#last week i: took care of a group of 60 people (in one bus) and managed feeding over 90. slept not much (which is not an achievement per se

[bluedestinybluebird]

[readyourimgaines]

Age Doesn’t Mean Much

Summary: Five times the BAU remembered Reid’s younger than them plus one time they were violently reminded he’s not a child. 

Spoiler/Trigger Warning: The entire ending of the second season’s 15th episode: Revelations. 

Dr. Spencer Reid was merely 21 when SSA Jason Gideon convinced him to join the BAU. With the exception of Aaron Hotchner (who had also read the young doctor’s file) the team wasn’t sure how to feel about the inexperienced man. 

Other than giving a pointer or two to a professor lecturing on a cold case, Reid had no experience working in the field. The others figured that was why the poor kid pushed himself so hard: to prove himself. 

Right after the first case, Elle stopped talking down to him. Half way through the same case, Morgan decided he’d taken the doctor under his wing. JJ was the first of Hotch’s subordinates to warm up to Reid. Their friendship was an awkward one for a couple of days. To an outsider, it looked as though a childhood friend was trying to help the other through a bout of amnesia. 

Though the team never again questioned Reid’s ability on the field, there were times when they were suddenly reminded of Reid’s age. 

1: Trying to Balance on a Curb While Walking

Hotch lost count of how many times Jack would walk on the curb, one foot in the front of the other, both arms outstretched for extra balance. Almost always, one of Jack’s hands would be firmly holding one of his father’s. SSA Hotchner almost laughed at himself when he nearly held Reid’s hand on instinct. 

Reid and Hotch were walking alone to get lunch for the unit while between cases back home. They’d been walking side-by-side while Reid babbled happily about the last book he finished. Hotch contently listened, his mind occasionally wondering. 

Hotch’s mind was pulled back to reality from one of its wonderings when his hand had brushed against Reid’s. The doctor’s hand quickly formed into a fist as he concentrated on his balance, his lips pressed tightly together. While Jack had his arms stretched straight out, Reid held his at more of a slant. 

One thing Hotch quickly noticed, and was surprised the scientifically minded doctor missed, was that Reid’s ever present satchel was throwing him off balance. 

“Reid.”

“Hm?”

“Let me hold onto your bag.” Hotch held his hand out to take the leather bag.

“Why?” Reid’s foot touched down on the road as he lost balance now that he was doing more with his brain than focussing on his footing. 

“It's a hypothesis.” Hotch smirked but Reid missed it, not taking his eyes off his sneakers. 

Carefully, as not to fall, Reid removed his satchel and held it out, blindly, for Hotch to take. The older agent held it by the shorted of the two handles as he continued to walk alongside Reid. 

Hotch chuckled to himself upon seeing the look on Reid’s face. The young doctor was looking at his feet, almost in awe. He hadn’t needed to touch down since Hotch took the bag half a block back. 

Once he walked two blocks on the curb- without losing balance- Reid was content and took his bag back, putting it back over his shoulder so the pouch of it bounced against the opposite hip.

“Did you know the position of an object’s center of gravity affects its stability? The higher the center of gravity is, the easier it is for the object to fall. That’s why a small boat- like a kayak or canoe- is less likely to tip if the occupants are seated lower in the boat. 

“Textbooks usually demonstrate this with either a bus and or two cars of different heights and lengths…” 

2: Mismatched Socks

One of the first things Emily Prentiss noticed about Reid were his mismatched socks. Of course, the other BAU members noticed it too, but they never questioned it. It’s just part of who Reid was. Curiosity got the better of SSA Prentiss. 

“Reid?” 

The doctor looked up from his case file. “Yeah?”

“Why do you never wear matched socks?” She looked down at Reid’s ankles and he followed her gaze. One lavender sock, one pink with blue stripes. 

“My uh- When I was a kid, my mom would tell me it was bad luck to wear matching socks.” Reid pulled the lavender sock back up to where it should be. 

“That doesn’t sound like something that could be scientifically verified.” A slight smirk spread across Emily’s face. 

Reid huffed slightly. “The night I was taken by Tobias… It was the first time I wore matching socks in five years. Burgundy with orange stripes.” Reid blinked heavily, clenching his eyes shut. “I don’t wear socks if they match.” He paused again. “Besides, matching socks are boring. Some people say socks should be a shade darker than their pants or a shade lighter than the shoes- Hotch does the former.

“Also, 82% of men in my age bracket wear mismatched socks at least once a week because we keep losing one of a pair. And a family of four- on average- loses 60 socks a year.” 

3: Playing With Jell-O

Reid loved Jell-O. No-one was really sure why, but didn’t ask, either. Everyone had their favorite dessert, so maybe Jell-O was just his? He liked cake, sure, but he didn’t eat it nearly as often as he ate Jell-O. 

On jet rides back home, no-one ever knew what conversations were bound to come up. This week’s was what the team was going to do with a three day weekend and morphed into best desserts. 

“What about you, Reid?” Prentiss drew Reid from his train of thought.

“Hm?”

“You like Jell-O, don’t you, Pretty Boy?” Morgan checked.

“Yeah.”

“Not even Henry likes Jell-O,” JJ smiled at the thought of her young son. 

“It doesn’t have much of a taste,” Rossi added. 

“I think that’s part of why I like it, actually.” Reid fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. 

“Because it tastes like watered down Kool-Aid?” Rossi frowned.

“Yeah. All the other foods are so strong and Jell-O’s not. It’s cool, but not cold, and it’s fun to play with.”

A ghost of a smile danced across Hotch’s face. “Jack likes playing with it. He gets sad when I don’t buy finger Jell-O on accident.” 

“That’s the only kind I buy.” Reid nodded. “The red is my least favorite- It takes like Red 40.” 

“What is your favorite kind, then?” Rossi couldn’t help but ask. 

“Pineapple. Minimal amounts of dyes and you can see through it.”

“No numbers about Jell-O?” Prentiss challenged with a grin.

JJ, Hotch, and Morgan all smiled while Rossi teasily groaned. The groan got a smile from Reid too. 

“Actually, in the US, the Jell-O brand is recognized- by name and product- by 99% of the populous.” Spencer chortled. “That means that if you got a group of 100 people together, only one person would have no idea what Jell-O is.”  

4: Doodles on Everything

Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t always carry his leather satchel with him. Hotch more or less ordered him to get a notebook he could keep in a pocket. The unit chief didn’t care if Reid drew on his arms. The unit chief cared when Reid jotted down notions or points for the running case.

Garcia loved Reid’s little doodles and had a decently sized collection. She referred to him as a “chronic doodler”. The analysis tech found it almost funny that someone as brilliant and talented as Reid had so little artistic skill outside of his geographic profiling maps. 

Reid knew full well that Garcia collected his doodles. After a particularly stressful case- which always resulted in more doodles, Reid would sign and dare the flip book page before tearing it out and leaving it in Garcia’s bunker. 

There were times when Reid would doodle on his arm rather than the flip book simple because it was more convenient. That didn’t mean Garcia didn’t see those ones. No, no, no. These ones, Reid would take pictures of and send to Garcia when a case was getting to her.

Morgan talked to Garcia more than anyone else on a case. Whether or not Penelope voiced her unease, Morgan- ever the profiler- could tell. He’d have Reid a certain look and the younger man would send Garcia texts of his doodles- evenly spaced- throughout the case. If he did the math and found he didn’t have enough, nothing stopped him from drawing a couple more. 

Hotch and Gideon thought of the times their sons would draw a picture or make them a card when they had a bad day at work. Morgan was reminded of the beaded bracelets his sisters used to make him when he was injured in football or his team lost a game. 

The one hitch with their theory? Garcia was the one person who got to keep the drawings. Not even Reid kept them. She knew this fact and gloated about it to the team whenever she got a new one. All of her computer screens in her bunker had a different doodle as the screen saver. 

5: Dependent on the Team

For the most part, the BAU stuck to themselves after hours if they weren’t going out for drinks. Reid was the one exception and the rest of the team found they didn’t mind. 

JJ was the first one he texted. The message was a simple worded question: How can you tell the difference between romantic feelings and transference? The gentle blonde took it upon herself to explain to the doctor that he’d know when he was in love because how being near the person or even just thinking about them made him feel. 

The media liaison assumed she’d never really see the person Reid texted her about that Sunday evening. She was a little less than shocked to see the light in the young doctor’s eyes shift when Morgan wandered into the bullpen Monday morning.  

A month passed before JJ got a message along the lines of the one she was expecting: Reid asking for advice on how to ask someone out. How to better the wording, how to keep from straying off the point. 

The next day, he texted Elle about flowers: I have a date next weekend. Are flowers too forward?

Elle smiled down at her phone, at Reid’s innocence. She told him that flowers were a nice and caring gesture, but that he’d want to be careful with what flowers he got because different flowers sent different messages. 

