#jim quince

[d3adite]

happy valentines day to these guys :)

[death-by-mercury]

Here’s a theory for you to chew on

They look the same 👀

[thedogslegart]

8.3.24

[khazadspoon]

Late entry for @rawhidefandomweek day 2, using incident as the prompt

———

“Well…”

Rowdy winces at the word. Not only because it indicates he is about to be in a world of trouble, but also because it feels like his head could split apart at any moment. He lowers his chin a little and tries to curl in on himself and ignore the headache currently trying to hammer his mind into mush.

“Looks like you two had a good evening.”

Beside him, Quince rubs awkwardly at his chin. He’s braver than Rowdy when it comes to fessing up to their boss.

“It weren’t our fault, Mister Favor,” Quince starts with a raspy, dry voice. “Y’see, some folks said we wasn’t allowed to stay in town since were not from here and- well, me’n’Rowdy didn’t take kindly to that. So we sort of got into a bit of a fight and-”

“And wound up in jail?” Mister Favor says with a voice like distant thunder. “And it just so happens the sheriff’s son is lying in bed with a broken ankle when he should be getting married?”

Rowdy winces again, guilt rising in his throat. He feels Quince slump down and almost joins him. They must look about as pathetic as they feel, he thinks. “We’re sorry, boss,” he offers. Depending on the severity of the incident, sometimes just admitting you’ve done wrong can make all the difference to a man like Gil Favor.

This time, though…

“You two are gonna sit here and think about what happened last night. God willing you’ll actually learn something about getting in fights for no damn reason!” The words come out loud and clear, they ring through the air like a bell being struck by a hammer and Rowdy feels his face scrunch up in pain. Quince stiffens and makes a small noise beside him.

“Yessir,” they say in unison.

Mister Favor sighs and leans on the bars, his arms crossed over his chest and his hat tipped back. “I know you didn’t mean to cause a ruckus,” he starts, “I know you was just hoping to let off a little steam, but… we can’t keep doing this. I’ll talk to the sheriff and see about getting this all straightened out. Please, just stay here and let me handle it from here, alright?”

“Yessir,” they repeat again. Rowdy sees Mister Favor nod and push himself up to leave the cells.

“Think we’ll end up on drag for a week after this?” Quince asks him with a pained moan.

Rowdy shakes his head, closes his eyes and tries to push through the hangover with sheer stubbornness. “Nah. More like we’ll be on drag for a month.”

“Kill me now, Rowdy.”

“Oh I ain’t suffering on my own! It was you who threw that bottle-”

[incorrectrawhidequotes]

Scarlet; “Where were you?”

Quince; “I was sleeping. I heard a rumor that I had a hangover, so I just went with it.”

[normalcarrots]

I typically don’t partake in shipping, but Quince and Scarlet are def a couple

Possibly my favorite cowboy :)

[rosemaidenvixen]

Both Sides of the Sky

Chapter 7: Lughnasadh

Ao3

The Johnson family was one of middling wealth, they were well off enough to be certain that they would live in comfort for the rest of their days, but not so much to be considered truly wealthy.

Despite their secure social position, it seemed the Johnsons never stopped striving for more. Master Johnson’s attempts to force a relationship between Claire and his son Seamus were one example. Mistress Johnson’s end of summer parties were another.

Every August they all but went into debt lavishly decorating their admittedly spacious ballroom, inviting all of their neighbors to bask in the luxury. Indeed the decorations were lovely, crystal chandeliers and ribbons and floral garlands; the food divine, roast pheasant and barley soup, quince pies and lemon cakes. Mistress Johnson could be accused of many things but having poor taste was not one of them. 

Every year people went and complimented them on the display with the Johnsons playing it off that this was how they lived every day, and not an event they spent all year scrimping and saving for, and every year no one was fooled. Forming a bizarre tradition in and of itself.

That being said, it certainly hadn’t dissuaded Master Johnson from his other ladder climbing pursuits.

Claire risked a peek from behind the large pillar. Master Johnson was still there, glancing furiously around the mingling crowd gathered in his ballroom, accompanied by a miserable looking Seamus.

She quickly ducked back into her hiding spot, hoping they hadn’t seen her. After word had spread of her weekly literature discussions with Jim, and despite her and her parents’ numerous rebuttals; Master Johnson had intensified his efforts to try and force a match between Claire and Seamus tenfold.

