#it includes a moth called greg

[s1l4s-w0rsh1ps-t0m4t03s]

aw i get the hiding under the couch my poor puppy :( i used to be really scared of the noise (it sojmds similar to july fourth in the us, where we just have a cookout and fireworks) until i was like 10 amd rhen i got kinda used to it. we started just watching from the car instead of going out and it felt much nicer.

:O i didnt really do guyfawks night but when i met my qpp we did it every year. we just sat under the sofa holding each others ears and trying to see the fireworks from the window 😭😭😭

[daandyli0n]

Why does Cassidy talk to Gregory via his old plushie? And what does he tell him?

short answer? to keep him from dying/getting kidnapped.

longer answer? well...

Malhare's a problem. he's effectively 2% of Will's soul, and is Incredibly unhinged and feral. Cassidy’s been torturing the guy in hell, and along with his already Fucked Up mental state, it's no surprise. he's pretty much running on two goals: put his family back together by ANY means necessary (which uh. includes murder), and Killing.

this doesn't mean he's lost his manipulation abilities or his charisma, far from it. William’s always had a knack for attracting lonely and/or abused kids to him like a moth to a flame (how do you think he got Vanessa so easily), which is ironic considering the fact that he's emotionally abusive and controlling as Fuck.

but the biggest problem? Gregory, somehow, despite being adopted, looks a LOT like Cassidy did. even MIKE, the kid's dad, slips up and calls him Cassidy often.

reminder: William’s been stuck in hell, being constantly tortured by the son he murdered. as much as he loves his son (which is very much not reciprocated), he still desires...payback of some sort.

as William sees it, he could kill two birds with one stone: a way to get that payback...and a way of being one step closer to fixing his family (despite how badly this would mentally destroy Mike).

of course...he could always kidnap the kid and Also get him into murder. which isn't Great...but it's the lesser of two evils.

unfortunately, William Was Not Being Too Subtle About Still Being Connected To The Living World. Cassidy noticed. Charlie noticed. and neither of them liked it. while Charlie went to protect her niece (Cassie), Cassidy went to protect his nephew (Greg).

Cassidy also talks to him 'cause Greg is lonely. he doesn't have a lot of friends outside of his family, Cassie, and Sammy, mostly since he's kind of a gremlin. a troublemaker, if you will. and Cass wants to connect with the nephew he never got to meet when he was alive.

now, as for what he says, it depends!

you see, the Fredbear plush is only able to "talk" because of a walkie-talkie that Mike put inside of it to communicate with Cassidy when he was outside of the house. and even then, it's been YEARS since Mike's used it. the batteries in there are Long dead, so either way, there's no logical way it should be speaking.

so, whenever he's alone with Gregory, like in his room or something, is when they talk the most. also in Greg's dreams, but that's a whole other conversation. Cassidy usually asks him how his day was, how school's going, if he's feeling alright. y'know, questions that Mike used to ask him through the plushie. except the school one, obviously, since Cass never went to public school. but Cass never tells Greg his name. Greg just calls him Fredbear because of this.

however...fun fact! in the Rewrite's version of Security Breach, Cassidy speaking through the Fredbear plush is an important mechanic :)

Malhare can stalk Gregory by looking through the eyes of animatronics and cameras, and Vanessa will, similarly, either follows Gregory into rooms or will wait in the shadows of rooms. Malhare will alert Vanny to wherever Gregory is.

now, Cassidy, whenever he and Gregory are in public but he needs to warn him about something or just get his attention, will try to say things that Sound like something a normal toy would say, or will say something inconspicuous.

in Security Breach, along with dropping some Lore in occasional dialogue, here are some warnings and what they mean:

"Cameras": Malhare is using the camera in this room. leave before Vanny gets there.

"Watching": Malhare is watching through the eyes of an animatronic. leave to avoid Vanny.

"Hello, friend!": Vanny is in the room you're entering. leave immediately.

"Hide and Seek!": Vanny is coming to the room. hide or leave immediately.

"Get away!": you are being chased. run.

"It’s dark..." and/or "I'm scared!": room has suddenly gone dark. hide or run immediately.

[ewebie]

2020: An Author's Review

I've gotten in the habit (over the past 7 years) of posting an author's review of what I've done on tumblr and AO3. It's only fair that I continue that practice over here, and I did my first one here in 2018. It gives me a moment to take stock and acknowledge what I've been able to do in my "free time." And kick my own butt when it comes to writing resolutions. So here it is:

2020 was a year... We all had a year... If I thought I was burnt out from my thesis and the job I'd been doing last year... Well... Those of you who know me IRL, know that my job/career is quite demanding on all fronts, and it's not only hard to find the time, but the spoons for writing. And I had no idea that 2020 was going to be... *gestures vaguely at the dumpster fire that was everything* In spite of that... I managed to get a few things done that I wanted to and some things that I hadn't planned on. There are a few that I'm gonna have to attack in 2021 though. So before we drag ourselves (bruised and bleeding but alive) into 2021, I want to take a moment to acknowledge what I did manage in 2020.

Summary of writing in 2020:

In January, I finished posting my Christmas meme bonanza: Fairytale of New Scotland Yard. In an effort to squeeze (nearly) every trope into one work, it took more chapters to finish than I'd expected and a bit of time when work was hectic. But I'm really proud of it, and I just... I adore it.

In March, I posted a pair of short Mystrade stand-alones: Vacuums Suck (in which Greg is a bit magical and Mycroft's Roomba is rude) and Neatly Pressed (because what's romance without a locked in a closet trope)

The MRC - essentially a sentient, chaos chorus in plot-bunny form, helped me craft an absurd little fic, exclusively in dialogue format called Tin of Lima Beans. Because sometimes, that's where the ideas go. Never satisfied with just one fic, I threw the monthly prompts and jinx payments into a compilation work called Badges and 'Brellas (now with 4 chapters - this is where you can find the one about ectoplasm, about Greg having dated Harry Hart, and ONLY ONE BATHTUB)... I thought I'd learned my lesson with Tumblr Shorts, but nah.

Speaking of the MRC, there was a Mystrade is Magic month in May. I wrote a new work to join the Grey Duck series called The Difference Between Misfortune and Calamity that has an oddly misty feel too it and there's a fun little twist at the end. (it was nothing but an excuse to write a whole bunch of bad puns.

In August, I finished a 3 month effort to write the 6-chaptered Twice Shy. It was a take on the "Arranged marriage/Marriage of convenience" trope. I think it's more honest that I've written in a long time and I also adore the way it came out. Not to be outdone, MOTH (*shakes fist*) came along and just lobbed some plot bunnies at me. Rude. But that's how we ended up with Sock It To Me in August as well.

I have one short work from September called Love Burns Brighter (yes like the aqualung song). It's super fluffy and soft and a bit magical. Short and sweet. How unlike me.

Because Vulpes is terrifyingly cryptid, and a bad influence to boot, I joined in on the Halloween13 party. I don't know what possessed me (probably a ghost HA), but I put together something new for me... very noir, and a bit eerie, and a bit creepy. Best cliff-hanger of the year. The Ghost of a Good Man. I LOVE it.

The holidays are normally quite busy for me. In a normal year, I'd go home for Thanksgiving and work Christmas. But... 2020 is a monster, and work had been Extra. So from Halloween to the New Year, I only finished one more fic. MOTH kept poking me with a stick, so then we wound up with Whumpsy Daisy (the title is 100% Moth's fault).

Overall, I published 158k words (which is a really big year for me) with 23k hits and I now have 286 user subscriptions and 4200 bookmarks. It was a solid effort and I've spent the year only writing Mystrade.

Plan for 2021: I’m going to finish Lexicon. I swear I’m going to finish it. I promise. Cross my heart. Pinkie swear. I’ve been chipping away at the last chapter and do have it planned out (the words are just slow to flow). I will also be finishing up Pitch and Timbre (the smuts take so long for me to write). There’s a few bigger projects that I’ve back-burnered, including the one-two punch (we will all die from the pain in that one if it happens), and some complex, multichapter things. I've gotten myself a Trello to keep track of these, so I'm hoping to keep chipping away.

Working titles of a few:

Attack the Cheese Block

Of Legwork and Dogs Bodies

Mind's Eye

Cease To Be Amazed

Make Yourself

I want to thank everyone that has left kudos and comments and reblogs and likes. Anyone who has dropped me a message or a thought and has generally enjoyed or encouraged my writing this past year. ILY all!!!