This was the first of this Reid was hearing. He thanked Elle and thought more. Hotch was married. He must know a decent amount about flowers and such romantic ideas, right? So he texted Hotch: Do you know anything about flower symbolism? Elle says flowers have different messages to them.

Hotch chuckled, getting Haley’s attention.

“What’s so funny?”

“Do you remember Dr. Spencer Reid?” Hotch looked at the blonde. 

“He’s the shy, Autistic boy, right?” Haley glanced up from feeding Jack.

“Yeah. He’s nervous about an upcoming date and texted to see if I know anything about flowers.” Hotch’s thumb was dancing across the flip-phone’s buttons.

“What are you telling him?”

“That roses have the highest chance of getting him in his date’s bed. Pink camellias and carnations are signs of love and longing; ivy means friendship.” Hotch typed this by naming the flowers, placing an equal sign, and the meaning. 

“Do you know who his date is?”

“Not as far as Reid and his date are concerned.”

So yes, he did.

Friday morning- the morning before his date- Reid sat by himself on the jet ride home, trying to read a book he brought. He couldn’t focus on it for the life of him. He’d been staring at the same page for then minutes. He jumped a little when Gideon sat down across from him.

“What has you so nervous?”

“Noth-” Reid stopped short. That wasn’t the right word; the date meant everything to him. “I uh… I have a date tomorrow evening and I’m worried, I guess. I’ve never actually been on a date, but I really like this person.”

“Okay. So what about it has you worked up?” Gideon’s eyes were gentle and fatherly.

Reid thought about how to answer the question. “We’ve been friends for a while and I don’t- I don’t want to mess up so badly that he doesn’t want to be friends-” Reid froze, his eyes wide. “G-Gideon, I-”

“There’s nothing wrong.” The older man squeezed the younger’s shoulder. “If your friend know you as well as you know him, I think it’s safe to say he’s not too worried about the friendship failing. Sometimes, Reid, you have to take a leap of faith.”

+One: “I choose...Aaron Hotchner.”

“Choose, and prove you’ll do God’s will.”

“No.”

Click. “Choose.”

“I won’t do it.”

Click. “Choose.”

“I...I choose...Aaron Hotchner. He’s a classic narcissist. He thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4, “Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.” 

Bang. Raphael took a bullet from Tobais’ pocket and held it up, showing it to Reid. “For God’s will.”

Morgan’s heart shattered at seeing his boyfriend crouched over the body of his captor and tormentor. The side of Reid’s head was coated in dry blood, he was avoiding putting weight on his sock-less foot.

Reid limped his way over to Hotch and hesitantly put a hand on his superior’s arm as though he wasn’t sure the man was there. The young man quickly and tightly hugged Hotch.

“I knew you’d understand.”

JJ was the next to hug Reid, the doctor losing his balance slightly and the liaison easily caught him. 

“I am so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

The second JJ let go of Reid, Morgan stepped forward and pulled Reid into as tight of a hug as he dared. He needed to feel his boyfriend in his arms but he’d seen the same video as everyone else and didn’t want to hurt him more. 

Prentiss was shocked and looked at JJ with wide eyes when Morgan kissed Reid and the doctor eagerly reciprocated. The blonde just smiled.

*****

@stxrryspencer​ @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese​ @the-need-for-reid-speed​ 

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area

Warning: Not explicit (yet); some mild language. This has been quite cathartic in a way.

Summary: 29-year-old nurse Sarah Bernette has worked hard to get where she is. Moving to Boston from a nowhere dump of a town, she’s studied hard and is grateful her stress is finally paying off. Despite being fostered repeatedly throughout her childhood, she’s since found some comfort in the form of her adopted parents, Jocelyn and Noah, and a pseudo-adoptive family of sorts in form of the Evans clan who have treated her as one of her own ever since she moved in with best friend, Shanna. Valuing them above all else, she appreciates their support even more when her long lost birth mother decides to reappear in her life after so many years, and is surprised to find out just how supportive Chris is in particular. As she struggles to maintain a firm grip on both her professional and private lives, she finds an ill-advised solace in her growing mutual attraction with him but how long before everything unravels and threatens to pull the rug out from underneath her?

Note: I have two chapters written and will post ‘Chapter Two’ at some point this weekend to get things moving. I apologise for my spelling/grammar errors. Let me know if there is something wildly incorrect here and I’ll change it. Still figuring out a few things and I expect this will be a slow burn but it’s exciting to finally get off my arse and…sit down and write. 

CHAPTER ONE

Today was probably a 4 out of 10.

4.5 if she was feeling generous.

Sarah thought about the decisions she had made in the past decade that lead her right to this moment, this moment being cleaning neon-coloured vomit off her scrubs for the second time in the past hour.

“You would think people would have learned downing shots of Absinthe was not a great idea by the time they’d left their teens,” snickered Audrey before shooting her a sympathetic look and handing over another wipe. “I can’t believe how green it was. It looks like you got punked by the Marshmallow Man!”

“Thanks for that.” Sarah was scrubbing as hard as she could while internally questioning her decision to pursue Nursing all those years ago. Her History teacher once told her she could have “a decent stab” at becoming a Middle School teacher if she applied herself right. Right now, she could be knee-deep in teaching half-interested kids about the 27 Amendments without an ounce of sick in sight. Instead, she was baffled. “Fuck. It’s practically luminous…”

This must have been payback for pushing herself as a teenager. Being fostered in and out of care homes during your formative years could turn you one way or the other, and Sarah chose “the other”. She was sure the universe was telling her she should have stayed put and been happy with her lot in life, in her too-small town with no feasible job prospects, where everyone knew you and held that against you, instead of moving halfway across the country with next to no money to study at a University she couldn’t afford and would most likely be in debt to for the next twenty years. Now, however, she got to convince local drunks that climbing on to roofs was, in fact, not a great idea despite the bet they had made with their “friends”. On a good day, she got to help children pick out the colours for their plaster casts. 

Or take today. Today, she got to lecture a group of young people about the trials and tribulations of playing “run the bus” with 60% proof. Every day was just a little bit different so as to keep things interesting. That, she reminded herself, was something she had to remain glad about.

She sighed and threw the last wipe in the bin. Taking a last look in the mirror, she turned to her friend for reassurance that she looked at least passable. She caught her frown before Audrey realised Sarah could see her and quickly gave her a thumbs up. She did love her Audrey which is why she decided to repay her kindness by forcing a hug on her as a thank you.

“Silver lining, though,” Audrey said, shoving her away, laughing in protest. “You’re lucky you didn’t get any in your hair.”

“Yeh bastards had a good aim at least.” Sarah dusted down her arms one last time to check for anything she might have missed and the two of them left the locker room. The place was now eerily quiet, thank god. Just run out the clock and they’d be home and dry in no time, figuratively speaking in Sarah’s case.

Audrey placed a comforting arm around her pal. “You want me to find some spare scrubs? I’m sure they’ll have some upstairs. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Nah it’s OK. I’ll be done in 20. Just gotta sign Mr. Richardson out from cubicle 5 then I’ll run home and shower.”

“OK, well, if you have to hang around, avoid triage because you-know-who is there and I don’t want you ruining your chances again.” Audrey pinched Sarah on her hip and headed back to her work.

You-know-who was Greg Anderson, an attractive 30-something medic from a hospital on the other side of town. He was up-and-coming in Paediatrics apparently and had been shadowing a Consultant for the past few weeks. He was 6ft plus with dark hair and brown eyes and his father was something big in Economics in MIT. He drove a Porsche and wore Louboutin’s on his rounds which had Audrey practically foaming at the mouth. Indeed, he hadn’t bypassed the attentions of the majority of females in the ER, as well as a few men and even a couple of patients but as always, Sarah was solely focussed on the job at hand to pay him any heed. Audrey thought she caught him staring at her the other week, though, and made it her mission to set them up. She took great pride in playing matchmaker for her friend given that she herself got locked down nine years earlier and “it’s a damn shame to let these skills go to waste.’ She had somehow also managed to get Shan and Lisa onside, too, however that had happened.

Greg was handsome, she’d agree with that, and definitely her type in the right light but something was a little too Republican for her liking. Plus, he was a Rangers’ fan and Sarah swore blind early on in her life that she couldn’t bring children up in that kind of hostile environment. Sarah briefly contemplated walking past triage with the lingering scent now clinging to her clothes but as Audrey kindly repeated to her at regular intervals during the days, Greg was her only realistic prospect right now and figured it was perhaps better to keep her options open, at least for the time being.

Mr. Richardson was gone pretty soon afterwards and, accepting defeat for another day, Sarah grabbed her bag and headed home.

*

There was definitely beer left in the fridge, she was sure of it. She’d bought a six-pack at the weekend and could only remember drinking two during the Bruins’ game, so…

“Oh yeh, you’re out of beer.” 

Sarah turned around from the fridge to face a sheepish looking Chris holding the last frosted bottle in his hand, his ball cap low over his face attempting to hide the faint black circles under both his eyes. There was a 5 o’clock shadow forming now he wasn’t required to shave. As drained as she was, she briefly contemplated wrestling him to the ground for that last swig. He looked just as tired. She figured she could take him. At least he had the decency to look guilty about it.