Was he truly oblivious to just how obvious it was he was only after her family’s money? Perhaps he simply didn’t care about subtlety anymore. Either way it wasn’t worth having him corner her.

Her knees were starting to ache from standing so long, Claire leaned back and gingerly rested her shoulders against the cool stone of the column, shifting from foot to foot to try and relieve the strain as she settled in to wait. 

After a few minutes she risked another peek and caught a glimpse of Master Johnson moving away dragging Seamus in tow, a small sigh of relief escaping her lips. But before Claire could set foot out of her hiding spot, Mistress Johnson came sweeping through with a gaggle of female companions, sending Claire ducking back behind the column.

“My goodness Hannah you’ve simply outdone yourself this year,” one of them gushed “You simply must tell me where you bought these garlands,”

“Thank you thank you, I try,” Mistress Johnson replied, voice rich with faux modesty “I’m so glad all of you could make it,”

They all clucked in agreement.

“We almost didn’t come,” another woman said in an exasperated huff “Our youngest daughter tried to elope with a fisherman’s son, thankfully my husband was able to catch them before their ship left harbor and put a stop to that nonsense,”

The rest of the women tittered and cooed, pulling in around the woman and making consoling noises. Then Mistress Johnson cut in with a nasty sounding chuckle “At least your husband was able to catch them in time, I’ve heard that the Nuñez’s desperation to pair their daughter up with Lord Strickler’s boy isn’t because they’re after his family’s title so much as the fact the two may have become very well acquainted while they were lost in the woods together,”

Claire felt her face burning as the women roared with laughter, frozen in place behind her column. She had suspected the rumor mill to be churning, but having her suspicions confirmed still stung.

From out of nowhere another body sided next to her behind the column. Claire started to let out an undignified squeak before she remembered to smother it lest she give herself away. But as soon as she saw who it was most of her alarm drained away.

“Either be quiet or get your own hiding spot,” Krel hissed.

“I was here first,” Claire whispered back.

“I was here second!”

The two fell into silence as the titters of Mistress Johnson’s group swelled louder, both of them rigid against the pillar. Only when the giggles moved away did their tense shoulders slowly start to relax.

“Why are you here?” Claire asked in a low voice “Didn’t you say you’d rather get your eyebrows peeled off than go to another party?”

Krel’s already grumpy expression became even more sour “Unfortunately that wasn’t an option,”

Claire risked a peek around the pillar “Well you can at least grab some food, if you’re forced to entertain the company of others you may as well get a meal out of it,”

He made a show of folding his arms in front of his chest and settling back against the pillar “Not going to happen,”

“If you need a distraction I’ll get Varvatos to talk about his days in the war, all eyes in the room will be on him,”

“That’s not…” a pained gauntness washed over Krel’s features before he slumped forward and let out a gust of air “…Helen and Audrey are here,”

A wince flashed across Claire's face before she could stop it.

Krel had always been the subtle moth to her and Aja’s bright butterflies. While Claire and Aja had spent their childhood obsessed with running and shouting and loud play, sneaking away to play chaotic games of fantasy and adventure, Krel was was always the happiest sitting off to the side of Aja and Claire’s play, nose buried in a book or tinkering with his latest creation while the two of them romped. When asked Krel said he found the sound of play soothing, even if he had no desire to join in himself. 

It wasn’t as though Krel was timid or lonely, indeed he’d never shied away from sharing his honest opinion when asked, rather he was simply a subdued person who was satisfied to be left to his own devices.

Claire and Aja had always accepted Krel’s quirks as they were, even if they didn’t understand them. But other children were much much crueler. 

The boys were ruthless but the girls were much more vicious. Recently Helen Mansfield had come up with an especially cruel game, where she would corner Krel and pretend to flirt with him as a joke, a dare, a tease. Helen was dreadful enough on her own, but when she roped other girls and her younger sister Audrey into her teasing she became absolutely unbearable.

“Just say the word and I’ll pour punch all over her dress,”

“I can take care of myself.” a hint of a defensive edge crept into his voice.

Claire let out a very unladylike snort “Oh I know you’re more than a match for them. You can run rings around Helen with one hand tied behind your back. But if Aja ever learns that I left you to their antics she’ll hang me from the roof by my toenails,”

That got a tiny smile out of Krel “Aja would, wouldn’t she…”

The two of them shared a brief chuckle, then Claire spotted something from around the edge of the pillar.