[mottlemoth]

Hey Moth, I know you work on alot of big fics. I was wondering how you story board them, if you do at all? How much detail do you put in, is it more like bullet points or full on sentences with thoughts and snipits? I've been working on this fic but I'm unsure how to organize such a monster and since you are a mad genius I thought I'd ask you!

Far more mad than genius, secret person. As I am about to prove xDD 

Before I begin, thank you very much for your question. I always enjoy having a ramble about these things. I don’t know if it’s going to be helpful or not, but here we go. One steaming hot portion of my brain, coming up.

When I’m working on a long story, I keep a working document (usually called ‘plot notes’) which works as the map I’m intending to follow. These notes tend to be a rambling mixture of necessary plot points to cover, scenes it’d be good to include, as well as what tone/feel I’m intending. 

Under the cut you’ll find a section of my Under the Rose plot notes (and further rambling) to show you what I mean:

(He was called Hypocritical Business Douchebag until the very moment I had to name him. Yes, this happens a lot.)

The plot notes I start with are never, ever an accurate summary of the finished story. Ever. Some of my notes become hilarious in hindsight because the characters went so wildly off script. The original plot notes of Excultus bear zero resemblance to the actual story that appeared. Entire plot lines got dumped. New ones appeared. 

The truth is my characters are just better at coming up with this stuff than me. 

I try to write them like they’re real people with real lives and real thoughts - and if they start making decisions that I didn’t see coming, that’s a great sign. It means they’re alive in my head. They’re not just props or chess pieces, acting out a plot. The plot is the side effect of their honest decisions. 

With every story I update my notes as I go, so I can keep an eye on the broader shape of things as they’re developing. That way, I can make sure it’s all still fitting into a pleasing shape. I can let the characters make decisions which feel organic and real, but there’s no risk of them dragging the story blindly into the unknown. So sure, they kissed like fifteen chapters ahead of where I thought they might… but it’s fine, the antagonist’s plan isn’t affected… and it actually increases the tension in some ways, which is good… so I adjust my notes, plan a few more scenes ahead, and carry on.

(You’ll see in the UTR example that I’ve learned to leave a lot of flexibility around the boys… I’m not going to show anyone my original End Game notes ever, because they’re almost tragically funny. Greg took one look at them and laughed in my face. I was demoted to bystander within two paragraphs of him arriving on the island.)

You might spot that I also try to keep my notes about what happens rather than how it happens… again, it’s just easier in the long run. Greg and Mycroft usually have much better ideas for how something’s going to happen. If they don’t, the villain will. Some minor character who suddenly has a whole backstory and a hidden agenda will. 

… basically, secret person: why yes, I do indeed plot in some detail.

Then I get told to sit down and be quiet while the professionals handle this. 

I try and keep a nervous eye from the back of the room, to check it’s all fitting into a shape with a rise in tension, a darkest hour, a breakthrough then a victory. I occasionally intervene to say, “Look, you really can’t get married in chapter four. I know, I’m sorry. Why don’t you have a nice big argument instead? There, that works.” 

Or sometimes the antagonist and I will be wearily sharing a cigarette in the fire exit, while Greg and Mycroft revel in their undying love for each other - and I nudge the antagonist in the arm and say, “Go fuck things up, will you? We’re at 90k.” And the antagonist sighs, stubs out their cigarette and kidnaps Mycroft.

But generally I’ll go through three or four (or five or six…) versions of my plot notes.

Just to prove I’m not kidding, here’s some of my initial plot for The Sheltering Tree. (This was supposed to kick in around chapter three.)

There was literally a whole ‘Greg has a girlfriend’ plot. She’s called Unfortunate Girlfriend in my notes. She never got the chance - because Mycroft took one look at this, sniffed, and told me that Greg should at least spend a weekend at Cliveden with him first.

I don’t know if this has been vaguely helpful or illuminating at all, secret person. 

If nothing else, you should probably take away that all fics are monsters. They’re happiest when you let them be what it’s natural for them to be.

As one last tip, I find it’s usually best for me to know more about my antagonist’s plans than the hero’s, so I can rely on them to increase the tension, cause problems or bring things to a climax if necessary. If the villain has a decent idea of what they want and how they’re going to get it, everything tends to stay on track… no matter how much the protagonists grow and change and surprise me. 

I’m always happy to ramble more about this, if anybody wants.

Writing is incredible fun, basically. I love it to pieces.

[paulisded]

The Ledge #480: What Would Paul Westerberg Do? (New Releases)

It's a question I ask myself multiple times a day. What would Mr. Westerberg do?  The answers guide my day to day life, which explains quite a bit about the status of Mr. Hudson these days. But Geoff Palmer understands, and his great track that gives thsi episode its title is just one of the many incredible songs on his upcoming record, Charts and Graphs. (BTW, somebody please count the Westy song references on this track. I just may have a prize for the person who comes closest.)

As always, this isn't the only great record coming out soon on Rum Bar Records, and the last 20 minutes consist of nothing but great tracks from that label. There are also sets devoted to wonderful new music from Red On Red Records and Big Stir Records. These are all great records that really would appreciate some support from Ledge listeners. Go check them out.

And that's not all. I mentioned last month the mystery of a band called The Revenants. They have released over 30 records so far this year, and they're all free! Please, if somebody out there has any info on this prolific act give me the deets! There's also the return of the great 80's Australian band Scientists, and all kinds of other great new tunes!

I would love it if every listener bought at least one record I played on either of these shows. These great artists deserve to be compensated for their hard work, and every purchase surely helps not only pay their bills but fund their next set of wonderful songs. And if you buy these records directly from the artist or label, please let them know you heard these tunes on The Ledge! Let them know who is giving them promotion! You can find this show at almost any podcast site, including iTunes and Stitcher...or

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE SHOW!

1. Geoff Palmer, What Would Paul Westerberg Do?

2. The Suburbs, All the Things I'll Do to You

3. The Suburbs, Buckle My Head

4. Art Bergmann, La Mort de L'Ancien Regime

5. John Murry, The Stars Are God's Bullet Holes

6. Ryan Adams, Power

7. The Revenants, You Gotta Be Kidding

8. The Revenants, A Detour on the Path to Enlightenment

9. The Revenants, All the Livelong Day

10. The Revenants, Darts, Farts, False Starts, Boneparts

11. Anton Barbeau, One Of Her Super Powers

12. Jim Basnight, Rebel Kind

13. Stephen's Ruin, Runaround

14. Cub Scout Bowling Pins, Magic Taxi

15. Brent Seavers, My Little Girl

16. Greg Antista & The Lonely Streets, Feel Alright

17. STAR COLLECTOR, Cayenne & Caramel

18. The Fabulous Heydays, Bow Down to the King

19. Lee Harrington & Lynda Mandolyn, Real Love

20. The Jacklights, Eat The Young

21. Nightspell, Pegasus

22. The Chelsea Curve, A Better Way

23. Scientists, Seventeen

24. Scientists, Moth Eaten Velvet

25. The Murlocs, Francesca

26. Luggage, Lie Design

27. French Girls, Dude Rocker

28. The Sorels, She's in the Gang

29. Pale Lips, Don't Take Your Switchblade to New York

30. The Adam Brown, Indie Rock Has-Beens

31. Geoff Palmer, This Monkey

32. The Peppermint Kicks, Hey Fanzine!

[comebeonetwothree]

Blog #6: Coast to Coast

6/29/2021

The homeland of the rich, the famous, and the homeless junkies of Los Angeles, California will always have my heart.

With my first near death experience, I have come to see life in a new light… YOLO!

Remember that term? Yah, it was one of those fads that had meaning to it but no longer holds a place in fashion... thank god.

Everything on this coast is slow, even the way people talk is dragged out. No one J-walks here. They seriously wait for that little white man to pop up on the cross walks before walking, even if there is not a car in sight.

Yet everyone here has a serious addition to coffee.

Hangovers are even more dragged because everyone is so uber healthy here, they straight up do not have greasy food.

I made the mistake of ordering an egg and cheese, knowing it’ll only be a disappointment compared to a New York BEC. It was beyond disappointing, especially being hungover as fuck.