“I’ll run out and get you some if you…Jesus! Why do you smell like a brewery?!” He practically recoiled holding his free hand to his nose.

Sarah rolled her eyes and grabbed a glass for some cold water instead. “Are you here to just annoy me or steal my beer as well?”

“Both now you ask but seriously, what have you been doing all day? You don’t usually smell this bad.” He joked.

“Oh, some kids took it in turns to throw up on me and I didn’t have any clean scrubs to change into.” She downed the water and went to fill the glass up again. God, she didn’t realise she was this dehydrated. Chris shot her a look of confusion. “It’s a long story. Is Shan around?” She shed herself of her scrub top and headed into her bedroom down the hallway, Chris casually following behind.

She had to pop out for something so I’m just handing here ‘til she gets back. You coming for dinner at Ma’s? She’s doing her famous lamb roast. Might wanna shower first, though.” He joked, playfully sticking his tongue out at her.

“God, I forgot how hilarious you are.” she overtly rolled her eyes at him. “No, I’m good. Just gonna head for an early night, I think.”

“OK, well, if you change your mind, we’re leaving in half an hour. You know she’ll make me drive back to get you otherwise.”

That was true. For as long as she’d known and lived with Shanna, Lisa had treated her like any other member of her family and Sarah had never fully grasped how much she had appreciated it, coming from where she did. Lisa knew Sarah’s folks weren’t as close by any more and compensated for this by inviting to every dinner night she held, every games night, school events, theatre events, and more besides. She spent Christmases with them, visited Disney with them, and had New Years with them on occasions she wasn’t working. Lisa even organised a surprise birthday get-together for her as well despite Shan’s protests that she wasn’t a birthday kind of person. Sarah had learned to stop feeling awkward or out of place soon after.

Once Shan told Lisa Sarah had wanted to start learning to play piano as a new year’s resolution, Lisa had insisted she could teach her whenever she had some spare time. There soon after followed afternoons of tea and gossip and not much playing of the piano but it felt comfortable and nice for the first time in a long time. Shan would make excuses so Sarah didn’t feel obligated to attend everything but in truth, she didn’t mind so much. It was nice to feel wanted.

Chris was lounging on her armchair with one leg over the armrest, messing on his phone. Sarah could count the number of times on one hand the nights he had spent in his own place since returning to Boston a fortnight ago. As true as it was that he rarely spoke about filming in any great detail, she could nevertheless tell he’d been left particularly drained by this particular experience and wasn’t looking forward to the reshoots scheduled for next month. There had been a rumour he’d started sleeping with his married co-star and she guessed Lisa had been mithering him about it hence him turning up on their doorstep last week. Other than one night back in his own bed, he had remained on their sofa ever since, clearly relishing in the familiar company.

“So what made those kids throw up?” Chris called out, still engrossed in his phone. A quick glance over his shoulder told her he’d been ignoring someone’s text messages.

By now Sarah was in her old yet comfy sweatpants and a Boston hoodie Shan had bought her as an anniversary present of her 5th year living there. “Um, Absinthe. The nasty kind.” She was gathering her washing together.

Chris whistled low through his teeth, a kind of “been there, done that”.

“Rookie mistake.“ he laughed to himself. He frowned at his phone before chucking it onto her bed and turned around in her chair to plant both feet on the carpet, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. He looked like he wanted to get something off his chest but was struggling to find the words. He was reluctant to drag Sarah into anything given how exhausted she looked. Despite their differences in careers, sometimes it felt like she was the only person he knew who could understand how long and tiresome the days could get. Then he would inevitably feel embarrassed he was out there only pretending to save lives when she was out there day after day actually living it for real in all of its bloody glory. And for a tiny fraction of his pay. He tried not to water than thought too much.

“I take it you know,” he asked quietly, still not looking up from her bedroom floor.

“Know what?”

“About Jenny?”

“Oh,” she paused for a brief second. He’d know straight away she was lying if she tried to play dumb. “I mean your mom might have mentioned something in passing,” she shrugged unconvincingly. He scoffed knowing she would have talk about nothing else since the rumours started gathering pace online. He knew he hadn’t done himself any favours by avoiding the conversation either but he simply couldn’t stand another lecture of disapproving look. Dinner tonight was to be his mea culpa.

Sarah was thankful when she heard the front door go and then the sound of Shan dropping her bags in the kitchen and heading towards Sarah’s room.

“I signed for this for you this morning while you were out.” she handed Sarah a brown envelope before turning to Chris with a hand on her hip, looking like she was scolding her 7-year old nephew. “Mom’s been trying to get hold of you all day. She wasn’t sure if she needed to lay an extra seat for you this evening. Sarah, she wanted me to make sure I couldn’t persuade you to come as well?” Sarah shook her head and held up her stained clothes and enjoyed Shan’s visible flinch.

“I’m not even going to ask.” She held her hands up and walked out. Chris rolled his eyes in mock imitation of Shan and Sarah smiled sympathetically, mouthing a “good luck” to him as he left trailing behind her.

Sarah was left looking down at the envelope in her hands. It looked very official; the kind you would receive if you’d been summoned to a court hearing or Jury Duty. She didn’t recognise the address or the stamp but recognised her home town almost straight away. It had been years since she’d been there. Why the hell were they dragging her back now?

*

[hikingmysteries]

The (”Mostly Harmless”) Nameless Hiker

Arguably the biggest hiking story of 2020, the tale actually starts a few years ago. Though we love researching and writing our own pieces for Hiking Mysteries, it is tough to top Nicholas Thompson’s article from Wired magazine. So, here it is, along with images.

A Nameless Hiker and the Case the Internet Can’t Crack

The man on the trail went by “Mostly Harmless." He was friendly and said he worked in tech. After he died in his tent, no one could figure out who he was.

IN APRIL 2017, a man started hiking in a state park just north of New York City. He wanted to get away, maybe from something and maybe from everything. He didn’t bring a phone; he didn’t bring a credit card. He didn’t even really bring a name. Or at least he didn’t tell anyone he met what it was.

He did bring a giant backpack, which his fellow hikers considered far too heavy for his journey. And he brought a notebook, in which he would scribble notes about Screeps, an online programming game. The Appalachian Trail runs through the area, and he started walking south, moving slowly but steadily down through Pennsylvania and Maryland. He told people he met along the way that he had worked in the tech industry and he wanted to detox from digital life. Hikers sometimes acquire trail names, pseudonyms they use while deep in the woods. He was “Denim” at first, because he had started his trek in jeans. Later, it became “Mostly Harmless,” which is how he described himself one night at a campfire. Maybe, too, it was a reference to Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Early in the series, a character discovers that Earth is defined by a single word in the guide: harmless. Another character puts in 15 years of research and then adds the adverb. Earth is now “mostly harmless.”

By summer, the hiker was in Virginia, where he walked about a hundred miles with a 66-year-old woman who went by the trail name Obsidian. She taught him how to make a fire, and he told her he was eager to see a bear. On December 1, Mostly Harmless had made it to northern Georgia, where he stopped in a store called Mountain Crossings. A veteran hiker named Matt Mason was working that day, and the two men started talking. Mostly Harmless said that he wanted to figure out a path down to the Florida Keys. Mason told him about a route and a map he could download to his phone. “I don’t have a phone,” Mostly Harmless replied. Describing the moment, Mason remembers thinking, “Oh, this guy’s awesome.” Everyone who goes into the woods is trying to get away from something. But few people have the commitment to cut their digital lifelines as they put on their boots.

Mason printed the 60 pages of the map and sold it to Mostly Harmless for $5 cash, which the hiker pulled from a wad of bills that Mason remembers being an inch thick. Mason loves hikers who are a little bit different, a little bit strange. He asked Mostly Harmless if he could take a picture. Mostly Harmless hesitated but then agreed. He then left the shop and went on his way. Two weeks later, Mason heard from a friend in Alabama who had seen Mostly Harmless hiking through a snowstorm. “He was out there with a smile on his face, walking south,” Mason recalls.

By the last week of January, he was in northern Florida, walking on the side of Highway 90, when a woman named Kelly Fairbanks pulled over to say hello. Fairbanks is what is known as a “trail angel,” someone who helps out through-hikers who pass near her, giving them food and access to a shower if they want. She was out looking for a different hiker when she saw Mostly Harmless. She pulled over, and they started to chat. He said that he had started in New York and was heading down to Key West. She asked if he was using the Florida Trail App, and he responded that he didn’t have a phone.

Fairbanks took notice of his gear—which was a mix of high-end and generic, including his black-and-copper trekking poles. And she was struck by his rugged, lonely look. “He had very kind eyes. I saw the huge beard first and thought, ‘It’s an older guy.’ But his eyes were so young, and he didn’t have crow's feet. I realized he was a lot younger.” She was concerned though, the way she used to be concerned about her two younger brothers. The trail could be confusing, and it wouldn’t be long before everything started getting intolerably hot and muggy. “I remembered him because I was worried,” she added.