James Strickler–

Jim

Striding across the room heading away from her.

Her heartbeat sped up, all thoughts of hiding forgotten.

“Actually the hiding spot is all yours, I’ve got something to do,”

Krel raised an eyebrow, surprise briefly overtaking his features before he smoothed them into casual indifference “Whatever, better you than me,”

Claire gave him a brief nod of thanks before darting out into the open. Making her way across the crowded room, ducking past shoulders and weaving through skirts, her eyes never once leaving Jim.

She knew he’d be at the Johnsons’ party, one of the few events Lord Strickler actually came down from on high to attend. And sneaking away to have a moment of privacy was significantly easier in a crowded party than in either of their families’ homes.

She’d been waiting to spot him all night, and now that she had her chance to talk to him alone in weeks she was not going to squander it.

Jim turned down a hall and headed away from the party proper. Claire hurried as much as she could without drawing undue attention and followed after him, the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses fading, light of the ballroom dimming into the gloom of the hallway as the party grew further and further away. Rounding a corner, she saw Jim stepping through a door out onto a balcony and hurried to follow.

Reaching the door Claire felt a giddy smile spreading across her face and raised a hand to grasp the knob–

Only to freeze when she heard Jim’s voice wafting in from the other side of the door.

“I told you, I don’t know why. They just told me what was going to happen,”

To her complete and utter shock a new voice spoke up in reply, but it was too low and soft for Claire to hear clearly.

Claire froze, hand poised in midair. Looks like Jim had the same idea as she did. But just who was he speaking with? She hadn’t seen anyone else come this way, and she didn’t recognize that voice–

“I...I’m not sure, when we first met Claire didn’t seem to like me, but now I think she wants to be my friend,”

Butterflies burst to life in her stomach at the mention of her name, and before she could think better of it Claire slid to her knees and pressed an ear against the door.

The other voice came again, still unintelligible but sounding more excited now. 

“Yes, yes we did,” Jim replied ”We fell in the river and on our walk back we talked and rested together,”

Whatever butterflies she was feeling vanished as her entire body ignited in a hot flush. Jim might have earned some of her good graces. But if he thought that saving her from death by drowning permitted him to tell tales about what had occurred between them he had another thing coming.

All sense of decorum gone, Claire grabbed the knob and yanked the door open. Cool night air rushed over her skin, cricket song humming in her ears, catching a flurry of commotion from the corner of her eye, Claire snapped her head in that direction.

Jim was standing there on the corner of the balcony looking quite flustered.

But curiously he was all alone.

Claire narrowed her eyes, allowing the door to swing shut behind her as she strode forward “Who was that you were speaking with?”

Jim glanced from side to side, just a hint too casual to be completely natural “There’s no one else out here,”

“I just heard you talking with someone,” she continued to stalk forward, rapidly closing the distance between the two of them.

“How could I have been speaking to someone when clearly no one else is here?”

Claire stopped just inches away, looking Jim dead in the eye fixing him with her most piercing glare “I’ve noticed you’re not denying it.”

Jim paled and took a nervous step backward, back hitting the balcony’s railing “I...I…”

“What do we have here?”

They both jumped at the new voice, Claire whipping around to see Lord Merlin standing in the doorframe. His words were clearly meant to admonish, but his expression was amused.

“Just what are you two up to, stealing away all by yourselves?”

Jim’s face went white. Claire felt her heart ba-dump but forced a chastized expression and turned to face him, folding her hands demurely in front of her. Merlin’s presence was trouble, especially since he caught them doing something that they very much shouldn’t be doing. But Claire knew that Merlin wanted her and Jim together just as much as her parents did, and if he wasn’t truly angry that left her some room to maneuver…

“We didn’t mean to be improper,” she kept her voice low and soft, eyes cast down, being very careful to make sure she sounded sincere and not saucy “We just wished for a moment to ourselves without any of the other young men or women interrupting,” 

Merlin let out a hearty laugh and she knew they were out of trouble “Ah well no harm done,” he turned away from the door and waved for them to follow “I suppose you youngsters must be allowed your indulgences, but I expect decent behavior from both of you going forward,”

“Of course,” the second Merlin’s eyes were off them Claire snapped her gaze back towards Jim, staring daggers into him while keeping her voice sugary sweet “We promise to be on our best behavior,”

Jim actually stumbled a bit from the force of her gaze as they followed Merlin back inside.