Everyone here is stoned all the time and have been for years. I truly believe the whole city moves so slow because everyone is high all the time.

No wonder they can survive with the shitty food- they are too high to realize.

They do have some fire weed here, so it makes sense, but damn… they are so slow and ditsy.

There is so much art here, from music, to painting, to theater, to creativity, everyone comes here with a dream. Some make their dreams come true, others end up addicted to crack, but everyone originally came here in hopes of making something of themselves.

That energy runs through the streets, it is so lively and so filled with hope. It is truly an inspiring place to live.

Who

Who have you become…

The people on the west coast are just genuinely nicer. We had a conversation that consisted of outrageous hand gestures with a random man in his car.

He had blocked an intersection accidently so I couldn’t make a left turn, where he then proceeded to see me raging about it and trying to mouth to us how sorry he was. We straight up had a conversation with this guy and were joking around while waiting for the light. We left mouthing, “We are from New Yorkk, move outta the way” as a joke, and he just understood and left us with a peace sign.

There is a surplus of homelessness here, and it is sad to see but also so interesting to watch them set up communities on the sides of highways and all along the beach.

There is never just one homeless dude posted up under a cardboard box. It’s always 15+ people posting up together in nice ass tents they probably stole or making cardboard houses with tarps for extra coverage.

They get super creative with their homelessness; it is fascinating to watch.

This one guy was zipping down the road in what looked like a decked-out bike, with high handlebars and a motor. He was moving with traffic and was looking cool while doing it.

As he got closer, we realized his get-up was made from an ironing board he bent into a seat, a plastic crate holding up the ironing board to a lime scooter he probably stole a month prior. Topping it off, he added tall handlebars for that 70s badass look. That man mastered one man’s trash, into another man’s treasure.

The saddest part is knowing majority of them came out here looking for their big break and got so hooked on drugs, they could never make it farther then that last $10 in their pocket for drugs.

On the other hand, some of these people have money to their names, but choose this lifestyle.

They really enjoy the life of nothing. This one woman was offered a job and a home, and she politely turned it down because this was her home. She loved the community around her and wouldn’t trade it for any material. What a way of life.

My family was so generous to let us three, stay with them here in Venice Beach. My Uncle Greg is my mom’s brother. He moved out here with his family to further his comedic career. Unfortunately, that meant I couldn’t see my cousins often.

My cousin Owen is a year younger than me and in the same grade as my brother. My other cousin Jojo is four years younger but grew up so fast. I always said the water in California was cracked out, because she always appeared older than my brother and I.

Since COVID I hadn’t been able to see them in two years, so I was so excited to hang out with them.

Jojo just graduated high school, so she is finally old enough to do drugs with!!

We also got to meet up with our friend Izzy from Oneonta. She is living out here for the summer with her sister. What a life.

Izzy is thriving here with her job at this night club and is living in her sister’s cute ass apartment in Echo Park. She has the total LA vibe and even knows all the local spots to hang. Shout out to you for sneaking us into a random hotel’s rooftop pool! Confidence never gets questioned.

We love meeting up with friends from school, it makes the trip feel more homie.

What

What’s hanging dude…

Joshua Tree National Park was something out of another planet. It seriously looked like Jurassic Park and a dinosaur should be appearing at any second.

It was very different from anything we had ever seen before, but it was still a desert and was hot as fuck.

We did some gorgeous hikes through all the massively large, rounded rocks that somehow were placed on top of each other ages ago.

The trees that are all around are Joshua Trees, also considered Trees of Life.

This means they produce a way of life for other creatures at all stages of its growing/dying process.

While in beginning stages of its life, Yucca moths use the trees pollen to lay their eggs in and produce pollen scatter, creating more trees. When the trees are gown, the caterpillars use the tree for habitats and provides food sourcing for a lot of other desert species. When the tree dies, the bark is used to create habitats for humans and used to wove baskets and other materials.

These trees look like a palm tree and a cactus went to TOWN together.

Los Angeles is the other city of dreams. It is not comparable to New York City besides the homelessness and the traffic.

The Ocean really makes the whole city’s surfer aesthetic. Everyone, even the rich and famous, dress like they are in last weeks outfit.

The style is so different from New York. People really don’t dress to impress but spend half their life savings on their wardrobe.

Visiting my family here has always been the ideal way to do this city, since they take us to all the local shops, and we do fun activities like surfing. It’s not just another tour bus showing us where Kurt Cobain shot up some heroin for the first time.

They also show us the best food joints. We got these sushi balls, and it was the greatest -post beach snack- imaginable. A little hit of the wax pen and a bite of this ball is comparable to an orgasm.

Where

Where are all the famous people…

Joshua Tree was so beautiful, it is a place I will be re-visiting, considering we were only there for one night.

Los Angeles is where I have always wanted to live, ever since a young girl. Whenever we would come out here to visit my uncle, he would take us to the coolest places, and we would meet the coolest people.

One year I was here on my birthday, and his buddy stopped over to say hi, when I came downstairs in was Zach Galifianakis chilling there with a $20 bill and my name on it as a birthday gift.

You could imagine my teenage self shitting a tiny bit in my pants as he handed me $20… However, in my head I was thinking, “I know you’re rich, give me more you cheap fuck.”

This year for graduation I only got a phone call from him… how rude.

My Uncle is a popular comedian, if you know him you know him, but if you don’t, he is very irrelevant to you.

When we arrived, he took us out to a show he was preforming at in West Hollywood, featuring other comedians you might know or might also be very irrelevant, including Bill Burr, Anthony Jeselnik, Pete Holmes and Beth Stelling.

It was a cool venue, and a fun time. My favorite part was being called out for attempted DUI’s in every state we have been in due to my funneling addiction, thanks Uncle Greg, that was supposed to be a secret.

After the show he dropped us off at this bar that his friends said was the “it” spot. When we walked in, the bar itself was perfect, expect it was populated by older rich men trying to find their next sugar baby.

We had some contenders, but they were asking for too much… No, I don’t want to go back to your house and sneak past your wife and kids as we dart to your hot tub.

When

When will we leave…

When we first got to LA we had full intensions of staying only four nights and getting out of my family’s hair, but then plans fell through.

Because I love it here so much, we decided to stay!!

Just kidding, I wish we could stay longer… One day I’ll move out here though.

COVID restrictions are back at it again, ruining our plans of going Yosemite. They are the only National Park that requires a whole ass separate pass just to enter the park, on top of the $30 day pass we already have.

The only reason our route was heading inland California was to see that park. So, we did a little digging and decided to just send it up all the way up the coast and do the legendary Pacific Coast Highway.

This is what we originally wanted to do before we found out about Yosemite. Guess we will have to come back to see the park, aw shucks!

Why

Why can’t I afford this…

California is fucking expensive; I can see why the population of homelessness is so high… Even gas is $1.00 more than it is back in New York.

And for Why? They are on a coast, it’s not like the desert where there is a gas station every 100 miles.

They know people here have the money, so they overprice literally everything. A fucking water bottle is $7.00. Sorry didn’t realize paying for survival would be this expensive.

The older man at the bar loved to throw the fact he had money around (as do most people with money around here). He kept saying he works on wall street, but wall street is literally a street in New York City.

He just wanted to flex he works in finances and has a hot tub, okay we get it you have a small dick.

How

How we almost died…

This is my favorite part of the last week, but also the most traumatizing.

So, have you ever heard of cowboy camping?

Well, neither had we until our friend that had just camped in Joshua Tree told us about it and how legendary it was in that specific spot.

Cowboy camping: you don’t pitch your tent, you just post up with your sleeping bags under the stars.

Since Joshua Tree is known for their stars, we thought fuck it, we are here for less than 12 hours, the weather is perfect let’s do it.

That night was a full moon, and it was a killer sunset (all pun intended). We cooked up a nice rice bowl for dinner and then laid in our sleeping bags watching the stars.

The moon was almost too bright, it was taking away from the illumination of the stars, but it was legendary because I’ve never seen such a big and bright moon before.

But you know what they say about the full moons, it brings out the crazies. And in our case, coyote crazies.

After drifting off to sleep under the peaceful star and moon lit sky, I was rudely woken up to really loud growling and whimpering.

It was not something that was off in the distance, it was right next to us… barebone in the wild.

