemonade stand. At the retirement home, residents greeted me every day at the wall of mailboxes; if I’d show up five minutes early or five minutes late, they’d jokingly let me have it. “You know, Sue is usually here by 3:30!”

Residents learned my name, and more importantly I learned the intricacies of their neighborhoods. A fellow carrier, a Fort Collins native and Mexican American, proudly showed me his home that’s part of the historically Hispanic neighborhood that I had never taken the time to properly explore and experience on foot. I learned from longtime residents how they felt about the gentrification happening in pockets of Fort Collins. This booming college town has outgrown its farming and ranching roots and is transforming into a progressive tech hub, known for its breweries and affinity for bike lanes, coffee shops, and high-priced boutiques.

Delivering the mail gives you a granular insight into America’s growing cultural, political, and wealth divide. North of town, there’s a senior-living mobile home community sitting in the shadow of newly-built eco-friendly condos that sell for half a million dollars. Residents at the condos subscribe to The Atlantic and New Yorker; residents in the trailer park a few hundred feet away get People and National Enquirer.

After several months, the rhythms of carrying mail became second nature; I’d successfully carried nearly every one of the office’s 50 routes around the city. I also became familiar with the downsides of the job. As one might expect at a financially beleaguered organization that’s been losing money for more than a decade, office morale was often low: Nearly every week, there’d be a shouting match between carriers complaining about mail arriving late to the office, thus delaying and extending their day, and management only shrugging their shoulders and saying that’s an issue out of their control. Clerks, whose duties include working the front desk helping customers and sorting mail and packages (sometimes overnight), were brutally overworked, often clocking 60- to 70-hour weeks. Many of my coworkers felt trapped: Sure, the job sucked sometimes, but where else can you find a secure job that pays as well?

It was my relationships with fellow carriers and clerks--a diverse group, from first-generation Americans to military veterans--that made the job bearable most days. But once I landed a long-sought communications gig, I made the decision to move on from the USPS.

After I shared my Postal Service experience in a thread on Twitter that went semi-viral, I received dozens of comments from readers who shared their nostalgia and affection for this beloved and embattled American institution. One told me about a mail carrier who heard a smoke alarm going off in an empty house and alerted a neighbor. Others were children of postal workers, grateful for the livelihoods that the jobs provided. “Both my parents retired from the post office,” one reader told me. “My mom started when she was just 19 years old. It’s not what it used to be…. They work the new folks into the ground, so I hear. I try to tip my carrier well for dealing with the BS.”

The response made me even more proud of my time wearing the blue uniform; I’m more deeply connected to my community and have a better understanding of my fellow Americans. From now on, I’ll tip my mail carrier well. You should, too.

[hariseninmalam]

The Book

When I was 19 years old, I wrote a book. It's a magic-themed children book. I wrote this book in Indonesian. When I asked why did I wrote the book in Indonesian, instead of English, I said, 'I don't know, it was just more natural and I can feel the story just flowing when I wrote it in Indonesian'.

This book had never been read by anyone, not even by I's family or closest friend, until I met me. I told me about this book when we were having a holiday back in February. I told I that I want to read the book. A few months later, I suddenly sent me the PDF of the book. I read it straightaway. After I finished reading the book, I told I, 'your imagination is worth to preserve. It's well written. If you put more work on it, it can be published.'

I replied, 'my heart is racing.'

Sometimes in the end of June or early July, I started to think about I's birthday present. I was going to get I a nice present, maybe a Nintendo Switch or other gadget that I would love. Then, I remembered that I actually told I, 'All you need is a good editor, like a really good one. Like me.'

I had one night when I couldn't go to sleep just thinking about what I said. I talked to my friend who could do some drawing. Suddenly, I could feel the excitement in my body (that didn't help with the sleeping problem), but this is a different kind of excitement. I decided to do the editing of the book. I asked my friend to do the illustration for each chapter and the cover. I worked 2-3 hours a day for editing the book for almost 3 months. I put together the book into LaTeX. I explored Singapore to find the book binder that I like and I can trust. I did the editing for 4 rounds. I designed the wax seal and get it ordered. I picked the fonts for the cover and the contents. I also put some empty pages in the back so people can write down what they think after they read it. I put my thoughts on every little detail on the book. I got it into a book, like a real one.

My friends thought it was crazy. I did think so. One of my friend asked me, 'aren't you expecting some things in return?'

I just didn't think of any, really. For some reasons, I feel like it was the work of pure love. I told my friends, 'I think this is a kind of love that doesn't require things in return. I just want I to realise what I could achieve, so if I didn't see that, then I'm ready to let go.'

There are so much things happening between I and me. Things were not always easy. So when I being difficult and at the same time I couldn't say anything about this project, I just felt frustrated and tried to hold on a little longer. Through the ups and downs, I managed to keep myself together to finish the book. Sometimes, I feel like I just want this to be done. Whatever happen happens.

Finally, on the night I was giving the book, I told I, 'if this gift didn't make you love me, I don't know what else will'

I noticed the logo on the wax seal, then said, 'no way'.

I opened the wrapping paper, and suddenly I cried. I cried twice that night.

I asked me, 'why did you do this?'

I have been practising for this, so I could answer, 'because everyone deserve a great love story, so now we have a good one, the one that you have started since you were 19.'

I didn't respond to that. Instead, I said, 'I feel like I don't deserve it'

'maybe you don't, but we deserve it.'

'I'm just speechless.'

'well, you can say I love you.'

I just smiled and said, 'I don't want this night to be over'

Later before bed, I was looking at the book again. 'I still can't believe you did this. My heart just can't... I don't know how to repay you'

I looked to I and said, 'it's okay, I know you have never been in love before'

I just laughed, hit me softly, and continued admiring the book.

The next day, when we were cuddling in bed at home and I had to go, I hugged me tighter. I looked around, then I kissed me. It was one of the sweetest moment of us that I could ever remembered.

A few nights later when we were in bed, I asked I, 'did the book change the way you see me?'

I hugged me and said, 'yes. you are the only one who always believe in me.'

So, I guess it's not the time to let go yet.

[violetsystems]

#personal

For once I’m not terribly moody although I did wake up pretty early.  My mom called last night presumably while I fell asleep watching the Road Warrior.  I also watched Alien Covenant for the first time yesterday all the way through.  I’ve been living all this time thinking they never patched the plot holes together from Prometheus.  Lots of DNA porn in that.  If there is such a thing.  I’m sure everyone has seen it by now so I’m not spoiling anything.  But the bomb dropping on an alien planet in the form of a chain of nucleotides is kind of raw.  Bleached blond android reminiscent of 1940′s Germany though still undoubtably referencing Lawrence of Arabia.   It reminds me of an avalanche moreover the effect of how snow particles reorganize themselves.  This effect is called the Catherine Wheel and forms together when smaller particles shift together between bigger mass movements.  I love that quote from Stone Island somewhere back in 2008.  A purple jacket with embroidery talking about snowflake responsibility when it all comes tumbling down.  Life lately seems to be a nonstop seesaw of hope and fear.  I’ve been kind of stuck in a holding pattern with everything.  One of the biggest roadblocks was a vaccine.  I took the train earlier in the week one block to Bulls Stadium.  I live that close.  In about twenty minutes I was all patched up with the latest update.  It’s 2021 mind you.  I’m still recovering from a mortal wound back last July.  I was in New York that February at the heat of it.  The simple fact that I’ve stayed alive is a triumph to me.  But after a full five days after being vaccinated there are no real side effects to talk about.  I read somewhere someone who wrote at length how the side effect they felt was guilt.  That somehow they didn’t deserve this when the rest of the world is suffering.  That narrative is problematic at the moment for me.  The sticker I received after getting poked in the arm helped me understand it better.  Protect Chicago.  When the military nurse injected me I replied that I was thankful for their help.  They replied it was the other way around.  Getting vaccinated is certainly the healthy thing you can do if you can get it.  It’s also rather understandable to feel confused as to which one to get.  I do feel lucky to be able to experience a platform that is the start of something new for medical science.  MRNA is about as real as it gets.  There is no live virus.  It is more a set of instructions.  I was eligible because I live in a high risk zip code.  The dosages for Chicago were made available federally.  So I don’t feel so much as guilt really after what I’ve been through.  However it all worked out in the end doesn’t honor or dignify all that was sacrificed in the process.  The virus to me was an exogenous shock to the system here in America.  And it was ongoing.  It trapped me.  It trapped us all really.  And the light at the end of the tunnel couldn’t start until the shot was in my arm.  It’s too bad the tunnel pretty much collapsed behind me.  But things reorder themselves after a disaster.  Gravity pulls everything back to earth.  My mom’s call was to inform me her new neighbors knocked on the door.  Her old neighbor died.  A terribly awful lady who yelled at my mom anytime she stepped into her backyard.  My mom suspects her new neighbors are from Jamaica.  She loves Jamaica.  We went there one summer when I was little.  She loved embarrassing me dancing to live music.  I love the clear ocean water and being solicited on the street with huge garbage bags of weed.  I was twelve back then.  I thought it was salad.  Either way I mentioned to her not to assume anything from an accent.  She’s going to go to Home Depot and buy them a plant to show them some love.