Six months later and 600 miles south, on July 23, 2018, two hikers headed out into the Big Cypress National Preserve. The humidity was oppressive, but they trudged forward, crossing swamps, tending aching feet, and dodging the alligators and snakes. About 10 miles into their journey, they stopped to rest their feet at a place called Nobles Camp. There they saw a yellow tent and a pair of boots outside. Something smelled bad, and something seemed off. They called out, then peered through the tent’s windscreen. An emaciated, lifeless body was looking up at them. They called 911.

“Uh, we just found a dead body.”

IT’S USUALLY EASY to put a name to a corpse. There’s an ID or a credit card. There’s been a missing persons report in the area. There’s a DNA match. But the investigators in Collier County couldn’t find a thing. Mostly Harmless’ fingerprints didn’t show up in any law enforcement database. He hadn’t served in the military, and his fingerprints didn’t match those of anyone else on file. His DNA didn’t match any in the Department of Justice’s missing person database or in CODIS, the national DNA database run by the FBI. A picture of his face didn’t turn up anything in a facial recognition database. The body had no distinguishing tattoos.

Nor could investigators understand how or why he died. There were no indications of foul play, and he had more than $3,500 cash in the tent. He had food nearby, but he was hollowed out, weighing just 83 pounds on a 5'8" frame. Investigators put his age in the vague range between 35 and 50, and they couldn’t point to any abnormalities. The only substances he tested positive for were ibuprofen and an antihistamine. His cause of death, according to the autopsy report, was “undetermined.” He had, in some sense, just wasted away. But why hadn’t he tried to find help? Almost immediately, people compared Mostly Harmless to Chris McCandless, whose story was the subject of Into the Wild. McCandless, though, had been stranded in the Alaska bush, trapped by a raging river as he ran out of food. He died on a school bus, starving, desperate for help, 22 miles of wilderness separating him from a road. Mostly Harmless was just 5 miles from a major highway. He left no note, and there was no evidence that he had spent his last days calling out for help.

The investigators were stumped. To find out what had happened, they needed to learn who he was. So the Florida Department of Law Enforcement drew up an image of Mostly Harmless, and the Collier County investigators shared it with the public. In the sketch, his mouth is open wide, and his eyes too. He has a gray and black beard, with a bare patch of skin right below the mouth. His teeth, as noted in the autopsy, are perfect, suggesting he had good dental care as a child. He looks startled but also oddly pleased, as if he’s just seen a clown jump out from behind a curtain. The image started to circulate online along with other pictures from his campsite, including his tent and his hiking poles.

Kelly Fairbanks works at the Army and Air Force exchange store on a Florida military base. She normally monitors the CCTV cameras for shoplifters, but if there’s no one in the store she might sneak a look at Facebook. It was a quiet moment, and suddenly the picture popped into her feed. There he was: eyes wide open and looking up. She recognized the eyes and the beard. “I started freaking out,” she says. It was the kind man she’d seen on Highway 90. The sheriff’s office had also posted a photo of the hiker’s poles, and Fairbanks knew she had an image of the same man holding the same gear.

She clicked right over to the Collier County Sheriff’s Facebook page and sent in two photographs she had taken of Mostly Harmless. She got a message back immediately asking for her phone number. Soon a detective was on the line asking, “What can you tell me?”

She told him everything she knew. And she shared the original post, and her photo, all over Facebook. Soon there were dozens of people jumping in. They had seen the hiker too. They had journeyed with him for a few hours or a few days. They had sat at a campfire with him. There was a GoPro video in which he appeared. People remembered him talking about a sister in either Sarasota or Saratoga. They thought he had said he was from near Baton Rouge. One person remembered that he ate a lot of sticky buns; another said that he loved ketchup. But no one knew his name. When the body of Chris McCandless was found in the wilds of Alaska in the summer of 1992 without any identification, it took authorities only two weeks to figure out his identity. A friend in South Dakota, who’d known McCandless as “Alex,” heard a discussion of the story on AM radio and called the authorities. Clues followed quickly, and McCandless’ family was soon found.

Now it’s 2020, and we have the internet. Facebook knows you’re pregnant almost before you do. Amazon knows your light bulb is going to go out right before it does. Put details on Twitter about a stolen laptop and people will track down the thief in a Manhattan bar. The internet can decode family mysteries, identify long-forgotten songs, solve murders, and, as this magazine showed a decade ago, track down almost anyone who tries to shed their digital skin. This case seemed easy.

An avid Facebook group committed to figuring out his identity soon formed. Reddit threads popped up to analyze the notes he had taken for Screeps. Amateur detectives tracked down leads and tried to match photographs in missing persons databases. A massive timeline was constructed on Websleuths.com. Was it possible, one Dr. Oz viewer asked, that Mostly Harmless was a boy featured on the show who went missing in 1982? Was it possible that Mostly Harmless was a suspect in Arkansas who had murdered his girlfriend in 2017? None of the photos matched.

The story pulled people in. Everyone, at some point, has wanted to put their phone in a garbage can and head off with a fake name and a wad of cash. Here was someone who had done it and who seemed to have so much going for him: He was kind, charming, educated. He knew how to code. And yet he had died alone in a yellow tent. Maybe he had been chased by demons and had sought an ending like this. Or maybe he had just been outmatched by the wilderness and the Florida heat.

It just wasn’t a normal story in any way. And, as Fairbanks said, “he was a good-looking dude,” which, she notes, might explain why so many of the searchers are women. In mid-October, one woman in the Facebook group posted a slideshow comparing his photos to those of Brad Pitt. “Actually I think MH looks better. 😉,” one commenter wrote.

The dude, though, seemed to have followed, to near perfection, the hiker credo of “Leave no trace.” None of the clues panned out. Nothing actually got people close to solving the mystery. An industrious writer named Jason Nark spent more than a year obsessively tracking down leads and then wrote an elegy to the hiker that began, “Sometimes I imagine him falling through space, drifting like dust from dead stars in the vast nowhere above us.”

Natasha Teasley manages a canoe and kayak company in North Carolina. As business slowed when the coronavirus hit, she started to spend more time online, and she started to fill the gap in her life with the hunt for Mostly Harmless. She sent flyers to the Chambers of Commerce in every city where people thought he might have come from, including Sarasota, Florida, and Saratoga Springs, New York. She tracked down details about every car that was towed out of Harriman State Park, where he likely started his journey. She scoured missing persons databases. I asked her what motivated her to spend so much time looking for a man she’d never met. She responded achingly, “He’s got to be missed. Someone must miss this guy.”

WHEN WE THINK of DNA tests, we normally think of their miraculous ability to give us a yes or a no. The unique thread of base pairs that make us who we are exists in every cell. So we take the genetic information found at a crime scene, or in the saliva on a coffee cup, or on the hand of a deceased hiker. Then we look closely at roughly 20 chunks, or what geneticists call markers, and we search in a database of collected samples to see whether the markers match. Imagine if a book, 1 million pages long but without a cover, washed up on the shore. And then imagine you could scan one page and search all the books in a giant database to see if that exact page appeared. That’s conventional DNA testing.

But DNA also can tell the story of human history. By running a different kind of test, you get beyond yes or no and into a million variations of maybe. The genetic markers in your body are closer to those of your first cousin than your third. And they’re closer to those of your third cousin than your sixth. There’s a little bit of each generation in each of us, from our parents to our great grandparents to the early apes of the forests of Africa. So now imagine that book, and imagine that instead of comparing one page, you could compare everything in the book with everything in all other books, to find similar words, syntax, and themes. You would need complicated math and pattern tracing, but, eventually, you might figure out the author. And so, early in the summer of 2020, the organizers of the Facebook group searching for Mostly Harmless’ identity sent news about the case to a Houston company called Othram. It had been started two years earlier and pitches itself as a one-stop shop for solving cold cases.

Othram’s founder, David Mittelman, is a geneticist who had worked on the original human genome project, and he was drawn to this odd case. The company asks the public for suggestions for mysteries to solve, and that’s one of the best parts of the job. “I like doing the cases from the tip line,” Mittelman told me. “Lab work for the sake of lab work is kind of boring.” If he could crack the hiker’s identity, he’d get attention for his technology. But there was something else, too, drawing him in, a riddle he wanted to answer. The hiker seemed to have found an internet family but had no connection to his real one.

Othram called up the Collier County Sheriff’s Office and offered to help. DNA analysis is expensive, though, and the company estimated that the whole project—from evidence to answers—would cost $5,000. The sheriff's office couldn't spend that much money on a case that involved no crime. But it would love Othram’s help if there were another way to pay for the work. And so three of the great trends of modern technology—crowdfunding, amateur sleuthing, and cutting-edge genomics—combined. Within eight days, the Facebook group had raised the money to run the analysis. Soon a small piece of bone from the hiker was on its way west from Collier County to the Othram labs.