I quickly and quietly turned over to grab my bear spray that I keep next to me when camping. I started thinking, “Alright this is the only thing keeping me from getting mauled by whatever the fuck is next to me.”

Not knowing what we were dealing with, I slowly popped my head up hoping the animal didn’t catch my movement… I saw about 5 feet in front of us was a pack of about 10 coyotes, running around chasing animals.

We happen to be the center of their circle and were surrounded by their pack. Thankfully their attention was diverted to our asshole neighbor’s whose food was left out. Thanks for that.

We just laid their paralyzed in fear of death. As we laid there, I saw two shooting stars and wished for life… Shoutout to those shooting stars.

We tried to stay as quiet as possible, so we didn’t become their next victim. Maya was not having it though and couldn’t stop shaking. There was a moment when her shaking was so loud, and I could see a coyote right next to us, so I had to hold her body so it would stop moving.

We laid there for about 20 minutes until the noises stopped… then we booked it for the car. We slept in the car until the sun rose.

As the sun was rising all the coyotes simultaneously howled for the rest of the pack to meet up and disappear before daylight. That was one of those, “holy shit that was the coolest most terrifying moments of my life”, moments.

We left the next morning as fast as possible, running on no sleep and fear… we headed for the city. I had never been more grateful to be in a city.

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Behind The Album: Hardwired...To Self-Destruct

Metallica’s 10th studio album was released in November 2016 under their vanity label, Blackened Records. This title became the first release from this new label. Greg Fidelman would produce the album, who had previously acted as engineer for Death Magnetic and also mixed that album too. They began really working on the album primarily in 2015, so that by March at least 20 new songs had been written for a new record. They continued to work on the album throughout the winter hoping to finish recording in spring 2016. They had released bits and pieces either live or online of the new release giving fans a small taste of what was to come. By June 2016, they had finished recording, which meant good news for the fans as Lars Ulrich had intimated that most likely the album would be released by year’s end, but he would not guarantee it.

As for the music, the general theme running through this album was one of nihilism and pessimism as evidenced from the title that once again came from James Hetfield. “Somebody said to me the other day, and it stuck with me, 'Hardwired... Hardwired to Self-Destruct'. So it's like no matter what you do in your life you're really trying to not go down that path that you're maybe hard-wired to do." This theme runs through diverse topics in each song as “Moth Into Flame” talks about the pitfalls of fame, while in contrast “Dream No More” explores how insignificant we are in the universe. This became the first album that Kirk Hammett did not contribute anything as a songwriter because he had lost his phone at Copenhagen Airport, which included over 250 riff ideas for the album. He did not back up the data, so it was permanently lost. Lars Ulrich and James Hetfield already had material for the album that they wanted to begin on immediately. Robert Trujillo contributed on one song on the album, which stood out as an introduction to the track, ManUnKind.” He would say in interviews that it was written as a tribute to former bassist Cliff Burton. Other tracks of note were “Hardwired” and “Murder One.” “Hardwired” explored the dangers of drugs and addiction, while “Murder One” represented a tribute to the late Motörhead singer Lemmy Kilmister, who passed in 2015. The title of the song was the name of Kilmister’s favorite amplifier.

Upon its release, the record emerged as their first double album. Each disc or side contained six tracks, but the length of the record went all the way to 80 minutes. They decided that this time the music simply could not be cut due to physical limitation. “Hardwired” became the first single for the LP accompanied by a music video before the actual album was released. This Metallica in contrast to the ones who never released a music video until their fourth album embodied a significant change. The group announced there would be a music video for every track on the album. Lars would make this comment at the time. “Now that YouTube is the world's biggest television station, we figured we may as well knock a video out for every song... the practicality of shooting twelve music videos is kind of crazy, especially when you're trying to promote your record, and you're all over the place, and trying to make sure it doesn't leak. It's crazy but, at the same time, fun." Reviews for the album tended to be good, but not great. This observation emerges as par for the course with any Metallica record as evidenced by St. Anger being well received in some reviews as well. Thomas Erlywine would say that it reminded him of any standard Metallica release, but they simply did not sound as ferocious as they did back in the 1980’s. David Anthony of the AV Club commended Metallica in its three singles, but thought that the album seemed to get a bit repetitive. They could have used some editing on the songwriting. Pitchfork said that much like Death Magnetic, the band was doing a good job of returning to their thrash roots, but this time they were actually trying. Why am I not surprised by that Pitchfork review? The Guardian went as far as to call the album the best one Metallica has made in 25 years falling just short because of the second disc. Another comment made by a few critics came in the fact that the band seemed to be having more fun playing on this one as compared to Death Magnetic. Finally, Neil McCormick of The Daily Telegraph said simply the album was much too long. They could have been much more effective if the songs lasted half the time. Regardless of the mixed reviews, the album became Metallica’s six consecutive number one album since 1991. They became only the second band in history to top the charts with six consecutive albums, along with Dave Matthews. They would sell 291,000 copies in the first week alone making it successful, but not by usual Metallica standards. Hardwired... To Self-Destruct would go on to sell 1 million copies giving them another platinum record. Metallica would be nominated for two Grammy awards including album and for the track “Atlas, Rise,” but the group would not take home any trophy.

[lavender---sunshine]

Oh my god I fell asleep on the couch and I just got up to go to bed but I vividly remember my dream and...wow what the fuck

[ecotone99]

[HM] Faking a Murder in Moonville Tunnel: A True Story of Teenage Debauchery

I also posted this short story on Medium.

Faking a Murder in Moonville Tunnel

A True Story of Teenage Debauchery

A Quick Preface

During my early teenage years, I was absolutely obsessed with World War Two history. I collected two entire sets of vintage combat fatigues and field gear—complete with M1 Garand rifle and a sidearm revolver—and participated in World War Two battle reenactments whenever possible.

Since I was probably the youngest person in the universe with a desire to take part in historic battle reenactments, I was mostly running around a field with middle-aged guys in American and British military uniforms, shooting blanks at middle-aged guys in German wehrmacht uniforms. (Side note: shooting at Nazis is fun regardless of situational context).

I also wore my fatigues to school on the anniversaries of major battles and events. As one would imagine, donning moth-bitten old army uniforms and constantly spouting-off dates of historical remembrance doesn’t exactly make you the most popular kid in school. When I reached my late teens, my interest in social debauchery began to outweigh the battles of yore. So followed plenty of beer and plenty of trouble. By the time I graduated high school, the old 101st Airborne and 1st Infantry uniforms were packed away in dust-covered rubbermaid totes.

Murder at Moonville Tunnel

On some Friday or Saturday nights during the summer after graduation, my friends and I would make the one-hour drive to an abandoned railway tunnel called Moonville. Deep in the woods by way of an old gravel forest road, it had a local reputation for being haunted.

College kids would drive up from nearby Ohio University in Athens. They came in search of ghosts; and boy did Moonville deliver (at least when my friends and I were around). Those kids are probably telling folks to this day about the paranormal phenomena they witnessed deep in the woods of Ohio in an old abandoned tunnel … In reality it was my friend Dustin making spooky noises and rolling boulders into the creek; or my friend Kyle walking across the far entrance of the tunnel in an old wedding dress; or even just an explosive rustling of bushes and growling noises—enough to send even the most cool and collected frat boys running for the safety of their sedans.

On other occasions, we’d take unsuspecting friends for their first visit and put them through the usual rounds of teenage scare-tactics—yelling BOO, making spooky noises; boilerplate stuff. Teenagers having teenage fun. Until—as teenagers often do—we took it too far…

On a Saturday that could have been any other given Saturday, a bunch of us were hanging around the parking lot of the local Wal-Mart. Someone suggested we drive down to Moonville Tunnel. A group of four or five girls in our little crowd had never been before; so the boys began our usual rite of preparedness, telling them that the tunnel is haunted and that they were likely to run into a few ghoulish entities from beyond our earthly world.

A few of us—Kyle, Dustin, Greg, Dewey, Joey, and myself—went into the Wal-Mart to grab a few supplies for our journey. While we were standing in the checkout line, a terrible, insidious light bulb burned to life inside my brain. I told my three friends about my newly-hatched plan and thus, the cogs began to turn.

Back outside in the parking lot, Greg and I told the rest of the group that we were going to have to sit this one out: We had been called in to do some work early the next morning, we told them. Bummer.