As far as neighbors go, we’ve had a little turnover in my building.  According to my landlord, it’s a full house.  My mom lives just outside the city on the border.  I live near the Heart of Chicago in an area called the Lower West Side.  West side and south side are night and day.  People from the South Side wear their White Sox hats like they’re part of a shock troop invasion sometimes.  People on the west side don’t give a fuck.  Dance Mania records originated in the Lawndale neighborhood far west.  Most of the Teklife footwork culture started further south near 95th and the Dan Ryan.  My mom lives a bus ride away from the old Battlegrounds spot.  But Chicago is by definition safer when you understand we live block by block.  DJ Deeon said it best.  Block business.  Every street has it’s own culture and lore.  It gets harder to parse as the years go by mostly because things get more diverse.  Narratives get buried.  People get it twisted.  And you never know whose toes you are stepping on.  People are always trying to get a read on you.  Maybe pigeonhole you into a social group so they can worry less.  I’ve had people tell me they get nervous when they couldn’t keep tabs on me.  I’ve never been one to hold myself back from exploring.  I’ve wandered back and forth to Korea, Japan and China by myself.  The last year and a half has been sort of torture for me.  I’ve felt trapped and in limbo.  Much less the last few weeks.  There’s always little signs that things are getting better around you.  Or at least signs that people understand your context and what it is that makes you happy.  There’s also always people out there that think they know you better.  Chicago can be up in your face at times.  Accusatory.  It doesn’t like lone wolves unless it can corral them together in a pen.  There’s always an agenda here.  Much like anywhere.  But in Chicago, it moves slower.  Gentrification to me here has always been a sweeping motion.  People come in that you don’t know and claim to be neighbors.  They set up camp in your sacred spaces and you assume there’s some sort of mutual understanding.  Community can be somewhat pushy when it comes to sharing power.  Nobody has ever really ever asked me anything.  It’s always statements or projections.  I can explain this by how many times people have asked or said my name in the last year.  It’s painfully low.  People aren’t polite.  They are balancing huge weights on their shoulders.  I get that nobody has time for me.  Living in a city like Chicago is facetime every time you walk out the door.  But there’s times when people would rather just be rid of you than have to settle up.  And there’s enough intimidation out here that goes hand in hand with gentrification.  If you resist you obviously have some problem.  And when you do, you are asking for more trouble.  And yet after awhile standing your ground in Chicago is a lot like being a stick in the mud.  There’s a point when people give up trying to push an immovable object.  They just build around the foundation of it.  And in some ways having a history of being both exceptionally mobile and classically predictable is a good thing.  Of all the things I could have worried about the last nine months it was having a place to live and shelter in place.  It isn’t like I have to go very far for real culture.  I don’t own a car.  The train is literally out my kitchen window.  I can walk to Chinatown.  I get Korean stew every Sunday.  The faces I see every day are not exclusively Caucasian although the intimidation I feel is primarily from White people.  I stumbled the other day when the operator on the vaccine line asked my race.  I said white at first but white isn’t a race.  It isn’t even a culture.  I’m half Swedish, a little German and Croatian.  I don’t see anybody sitting home on a Saturday night watching Anthony Hopkins as Hrothgar to celebrate their heritage around here with me.  I do see a bunch of generic white people fearful that I’m something they can’t control.  Welcome to America I guess.  

I have family all over the world.  A cousin who lives in Hong Kong who I’ve reached out to again but has gone silent.  Another cousin from Africa I’ve never met who shares the same name as me but not the same color of skin.  These little details are lost amongst a sea of paranoia, disinformation and pranks.  I write the same shit here every weekend like a faq on Usenet.  Frequently asked questions about our friend we’ve known for years but can’t trust.  Things better left unsaid or skimmed over.  Most of being confident in this age is realizing when you are not the problem.  Everybody is looking for someone to blame.  And everybody is talking on the internet.  Everybody wants to win their argument in a cage match to an audience of influencers around the globe.  There are real people in every situation suffering in complex ways that you size up on your forums.  Everyone is a private detective.  Everybody plays CSI.  Everybody got the latest dirt on the tiniest speck of dust in the wind.  And everything is twisted to fit a larger agenda and narrative that becomes impossibly complex until it collapses.  We all get lost in the Avalanche.  Failures and fuckups get lost in an alternate reality game of ABC’s and P’s and Q’s.  Trying to juggle and wiggle through these busy bodies that don’t give a fuck about us.  Trying to argue with a brick wall that will soon shift and crumble.  And we all feel completely small in the process.  A little snowflake.  All by itself.  Resorted by the tides of the moon with each passing invisible wave of gravity and physics.  The entropy of things that what we build can fall apart eventually.  How long that happens is determined by the bonds we keep.  Whether it’s worth it in the long run.  And I worry less these days about what isn’t working and more about what keeps me together.  Where I land within all of this.  I’ve felt alone and not so much over the last year or so.  I long for physical connection just like anybody else.  But without the right foundation it’s damn near impossible to connect it all together.  Sometimes when the avalanche comes, it’s better to roll with the punches and see how it all sorts out.  And there are plenty of seismic rifts happening in the world today acting upon by any number of exogenous shocks.  The virus being one of them.  When it’s lifted, the problems we had before all of this are still there.  And the tunnel to the past has all but been demolished.  Where do you go forward in the light?  Maybe you just take a rest.  Maybe you wait for people to recover their sense of balance and direction.  After that kind of disaster you definitely don’t make any sudden movements.  I’ve thought about travelling again this summer.  This idea of revenge travel is ridiculous to me and slightly toxic.  If everybody is filled with bloodlust, I’d rather just relax at home until it’s my time to shine.  I’ve been to New York so many times already and nobody ever wants to hang out.  And for once in my life all the signposts point back to here at least when it comes to sanctuary.  Everybody in the world is looking for Sanctuary.  Everybody in the world wants peace.  And yet not everyone in the world wants to see eye to eye and share this planet together.  Not everyone wants to put their ego aside and respect the dignity and horror of being alive.  And subsequently many people have an internalized guilt over this.  They romanticize it.  They deflect and project it back onto you.  They gaslight and pretend you are invisible.  They create false narratives to help them sleep at night when their nerves are on fire from consumption, greed, and guilt.  And the bullshit ultimately floats to the surface of this toilet we call life.  My life at times in the last nine months feels like it was flushed down the toilet.  Like some well meaning android dropped a bomb of toxic shit on my entire game plan.  I’m resilient enough to live through it.  I’m smart enough not to consider revenge.  I’ll be more comfortable with that statement after I get my second shot.  Until then I’m not making any sudden moves.  Or any controversial statements other than I still love you. <3 Tim  