[artemisphilomeirix]

Top 5 favourite BL?

blanc

Snow Fairy

19 Days

And, of course, I must include my fantasies about Light falling in love with L in deathNOTES, and, of course, my undying desire to write (and erotically illustrate) The Erotic Adventures of Jonny Quest

And I should add, the Undressable Paperboy Edition of my own novel[s], starring my main character Jim Brandekker and his boyfriend Quince.

Jim Brandekker as the Bagboy, by Juana Moore, 1992, watercolor pencil on paper. This was supposed to become the logo of the original Bagman Press edition of Playing Soldiers in the Dark, but got nixed by the publisher. Only one of their serious errors…

[commonguttersnipe]

Some more more BTDPR questions for you to answer:

1)Does Aggie's dad hate both Jim AND Ernie, or just either one of them? If so, why does he hate either of them?

2)Are Jim's parents Christian or Catholic?

3)Do Jim's religious parents forbade any mention of "sex" at home, but don't know that Jim's doing it w/Aggie?

4)Does Quince's little brother get along more w/his girlfriend Marie as she plays cute and adorable games w/his lil bro that benefit his autism rather than being unintentionally detrimental to his autism, like Quince's harsh and louder methods to bond w/his brother? If so, what kind of fun games does she play w/his lil bro?

5) What's Quince's lil bro called?

6)Does Brian know who his dad is? If so, is the reason why he doesn't see his dad often because his parents divorced when he was a baby or something? If not, does his mum never bother to mention his dad to him?

Thanks for reading!!

1. Aggie’s dad hates everyone… including Aggie (he’s a bitter piece of crap)

2. Church of England!

3. It’s referred to as intimacy and they have absolutely no clue about the sexual exploits of their son (who’s rather freaky)

4. Marie also is on the autistic spectrum so they get on really well. They often play with his action figures as he has an over-active imagination.

5. Crispin

6. His mum doesn’t like to talk about his father… for good reason.

[wankerwatch]

Commons Vote

On: Finance (No. 2) Bill: Third Reading

Ayes: 215 (98.6% Con, 0.9% Ind, 0.5% DUP) Noes: 19 (94.7% SNP, 5.3% PC) Absent: ~416

Likely Referenced Bill: Finance (No. 2) Act 2010

Description: A Bill to grant certain duties, to alter other duties, and to amend the law relating to the National Debt and the Public Revenue, and to make further provision in connection with finance.

Originating house: Commons Current house: Unassigned Bill Stage: Royal Assent

Individual Votes:

Ayes

Conservative (211 votes)