Leaving the Wal-Mart, we turned onto Bridge Street and drove twenty minutes to my house. I dug into my closet and pulled out an old army ammo crate. I grabbed an en-bloc clip filled with .30–06 blanks, a handful of .22 blanks, and loaded my old blank-firing M1 rifle and .22 pistol into the back seat of my friend’s truck.

Operating through a spy network of covert texts sent via Motorola RAZR flip phones, Greg and I timed our arrival in Moonville—down the miles of dusty and unmaintained county roads, deep into the forest, to the makeshift parking area—to precede our group of friends. We drove past the parking area, farther into the woods, until we found a pull-off with enough space to hide the truck.

Carrying our weapons of mass disfunction, we backtracked toward the trailhead to Moonville Tunnel. We crossed a bridge over a wide creek, into and through the regular parking area at which our friends would soon be arriving. It was next to a wide creek with a bridge over it. The entire parking area was a muddy quagmire at the time. We carefully rock-hopped through the sludge until we reached the beaten path of the trailhead. Once we’d hiked the half-mile back to the old creepy tunnel, we took up positions in the heavy underbrush.

Thanks to our two insiders, Dustin and Kyle, our timing was impeccable. We had settled into the leaves not more than ten minutes before we heard familiar voices coming up the trail from the parking lot.

As the caravan of our buddies traveled across the path in front of us, I noticed that Kyle’s mom and dad—Carl and Robbie—had joined the group. Carl had a habit of encouraging (rather than discouraging) these types of activities. I knew he was in on the plan when the group reached the middle of the tunnel and I heard him instruct everyone, amidst protests from some of the girls, to turn off their flashlights and “see if any ghosts come out.”

We took this as our cue. Greg and I crept to the entrance, pointed our blank-loaded guns toward the decrepit ceiling of the tunnel, and I whispered, “One … two … three—” BAM! BAMBAMBAMBAM!

The sound of cannon-fire, screams, and laughter filled the tunnel as friends slipped in the mud, spun in circles, cried for their mothers, and struggled to regain their grip on reality.

Everyone who was in on the joke—Greg and I included—burst into a fit of laughter and the rest of our friends quickly realized they’d been bamboozled.

This is probably where the prank should have ended.

About an hour later we were in the main parking lot. Most of our friends had already left for home, but a few of us were still standing around and talking. I was going to hitch a ride back with Kyle and his parents, and had just loaded my things into the back of their truck. Just as I closed the door, a car pulled into the muddy parking area. My friends and I looked at each other. “College kids,” someone said.

“You outta get out that pistol and fuck with em,” Kyle’s dad suggested to me with a boyish grin.

It took no more cajoling than that for the rest of us to jump onboard with the plan—even though at the current moment there was no more “plan” than the suggestion of “getting out the pistol and fucking with” the college kids.

I discreetly opened the truck and harnessed my little revolver in a shoulder holster underneath my jacket as Carl approached the college kids. He introduced himself and told them we had just arrived as well; that we were getting ready to check out the supposedly haunted tunnel; and that we were first-timers.

I approached the group and took stock of them. There were five total: One big, tall corn-fed fellow who could have been a linebacker, a short guy in glasses who was about as wide as he was tall, and three innocent-looking girls who looked like they had just moved into their freshman dorms.

Of the five of them, I only remember the name of the short guy in the glasses: Dakota. An interesting name, which might be why it stuck with me after all these years. Or it could be because Dakota’s introduction prompted Dustin to spontaneously (and untruthfully, I might add) tell the group of strangers that he happened to live in North Dakota, where he was a professional bull-rider. His name was Mike, by the way, and he was only in Ohio to visit his cousin, Jeremy [Kyle] here. One of the girls went to shake his hand in greeting, but when they reached for it, Dustin held up an empty jacket sleeve (his hand was pulled back inside of it) and told them he had lost the hand in an accident on his family’s ranch as a child. “Kinda messed up of you to try to shake my nub,” he told her. When she issued an embarrassed apology, he accepted.

As the group of college kids were enamored by Dustin’s tall tales of Dakotan bull riding and lopped-off appendages, Carl leaned back and whispered to me, “Act like you’re hammered drunk.”

Thus, I mentally consumed a pint or so of corn whiskey and assumed the name of Sam. “Nice to—hic—meet ya,” I slurred to them.

We started down the trail. Dakota told us that he had been to Moonville Tunnel several times. He knew all kinds of interesting facts about its history. There was an old mining village beyond the tunnel that was abandoned in the late 1850s, he told us. You had to cross a stream to get to it. There have been several recorded deaths, one in 1958 when a brakeman fell onto the tracks. We learned quite a bit from Dakota on our walk back to the tunnel, and in return, we filled his head with as many lies as it could hold.

Finally we made it to the tunnel, walked through it, and approached a stream on the other side. “The mining village is just a little farther, past this creek,” Dakota told us. “Just need to cross on this log.” He pointed to a mossy fallen tree that spanned over frigid, rushing water.

Carl turned to me. “Sam, your drunk ass is liable to fall off that thing and drown yourself.” I took the hint, and after a couple of lines faux-protest, I consented to stay behind with Carl, Kyle, our friend Dewey, and Kyle’s mom Robbie. The college kids, along with Dustin and a few of our other friends, crossed the creek on the log and disappeared into the woods on the other side.

As soon as we figured they were out of earshot, we started to conspire. Of course, Carl was the first to offer a suggestion: “We should wait for them to get halfway across that log and fire the blanks at them so they fall in the creek.”

I imagined news headlines of a tragic accidental drowning, all caused by a group of prankster teenagers who would learn a valuable life lesson by way of spending their twenties and thirties behind bars.

“I have a better idea,” I said.

About fifteen or twenty minutes later, we were back in the tunnel and patiently waiting. As soon as we heard voices coming down the trail, Kyle and I started to argue.

Somehow, despite the fact that we were but a simple troupe of Appalachian hillbillies with zero acting experience, I swear the performance that would follow could have won an Oscar:

“I saw your number in her goddamn phone!” I slurred to Kyle. Dewey was holding him back against the wall of the tunnel and Carl was holding me back on the opposite side.

“Bullshit,” Kyle replied, “you’re fuckin delusional. Every time you get like this you start accusing me of this shit, you paranoid asshole.”

The back-and-forth continued until the group of strangers and friends approached our impromptu stage. Dustin and our other buddies hung around, (not in on the plan at this point themselves); the college kids passed between Kyle and me with confused caution.

Our improv routine escalated.

“Boys, calm the hell down,” Carl told us. Then to me, “Sam, you’re drunk.”

“So what if I’m drunk,” I told him. “He knows what the fuck he did.”

Kyle started to push Dewey away to get to me and Dewey tried to ‘calm him down’ in the same manner as Carl. “Jeremy [Kyle] goddammit, he’s drunk, let it go—”

“I ain’t lettin shit go, get the fuck off of me—”

The college kids hung a few feet away in the tunnel and watched as Kyle tried to get past Dewey.

“This is the last time,” I told Kyle, “the last time I hear about you trying to fuck her behind my back.” I reached into my jacket and started to pull the revolver from its holster.

Carl’s entire demeanor changed from the moment my arm reached in my jacket to produce our primary plot device:

“Jeremy—Jeremy he has a gun—HE HAS A GUN JEREMY, GET BACK—”

Cue collective gasps from the college kids. Carl wrestled with me and pleaded for ‘Jeremy’ to run, but Kyle’s character wasn’t having any of it.

“Oh, you need a fuckin gun huh? Pussy ass little bitch—” he made it past Dewey and halfway across the tunnel with fists raised when suddenly I ‘managed to free my hand from Carl’s grasp’ and aimed the pistol at my faux-foe.

A cacophony of noise erupted in quick succession:

“NOOO!” screamed several of the college kids as they saw the pistol being pointed at their new friend Jeremy.

BANG! went the sound of the first shot as it reverberated through the tunnel like a stick of dynamite exploding in someone’s living room.

And then there were the screams. The most awful, blood-curdling cries of terror that you could ever hear. The kind of screams that stay with you for the rest of your life—even as you write about it over a decade later.

Kyle dropped to the floor of the tunnel. I fired two more shots, and with each of them his ‘lifeless body’ convulsed a half a foot into the air.