[techcrunchappcom]

New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/kanye-west-says-hes-done-with-trump-opens-up-about-white-house-bid-damaging-biden-and-everything-in-between-forbes/

Kanye West Says He's Done With Trump—Opens Up About White House Bid, Damaging Biden And Everything In Between - Forbes

Kanye West’s Fourth of July declaration, via Tweet, that he was running for president lit the internet on fire, even as pundits were trying to discern how serious he was. Over the course of four rambling hours of interviews on Tuesday, the billionaire rapper turned sneaker mogul revealed:

That he’s running for president in 2020 under a new banner—the Birthday Party—with guidance from Elon Musk and an obscure vice presidential candidate he’s already chosen. “Like anything I’ve ever done in my life,” says West, “I’m doing to win.”

That he no longer supports President Trump. “I am taking the red hat off, with this interview.”

That he’s ok with siphoning off Black votes from the Democratic nominee, thus helping Trump. “I’m not denying it, I just told you. To say that the Black vote is Democratic is a form of racism and white supremacy.”

That he’s never voted in his life.

That he was sick with Covid-19 in February.

That he’s suspicious of a coronavirus vaccine, terming vaccines “the mark of the beast.”

That he believes “Planned Parenthoods have been placed inside cities by white supremacists to do the Devil’s work.”

That he envisions a White House organizational model based on the secret country of Wakanda in Black Panther.

And that’s just for starters. For much of the phone calls, his core message, strategically, was that he has 30 days to make a final decision about running for president. At that point, he says, he’d miss the filing deadline for most states, though he believes an argument could be made to get onto any ballots he’s missed, citing coronavirus issues. “I’m speaking with experts, I’m going to speak with Jared Kushner, the White House, with Biden,” says West. He has no campaign apparatus of any kind. His advisors right now, he says, are the two people who notably endorsed him on the Fourth: his wife Kim Kardashian-West, and Elon Musk, of whom he says, “We’ve been talking about this for years.” (Adds West: “I proposed to him to be the head of our space program.”)

An hour into the interview, the hedging was done: He says he definitely plans to run in 2020, versus his original plan in 2024. The campaign slogan: “YES!” His running mate? Michelle Tidball, an obscure preacher from Wyoming. And why the Birthday Party? “Because when we win, it’s everybody’s birthday.”

If it all sounds like a parody, or a particularly surreal episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, West doesn’t seem to be in on it. Calling from his ranch near Cody, Wyoming, where he says that he registered to vote for the first time on Monday, West denies it is a publicity stunt for his upcoming album. (“I give my album away for free.”) A few weeks after he ended two separate text chains with me with the message “Trump 2020” and a fist raised high, he insists he’s lost confidence in the president. “It looks like one big mess to me,” he says. “I don’t like that I caught wind that he hid in the bunker.” West also says that he contracted the coronavirus in late February, though he maintains that had nothing to do with his thoughts on running this year.

That said, he won’t say much more against Trump. He’s much less shy about criticizing Biden, which certainly won’t tamp down the idea that the Birthday Party is a ruse to help re-elect Trump. “I’m not saying Trump’s in my way, he may be a part of my way. And Joe Biden? Like come on man, please. You know? Obama’s special. Trump’s special. We say Kanye West is special. America needs special people that lead. Bill Clinton? Special. Joe Biden’s not special.”

From there, he holds forth on pretty much everything else, and occasionally breaks into spontaneous freestyle raps (“If I catch a vibe, I’m gonna catch that vibe”).

Rapper Kanye West speaks during a meeting with U.S. President Donald Trump in the Oval office of the White House on October 11, 2018 in Washington, DC. GETTY IMAGES

ON HIS NATURAL POLITICAL PARTY

“I would run as a Republican if Trump wasn’t there. I will run as an independent if Trump is there.”

ON HIS PREVIOUS SUPPORT FOR TRUMP

“Trump is the closest president we’ve had in years to allowing God to still be part of the conversation.”

ON HIS MAGA HAT MOMENT

“One of the main reasons I wore the red hat as a protest to the segregation of votes in the Black community. Also, other than the fact that I like Trump hotels and the saxophones in the lobby.”

ON DISCUSSIONS ON RACE WITH THE WHITE HOUSE

“One time I talked to Jared Kushner who was saying we don’t have Black leaders, we just have hustlers. Why? Because they killed all the Black leaders.” (Requests for comment from the White House and the Kushner Companies last night were not immediately returned.)

ON DEMOCRATS

“That is a form of racism and white supremacy and white control to say that all Black people need to be Democrat and to assume that me running is me splitting the vote. All of that information is being charged up on social media platforms by Democrats. And Democrats used to tell me, the same Democrats have threatened me…. The reason why this is the first day I registered to vote is because I was scared. I was told that if I voted on Trump my music career would be over. I was threatened into being in one party. I was threatened as a celebrity into being in one party. I was threatened as a Black man into the Democratic party. And that’s what the Democrats are doing, emotionally, to my people. Threatening them to the point where this white man can tell a Black man if you don’t vote for me, you’re not Black.”

ON HOW THE RACE WILL BE DECIDED

“Let’s see if the appointing is at 2020 or if it’s 2024—because God appoints the president. If I win in 2020 then it was God’s appointment. If I win in 2024 then that was God’s appointment.”

ON THE CORONAVIRUS CURE

“We pray. We pray for the freedom. It’s all about God. We need to stop doing things that make God mad.”

ON VACCINES

“It’s so many of our children that are being vaccinated and paralyzed… So when they say the way we’re going to fix Covid is with a vaccine, I’m extremely cautious. That’s the mark of the beast. They want to put chips inside of us, they want to do all kinds of things, to make it where we can’t cross the gates of heaven. I’m sorry when I say they, the humans that have the Devil inside them. And the sad thing is that, the saddest thing is that we all won’t make it to heaven, that there’ll be some of us that do not make it. Next question.”

ON DECIDING TO RUN FOR PRESIDENT

“It’s when I was being offered the Michael Jackson Video Vanguard Awards at MTV. I remember being at my mom’s house, my mother-in-law, because my house was being worked on, she calls me ‘son’ and I call her ‘mom,’ I was in the shower thinking, I write raps in the shower. It hit me to say, ‘you’re going to run for president’ and I started laughing hysterically, I was like this is the best, I’m going to go out there and they’re going to think I’m going to do these songs and do this for entertainment, how rigged awards shows are, and then say I’m president. And I just laughed in the shower, I don’t know for how long, but that’s the moment it hit me.”

ON HIS FOREIGN POLICY

“I haven’t developed it yet. I’m focused on protecting America, first, with our great military. Let’s focus on ourselves first.”

ON ABORTION

“I am pro-life because I’m following the word of the bible.”

ON BEING A POLITICAL NOVICE

“I have to say with all humility that as a man, I don’t have all of the pieces in the puzzle. As I speak to you for what a political campaign—a political walk, as I told you, because I’m not running, I’m walking. I’m not running, we the people are walking. We’re not running anymore, we’re not running, we’re not excited—we are energized, Someone can say, ‘Hey, I got a brand new car for you, it’s across the street and you get so excited you run across the street and get hit by a car trying to run to your new car. That’s how they control the Black community, through emotions, they get us excited, we’re so excited, but then for 400 years the change doesn’t truly happen.