The first step for Othram’s team was to extract DNA from the bone fragment and to then analyze it to make sure they had enough to proceed. They did, and so they soon put small samples of DNA onto glass slides, which they inserted into a sequencer, a machine that costs roughly a million dollars and looks like a giant washing machine made by Apple.

Unfortunately, it’s a washing machine that has a long run cycle. And it doesn’t always work. Sometimes the pages of the book you find are ripped or blurry. Sometimes the process is iterative and you have to tape fragments back together. So, as the sequencer spun, the Facebook hunters fretted that, once again, nothing would come of a promising lead. But by mid-August, Othram had a clean read on the DNA: They knew exactly what combination of As, Cs, Gs, and Ts had combined to create the mysterious hiker. A company spokesperson appeared live on the Facebook group’s page to detail the progress; posters responded with gratitude and euphoria.

Science sometimes gets harder with every step, though, and having the sequence was just the beginning. In order to identify Mostly Harmless, the team at Othram would have to compare his genetic information with other people’s. And they would start with a service called GEDMatch, a database of DNA samples that people have submitted, voluntarily, to answer their own hopes and questions—they want to find a lost half-sister or a clue about their grandpa. That collection of DNA has become a cornucopia for law enforcement. Each new sample submitted provides one more book for the library that can be searched and scoured. It was through this technique that investigators in Contra Costa County, California, found the Golden State Killer in the spring of 2018, connecting a DNA sample of the killer to GEDMatch samples of relatives. Just this past week, Othram helped law enforcement identify the murderer of a 5-year-old in Missoula, Montana, a case that had gone unsolved for 46 years.

It’s been over a month since Othram started looking through the GEDmatch database. It won’t say anything about what it has found, and the Collier County Sheriff’s Office is keeping quiet as well. But one source outside of the company who is familiar with its progress says that, while Othram doesn’t know Mostly Harmless’ name, it has found enough matching patterns to identify the region of the country from which his ancestors hail.

That isn’t sufficient though. Knowing for sure, for example, that his relatives came from Baton Rouge doesn’t mean Mostly Harmless came from Baton Rouge. His parents could have been born there and moved to Montreal. He could have been born in Louisiana and dropped on a doorstep in Maine. But, right now, the data scientists at Othram are combing through all the DNA samples in GEDMatch, looking for patterns and trying to circle closer to his identity. They’re most likely building out a family tree. Let’s say they found someone in GEDMatch whose DNA seems like a fourth cousin of Mostly Harmless, and then perhaps someone who seems like a third cousin. How do those two people connect? Through this sort of slow, painstaking analysis, they can get closer to an answer. Soon they might find his extended family, and then perhaps his parents’ names. And then law enforcement will be able to solve a case that has stumped them for more than two years.

They might get there, and they might not. A source familiar with the work suggests that the earliest we’ll get an answer is December. Unless between now and then, perhaps, someone reading this article or browsing a Facebook group recognizes his face. Or puts together clues that have eluded everyone else. Finally, he won’t be “Mostly Harmless”; he’ll have a real name.

And then, with that mystery solved, a new one will open up. Why did Mostly Harmless walk into the woods? And why, when things started to go wrong, didn’t he walk out?

[horsenews12]

Invoice To Prevent Mistreatment Of Tennessee Strolling Horses Passes

A good house to me means homeowners who correctly care for the horse whereas it’s theirs; then if or when they need to promote it, they take the time to search out it one other good residence. 

My Three Kids died Sunday, according to the racing board. She had one win in 14 career starts and earnings of $14,908. She finished second in her final race on Feb. 6 at Golden Gate. NIANTIC -- It is a horrible story of animal abuse, however now, there is hope for a gaggle of uncared for horses.

A North Dakota man accused of feeding moldy hay and denying water to numerous horses that wound up dead or sick has been charged with felony animal cruelty.

 Mercer County deputies found 15 lifeless horses and 11 lifeless foals and fetuses over the weekend on the property of Shanan Weigum, of Zap, They additionally discovered a donkey and 39 horses in poor condition, as well as four dead lambs. 

The Bismarck Tribune stories that two of the sick horses needed to be euthanized and two were transported for therapy of infections. Zap is positioned about 60 miles (ninety six.5 kilometers) northwest of Bismarck. 

CARLTON, Ore. — The proprietor of a horse farm southwest of Portland is dealing with a felony charge for animal neglect, after investigators discovered almost 50 horses there weren't being given sufficient food or water. 

CARLTON — The owner of a horse farm southwest of Portland is facing a felony cost for animal neglect, after investigators discovered nearly 50 horses there were not being given sufficient food or water.

This can also be true if you have calves in your possession too. Their stables must be cleaned twice day by day and should be strengthened enough to have the ability to cease the elements from posing a risk to your horses. Remember that a proper environment applies to both the indoors and outside.

In 2020, Stetson began 149 horses at Fon and completed fifth within the standings with 22 wins and a 15 p.c win rate. He then went west to claim leading coach honors at Arapahoe Park last summer with 22 wins from a hundred and fifty starts – he's consistent. 

Stetson trains to race; watch for his runners at the entry field and winners circle. Vaughan feels that almost all of her rescue horses originally got here from houses with a properly-meaning person who lacked the experience wanted to take on a horse, particularly one that turned out to have behavioral issues.

 Instead of taking the time, assets and energy needed to work by way of those problems, people gave up and returned the horse. I APPLAUD PROFESSIONAL trainers who often absorb abandoned, neglected and/or rescued horses to properly train and put together for a hopefully long-term and good house.

The group has repeatedly demonstrated the facility of partnering with horses—in non-driving interactions—to successfully obtain private progress and therapeutic.

 Horses stay in herds, which implies they can get anxious if they’re the one ones round. Older horses are particularly prone to this, and so they usually require a bit extra care than the youthful ones.

When she went to feed her horses the subsequent morning, she knew one thing was incorrect. They say SCRAPS simply showed up and took their animals. SCRAPS says they were investigating expenses of Animal Cruelty, Transporting or Confining Animals in an Unsafe Manner and operating an illegal commercial kennel. 

Hollingsworth’s lawyer Steve Greenberg objected to that request, saying he’d seen no evidence that his consumer presents any hazard to his animals. While he acknowledged Hollingsworth could have had a lapse in judgment in using NuNu onto the busy expressway, Greenberg said his client did not intend to seriously injure the horse. 

Weeks after he pleaded not responsible to a felony animal abuse charge, the person often known as the “Dreadhead Cowboy” has been ordered to have no contact with any of the horses he owns while his criminal case performs out.

The horse gained that race and another contest in February of final year in Florida after receiving adulterated and misbranded PEDs earlier than each races, according to the indictment. 

Cable news show Spectrum News 1 aired a characteristic on Cal Poly Pomona’s Horses for Heroes program on multiple newscasts on Feb. 12. Through this system, 10 scholar veterans had been matched with horses at the W.K. 

Kellogg Arabian Horse Center for the mutual advantage of the horses and the veterans. One recent morning, he drove down a dusty non-public drive lined with orange groves.

A few weeks earlier, a resident had called him on his cell phone to report a suspicious van there. The people inside appeared to be taking footage of horses. 

So far, that is the only case that the Animal Hospital has seen this year. If you could have any questions about this case or the plant itself, contact your native veterinarian. It is also crucial to contact your veterinarian should you suspect that your animal has consumed the plant. 

It is not only toxic to horses, but in addition to cows, sheep and goats. Project Horse is one of the solely equine therapy centers within the United States targeted exclusively on mental well being and wellness.

Posted on-line this month, the coverage replaces one that limited consumers to purchasing 4 wild horses every six months until granted particular permission. Senate and House leaders will now meet to type out the differences between the bills in what is known as a Conference Committee. 

We want the Senate to hold the line on each wild horses protections and horse slaughter. Senate handed a win to wild and home horses on Wednesday by approving a Fiscal Year 2019 “mini-bus” appropriations package deal that included protecting language for wild horses and burros as well as an anti-slaughter provision.

 Orlando and Willerslev's paper hints at the other kinds of discovery that these applied sciences can allow. X Y Jet received the celebrated Dubai Golden Shaheen at Meydan Racecourse in Dubai in March 2019, which paid $1.5 million to the winner, highlighting a career of 12 victories and more than $3 million in earnings  about horses .

Furthermore, you’ll wish to make sure to supply your horse with adequate blanketing and shelter. No matter in case your shelter is a run-in shed or a stable, having a spot for the horse to go is essential for proper care, as horses will need to get out of the wind and rain.

 Make certain you are always on the lookout for indicators of sicknesses similar to runny eyes and noses, coughing, or wheezing to maintain on high of your horse’s well-being. Visual checkups must be carried out every day, so you don’t miss something that’s preventable by mistake.

 The Southwest, the final of three stakes set for today, was originally scheduled for Feb. 15, along with the Grade III, $600,000 Razorback Handicap for horses 4 years old and up. Both had been twice postponed because of ice and record snowfall. Each joins the $200,000 Spring Fever Stakes for fillies and mares 4 years old and up as right now's feature races.