Carl’s performance continued. He left me and rushed to Kyle, who was stifling laughs between his best attempts at a dead guy impression. “Robbie, call 911!” Carl yelled. “Robbie, he’s not breathing! Call 911 right now!”

I collapsed against the wall and began to ‘drunkenly weep’ at the sight of what I’d done. The gun fell to the ground.

Carl turned and grabbed the lapels of my jacket, slamming me into the concrete wall. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA DO NOW?!” he asked me. “HE’S DEAD, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!”

“I don’t know,” I cried. “I don’t know, I can—we can—we’ll put his body in the creek and—oh god, I’m so sorry … I’m so sorry …”

Carl started to laugh. We turned and saw that the college kids had already made it to the other end of the tunnel. They paused at its opening, disoriented and panicking.

“We-we-we need to g-g-get to h-higher ground!” Dakota screamed.

“Run down there and scare ’em,” Carl told me.

Something in me, a little voice, thought for just a fraction of a second that maybe we had already taken things too far … but the laughter of my friends on our end of the tunnel was like an addictive drug. Laughter, which, either didn’t reach the ears or the consciousness of the college kids. When I took off down the tunnel, they saw me and screamed all over again. They pushed each other out of the way and stumbled in the mud trying to turn, and then fled down the trail toward the parking lot. The laugher in my ears waned and with it, its effect. I thought, These people are going to be traumatized for the rest of their lives if they leave here believing someone was murdered.

I holstered the pistol and continued out of the tunnel and down the trail, trying to catch up with them. By the time I reached the parking lot, they were already in their car. Dakota was behind the wheel, and the big linebacker was in the passenger seat.

Their car was stuck in the mud. Wrrrrrr …. wrrrrrrrrrr … The front tires were spinning backwards with the speed of a straight-lane dragster, but the car wasn’t budging from its mire.

As I entered the glow of their headlights, I saw both of their eyes grow to the size of baseballs.

“Stop! Stop, it was just a joke!” I yelled, waving my hands.

From inside the car, they saw the guy who just killed his friend running toward them, shouting nonsense, and waving his arms wildly.

The passenger door opened and the linebacker tumbled out and ran at a full sprint into the opposite tree-line until I heard a SPLASH as he swam across the creek near the main parking area to the other side.

Dakota panicked and put the car in drive, suddenly propelling it forward into a boulder on the edge of the parking area and smashing the front fender.

I finally reached their car and they screamed in unison before I held up my hands. “Guys, this was all a joke. It was all a joke, I’m so sorry. There were just blanks in the gun. My friend Kyle—uhh, Jeremy—is coming out of the woods right now.”

Dakota was sobbing. “I don’t care,” he cried. “I don’t care, I don’t fucking care I just want to go.”

All three girls in the back were sobbing.

My god, what have we done, I thought.

“It was just a joke,” I repeated. “We thought it would be—”

“Just a joke?” I heard a voice behind me. I turned to see the linebacker towering over me, clothes dripping, face covered in briar scratches. “It was just a joke, huh?”

About that time my friends were running back into the parking area from the trail.

“Uhhh, listen man,” I stammered. “I don’t want any trouble, we were just—”

“You don’t want any trouble? Don’t want any TROUBLE?!”

He started to raise his fist but Dewey pushed me out of the way and stepped in front of him. “Get in your fucking car … and go back to Athens.”

Several other friends stood behind Dewey and the linebacker eyed them all.

Dakota called from the bruised Camry … “C-come on, let���s just get out of here.”

The linebacker took a deep breath and pushed past Dewey. He went to the front of the car and pushed, along with a couple of our friends, while Dakota was finally able to back the car into the gravel road.

The linebacker paused at the open car door and turned to look at us one more time. “Just so you know. We’re calling the sheriff when we get back to Athens.”

He got into the car and they sped away, trailed by a contrail of flying gravel and mud.

We were silent; everyone realizing the gravity of what had just happened. Well except maybe for one of us: Carl started laughing his ass off.

“What?” Kyle asked him.

“Hell,” he said once he’d caught a breath. “They’re gonna call the sheriff and tell em they met some guy named Mike, who’s a one-armed bull rider from North Dakota, and saw his drunk friend Sam shoot a guy named Jeremy.”

submitted by /u/tomedwardsmusic [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2VxhuFs

[popradar]

Pop Radar LA’s Weekly Agenda: 13 of the Coolest Events in L.A.

Here are a baker’s dozen of our favorite events happening in L.A. this week. Follow @christine​ziemba on Twitter or Instagram for other happenings around L.A.

MONDAY, NOV. 27

CUT BY WOLFGANG PUCK (Progressive whiskey dinner)

CUT by Wolfgang Puck holds a Progressive Whiskey Dinner on Monday at 6:30 pm. The five-course whiskey dinner that begins in the CUT Lounge, followed by a stop in the kitchen, followed by dinner on Rodeo Tier. Tickets: $150 per person, excluding tax and service. For tickets and reservations call 310-276-8500.

DAN RATHER + KAREEM ABDUL-JABBAR (Discussion)

Live Talks Los Angeles presents veteran newsman Dan Rather in conversation with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on Monday night at The Novo by Microsoft in DTLA. Rather promotes his book, What Unites Us: Reflections on Patriotism. Tickets: $75, $60 and $47 and include a copy of the book.

SAATCHI & SAATCHI NEW DIRECTORS' SHOWCASE (Film)

The Saatchi & Saatchi New Directors' Showcase is one of the annual components of the Cannes International Festival of Creativity, which honors creative communications, advertising and marketing. The advertising stalwart Saatchi & Saatchi has supported directors and the best in creative talent. This year’s presentation, co-presented by Team One, takes place on Monday at 8 pm at The Theatre at Ace Hotel, and focuses on female empowerment. Tickets: $30, $20 for students.

THE CONTENDERS (Film)

Each year, the Museum of Modern Art’s Film Department selects a handful of films to include in its screening series, The Contenders. These films, made in the last 12 months, are ones MoMA believes will stand the test of time, are bound for awards glory or cult status. The series includes both studio and independent releases. The L.A. edition of The Contenders starts at the Hammer Museum on Monday with Mudbound and a Q&A with director Dee Rees and cast members follows. Other films this week: Molly’s Game on Tuesday; Downsizing on Wednesday with Q&A with director Alexander Payne; and Get Out on Thursday followed by a Q&A with director Jordan Peele. Tickets: $20 per film. 

MOTH GRANDSLAM (Story)

It's time once again for the LA Moth GrandSLAM at The Regent on Monday night at 8 pm. Ten past StorySLAM winners take on the theme “out of bounds.” Hosted by Brian Finkelstein with music by Alexander Burke and Ramage Jacobs, storytellers include: Catherine Campion, Jason Friedman, Christina Igaraividez, Eno Inwek, Annie Sandler, Hari Sanghvi, Moses Storm, Matt Struski, Frank Traynor and Jesse Worstell. Doors at 7 pm. Tickets: $25. 18+ event. 

TUESDAY, DEC. 5

BILL MURRAY, JAN VOGLER & FRIENDS: NEW WORLDS (Literature + music)

Bill Murray, Jan Vogler & Friends: New Worlds is a night of music and literature presented by comic and actor Bill Murray and German cellist Jan Vogler (with friends). Murray sings and narrates classical literature as he does on his album New Worlds with Vogler. 7 pm. Tickets: $14-$116. 

1933 GROUP: REPEAL DAY (Drinks)

Tuesday marks the 84th anniversary of Repeal Day, when Prohibition ended and Americans could drink again, after more than a decade of going dry. The 1933 Group, named after the year Prohibition ended, commemorates the occasion with $1 drink specials around town during happy hour, from 5-8 pm (while supplies last) on Tuesday. The bar specials include $1 Old-Fashioneds at Harlowe, Sassafras Saloon, Highland Park Bowl (Inside Mr. T’s Bar area only, main room closed for private event); Bigfoot West, Bigfoot Lodge, Thirsty Crow and Oldfield’s; La Cuevita - $1 Tequila Press and Idle Hour - $1 Moscow Mules. 