ON THE NEED FOR RACIAL HEALING, AFTER GEORGE FLOYD

“Well, God has already started the healing/This conversation alone is healing and revealing/We all need to start praying and kneeling… another bar after that, but when a rhyme comes together I’m going to complete it, not inside the lines created by organizations that we know as our reality. The schools, the infrastructure was made for us to not truly be all we can be but to be just good enough to work for the corporations that designed the school systems. We’re tearing that up, what we’ll do is we’re not going to tear up the Constitution, what we will do is amend.”

ON BLACK HISTORY MONTH

“Oh one other thing, Black History Month. That is torture porn because when that comes up what we do is we see—and by the way, if I get that vibe—that’s the process and we are going to a beautiful, uplifting, fun, creative process as a people, as America collectively, and show the world how great we are. So here we go. Black History Month every year they gotta remind us about the fact that we couldn’t vote, they meaning white supremacy construct, and I said that with the CT at the end, I knew what was I was talking about…Our minds are so much more infinite than what’s coming across TikTok or Instagram, what’s trying to influence our children and the next generation of who we are.

ON HAVING COVID-19

“Chills, shaking in the bed, taking hot showers, looking at videos telling me what I’m supposed to do to get over it. I remember someone had told me Drake had the coronavirus and my response was Drake can’t be sicker than me!” (laughs)

ON RUNNING IN 2020

“God just gave me the clarity and said it’s time. You know I was out there, ended up in the hospital, people were calling me crazy. I’m not crazy. Between all of the influences and the positions that we can be put in as musicians—you go on tour, you put out all these albums, and you look up and you don’t have any money in your account. It can drive you crazy, through all of that I was looking crazy because it wasn’t the time. Now it’s time. And we’re not going crazy, we’re going Yeezy, it’s a whole ‘notha level now. N-O-T-H-A.

ON JOE BIDEN

“A lot of times just like political parties they feel all Blacks have to be Democrat. This man, Joe Biden, said if you don’t vote for me, then you are not Black. Well, act like we didn’t hear that? We act like we didn’t hear that man say that? That man said that. It’s a rap. We gonna walk, all the people. Jay-Z said it best. For the other candidates, I just gracefully suggest y’all bow out—Trump and Biden, gracefully bow out. It’s God’s country, we are doing everything in service to God, nobody but God no more. I am in service of our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ, and I put everything I get on the line to serve God.”

ON DEVELOPING POLICIES

“I don’t know if I would use the word policy for the way I would approach things. I don’t have a policy when I went to Nike and designed Yeezy and went to Louis and designed a Louis Vuitton at the same time. It wasn’t a policy, it was a design. We need to innovate the design to be able to free the mind at this time.”

ON THE WAKANDA MANAGEMENT MODEL

“A lot of Africans do not like the movie [Black Panther] and representation of themselves in…Wakanda. But I’m gonna use the framework of Wakanda right now because it’s the best explanation of what our design group is going to feel like in the White House…That is a positive idea: you got Kanye West, one of the most powerful humans—I’m not saying the most because you got a lot of alien level superpowers and it’s only collectively that we can set it free. Let’s get back to Wakanda… like in the movie in Wakanda when the king went to visit that lead scientist to have the shoes wrap around her shoes. Just the amount of innovation that can happen, the amount of innovation in medicine—like big pharma—we are going to work, innovate, together. This is not going to be some Nipsey Hussle being murdered, they’re doing a documentary, we have so many soldiers that die for our freedom, our freedom of information, that there is a cure for AIDS out there, there is going to be a mix of big pharma and holistic.”

ON PRAYER IN SCHOOLS

“Reinstate in God’s state, in God’s country, the fear and love of God in all schools and organizations and you chill the fear and love of everything else, so that was a plan by the Devil to have our kids committing suicide at an all-time high by removing God to have murders in Chicago at an all-time high because the human beings working for the Devil removed God and prayer from the schools. That means more drugs, more murders, more suicide.”

ON TAXES

“I haven’t done enough research on that yet. I will research that with the strongest experts that serve God and come back with the best solution. And that will be my answer for anything that I haven’t researched. I have the earplug in and I’m going to use that earplug.”

ON CHINA

“When I become president—let me make some promises—the NBA will open all the way back up from Nigeria to Nanchang and the world will see the greatest athletes play. The world will experience the change in their element. The money is gonna come back. I love China. I love China. It’s not China’s fault that disease. It’s not the Chinese people’s fault. They’re God’s people also. I love China. It changed my life. It changed my perspective, it gave me such a wide perspective. My mom as an English professor taught English in China when I was in 5th grade.”

ON CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

“Thou shalt not kill. I’m against the death penalty.”

ON POLICE KILLINGS

One of my to-do lists is to end police brutality. The police are people too. To end laws that don’t make sense. Like, in the George Floyd case, there was a Black guy that went to jail and it was his first day on the force. So if it’s your first day on the force and it’s your training day, and this OG accredited cop with 18 violations already starts filing out, are you going to jump in front of that person and lose your job that same day? Especially in this climate when 40,000 people lost their jobs? This man was put in a position where—and also he probably didn’t realize that the cop was going to take it that far, he probably was so scared, in shock, paralyzed, like so many Black people. I’m one of the few Black people that would speak openly like this.

ON HIS OTHER PRIORITIES

“Clean up the chemicals. In our deodorant, in our toothpaste, there are chemicals that affect our ability to be of service to God.”

ON HIS CAMPAIGN SLOGAN

“Well my second album is called Late Registration. I got a rap … The other thing is, my campaign is Kanye West YES, not YEP, not YEAH. YES. YES. YES… When I’m president, let’s also have some fun. Let’s get past all the racism conversation, let’s empower people with 40 acres and a mule, let’s give some land, that’s the plan.”

[mlleedom]

White Frights - The Villains and the Fall Guys

White Frights - The Villains and the Fall Guys

February 2002

I don't know what it is, but every time I see a white guy walking towards me, I tense up. My heart starts racing, and I immediately begin to look for an escape route and a means to defend myself. I kick myself for even being in this part of town after dark. Didn't I notice the suspicious gangs of white people lurking on every street corner, drinking Starbucks and wearing their gang colors of Gap turquoise or J Crew mauve? What an idiot! Now the white person is coming closer, closer - and then - whew! He walks by without harming me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

White people scare the crap out of me. This may be hard for you to understand - considering that I am white - but then again, my colour gives me a certain insight. For instance, I find myself pretty scary a lot of the time, so I know what I'm talking about. You can take my word for it: if you find yourself suddenly surrounded by white people, you better watch out. Anything can happen. As white people, we've been lulled into thinking it's safe to be around other white people. We've been taught since birth that it's the people of that other colour we need to fear. They're the ones who'll slit your throat!

Yet as I look back on my life, a strange but unmistakable pattern seems to emerge. Every person who has ever harmed me in my lifetime - the boss who fired me, the teacher who flunked me, the principal who punished me, the kid who hit me in the eye with a rock, the executive who didn't renew TV Nation, the guy who was stalking me for three years, the accountant who double-paid my taxes, the drunk who smashed into me, the burglar who stole my stereo, the contractor who overcharged me, the girlfriend who left me, the next girlfriend who left even sooner, the person in the office who stole cheques from my chequebook and wrote them out to himself for a total of $16,000 - every one of these individuals has been a white person. Coincidence? I think not.