Aaron Bell Alan Mak Alberto Costa Alec Shelbrooke Alex Burghart Alex Chalk Alicia Kearns Alok Sharma Amanda Milling Andrew Griffith Andrew Jones Andrew Lewer Andrew Murrison Andrew Percy Andrew Selous Andy Carter Angela Richardson Anna Firth Anne Marie Morris Anne-Marie Trevelyan Anthony Browne Antony Higginbotham Ben Everitt Ben Spencer Ben Wallace Bernard Jenkin Bill Wiggin Bim Afolami Bob Blackman Bob Seely Brandon Lewis Caroline Ansell Caroline Nokes Charles Walker Cherilyn Mackrory Chris Clarkson Chris Grayling Chris Green Chris Philp Conor Burns Craig Tracey Craig Williams Damian Hinds Daniel Kawczynski Danny Kruger David Davis David Duguid David Jones David Rutley David Simmonds Dean Russell Dehenna Davison Derek Thomas Desmond Swayne Duncan Baker Edward Argar Edward Leigh Elizabeth Truss Elliot Colburn Esther McVey Felicity Buchan Fiona Bruce Gagan Mohindra Gareth Bacon Gareth Davies Gareth Johnson Gary Sambrook Gavin Williamson Geoffrey Clifton-Brown Gillian Keegan Graham Brady Graham Stuart Greg Hands Greg Smith Guy Opperman Harriett Baldwin Heather Wheeler Helen Whately Holly Mumby-Croft Huw Merriman Iain Duncan Smith Iain Stewart Jack Brereton Jack Lopresti Jackie Doyle-Price Jacob Rees-Mogg Jacob Young James Cartlidge James Cleverly James Davies James Duddridge James Sunderland James Wild Jane Hunt Jane Stevenson Jeremy Quin Jerome Mayhew Jo Churchill John Glen John Howell John Lamont Jonathan Djanogly Jonathan Gullis Julia Lopez Julian Lewis Julian Smith Julian Sturdy Justin Tomlinson Katherine Fletcher Kelly Tolhurst Kemi Badenoch Kevin Hollinrake Kieran Mullan Kit Malthouse Laura Farris Laura Trott Lee Rowley Leo Docherty Lia Nici Liam Fox Lisa Cameron Louie French Lucy Frazer Luke Hall Marcus Jones Mark Fletcher Mark Francois Mark Garnier Mark Logan Martin Vickers Matt Hancock Matt Warman Matthew Offord Mel Stride Michael Ellis Michael Fabricant Michael Gove Michael Tomlinson Mike Freer Mike Wood Mims Davies Neil O'Brien Nick Fletcher Nick Gibb Nicola Richards Nigel Huddleston Paul Beresford Paul Holmes Paul Howell Pauline Latham Penny Mordaunt Peter Aldous Peter Bottomley Philip Dunne Philip Hollobone Priti Patel Ranil Jayawardena Rebecca Harris Rebecca Pow Rehman Chishti Richard Bacon Richard Drax Richard Fuller Rob Butler Robbie Moore Robert Buckland Robert Courts Robert Goodwill Robert Halfon Robert Largan Robert Syms Robin Millar Robin Walker Royston Smith Sajid Javid Sally-Ann Hart Saqib Bhatti Sara Britcliffe Sarah Dines Scott Mann Selaine Saxby Shailesh Vara Sheryll Murray Simon Baynes Simon Clarke Simon Fell Simon Hart Simon Hoare Simon Jupp Stephen Metcalfe Steve Baker Steve Brine Steve Tuckwell Stuart Andrew Suzanne Webb Theo Clarke Theresa May Theresa Villiers Thérèse Coffey Tobias Ellwood Tom Hunt Tom Pursglove Tom Randall Tom Tugendhat Tracey Crouch Vicky Ford Victoria Atkins Victoria Prentis Wendy Morton Will Quince William Cash

Independent (2 votes)

Mark Menzies William Wragg

Democratic Unionist Party (1 vote)

Jim Shannon

Noes

Scottish National Party (18 votes)

Allan Dorans Amy Callaghan Angela Crawley Anne McLaughlin Brendan O'Hara Chris Law Chris Stephens David Linden Deidre Brock Joanna Cherry John Nicolson Kirsty Blackman Marion Fellows Owen Thompson Peter Grant Philippa Whitford Richard Thomson Stewart Malcolm McDonald

Plaid Cymru (1 vote)

Hywel Williams

[davidisen]

NYC Music Safari, Part 3

[Updated to include December 27, 28, 29, 30]

On Wednesday, December 27, I caught the early show at Birdland, David Ostwald's Louis Armstrong Eternity Band.

That's Ostwald on the tuba, Will Anderson on clarinet, Joe Boga on trumpet, Jim Fryer on trombone. Not visible in the back row, Vince Giordano (banjo) and Alex Raderman (percussion).

Will takes a solo, revealing Vince and Alex. I've seen the show several times. Same cheesy jokes, same over-learned moves and dialog, but great, spectacularly great, expertly executed music.

At Birdland I sat next to Anna, an impressive young lady. She didn't know anything about jazz, but clearly took huge delight in the music!

Got down to the Zinc Bar just in time to meet Neal and Peter for the Miss Maybell show.

Miss Maybell had an expert supporting cast of Brian Nalepka (bass), Dan Levinson (reeds) and Andy Stein (violin). And, it goes without saying (or showing), Andy Judkins was ragging the keys next to Miss Maybell's right elbow.

On December 29, Peter and I got to Mezzrow early, so we heard the last half of the early set from the back of the room, and then had a band-side table for the second set.

It was the Chuck Redd trio, with Chuck on vibraphone, Neal Miner on bass, and (not shown) John DiMartino (piano).

There's John DiMartino.

Chuck has total command of the vibes. When I first saw him in a combo at Dizzys, he was completely new to me and so impressive that I had to hear more.

One Sunday night at The Ear, Chuck sat at our band-side table and played a rhythm on the table with drum brushes. I held an empty glass for him, and occasionally he'd hit it.

The surprise of the evening was Janis Siegel, of the original Manhattan Transfer, who sang a couple. Ooh!