TOWNHOUSE VENICE (Anniversary + Repeal day party)

The Townhouse in Venice, one of the oldest bars in the L.A. area, celebrates its 102nd anniversary, which also happens to be Repeal Day. Starting at 6 pm, there’s a complimentary pig roast; from 6-7 pm, there’s a complimentary Whiskey Tasting c/o Venice Underground Spirit Society in The Del Monte; live music starts at 7 pm with the Mudbug Brass Band, Brad Kay's Regressive Jazz Band, DJ Mark Maxwell and DJ Danny Holloway; and at 8:30 pm, there’s Prohibition tales and a little bit of Venice history from bar historian George Czarnecki. Admission is free, and when the bell rings, drinks will be sold at Repeal Day Prices. 

WEDNESDAY, DEC. 6

GOOD LOOKS (Comedy)

Good Looks, a stand-up comedy show held every first and third Wednesdays at UCB Franklin, features a stellar lineup this week on Wednesday at 8 pm. Hosted by Ian Karmel and Andrew Michaan, Good Looks features Kate Berlant, Nick Nemeroff, long sets from Ian and Andrew and maybe a special surprise guest. Tickets: $7. All ages. 

THURSDAY, DEC. 7

MIKE DOUGHTY: IRRESISTIBLE BLISS (Music)

Mike Doughty, former frontman for Soul Coughing, plays a solo show at Largo at the Coronet on Thursday night, where he revisits the band’s album Irresistible Bliss in its entirety along with other favorites. 8:30 pm. Tickets: $30. 

A HEALTHY SLICE OF JOE KWACZALA! (Comedy)

A Healthy Slice of Joe Kwaczala! is at NerdMelt on Thursday night at 9 pm. Hosted by Sam Wiles, comedian Joe Kwaczala performs a half-hour headlining set. Other performers include: Greg Behrendt, Sean O'Connor, Allie Goertz and Anna Seregina. Tickets: $8 online, $10 at the door.

JOHN MULANEY (Comedy)

Comedian John Mulaney brings his Kid Gorgeous show to the Orpheum Theatre for five nights this week, from Wednesday to Sunday. Face value of tickets (which are scarce): $25-$35.

Image: Jamie Pham

L.A. ZOO: HOLIDAY HAPPY HOURS (Drinks at the zoo)

The L.A. Zoo’s Holiday Happy Hour returns on Thursday for the 21-and-older crowd. With the theme of “Flannel and Flapjacks,” the evening features express entry to L.A. Zoo Lights at 6 pm with a private lounge from 6:30 to 8:30 pm that includes hors d’oeuvres, beer, wine and specialty cocktails. Tickets: $75 per person and $70 for GLAZA members.

—by Christine N. Ziemba

[ntrending]

One cave's losing battle against a deadly bat fungus

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/one-caves-losing-battle-against-a-deadly-bat-fungus/

One cave's losing battle against a deadly bat fungus

I’m somewhere around 40 stories down when it hits me just how much we’ve lost. I am inching through tight cavern rocks on my stomach, hitting my (thankfully helmeted) head each time I give into instinct and attempt to look up. The cave ceiling is very close to the cave floor. The spelunkers winnowing their bodies through these sinuous crevices are likely the only vertebrates in this cave system. But just a decade ago, it was home to thousands of bats.

They’re all gone now, apart from five long-eared bats that flit in occasionally. The other bats—mostly little brown bats—were wiped out by a fungus, Pseudogymnoascus destructans. We can’t see the fungus that causes white-nose syndrome lining the rocky walls, but we have it on good authority that wading through the Pennsylvanian cave’s muck has left us covered in the stuff.

I take a deep breath and wonder if Pseudogymnoascus destructans is inside me, innocuously mixing with the bacteria, viruses, bacteriophages and other fungi that form my lung’s microbiome. Unlike the bats, I can take it. The fungus doesn’t seem to affect humans. It’s around then that I realize this cavernous world has become liminal, a place of transition between the old world—where you could see bats darken the sky at sunset as they fled—and this new world, where some species of bats have been wiped out entirely.

As far as anyone can figure, it was cavers who brought Pseudogymnoascus destructans to the United States. They inadvertently introduced the pathogen to a cave in Eastern New York State sometime in the early 2000s, though the first documented case was in the winter of 2006.

White-nose syndrome is now in 31 states and five Canadian provinces, moving south and east and petering out towards the Midwest. This year, though, it popped up in the Texas panhandle, and for reasons nobody understands managed to leapfrog into Oregon. It could be that bats lviing between the outbreaks aren’t getting sick, or it could be that nobody is finding them. Only time will tell.

Pseudogymnoascus destructans kills insidiously. Of the 47 bat species that call the United States home, more than half hibernate to survive the winter, when the insects that they depend on for food become scarce. Hibernation allows the bats to enter a deep slumber and live off of their fat stores. Many, including the little brown bat, huddle together in the warm areas of caves. But this pattern of behavior only hastens white-nose syndrome’s spread. The habitual huddling for warmth allows the pathogen to pass from bat to bat, and provides the perfect temperature for the fungus to grow. As Pseudogymnoascus destructans spreads across a bat’s body, it wakes up, either to clean the fungus off or because it’s having trouble staying warm. Every time a bat wakes during winter hibernation, however, its body stores dwindle, leading to dehydration, starvation, and usually death.

Nine American bat species are confirmed to have white-nose syndrome. For reasons that aren’t clear, some bats don’t get sick from the fungus. The bats that do get sick include the Big Brown bat, the Eastern Small-footed bat, the endangered Gray bat, the endangered Indiana bat, the threatened Northern Long-eared bat, the Yuma bat, the Southeastern bat, and the Tri-colored bat. But the decimation of the little brown bat seems especially heart wrenching.

There’s the fact that little brown bats are adorable. As their name suggests, they are little, with a maximum body height of around four inches and a peak weight of roughly half an ounce. They fit in the palm of your hand. And little brown bats are ubiquitous—or at least they used to be. Before white-nose syndrome, they were the most common bat in North America. Their deaths visibly loosen the bonds that keep our ecosystem together.

While bats in other parts of the world dabble with fruit and blood, bats in the United States are insectivorous—they eat bugs. There isn’t much data to back up a frequently stated claim that bats can eat 1,000 mosquitoes an hour, but they do seem to help keep the number of nuisance insects in check. Studies suggest that the mere presence of bats seems to cut down on the number of mosquitoes. At the same time, bats chow down on a number of agricultural pests like corn ear moths, and spotted cucumber beetles. And because bats flit from plant to plant as they collect insects, they also spread pollen, which means they pollinate our crops alongside bees and butterflies. As these bats die off, we lose the services they provide to the ecosystem; the ways they help farmers.

To humans, bats can seem like elusive creatures. Our eyes don’t see as well in the dark, making the nocturnal animal difficult to spot during the times they’re most active. The window in which we can most easily see bats is narrow—in the fading light of sunset when they depart their domiciles and in the dwindling darkness around sunrise as they return. So for many, the fact that white-nose syndrome has killed more than 6 million bats in the Northeast and Canada alone is all too easy to ignore.

The deaths weren’t the fault of those first cavers—not exactly. Nobody knew that a fungus powerful enough to wipe out a cave’s worth of bats was at play. And it took a while for people to catch on, with the fungi meanwhile leaping from commercial cave to commercial cave, carried by unwitting visitors. Even protected caves weren’t safe: once the disease started spreading, the bats brought the fungus in on their fur.

“The season of 2009-2010 is when we started getting ready for this,” says Lisa Hall, the director of case studies at Laurel Caverns Geological Park (where I’m currently mucking about in Hopwood, Pennsylvania). That year, when they’d had their highest bat count—some 2,500 bats of six different species—researchers at the Pennsylvania Game Commission told them that the disease had begun migrating out of New York State, and they should start to be concerned about white-nose syndrome.

“The owner David Kale, when we had our first talk and we realized this was coming, I will never forget the look he gave me,” says Hall. “Just kind of a look of hopelessness. Our bats were going to die.”

But they had to try. They stopped most of the tours into the deeper portions of the caves where the bats tended to congregate—the portions I crawled through and contemplated.

“That was a surprise to everybody, because Laurel Caverns have been open for a long, long time,” says Hall.