I have never been attacked by a black person, never been evicted by a black person, never had my security deposit ripped off by a black landlord, never had a black landlord, never had a meeting at a Hollywood studio with a black executive in charge, never had a black person deny my child the college of her choice, never been puked on by a black teenager at a Mötley Crüe concert, never been pulled over by a black cop, never been sold a lemon by a black car salesman, never seen a black car salesman, never had a black person deny me a bank loan, and I've never heard a black person say, "We're going to eliminate 10,000 jobs here - have a nice day!"

I don't think that I'm the only white guy who can make these claims. Every mean word, every cruel act, every bit of pain and suffering in my life has had a Caucasian face attached to it.

So, um, why is it exactly that I should be afraid of black people?

I look around at the world I live in - and, I hate to tell tales out of school, but it's not the African-Americans who have made this planet such a pitiful, scary place. Recently, a headline on the front of the Science section of the New York Times asked Who Built The H-Bomb? The article went on to discuss a dispute between the men who claim credit for making the first bomb. Frankly, I could have cared less - because I already know the only pertinent answer: "It was a white guy!" No black guy ever built or used a bomb designed to wipe out hordes of innocent people, whether in Oklahoma City, Columbine or Hiroshima. No, friends, it's always the white guy. Let's go to the tote board:

· Who gave us the black plague? A white guy.

· Who invented PBC, PVC, PBB, and a host of chemicals that are killing us? White guys.

· Who has started every war America has been in? White men.

· Who invented the punchcard ballot? A white man.

· Whose idea was it to pollute the world with the internal combustion engine? Whitey, that's who.

· The Holocaust? That guy really gave white people a bad name.

· The genocide of Native Americans? White man.

· Slavery? Whitey!

· US companies laid off more than 700,000 people in 2001. Who ordered the lay-offs? White CEOs.

You name the problem, the disease, the human suffering, or the abject misery visited upon millions, and I'll bet you 10 bucks I can put a white face on it faster than you can name the members of 'NSync.

And yet, when I turn on the news each night, what do I see again and again? Black men alleged to be killing, raping, mugging, stabbing, gang banging, looting, rioting, selling drugs, pimping, ho-ing, having too many babies, fatherless, motherless, Godless, penniless. "The suspect is described as a black male... the suspect is described as a black male... THE SUSPECT IS DESCRIBED AS A BLACK MALE..." No matter what city I'm in, the news is always the same, the suspect always the same unidentified black male. I'm in Atlanta tonight, and I swear the police sketch of the black male suspect on TV looks just like the black male suspect I saw on the news last night in Denver and the night before in LA. In every sketch he's frowning, he's menacing - and he's wearing the same knit cap! Is it possible that it's the same black guy committing every crime in America?

I believe we've become so used to this image of the black man as predator that we are forever ruined by this brainwashing. In my first film, Roger & Me, a white woman on social security clubs a rabbit to death so that she can sell him as "meat" instead of as a pet. I wish I had a nickel for every time in the past 10 years that someone has come up to me and told me how "horrified" they were when they saw that "poor little cute bunny" bonked on the head. The scene, they say, made them physically sick. The Motion Picture Association of America gave Roger & Me an R [18] rating in response to that rabbit killing. Teachers write to me and say they have to edit that part out of the film, if they want to show it to their students.

But less than two minutes after the bunny lady does her deed, I included footage of a scene in which police in Flint, Michigan, shot a black man who was wearing a Superman cape and holding a plastic toy gun. Not once - not ever - has anyone said to me, "I can't believe you showed a black man being shot in your movie! How horrible! How disgusting! I couldn't sleep for weeks." After all, he was just a black man, not a cute, cuddly bunny. The ratings board saw absolutely nothing wrong with that scene. Why? Because it's normal, natural. We've become so accustomed to seeing black men killed - in the movies and on the evening news - that we now accept it as standard operating procedure. No big deal! That's what blacks do - kill and die. Ho-hum. Pass the butter.

It's odd that, despite the fact that most crimes are committed by whites, black faces are usually attached to what we think of as "crime". Ask any white person who they fear might break into their home or harm them on the street and, if they're honest, they'll admit that the person they have in mind doesn't look much like them. The imaginary criminal in their heads looks like Mookie or Hakim or Kareem, not little freckle-faced Jimmy.

No matter how many times their fellow whites make it clear that the white man is the one to fear, it simply fails to register. Every time you turn on the TV to news of another school shooting, it's always a white kid who's conducting the massacre. Every time they catch a serial killer, it's a crazy white guy. Every time a terrorist blows up a federal building, or a madman gets 400 people to drink Kool-Aid, or a Beach Boys songwriter casts a spell causing half a dozen nymphets to murder "all the piggies" in the Hollywood Hills, you know it's a member of the white race up to his old tricks.

So why don't we run like hell when we see whitey coming toward us? Why don't we ever greet the Caucasian job applicant with, "Gee, uh, I'm sorry, there aren't any positions available right now"? Why aren't we worried sick about our daughters marrying white guys? And why isn't Congress trying to ban the scary and offensive lyrics of Johnny Cash ("I shot a man in Reno/just to watch him die"), the Dixie Chicks ("Earl had to die"), or Bruce Springsteen ("I killed everything in my path/I can't say that I'm sorry for the things that we done").

Why the focus on rap lyrics? Why doesn't the media print lyrics such as the following, and tell the truth? "I sold bottles of sorrow, then chose poems and novels" (Wu-Tang Clan); "People use yo' brain to gain" (Ice Cube); "A poor single mother on welfare... tell me how ya did it" (Tupac Shakur); "I'm trying to change my life, see I don't wanna die a sinner" (Master P).

African-Americans have been on the lowest rung of the economic ladder since the day they were dragged here in chains. Every other immigrant group has been able to advance from the bottom to the higher levels of our society. Even Native Americans, who are among the poorest of the poor, have fewer children living in poverty than African-Americans.

You probably thought things had got better for blacks in this country. After all, considering the advances we've made eliminating racism in our society, one would think our black citizens might have seen their standard of living rise. A survey published in the Washington Post in July 2001 showed that 40%-60% of white people thought the average black person had it as good or better than the average white person.

Think again. According to a study conducted by the economists Richard Vedder, Lowell Gallaway and David C Clingaman, the average income for a black American is 61% less per year than the average white income. That is the same percentage difference as it was in 1880. Not a damned thing has changed in more than 120 years.

Want more proof? Consider the following:

· Black heart attack patients are far less likely than whites to undergo cardiac catheterisation, regardless of the race of their doctors.

· Whites are five times more likely than blacks to receive emergency clot-busting treatment after suffering a stroke.

· Black women are four times more likely than white women to die while giving birth.

· Black levels of unemployment have been roughly twice those of whites since 1954.

So how have we white people been able to get away with this? Caucasian ingenuity! You see, we used to be real dumb. Like idiots, we wore our racism on our sleeve. We did really obvious things, like putting up signs on rest-room doors that said WHITES ONLY. We made black people sit at the back of the bus. We prevented them from attending our schools or living in our neighbourhoods. They got the crappiest jobs (those advertised for NEGROES ONLY), and we made it clear that, if you weren't white, you were going to be paid a lower wage.

Well, this overt, over-the-top segregation got us into a heap of trouble. A bunch of uppity lawyers went to court. They pointed out that the 14th Amendment doesn't allow for anyone to be treated differently because of their race. Eventually, after a long procession of court losses, demonstrations and riots, we got the message: if you're going to be a successful racist, better find a way to do it with a smile on your face.

We even got magnanimous enough to say, "Sure, you can live here in our neighborhood; your kids can go to our kids' school. Why the hell not? We were just leaving, anyway." We smiled, gave black America a pat on the back - and then ran like the devil to the suburbs.