On Saturday, December 30, Neal and I went to see Les Chauds Lapins at Pangea.

Anybody who plays the banjolele like it's a serious instrument is crazy enough to be a friend of mine. Kurt Hoffman and Meg Reichardt play French swing from the 1900s with style and humor. The French I learned in school wasn't quite enough to keep up with them, but occasionally I'd catch one of their double entendres.

The band's name, for example. Les Chauds Lapins literally means hot rabbits, but the better French syntax would be "les lapins chauds." I looked it up. Chaud lapin is an idiom for horny guy, or ladies' man.

Kurt and Meg were charming performers and good musicians. They were backed up by a violist, a cellist and a bass player who stayed decidedly in a supporting role.

On Saturday, December 30, Garrett Manley (guitar), Shane Del Robles (percussion) and Ian Hutchinson (bass) played a delightful brunch gig at The Canary Club in Chinatown.

Typical NYC gig - take three world-class musicians, hire them for your 15-seat cafe, and stuff them in a corner by the closet. By the way, the food was excellent.

That's Shane's washboard "kit."

That evening I went to see Quince Marcum at Barbes. He's one of the bartenders there, but he has a quirky folksongy genius.

He plays Bouzouki, not guitar. And he sings in at least three languages.

So ... tonight is New Years Eve. The prospect is a little bit frightening.

[death-by-mercury]

Cowboys of Rawhide

[diarioelpepazo]

El ex-receptor y designado está en el nuevo listado   EDUARDO CHAPELLIN Cuando el año entrante se realice una nueva votación para el Salón de la Fama de Grandes Ligas, serán cuatro los venezolanos que estarán en la papeleta: Omar Vizquel, Bob Abreu, Francisco Rodríguez y Víctor Martínez, quien será elegible por primera vez en 2024. Vale la pena recordar que para entrar en Cooperstown se necesita por los menos el 75% de los votos emitidos y el 5% para poder mantenerse en competencia hasta diez años (antes eran quince). En la última votación realizada, donde Scott Rolen logró el porcentaje, luego de seis intentos, el compatriota que más respaldo tuvo fue el excampocorto Omar Vizquel, con 76 boletas (19,5 %), seguido de Bob Abreu obtuvo 60 votos (15,4 %); y el ex-cerrador Francisco “Kid” Rodríguez con 42 votos (10,8 %). Los tres siguen en carrera, ¿pero realmente tienen opción de entrar algún día? El primero en discordia es Omar Vizquel. Desde su primera incursión en las papeletas, “Manos de Seda” anunciaba que en cinco o seis años tenía real chance de entrar. Bueno, así lo indicaban los tres primeros años. En 2018 arrancó con el 37.0%, ascendió a un 42.8% (2019) y a un 52.6%en 2020. Tenía mejores porcentajes que Scott Rolen, quien debutó el mismo año en las votaciones. Y los números no mienten, ya que Rolen tuvo 10.2% (2018), 17.2% (2019) y 35.3% (2020), Sin embargo, ese mismo año de la pandemia el mundo se le vino encima al caraqueño. Dos problemas personales del paracorto invirtieron los papeles. Mientras Vizquel está en caída con 49.1% (2021), 23.9% (2022) y 19.5% (2023), el estadounidense llegó a Cooperstown con 52.9% (2021), 63.2% (2022) y el 76.3% este año. Coincido con varios especialistas que señalan que los votos perdidos por Vizquel debido a su vida privada, muchos electores los encauzaron hacia Rolen. No se le niega la calidad al gringo, que aparte jugaba la tercera base, sino que Vizquel tenía números defensivos, más no ofensivos, que apuntalaban sus opciones reales. En pocas palabras, de no continuar ese fenomenal bajón que, para muchos, amenaza en un momento no llegar al 5% requerido, Vizquel perdió el chance de entrar vía voto de los comunicadores sociales. El segundo en pugna es Bob Abreu, cuyos números están sobre el promedio de los grandeligas en general, pero no llegan a la esfera de lo espectacular. Volviendo a la cifras de los sufragios, en 2020 logró apenas un 5.5% (o sea, de vainita se queda en el aparato), subiendo a 8.7% (2021), 8.6% (2022) y 15.4% este año. Estas proyecciones indican que el aragueño tendrá que pasar en un futuro por el comité de veteranos. Especialistas indican que sus números son parecidos a otros que ya entraron a Cooperstown como Jim Rice, Andrew Dawson (por cierto ninguno en sus primeros años) y Harold Baines (comité de veteranos). Solo tomemos en cuenta ciertos parámetros, para no alargar el cuento: Rice en 16 años bateó .298 con 2.452 hits, 373 dobles, 79 triples, 382 jonrones y 1.451 remolcadas; Baines en 22 torneos promedió .289 con 2.866 H, 488 2B, 49 3B, 384 HR y 1.628 CI; Dawson en 21 años ligó .279 con 2.774 H, 502 2B, 93 3B, 438 HR y 1.591 CI; y Abreu en 18 zafras logró .291 con 2.470 H, 574 2B, 59 3B, 288 HR y 1.363 CI, más 400 estafadas y 1.476 boletos. A excepción de los vuelacercas y remolcadas, los números son muy similares. De ahí que los sabermétricos indican que Abreu esta en el mismo rango de los citados y otros más. Cerramos con Francisco Rodríguez. Su primer punto a favor es su marca en las mayores de 62 rescates (2008) para 437 de por vida, todavía el cuarto histórico en la MLB. Su 10.8% del primer año no le hace honor.   Para recibir en tu celular esta y otras informaciones, únete a nuestras redes sociales, síguenos en Instagram, Twitter y Facebook como @DiarioElPepazo El Pepazo/Líder