[freerabbitmanandpig]

My Friend With Parkinson’s

On Oct 1st of this year I was given compassionate release from Allenwood USP for (what was diagnosed as) an unspecified connective tissue disorder. I had served roughly 60 months of a 70 month sentence. To secure this extraordinary release my lawyer had sited the new emergency COVID increased risk criteria, pointing to my status of being prescribed immunosuppressants, as well as suffering from lifelong asthma. Being as that I’d been housed in a care-level 3 medical facility, most of my time had been spent around inmates with chronic conditions, many of them without a chance of making it home within the course of their natural lives. Conscious of the fact that many of these men lacked the financial resources available to my family, especially as the pandemic has left many people in the street without regular employment, I made promises to some of these men to attempt to get their stories out into the world.

Christian Tarantino (Reg. # 14684-050) is a middle-aged man that I met while in Allenwood. A gambler with a good sense of humor, who was generous with his friends and, while in the street, lethal to those who stood in his way. According to the FBI, back in the early 90s Chris was part of a crew that committed a number of armed robberies. In 2011 he was sentenced to three consecutive life-terms for the murder of a guard during an armored car robbery back in 1994, as well as the murder of one of the participants whom he feared would flip on him.

Criminals, conscious of their own status, tend to withhold judgement, and I’d be lying if the description of Chris as a “cold killer”, spoken to me with admiration by more than a few inmates, did not inspire this same admiration in me upon hearing the stories of his exploits. To be clear, I never personally heard Chris tell any stories about his case, or murder in general; the stories he did tell me were often funny ones about the club scene in NY, or his dog. The problem was that, when Chris spoke, I often had to strain to hear him. Still, the Parkinson’s had made him patient over the years, and he did not get frustrated when a person had to ask him to repeat himself, sometimes multiple times. No matter how long it took for him to finish the story, it was worth it to hear it all the way through – as I said, he was funny.

Chris and I had started talking more about his disease a month before my release, after having heard that the Marshall Project had published a short story of mine the year before. The problem, he’d told me one morning, was that a 15-minute analysis with the MD did not take in to account the fact that his PD fluctuated in intensity throughout the course of a given day. Even if you’re classified as a care level 3, you generally only get to see the facility’s MD once a year, with all subsequent outside appointments and medication adjustments being managed by your assigned PA. The key to adequate treatment lies then in the temperament of your PA. My PA was considered the best on the compound and was likely instrumental in getting me the workups and appointments I needed to secure my compassionate release. Chris’ PA was largely considered the worst on the compound (one of two), a bitter woman who often had to be compelled into action via administrative remedies, which Chris was inevitably forced to file. If he came to a sick-call and was not actively in the throes of intense contortions (which he sometimes referred to as ‘crazy legs’) then he was often disregarded. Chris and his PA were prone to devolve into shouting matches, nor was this a problem that she had only with him. Even when he wasn’t engaged in fighting the crazy legs, he was mostly still confined to his wheelchair. There were, on occasion, times when he felt in control of his legs enough to walk, albeit while holding on to another inmate’s shoulders. There was no shortage of willing shoulders, as inmates of all races would step up to ferry him, either to the computer room – where they would inevitable have to help him type his emails, or to the shower – where no handicap accommodations existed. This last omission struck many of us as particularly negligent, considering the yard’s care level. Another problem was the speech impediment. I’d often heard him ask, rhetorically, how it was that sounding like “a retard” when he spoke was not a clear enough indicator of the severity of his condition, regardless of the tremors. Of course ‘retard’ is not really the best adjective for any modern condition, but the point was still valid that, when he spoke, he sounded like a person recovering from a massive stroke – only he wasn’t recovering, Parkinson’s is a degenerative illness.

          The prison had no choice but to provide him with follow-ups to the local neurologist after a highly invasive surgery, known as ‘deep brain stimulation’, in which a device, a ‘neurostimulator’, was implanted into his brain. This local doctor told Chris flat-out that he was incapable of treating him at this stage in his illness, nor is the facility capable of recalibrating his implant.

         At night, a small group of us would walk to pill line to get our evening medications. I got Elavil and Gabba Pentin – the former for my interstitial cystitis, and the Gabba Pentin for more generalized pain. Chris, on the other hand, got a bunch of different pills, each with an Old Testament-sized list of potential side effects. To add insult to injury, the medical staff crushed most of his medications, as though this middle-aged man in a plastic, yellow wheelchair, barely able to get the cup of powder into his mouth, would somehow be able – or even willing, to cheek these many pills so that he could smuggle them back to the unit and…. What? For anyone curious enough to look, Federal Penitentiaries are full to the point of bursting with real narcotics. Who the fuck wants to sniff twenty different PD meds?

         During these evening walks (some of our only time outside of the unit since the pandemic started) the subject of my pending motion came up on a regular basis. It was news, if nothing else. As for Chris, PD does not put him at an increased risk for COVID complications, and although I’d heard him, on occasion, tentatively breech the subject of outright compassionate release, his main request to me was that I put his story up, in the hope that perhaps someone else from the outside would get involved and get him moved to a medical facility. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about falling down in the shower and bearing the indignity of calling for help, alone and naked on a wet floor that’s covered with other men’s piss and body hair. Before I was released, I wrote one final staff request for him to the medical coordinator attempting to get him transferred to a care-level 4 facility. This was not his first attempt to obtain such a transfer, and, for the purposes of the request, Chris provided me with a list of names of staff members who had seen him fall down, or else had helped him get back to his cell after an accident. It was a long list.

         For a man who devoted a large part of his life to fitness, it’s a hard pill to swallow. In my mind I am stuck wondering what three consecutive life sentences (or a thousand for that matter) really means for someone like Chris, who’s own body has become a prison. In a sense I have an idea – back in 2017, my uncle Steven Parr – a successful and well known archivist in San Francisco, was diagnosed first with Parkinson’s, which was later amended to a diagnoses of Lewy-Body syndrome – a disease that bears similarities to PD. His initial suicide attempt was precluded by his manager, Adam, who was on the phone with my mother at the time. His second attempt, however, was successful. To me, though, the most poignant encapsulation of Chris’s attitude was made apparent when I was pushing him to the showers one morning. He’d removed his shirt before getting back in his chair, and I was struck by his apparent muscle tone and total lack of body fat, despite his sedentary lifestyle,

“Damn Chris, you’re in a wheelchair and still in better shape than half these dudes in here.”

“Yea..” he spoke slowly – struggling to force his tongue to conform to the consonants, “..this is the worst thing god could’ve done to me.”

         In a way it was cruel how the progress in my appeal seemed to engender a sense of hope in some of the other care level 3’s working fervently, without the aid of outside capital or competent legal help, to obtain their own releases before the virus made it’s way to the yard. By Oct 1st the USP at the Allenwood Correctional Complex had 7 cases, all of them quarantined in the shu after having arrived on a plane, and then a bus, with who-knows how many others potentially infected. They’d already shut the medium back down as, despite their ‘best’ efforts at screening all arrivals, 15 cases had popped up in general population. As I already stated above, the administration fought me every step of the way – even after the motion had been granted and I was only awaiting the end of my obligatory 2 week quarantine, the staff refused to allow me to call my family, my lawyer, or even probation, so that I could arrange for transport. I didn’t know whether I’d be going straight home or to a program until the last minute. I could see it in their faces every time they brought me legal mail or were forced to set up my screening for the drug program that I’m in now – they didn’t think I deserved it. Like they had only just found out via the granting of my motion that they presided over an unequal system. I got 8 months back – goodtime I’d lost, along with years-worth of visits and phone calls - “privileges” they justified in taking almost exclusively over dirty urines, and for what? Suboxone. At my final workup the MD confided in me that, prior to the pandemic, they’d been told by the region to start preparations for the MAT program (medication assisted treatment) and to apply for the DEA approval to begin prescribing both suboxone and vivitrol. Unfortunately, these proceedings had to be halted to focus their energies on the then emerging public health crisis. Maybe it’s my prejudices, but itt seemed to me that these people took it personally – as though those reclaimed 8 months had come directly off the end of their own lifespans.

[chey-fey-ma]

Some of the events I’m about to address will be extremely triggering for some people. Please proceed with caution. This has to deal with the protests and police brutality.

I was arrested.

I was arrested violently. I was pushed to the ground and arrested with my hands behind my back and guns pointed at my face. My boyfriend and good friend, both of whom are men of color were also pushed to the ground with guns in their faces and not a single right was read to us.

To emphasize my point, the three of us weren’t anywhere NEAR a protest. We had heard screaming and calls for help and sirens down the street and knowing that people we all loved and cared about could be in danger, we decided to suit up and brace ourselves to offer medical supplies and a place to stay for anyone that was hurt by the awful acts of brutality by police that we had been witnessing for the past couple nights. For the past year Brady Street had been my home. It was where I went to get a latte at Rochambo and tell jokes and draw pictures with friends and family alike. But last night, it was the most unfamiliar place I had ever been to.