At work, we whites still get the plum jobs, double the pay, and a seat in the front of the bus to happiness and success. We've rigged the system from birth, guaranteeing that black people will go to the worst schools, thus preventing them from admission to the best colleges, and paving their way to a fulfilling life making our caffe lattes, servicing our BMWs, and picking up our trash. Oh, sure, a few slip by - but they pay an extra tariff for the privilege: the black doctor driving his BMW gets pulled over continually by the cops; the black Broadway actress can't get a cab after the standing ovation; the black broker is the first to be laid off because of "seniority".

We whites really deserve some kind of genius award for this. We talk the talk of inclusion, we celebrate the birthday of Dr King, we frown upon racist jokes. We never fail to drop a mention of "my friend - he's black..." We make sure we put our lone black employee up at the front reception desk so we can say, "See - we don't discriminate. We hire black people."

Yes, we are a very crafty, cagey race - and damn if we haven't got away with it!

I wonder how long we will have to live with the legacy of slavery. That's right. I brought it up. SLAVERY. You can almost hear the groans of white America whenever you bring up the fact that we still suffer from the impact of the slave system. Well, I'm sorry, but the roots of most of our social ills can be traced straight back to this sick chapter of our history. African-Americans never got a chance to have the same fair start that the rest of us got. Their families were willfully destroyed, their language and culture and religion stripped from them. Their poverty was institutionalized so that our cotton could get picked, our wars could be fought, our convenience stores could remain open all night. The America we've come to know would never have come to pass if not for the millions of slaves who built it and created its booming economy - and for the millions of their descendants who do the same dirty work for whites today.

It's not as if we're talking ancient Rome here. My grandfather was born just three years after the Civil War. That's right, my grandfather. My great-uncle was born before the Civil War. And I'm only in my 40s. Sure, people in my family seem to marry late, but the truth remains: I'm just two generations from slave times. That, my friends, is not a "long time ago". In the vast breadth of human history, it was only yesterday. Until we realize that, and accept that we do have a responsibility to correct an immoral act that still has repercussions today, we will never remove the single greatest stain on the soul of our country

© Michael Moore, 2002.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2002/mar/30/features.weekend

I read this excerpt from Moore’s book at an open mic night at a coffee shop shortly after the book release in 2002. Moore has been labeled contentious and divisive. He was at the cutting edge in helping those impacted by the water crisis in Flint, MI. I can relate to this piece as I have never been harmed by a black person and what I have seen in the media throughout my 4+ decades has been a complete disconnect. 

[dweemeister]

2017 Movie Odyssey

So ends the 2017 Movie Odyssey. Last year, I wrote that I did not foresee ever surpassing the 200+ movie mark for a long, long time. But look what happened here (outside of May because that was a hectic time in the Master’s program for sure). The 2017 Movie Odyssey consisted of 232 films - 180 feature-length films and fifty-two shorts. A century of filmmaking was covered this year, from 1917 to 2017. If I do have one regret this year... it’s that African films were not featured this year (due to availability issues and me not having enough money; I tend to watch things legally if possible). I hope to assuage that next year for a more representative Movie Odyssey.

For all of you out there who supported the Movie Odyssey in your own ways – whether reading, liking, commenting, or reblogging a write-up or sitting down with me to a new movie or talking to me about any movie... my thanks to all of you. None of this possible without you, and I hope you find that, through this blog, classic movies seem more approachable and welcoming and you are inspired to see some and learn about them yourself. A Happy New Year to all, and I’ll see you for the 2018 leg of the Movie Odyssey very soon (oh boy the Winter Olympics and World Cup are gonna chip away at the final count next year)!

As many know, all ratings are based on my imdb rating and half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here. A 6/10 is considered the borderline between “passing” and “failing”. Feature-length narrative films, short films, and documentaries are rated within their respective spectrums.

JANUARY

1. Marnie (1964) – 6/10 2. The Moon Is Down (1943) – 7/10 3. Sense and Sensibility (1995) – 8.5/10 4. The Big House (1930) – 7.5/10 5. Manchester by the Sea (2016) – 7/10 6. The Far Country (1954) – 7/10 7. Kung Fu Hustle (2004, Hong Kong/China) – 7/10 8. Road to Singapore (1940) – 6/10 9. A Clever Dummy (1917 short) – 5/10 10. Hidden Figures (2016) – 7.5/10 11. Teddy at the Throttle (1917 short) – 7.5/10 12. The Last of the Mohicans (1920) – 7/10 13. Sweet Smell of Success (1957) – 10/10 14. The Red Turtle (2016, France/Belgium/Japan) – 9/10 15. Life, Animated (2016) – 7.5/10 16. In the Mood for Love (2000, Hong Kong) – 10/10

FEBRUARY

17. Lion (2016) – 7/10 18. It’s Always Fair Weather (1955) – 7.5/10 19. Fences (2016) – 8.5/10 20. Shenandoah (1965) – 7/10 21. Caged (1950) – 8/10 22. Pearl (2016 short) – 7.5/10 23. Blind Vaysha (2016 short) – 8/10 24. Asteria (2016 short) – 6/10 25. The Head Vanishes (2016 short) – 6/10 26. Once Upon a Line (2016 short) – 7/10 27. Pear Cider and Cigarettes (2016 short) – 8/10 28. Sing (2016 short, Hungary) – 7.5/10 29. Silent Nights (2016 short, Denmark) – 6/10 30. Timecode (2016 short, Spain) – 7/10 31. Ennemis intérieurs (2016 short, France) – 8.5/10 32. La femme et le TGV (2016 short, Switzerland) – 8/10 33. Joe’s Violin (2016 short) – 7/10 34. Extremis (2016 short) – 8/10 35. 4.1 Miles (2016 short, Greece) – 9/10 36. Nashville (1975) – 7.5/10 37. The Romance of Transportation in Canada (1952 short) – 7/10

MARCH

38. My Life as a Zucchini (2016, Switzerland) – 8/10 39. Lili (1953) – 7/10 40. The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (2015) – 6/10 41. Captain Blood (1935) – 9.5/10 42. Logan (2017) – 7/10 43. Friendly Persuasion (1956) – 9/10 44. Ducks and Drakes (1921) – 7/10 45. What Dreams May Come (1998) – 6/10 46. Bright Road (1953) – 6/10 47. Snow Gets in Your Eyes (1938 short) – 5/10 48. Jungle Cat (1959) – 6.5/10 49. The Salesman (2016, Iran) – 8.5/10 50. Good Scouts (1938 short) – 7.5/10 51. All in a Nutshell (1949 short) – 8/10 52. The Hound That Thought He Was a Raccoon (1960) – 7/10 53. Winter Storage (1949 short) – 7/10 54. Out of Scale (1951 short) – 8/10 55. The Incredible Journey (1963) – 7/10 56. Follow Me, Boys! (1966) – 7/10 57. Charlie, the Lonesome Cougar (1967) – 5.5/10 58. Belladonna of Sadness (1973, Japan) – 6/10 59. Ponyo (2008, Japan) – 7/10 60. My Cousin Rachel (1952) – 7.5/10 61. Road to Perdition (2002) – 9/10

APRIL

62. The X from Outer Space (1967, Japan) – 3/10 63. The Blue Gardenia (1953) – 6.5/10 64. Get Out (2017) – 7.5/10 65. Fantastic Planet (1973, France/Czechoslovakia) – 8/10 66. 5 Centimeters Per Second (2007, Japan) – 6/10 67. Your Name (2016, Japan) – 7.5/10 68. The Outlaw and His Wife (1918, Sweden) – 7/10 69. Mail Early (1941 short) – experimental film, score withheld 70. Boogie-Doodle (1948 short) – experimental film, score withheld 71. A Chairy Tale (1957 short) – 9/10 72. Very Nice, Very Nice (1961 short) – experimental film, score withheld 73. Fine Feathers (1968) – 7/10 74. What on Earth! (1967 short) – 8/10 75. Walking (1968 short) – 7/10 76. Notes on a Triangle (1966 short) – experimental film, score withheld 77. The Three Faces of Eve (1957) – 7.5/10 78. Peeping Tom (1960) – 7.5/10 79. Porco Rosso (1992, Japan) – 8/10 80. MacArthur (1977) – 6/10