[khazadspoon]

Free Him

[cuidarelplaneta]

Dar testimonio

El barco protesta iba a ser el Phyllis Cormack, un viejo atunero de 24 metros llamado así por la esposa de su propietario, John Cormack. Lo fletaron durante seis semanas por 15.000 dólares. El Cormack tenía más desarreglos mecánicos de lo corriente: la ecosonda sólo funcionaba después de recibir un buen puñetazo; el chigre del ancla estaba roto; los depósitos de combustible oxidados; la caja inversora en pésimo estado; y la máquina en condiciones lamentables. Pero el casco era marinero, y después de 13 meses de búsqueda, Bohlen, Stowe y Cote comprendieron que no encontrarán nada mejor. Con este barco navegaría contra la bomba. Durante el viaje, que empezará el 15 de septiembre, poco más de quince días antes de la fecha prevista para la prueba en Amchitka, se le cambiaría el nombre por Greenpeace. Mediante un concierto benéfico, en el que intervinieron Joni Mitchell y James Taylor, se recaudaron 17.000 dólares para sufragar los gastos de la expedición, y la Sociedad de Amigos de Palo Alto, en California, envió la espléndida suma de 6.000 dólares. Pero la mayor parte del dinero se obtuvo mediante pequeños donativos: un dólar enviado por un seguidor fiel, una donación hecha por una organización ecologista amiga, etc.

En los días anteriores a la partida, el grupo se convirtió en el 1 P centro de atención de los medios de comunicación canadienses. Periodistas de prensa y radio y fotógrafos estaban ansiosos por recoger las últimas noticias sobre el viaje a Amchitka. Hasta los periodistas del otro lado de la frontera acabaron interesándose.

Mientras Irving Stowe se encargaba de la publicidad, Jim Bohlen y algunos otros dedicaban todas sus energías a preparar el barco. Más de una vez se preguntaron si no sería una locura organizar semejante expedición en un cascarón tan desvencijado como el Cormack. Descrito por uno de los tripulantes como «granja flotante». y apenas capaz de hacer nueve nudos, debía estar listo para zarpar rumbo a Amchitka en torno al equinoccio de otoño. En esa época del año empiezan a formarse tormentas que se estancan en el golfo de Alaska y el mar de Bering y desencadenan violentos vendavales huracanados y producen peligrosas corrientes de resaca que habían partido en dos barcos mayores y más fuertes.

Para empeorar las cosas, recuerda Bohlen. antes de zarpar recibí una llamada telefónica de alguien que se identificó como pescador y me dijo: Sea lo que sea lo que vaya a hacer. no salga en ese barco. Ya lo han tenido que sacar dos veces del fondo del estrecho de Georgia: del fondo del mar, vamos. Puedes imaginarte cómo me sentía la noche anterior a la salida.

Originally published at https://cuidarelplaneta.com/ June 12, 2023.

[cinocefalo]

FLUSH

[selección]

Francisco José Casado Pérez

Estás bien.