For the tours to the shallower parts of the caves, they placed a pad with a bleach solution for visitors to shuffle through, in effect disinfecting their shoes to emphasize the protection of the bats. They handed out pamphlets explaining how to properly sanitize caving equipment. The state Game Commission even erected nets over the mouth of the cave after the bats entered for hibernating season. Because white-nose syndrome rouses infected bats from sleep, they were afraid that sick bats from other caves might wake up and fly over.

But all of these efforts were like trying to patch a leaky raft with bubble gum; they’ll work, but only to a point. The most visited caves were the first ones to take ill.

“But the fact that Laurel Caverns didn’t get it first, the fact that it went to some natural caves south of us here and then worked its way up here, is some evidence that maybe what we did worked a little bit,” says Greg Turner, a mammalogist with the Pennsylvania Game Commission. It’s possible they successfully kept humans from tracking the pathogen in on their clothes, he says. “But it was inevitable that it was going to come via the bats.”

And white-nose syndrome did come. In 2009, they counted 2,500 bats; in 2011, they counted 25. In 2012, they counted five. If we had shimmied through the cavern in 2009, the year before white-nose made its way here, we would have seen bats throughout our expedition. But the only signs of life these days are humans, along with the fungi and bacteria that shimmer in the light of our headlamps. You can’t disinfect a cave, so Pseudogymnoascus destructans is here to stay.

The news isn’t all bleak. Increasingly, the bats that have survived infection seem to be adjusting their behaviors to put up a bit of a fight. Turner says that some of them appear to be picking hibernation locations that are in the cooler range of their comfort zone—the fungus doesn’t grow as well in colder temperatures.

There’s hope that the bats in places where the pathogen has taken hold might learn to adapt, but researchers are also working hard to curb its spread. It’s work that we will chronicle this week—the fourth annual Bat week—as we dive deep into the life of the world’s only flying mammal.

Written By Kendra Pierre-Louis

[mottlemoth]

Excultus: Q&A

This is for @agent-elaine and @theredheadinquestion, who both asked for ‘ALL the Excultus, ALL the questions’ on the Fanfiction Authors Q&A post. <3

Thank you so much for your interest, guys. It means the whole damn world to me. I can’t tell you how much fun I’m having with this story... it gives me such a kick to know that you guys like it too.

What inspired you to write the fic this way?

Excultus is a big sticky mess of loads of things I love.

It owes a lot of its themes to Victorian literature, especially Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, but in structure and pace it's turning out to have more in common with modern police dramas like Lewis (which I'm crazy about). Confession time: I'm a bit of a Jack the Ripper nut. I've previously written non-fiction about the case. I've been surprised how much of that is surfacing in Excultus - more and more every chapter. I just love that trope of a killer who seems almost supernatural in their ability to evade detection. Gives me shivers.

The romance between Greg and Mycroft is rooted in the Brontës. All that yearning - all that misunderstanding… God help me, I love it. There's also a good glug of Dracula and its warnings about power, possession and the human predator.

After A Man of Honour (which was fluffy and colourful) I was in the mood for something dark - something kinda ambitious. Excultus is ticking both of those boxes for me nicely. My first long story was East End Boy, which focused a lot on Greg's emotional development. I wanted to get into Mycroft this time - get under his skin. He's not having an easy time of things.

Basically, I love stories about big dirty cities and all the big dirty things that happen in them. And Excultus is only getting dirtier as it goes along.

What scene did you first put down?

Sadly it doesn't feature in the finished story, but I road-tested the idea with a scene where after a long day of inquiries, Mycroft takes an exhausted Greg into a diner for food. Mycroft can't eat, but he watches while Greg does… they talk about the deep stuff. What it is to be human.

He buys Greg a toffee sundae.

What's your favorite line of narration?

I kinda like the hand thrown out against the window pane…

And it pulled the guts out of me to write, but Mycroft's reaction to the photograph in Chapter 15 turned out just how I wanted. We've all been there, right? That casual glimpse of two happy people that just makes you want to die.

What's your favorite line of dialogue?

So far, I like Mycroft’s “I was compromised on every conceivable level”… that’s Excultus Mycroft for me, in a line.

I'm also quite proud of, "Lestrade, are you inebriated?" in Chapter 15.

Oh, and, "Would you care to check my safety catch?"

I mean, who hasn't used that line at some point.

What part was hardest to write?

By far, chapter one.

It was really tricky to find a comfortable balance between setting the scene and info-dumping. Greg when he's weary can be hard work to write for me, and every chapter one comes with a lot of fear and vulnerability at a time you're trying to sound at your glittery best.

I also fucking hate Lindsey Darling.

Other tough bits include the opening scenes of chapter eighteen, which still make me feel very uneasy. And I am genuinely sorry for the end of chapter twenty.

What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

Excultus is definitely Mycroft-focused - I'm really enjoying that right now. (Mycroft isn't.)

By the far the main difference is the drought of sex scenes. They're negotiating their way into a relationship, while I'm so used to writing about them as an established couple… usually it's any excuse for a sex scene with me. As well you all know.

I'm kinda hoping that Excultus is remembered for its plot. I wanted to do something exciting and a little thrilling for you all. It's definitely been thrilling to write.

Where did the title come from?

Originally, I was going to call it 'Homo Emendatus'. Yikes.

Thankfully I started overthinking my dusty Latin grammar. I asked an old university friend if I had that verb tense right in 'emendatus'. She said yes, and as reassurance sent me a scan of a textbook with the verb form all laid out.

It had synonyms listed - including 'excultus'.

It all fell into place after that.

Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

I think we've all worked with a few Lindsey Darlings in our time.

And while I didn't lose my virginity to Gregorian chant, Mark Gatiss did.

Sorry, Mr Gatiss. I enjoyed your Attitude interview far too much.

Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

There've been a number of plot redirections since my original notes. A huge amount had to be cut at an early stage, but it’s been put safely in a mental box marked ‘later’. We'll see.

I also toyed with a version that included more of the Sherlock cast... and I love him to pieces - but it’s so hard to keep Sherlock from taking over a story. I wanted this one to be all about Greg and Mycroft.

Don’t be scared, but I’ve left a few things open that you guys will unknowingly decide. These decisions largely concern the fates of various original characters. If you have a favourite, it's probably best to mention it now.

Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

I've wanted to write Mycroft and Greg working together on a case ever since I first got struck by the lightning storm that is Mystrade. Greg's way with people... Mycroft's ruthless organising. Their combined energy driving them to be so much more together than they are separately. End me.

One of the things I love most about Mystrade is how they're both dedicated professional men at a high level of their careers, both with real authority about them. You can throw whatever horrors you like their way, and they'll take it on. They're both such goddamn heroes. (The hair's standing up on the back of my neck as I type this.)

In the show, Sherlock is such a gorgeous bohemian character. He undercuts them constantly, and I love the humour of seeing their lawful lives constantly challenged by his chaotic way of doing things. But I kinda like indulging my taste for 'serious Mycroft and Greg get up to serious business', too.

They're so good at it.

All the scenes we see them together in the show, they're working together on some important endeavour. It just thrills the hell out of me.

As to 'why vampire Mystrade?'... to be honest, it just writes itself. Mycroft has a dark secret... Greg is brave and good…

Argh. I'm getting shivers again.

What do you like best about this fic?

Greg and Mycroft are in it. <3 That's always my favourite part.

What do you like least about this fic?

This is oddly specific, but I hate that I can't throw in recognisable brands and shops. It means something to me that Greg gets his work shirts from Burtons and eats Crunchy Nut for breakfast. It's killing me that with such a time gap, I can't add those details.

It's also been tough having a main character that doesn't eat or drink. Writing Excultus has made me realise how much time the pair of them spent eating in East End Boy.

And I'm pretty sure that even though they're in bed together by chapter four, this story would count as a slowburn. A slow reheat, maybe.

It's so rare for me to write slowburn. I've genuinely had to pull them off each other about four times.

All the yearning will be worth it in the end, but sweet Jesus, Moth, let the poor bastards get hold of each other before we all pass out...

What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn't listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

So I've done a whole separate post for this one - take a look here. <3

(I love music.)

Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

Genetically engineering people so they can be sustained only by other humans' blood is a really bad idea.

Seriously.

That will not work out well for anyone.

What did you learn from writing this fic?

While we spoke of many things Fools and kings This he said to me: "The greatest thing you'll ever learn Is just to love and be loved in return."

- Eden Ahbez's 'Nature Boy' (1948)