As we were making our way back down the street to go into our house that was less than 15 feet away, we were ambushed by an all black cop car taking us from our left flank. We knew we were caught but we didn’t expect to be in trouble for being right outside our own home, the same home my boyfriend had for the past 5 years without a single problem. Four cops come out with guns in their hands and ready to shoot. It was in that instant I felt that my life was over. Everything I had dreamed or ever wanted was out of my reach. I would never perform on Broadway. I would never move back to NYC. I would never get married or raise a family with the man I love, even if I was to not get shot, he still could have and that dream would still be out the window in a blink of an eye. Without a second thought, a person— another HUMAN could decide that my dreams were unattainable and take my boyfriend away from me for the rest of my life; however long that could be since I have no clue how I could recover since he is my lifeline and has my soul.

In an instant our lives could be deemed worthless only because of a curfew that was haphazardly placed on a day to day basis; and for a moment, we were deemed as worthless. In total there were well over 50 police officers all in squad cars and even the SWAT team pulled up to the scene. All for three peaceful people trying to get home from making sure no one was hurt. As they saw me lay helpless on the ground, crying with fluid draining from my nose, they pulled out their cellphones and took pictures and recorded. “Oh this ones going to Ashley” I heard one say and talk about how they were going to send it to a family member or friend.

While I was thinking these moments could be the last time I ever saw my boyfriend alive, these cops patted themselves on the back for a job well done and circle jerked to a young woman crying thinking that she would never get to say goodbye to the man she loved or to her mother and brother.

After being arrested and our possessions taken forcefully from us, we were separated. My friend and boyfriend in one car and I in another. There I was paraded around the city as I cried not for myself but for the fear of losing my loved ones. Finally I was taken to a dark area under one of the freeway bridges were about 60 other police officers were standing around waiting for something to happen. After about an hour of doing nothing, I was finally put in the back of a high security bus all by myself and three armed cops driving the bus.

I opened my eyes and I was suddenly in a new place with people I have never seen before. All the people being detained looked at me and suddenly I felt a sense of comradery I had never experienced before. I was finally able to stop crying as I realized almost all the people held here looked like they were just trying to get home. One by one I listened to their stories and I realized this was the most disgusting act of power I had ever seen. I felt violated and like I was suddenly non human by the way we were being treated.

What I witnessed was illegal and breaches human decency on every level imaginable. There were two healthcare workers in scrubs being detained with me who were literally on their way home from their clinic that was 45 minutes away. They were arrested at about 9:45. Just from coming home from potentially saving lives. There was a new mother who just had a cesarean section only less than 2 weeks previously. There was an expecting mother with her arms tied behind her back who looked like she could pass out at any moment. The new mother actually did at one point pass out after throwing up and an ambulance was called about two hours later. TWO. HOURS. LATER.

Outside of the Milwaukee section 2 prison facility I was stored in there were military personal with loaded machine guns who kept staring at us like we were nothing more than vermin on our way to be exterminated. As if we were bred for the slaughter of their injustice.

I was taken in at about 10:45 with a lot of my colleagues taken in at around 9. One by one slowly they took us in the back to book us. I can not stress enough how unprofessional and how awful most of the cops were, with many of them admitting they had no idea what was going on or what they were doing. One cop taunted us asking if we learned our lesson. “Yeah” I said. “I’ve learned to never trust cops again and that all you guys are pigs” I muttered, a stance I hadn’t taken before this night. It really was all or nothing, and if I was going to be treated with no regard, why should I care for a second about a cop’s life. They clearly didn’t care about ours. Mine. My friends. My boyfriends. People I love and care about.

Slowly I watched my new friends disappear and finally taken to a holding cell for the information on them to be processed. I was going to be one of the last ones and the officers admitted they were taking a long time on purpose. I mean, they’re getting paid TAX DOLLARS to sit on their asses all day, so I suppose they were trying to milk out that few extra dollars by tormenting and traumatizing us.

For 14 hours I was never read my rights, never given anything to eat, never got to make a phone call, never told I had access to a lawyer, and only reluctantly given water because some of the people I was with threatened to sue. They told us because it was a temporary facility that it didn’t count as being normally arrested and so none of our rights were actually ours. Once again, everyone that was detained with me were ALL heading home. No exceptions. Some people were driving home when they had their tires blown out by police. One woman told me her boyfriend (who is black) was tased for stepping out of his car once his tires were blown up. It was only when she begged them not to shoot that they put down their weapons.

At about 7 hours in, I was exhausted and sweating profoundly and I started to cry from anger and once again wondering if my friends were safe. I kept saying that over and over again. That I just want to know if they are okay. One girl stood up and yelled at a cop asking if they cared that I was sobbing begging to make sure my boyfriend was alive. We were all met with shrugs and a woman officer (she was medium built and blonde with her colleague being another woman officer with dark brown hair with the last name of Sanchez) telling us that she didn’t care. The two woman officers just gossiped and looked at us with disgusting faces. Perhaps they were just doing their job. But that just speaks even more about what kind of job being a police officer really is. Apparently to do your job right you have to have no regard for human life and for the actual safe keeping of the city. As long as you get the arrest numbers, you’re golden to keep terrorizing marginalized communities and people.

There was one point in the night that I had a trans man and another non-binary individual (like me) being detained with the group. After he told them that he was trans, he was brought to the back to be berated and made sure that he REALLY was trans and not just trying to get attention. I don't know what happened to him behind those closed doors since I never saw him again, but I can't imagine it was anything short of horrific.

The rest of the night was a blur and I was labeled as a rioter and my possessions labeled as riot gear. This was my only offense. I had on a helmet and some padded protection on my body since if there WERE shots fired, I wanted to try to lessen the impact. The woman took out my piercings and my hair ties and Bobby pins. I was left only wearing my oversized Star Wars t-shirt and some athletic leggings. In a cruel act of irony, one of the officers pointed to my shirt and said “looks like we got another fan”. I just stared at him and he said “smile it's a good thing”. This was already 10 hours in. I grunted and spat back, “one would think, right”. I’ve never talked back to a police officer in my life, but I was tired, angry, upset, and in pain. I was fighting for the resistance. They were on the side of the Sith.

We were then placed in individual cells for holding. It was unsanitary and period blood filled the toilet I was given as well as urine from whoever was there before me. At this point I needed to pee and I told everyone to look away. They did as I, as safely as possible, hovered over the toilet seat to finish my business. I wasn’t given toilet paper or anything of the sort; instead I used my sock that had been on my foot this whole time. It was actually one of my boyfriend's nice fuzzy black socks. Male cops were able to walk in and out as they pleased and could see females trying to relieve themselves. It was the most dehumanizing experience I have ever had.

Finally I could hear freedom ringing in my ears as I was approached and told that I was free to go. I tried to thank the officer but I couldn’t find the words after being treated so horribly. I was given my stuff back in a large bag and then thrusted out into the sunlight after being held for again, 14 hours (need I remind you this was all for just a ticket too). My eyes began to tear up as I realized I had no idea where I was or how I was going to get home. I looked around, and since we were thrown out the back, I didn’t see a single person. I cried as I picked up my ALMOST dead phone and saw my boyfriend tried to call me several times. For the first time the entire night, I was extremely relieved to see that he was alive and well. I saw his messages saying he and our friend were alright and got out and the only way they were alright was all thanks to the neighbor who saw the WHOLE thing and recorded it too. He saved our lives. Full stop, HE is a hero. He was recording and on our side and trying to get us home safely. Our neighbor picked up my boyfriend and friend from section 4 where the men were held. For those who don’t know, it's right in a super dangerous neighborhood and we live on the East side.

Once I called my boyfriend he told me he was out front and I shakily told him that I thought I was on the side of the building but I would head that way. Finally I saw him and he saw me and it was as if we were the only two people on the planet. Yes, it is just like in the movies when you have someone really love and care about you. He first waved to me and I hung up the phone to make my way towards him. He started running and then finally we were in each other’s arms hugging on for dear life. He placed his hands on my head and looked me up and down while saying that he was sorry over and over and over again. But I wasn’t even a tiny bit angry with him, I was the most relieved and content I had ever been in my entire 21 years of living. After our tearfilled reunion, I got the names of some of the other people that were with me and I gave them my contact information as well.

I have a lot to say… A lot more to say about what I felt and what I still feel. The 700 dollar fine is almost nothing compared to the emotional trauma that I felt and went through. All for just being a decent human being and making sure people were alright from protests that were happening. We were arrested for caring and arrested for essentially the color of our skin. Well, not so much me, but it was the fact that I was with two males of color— the most gentle and kind males anyone could ever hope to encounter. I know it was this because I saw other white people walking around and they didn’t get arrested, just told to go home. My stance is now clear to me. There ARE no good cops. There never were. They hold up an institution of racism and fear. That same racism and fear that was so very real to me and not just a concept like you are likely to be reading about just now. Please know I am very angry and heartbroken, but we are safe and right now I’m just thanking my lucky stars that we weren’t slaughtered like George Floyd. It is a predicament that no one should have to experience and no one with a human heart should perpetuate.