MAY

81. Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine (1965) – 4/10 82. Scarlet Street (1945) – 8.5/10 83. Tremors (1990) – 7/10 84. The Crucified Lovers (1954, Japan) – 7.5/10 85. Akeelah and the Bee (2006) – 8/10

JUNE

86. Wonder Woman (2017) – 7/10 87. Pollyanna (1960) – 7.5/10 88. Mickey’s Polo Team (1936 short) – 8/10 89. Tales of Manhattan (1942) – 7/10 90. The Horse with the Flying Tale (1960) – 7/10 91. Sound of the Mountain (1954, Japan) – 9/10 92. Return of the Fly (1959) – 4/10 93. Friday the 13th (1980) – 4/10 94. The Tattooed Police Horse (1964) – 6/10 95. Dr. Jack (1922) – 7/10 96. Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid (1973) – 7/10 97. Friday the 13th Part 2 (1981) – 5/10 98. The Great Man (1956) – 8/10 99. Sparrows (1926) – 7.5/10 100. Seven Days to Noon (1950) – 9/10 101. My Neighbor Totoro (1988, Japan) – 8.5/10 102. The Pocket Man (2016 short, France) – 7/10 103. Snack Attack (2012 short) – 7/10 104. You Were Never Lovelier (1942) – 7/10 105. San Francisco (1936) – 7.5/10 106. Eraserhead (1977) – 6.5/10

JULY

107. The Beguiled (2017) – 7/10 108. Summer Magic (1963) – 6/10 109. The Southerner (1945) – 9/10 110. The Statue of Liberty (1985) – 6/10 111. They Live by Night (1948) – 8/10 112. A Little Romance (1979) – 6/10 113. Conflagration (1958, Japan) – 6.5/10 114. The Naughty Twenties (1951 short) – 5/10 115. The Fastest Gun Alive (1956) – 7/10 116. For Your Eyes Only (1981) – 6/10 117. A Man There Was (1917, Sweden) – 9.5/10 118. His Royal Slyness (1920 short) – 6/10 119. Now or Never (1921 short) – 6.5/10 120. Among Those Present (1921 short) – 6/10 121. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014) – 7.5/10 122. Independence Day (1996) – 5/10 123. Yoyo (1965, France) – 8/10 124. The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934) -  6.5/10 125. War for the Planet of the Apes (2017) – 7.5/10 126. The Lady Vanishes (1938) – 10/10 127. Funny Face (1957) – 9/10 128. A Brighter Summer Day (1991, Taiwan) – 9.5/10 129. A Sailor-Made Man (1921) – 6/10 130. Much Ado About Nothing (1993) – 8/10 131. Dunkirk (2017) – 8.5/10 132. Lost Horizon (1937) – 8/10 133. The Man from Snowy River (1982) – 7.5/10 134. A Touch of Zen (1971, Taiwan) – 10/10

AUGUST

135. A Double Life (1947) – 6/10 136. Tokyo Chorus (1931, Japan) – 7/10 137. In a Heartbeat (2017 short) – 7.5/10 138. Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (2017) – 4.5/10 139. Twelve O’Clock High (1949) – 9/10 140. The Big Clock (1948) – 7/10 141. Pink Floyd – The Wall (1982) – 8/10 142. Record of a Tenement Gentleman (1947, Japan) – 9/10 143. Octopussy (1983) – 6/10 144. West of Zanzibar (1928) – 6/10 145. Take Me Out to the Ball Game (1949) – 7/10 146. Detroit (2017) – 5.5/10 147. That Funny Feeling (1965) – 6/10 148. Kid Galahad (1962) – 6/10 149. Tokyo Twilight (1957, Japan) – 10/10 150. In This Corner of the World (2016, Japan) – 7/10 151. The Bedford Incident (1965) – 7.5/10 152. Johnny Express (2014 short) – 6/10 153. Carpark (2013 short) – 6/10 154. Castle in the Sky (1986, Japan) – 8/10 155. The Goonies (1985) – 7.5/10 156. State of the Union (1948) – 6/10

SEPTEMBER

157. Beyond the Poseidon Adventure (1979) – 3/10 158. Muscle Beach Party (1964) – 4/10 159. The Nutty Professor (1963) – 7/10 160. Camille (1921) – 6.5/10 161. Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972, West Germany) – 8/10 162. Independence Day: Resurgence (2016) – 2/10 163. It (2017) – 7/10 164. Ocean Waves (1993, Japan) – 6/10 165. Monterey Pop (1968) – 8/10 166. Don’t Look Back (1967) – 9/10 167. Tyrus (2015) – 8.5/10

OCTOBER

168. A Star Is Born (1937) – 8/10 169. Swiss Family Robinson (1960) – 6/10 170. Revenge of the Nerds (1984) – 5/10 171. Horton Hears a Who! (2008) – 6/10 172. Freaky Friday (1976) – 6/10 173. The Great Muppet Caper (1981) – 7.5/10 174. Mr. & Mrs. ’55 (1955, India) – 8/10 175. Island of Lost Souls (1932) – 9.5/10 176. The Little Broadcast (1943 short) – 6.5/10 177. Hoola Boola (1941 short) – 6/10 178. The Sleeping Beauty (1935 short) – 7/10 179. Tulips Shall Grow (1942 short) – 8.5/10 180. Charulata (1964, India) – 8/10 181. Together in the Weather (1946 short) – 6/10 182. John Henry and the Inky-Poo (1946 short) – 7.5/10 183. Philips Cavalcade (1934 short) – 7/10 184. Jasper in a Jam (1946 short) – 8/10 185. Tubby the Tuba (1947 short) – 9/10 186. The Puppetoon Movie (1987) – 7/10 187. Brides of Dracula (1960) – 7/10 188. Blackbeard’s Ghost (1968) – 7/10 189. Candleshoe (1977) – 6/10 190. Jigoku (1960, Japan) – 5.5/10 191. Blacula (1972) – 6/10 192. Willard (1971) – 4/10 193. Ben (1972) – 4.5/10

NOVEMBER

194. The Coward (1965, India) – 7/10 195. The Happening (2008) – 2/10 196. Tom Thumb (1958) – 6.5/10 197. Strike (1925, Soviet Union) – 7.5/10 198. Loving Vincent (2017) – 7/10 199. Destry Rides Again (1939) – 7.5/10 200. The Master Race (1944) – 6/10 201. Justice League (2017) – 6/10 202. Sissi (1955, Austria) – 7.5/10 203. Sissi: The Young Empress (1956, Austria) – 7/10 204. The Sandlot (1993) – 7/10 205. Olaf’s Frozen Adventure (2017 short) – 4/10 206. Coco (2017) – 8/10 207. Sissi – Fateful Years of an Empress (1957, Austria) – 7/10 208. The Florida Project (2017) – 8.5/10 209. The Mortal Storm (1940) – 7/10 210. The Breadwinner (2017) – 8/10 211. Spencer’s Mountain (1963) – 6/10 212. Lady Bird (2017) – 9/10

DECEMBER

213. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921) – 8.5/10 214. The Secret Life of Bees (2008) – 7/10 215. Murder on the Orient Express (2017) – 5.5/10 216. So You Think You’re Allergic (1945 short) – 5/10 217. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) – 7.5/10 218. The Shape of Water (2017) – 8.5/10 219. Lonely Are the Brave (1962) – 9.5/10 220. Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017) – 7/10 221. They Won’t Forget (1937) – 8/10 222. It Came from Outer Space (1953) – 6.5/10 223. Brave Little Tailor (1938 short) – 8/10 224. The Story of Robin Hood and His Merrie Men (1952) – 6/10 225. The Sign of Zorro (1958) – 5/10 226. Kong: Skull Island (2017) – 6.5/10 227. Flipped (2010) – 6/10 228. Bardelys the Magnificent (1926) – 7.5/10 229. There’s No Business Like Show Business (1954) – 7/10 230. Swim Team (2016) – 7/10 231. Toby Tyler (1960) – 5/10 232. The Liberator (2013, Venezuela) – 6/10

All scores are subject to change (upgrades and downgrades) upon a rewatch.