Te sientes bien

pero de veras ocupas un cambio:

colorear las mejillas,

broncearte.

Aún así

yo sí te daba.

¿Cierto?

Refuta el espejo.

¡Está bien!

¡Está bien!

Si la rebelión del vello no cede:

                    depílenlos.

Depílenlos a todos.

Cucaracha cucarachita

relámpago fugaz de coladera

¿qué mano o luz proyectaría

tu figura al escenario cavernoso?

¿En qué perfil o sobrenombre

escondes el ardor de tu sonrisa?

¿Cuántos seguidores tienes?

¿Cuántas menciones?

¿Qué software craqueado

puede trocear los músculos de tu alma?

Y cuando llegan los likes

¿Qué temen los ojos?

¿Qué teme la boca?

¿Cuál fue la culpa?

¿Cuál su condena?

¿Qué depravación tienes en mente?

¿Cuál fue el baño?

¿Qué perfil se atrevió a responder un emoji de vómito?

Cuando los cometas arrastraron tu vestido

y limpiaron de sarro los azulejos

¿Sonreíste por compromiso?

¿Zuckerberg?

Cucaracha cucarachita

relámpago fugaz de coladera

¿Qué mano o luz proyectaría

tu figura al escenario cavernoso?

Aquí dentro

todo puede colgarse

          toallas / papel higiénico

          extensiones / llamadas

          ropa mojada.

Aquí dentro el peso de los vellos deja ver cómo cuelgan

          pechos / vientres

          testículos / papadas

          brazos / lóbulos.

Todo puede colgarse aquí dentro

          hay espacio suficiente

                    incluso para los suicidas.

fffllluuussshhh

          los ideales revolucionarios

                    se fueron por el agu-jeee-rooo

fffllluuussshhh

          el romanticismo

                    se fue por el agu-jeee-rooo

fffllluuussshhh

          la política liberal moderada

                    se fue por el agu-jeee-rooo

fffllluuussshhh

          los sistemas sociopolíticos

                    se fueron por el agu-jeee-rooo

fffllluuussshhh

          Slavoj Žižek

                    no pudo irse por el agu-jeee-rooo

                                                                       (hacía capitalismo).

En el baño

          Agamenón recibió tres golpes vengativos

                    y su muerte se volvió tragedia.

En el baño

          Aon mató a Eglón con una puñalada zurda

                    y desencadenó una masacre.

En el baño

          Jorge II de Gran Bretaña sufrió un desgarro de aorta

                   y su muerte cambió la historia de la medicina moderna.

En el baño

          Jean-Paul Marat fue apuñalado en la tina

                    y su muerte inició la Revolución Francesa

                    y se volvió un de los cuadros más reconocidos de Jaques-Luis David

En el baño

          aprendieron al Tigre de Santa Julia

                   y se hizo leyenda

                    y lo hicieron película

En el baño

          de la estación Penn (NY), Louis I. Kahn murió de un infarto

                    y su hijo hizo un documental

                   y viajó por el mundo

                    y descubrió la maestría arquitectónica de su padre

                   y su segunda familia.

En el baño

          Rubem Fonseca escribió sobre la copromancia en un cuento

                    y por suerte nunca se volvió tendencia.

En el baño

          encontraron (respectivamente) los cuerpos de Elvis y Jim Morrison

                    y solo a uno se le ha parodiado por ello.

En el baño

          Junichiro Tanizaki

                    elogió que la penumbra es el sitio perfecto donde meditar

                    y está en lo cierto.

El límite de todo placer comienza

en su capacidad de hacer daño.

Del estar sentado en el inodoro

del bañarse

del lavarse los dientes

del rutinario cuidado de la piel

del desmaquillarse

del intento de suicidio

comienza pasados los quince minutos.

___

Los poemas que se presentan, forman parte de la plaquette Flush (2023), de la colección TOMA TODO ★ TODOS PONEN, editada por Canciones Tristes. Book & Printing.

___

Francisco José Casado Pérez (1990, Ciudad de México) Arquitecto y escritor. Ha publicado en revistas digitales como Página Salmón, Irradiación, Mentekupa, Vallejo & Co., Carcaj, entre otras. Mención honorífica del Premio Bruno Corona Petit, Venezuela, 2020 y 2022. Su poemario Para mirar los pasos (2021), editado por Escrúpulos Editorial, recibió el Premio “Don’t Read” 2021.