[jugs-and]

2019 + playlist

This year has been a bit of everything. The year has drawn me in after a sleepy start to surprising ends. The first half of the year was really just comfort music, I listened to a lot of pop music and hits radio. I loved Carly Rae Jepsen and Charli XCX a lot for what they were. There was a portion in the middle where I was obsessed with musicals, I knew that Come from Away was playing in Melbourne and I was seriously tempted. Dear Evan Hansen was definitely my favourite musical I heard this year. But the year ended with seeing Jon Bellion live in November which set off a whole trend of contemporary EDM which I hate. 

Most of my listening happens at work, probably half the time there is no music going on. I still follow a lot of the same people with a lot of whoever is mixing on Resident Advisor or BBC Radio. But I’m also a growing, regular listener to Shaun Keaveny on the afternoon show at BBC 6, and a local alternative radio station I found in the car one time, radioactive FM. 

Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLqFalKfiEuV6RksySy6d0Et44X8kUMePg

January > You Needed Love, I Needed You - Angelo De Augustine

The first month of the year was a bit of a mess. The lease on the Orakei flat ended in the first week of February. Flat-hunting immediately after returning from a free-wheeling week-long road-trip through the South Island. Two weeks to find a new place, and Sam and I spent two weekends fighting with, what seemed like half of Auckland, to find a place. 

Continues after the jump...

February > Your Hood - Uffie

February, I was working on a big project in Wellington which I had to travel for, and I was able to return home and visit my cat for a while. Otherwise, it was just the normal routine settling into a new commute and cleaning up loose ends at my previous flat.  I really was just focused at work, and I had this Spotify playlist of just 5-6 Uffie tracks playing on repeat. It was a focused month. It was an enjoyable month of actually sticking to a small pool of songs on repeat. 

March > a lot - 21 Savage 

There was a period where I picked up my playlist from Pharos 2018, a lot of hiphop, listening to Blackalicious, Playboi Carti and Schoolboy Q. I remember listening to quite a bit of 21 Savage, starting from Bank Account - I am a sucker for terrible materialistic trap rap tunes. J- was back in Auckland this month and the . D- was eating at the same time, but meeting someone else. Still sorting out things for the new flat, but it was good. It kept me busy. B- joined us in the new place, but coming to the end of her work tenure. 

April > falkor - Covet

The month was still early days yet. Listening to a playlist from a streamer I follow, but this track is still my favourite of the year. Just otherworldly. The month highlight was definitely the Te Paki track - it was the only hiking trip this half of the year. It was a wonderful, varied track with some really great moments toward the second half, for sure. 

May > Purity feat Frank Ocean - ASAP Rocky

May, we did a lot of rock-climbing, learning how to climb completely from scratch. I had decided to do the alpine course by now, and was slowly working away at the prerequisite gear list and skills. Continuation from the music of past months, I listened to a lot of A$AP Rocky.

>  I've been busy, (busy busy) / I've been fuckin' busy, I've been busy fuckin' 

June > Boom Clap - Charli XCX

The stress was building up in my mind, I became acutely aware of the incoming torrent of activity coming upon me in a number of months. The month began with a public holiday weekend trip to Rotorua with Sam and Valencio, it was actually both of their first time in a backpackers. I smoked weed with the other American in the dorm room behind the laundry. There was a lot accomplished in the two days down there, and I spent some time just wandering around . I also attended a training course for architectural registration and most of it sounded doable! 

E- messaged me out of the blue, and I didn’t know what to think about this, despite a lot of journaling that reflected negatively.

July > Sincere - MJ Cole

The month was another rockclimbing month. I was somewhat blase about work, with new education projects starting up. I spent the Cricket World Cup finals at a Godwind’s house which broke my heart, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud to be a New Zealander. It was an all-nighter, after which I went straight to work to share with my colleagues collectively in grief. 

A bit of the conversation with E- was about how much both of us changed this year. In all honesty, I hadn’t changed that much - have I changed?

August > Selector - REZZ

Not a lot happened this month - well, a lot happened, but it was just the normal grind. I attended the lead climbing course, which was good. Toward the end of the month, I went out with people from work and we danced till the early hours of the morning. It was liberating. Otherwise, I was back at work the next day, and spent an emotionally draining afternoon with N- at the art gallery. 

A- and I spent a good evening arguing at the local Malaysian restaurant. We were both rather intoxicated, I don’t think she even realised we were having an argument because she totally changed our plans for the evening without including me in the conversation. 

September > Gone - Charli XCX 

Most of this month was spent injured, and the first signs of wear and tear coming onto my body. The left knee was painful with any sort of running, it was a mountaineering trip with Colin and I went for a big run the day after to push the limit. The limit was reached and I had all sorts of knee problems for the next three weeks. I went to the physio multiple times without a definite diagnosis, which was distressing - at least there was an all-clear the week before the race and the recommendation for a lot of Nurofen which worked a charm. 

The final week was on the Travers-Sabine which hurt a lot. There was only a day between throwing myself 100% into the 33km trail run before getting on the trail and limping most days over mountain passes and streams. But what a rewarding 6 days with two great friends. 

October > Sur un coup de tête - Maëlle 

Returning from Nelson, October was a series of running races which all occured on consecutive weekends, as if I planned it all in advance! I really missed church these few weeks and tried my utmost to make it back, simultaneously driving back on Saturday nights so I could be with people. I returned from Nelson, and I had a work relay race in Rotorua, followed by a climbing weekend on Ruapehu, coinciding with my birthday - followed by the big marathon at the end of October. The marathon was rough with not a lot of training put into the lead-up because of injury, but it was life affirming and wonderful. 

November > Good Things Fall Apart - ILLENIUM, Jon Bellion.

Most of the month was mountain-climbing. I dropped by to see Jon Bellion the night before I flew down to the South Island and discovered that he has a lot of fans. All this time I lived in relative isolation, not aware that other people actually liked his music - I felt somewhat alienated during the concert while we all sang along to “Stupid Deep”. 

The weather while in the South Island was not playing fair. The instructor admitted that we would not have fared much better on other weekends. But in his own grumpy way, he passed on a huge amount of skills and knowledge. The time with new friends was great and growing in confidence on traversing the snow slopes. I could make a playlist of all the music which was stuck in my head during this time, I spent so much time alone hiking. I spent so much time in conversation with myself and not knowing much else to do. It was wonderful. 

December >  Gut Feeling - Peter Bjorn and John 

The final month of the year felt shortlived, mostly because I spent a lot of October and November on leave. The final few weeks were too short and I didn’t have as many engagements as I wished. I really tried to reflect more on this year, coming to the end of a decade. I’m still too young to comprehend what a decade means or what exactly was happening in 2010. 

> I guess we need to talk about it / if we don’t wanna live without it

But here we are, another year, another decade. Come what may.