[hmel78]

In conversation with Dave Sturt ...

GONG

In September of 2016, ‘GONG’ released their new album “Rejoice! I’m Dead” Some say it couldn’t, or shouldn’t have, be done. How could Gong exist without Daevid Allen? 

For those who are unaware Daevid passed away in March 2015. ‘GONG’ has had many, many line-ups - Formed when Australian beatnik/freak Daevid Allen quit ‘The Soft Machine’ and moved to France at the tail end of the ’60s. Since debuting in 1970 with “Magick Brother”, the band have remained fluid, even playing without their founder from the mid-to-late ’70s; fracturing and reassembling and constantly taking on new shapes and forms: an undeniably amorphous unit. David Bowie told Vanity Fayre in 2003 that Daevid Allen’s “Banana Moon” is one of his favourite albums, and today everyone from indie artists Temples and Ty Segall to hip hop artist Madlib and techno DJ Surgeon are inspired, and borrow, from ‘Gong’s’ music and ideology. The funky grooves, avant-garde flourishes and counter-cultural stance is timeless. So timeless that ‘Gong’ is proving that it can fully exist, even without their creator and guiding light.  “Rejoice! I'm Dead! came together over several weeks in an East London rehearsal studio. It depends on your knowledge of ‘Gong’ history and what you may feel constitutes as a Gong record, but “Rejoice! I'm Dead!” is classified as their 28th album and it would appear that the ‘Gong’ legacy is the strongest it has been since 1974 . In the words of bassist Dave Sturt: “You bet it's a fucking Gong record!” The current line-up features  Kavus Torabi (vocals/guitar), Fabio Golfetti (guitar/vocals), Dave Sturt (bass/vocals), Ian East (sax/flute) and Cheb Nettles (drums/vocals) - and unanimously they have taken on the mantle of “steering the Teapot further into outer space and the inner ear” ... Helen Robinson caught up with Dave Sturt recently, to find out more ...

HR :  ‘GONG’ has had a total of 52 official members in its 50 year history ; 47 past and 5 current.
What is it about ‘Gong’s’ music which compels musicians to continue to hold the band together in some shape or form?

Dave Sturt : An interesting question..... The Gong family is really unlike anything else. It's so much more than the 5 or 6 musicians on the stage. It's a worldwide collective of freaks, mystics or those who just don't quite fit in to the mainstream .... those who are searching for a different way to be.  It's an ongoing adventure- may it never stop. 

HR :   When you first joined in 2009 you were the new guy! Did you jel straight away? Had you been a fan prior to joining? 

DS : I knew of Gong back in the 70s but it wasn't until the 80s when I began to really appreciate what they had created. I had latched on to the Steve Hillage Band first - I really loved “Fish Rising”. So it was a real honour to audition for the band with Steve and Miquette. I felt comfortable right from the start. My personal journey melded with Gong's at just the right time – I had experience of many kinds of music but needed a focus. Gong wanted a creative bass player with something to offer . . . kismet!

HR :    At the time - alongside Daevid Allen - the line-up consisted of original member Gilli Smith who had returned to sing vocals, with two of the 1970’s staple members Miquette Giraudy, and Steve Hillage - what was it like having them all reunited in the same creative space?

DS : It was a privilege but, initially daunting. I had briefly worked with Daevid a few years before but to have them all in the same rehearsal room was something else. 

I began to get to know them properly in the tour bus around Europe - promoting the 2032 album.  They were all incredibly bright, free thinkers- truly inspiring. 

HR :    2012 saw another big shift in the band’s line-up -  you stayed ; was that by choice, or at the request of Daevid?  Who decided on who was going to fill the positions?



DS : Well I was very keen to continue with the band but it was Daevid who chose the line up that best suited his vision of where he wanted ‘Gong’ to go. On tour he spoke many times of his wish for Gong to continue without him and he chose pretty well.

HR :    Have the rotations of band members been essential to keep it fresh for the main body of songwriters ; for something ‘new’ to be brought to the table?  Or was it simply a tough band to exist in?

DS : Daevid never wanted to play safe. He always wanted to be surrounded by creative people so I guess that was the driving force.  Since Ian east and I have been involved the biggest change was when Steve and Miquette left to re focus on System 7.  Daevid was keen on making the band more guitar focused so Fabio was invited to join - and then later Kavus got the call. 

HR :   You’ve been with the band for the longest, out of the new line-up - do you feel that you have the chemistry right this time, to move forward as a unit and stay together?

DS : Absolutely - no question. This band is a perfect mixture of passion, skill and creativity. The gigs are a blast from start to finish – and we also have a great crew including the Fruit Salad lightshow and projections.

It feels slightly odd – being the longest standing member! It has been a bizarre eight years.

HR :    Following Daevid’s passing in 2015, and Gilli’s in 2016 - did you all consider calling it a day, or is it always going to be imperative to keep their spirits alive through the music?

DS : It was Daevid's wish that the band should continue. We were keen to carry on but unsure that it would work without him. We had gigs booked to promote the I See You album but Daevid was too ill to join us from Australia so Kavus took centre stage and we were astonished by the response. Also, previous members of Gong were very supportive.

Gilli's last tour with the band was in 2012 – and her health was failing then. She had to miss some of the concerts because of a broken foot. Our last gigs with her were in Japan and she spent the last few years of her life in a care home where she held court and entertained guests up until the end.

HR :   Cue studio album #28 - “Rejoice! I’m Dead”. 
It features Steve Hillage, Didier Malherbe, and Graham Clark, along with some post-humous vocals from Daevid. 
Did you feel that you needed to include these in order to transition the band from what was always essentially Daevid’s project, to a new stage in it’s development?

DS : That was partly the reason, but it felt completely in keeping with the the direction of the album. I was particularly keen to include the track Beatrix. It was such a lovely moment that I'd captured on my hand held recorder. We were in an apartment in Brazil - Daevid was listening on headphones to a jazzy musical idea of mine - and he began to improvise a poem about a very special woman in his life. It was so sweet and poignant. 

The album is obviously a reflection on Daevid and life and death so it's seemed completely right to have his presence in there . . . . it really felt as though he was in the studio with us as we composed and arranged the tracks

HR :   The album is receiving some rave reviews, and doesn’t seem to have disappointed the loyal following - were you nervous prior to it’s release, or confident that what you had produced was going to hit the proverbial nail?

DS : We were supremely confident that we had created something really special. The process of composing and recording was a joy. We just followed our own inner voice – without any pre-conceived direction - everyone contributed with ideas that we then arranged, juxtaposed and honed into a beautiful shiny thing.

HR :   With the current line-up being a relatively new group when it comes to working together as ‘Gong’ (not essentially new to each other), how difficult was it to write new material in the vein of some 50 years of compositions, which for the first time were not under the creative influence of Daevid, Gilly, or other alumni?

DS : We are all composers as well as players – and four of us wrote or co-wrote most of the tracks on the previous album I See You so we had no problem in continuing the process. The main key difference was the lyrics. We had no intention of pretending to write like Daevid or Gilli – that would have been completely bogus. Instead Kavus developed the main lyrical ideas throughout the time that the tracks came together – and a truly fine job he did! I wrote the lyrics for the track Model Village – the first time that I'd attempted such a thing.

HR :    For anyone who may be unaware of Gong, and their impressive back-catalog - could you describe the new album in a nutshell, and give virgin listeners an idea of what they can expect?

DS : The title – Rejoice! I'm Dead! - is a line from a poem of Daevid Allen's – 'All I Ask'. It completely summed up Daevid's attitude to death and it informed the concept of the album. That transition into the great unknown – something we all will face at some time. So – should we face it with fear and trepidation or embrace it as part of life's great journey? No one gets out alive so let's enjoy life, live it to the full and don't waste it by worrying about something that you can't avoid.So, the album is euphoric, inspirational and slightly ironic, with the occasional social comment. Musically it is, in turns, powerful; beautiful; intricate; and mystical.

I think I've finally achieved my aim of playing on, what may well be recognised eventually as, a classic album.

HR :   And down the line ... The band claim they you will continue to ‘fly the teapot further into outer space, and the inner ear! 
 Is it likely that any past members will be invited back to the fold for future projects?

DS : It's said that once you've been a member of Gong you never leave - so the door is always open. It's a very friendly, co-operative family – so everything is possible.

HR :   Outside the Gong realm, your solo album “Dreams and Absurdities” was released in 2015. Given all your other commitments, how long was it in the making? 

DS : Dreams & Absurdities came together slowly. It would have happened sooner if I hadn't been so busy over the last 10 years. I have a classic bass player mentality – I'm very supportive and unassuming and I give my all to whichever project I'm working on – which has meant that my solo album never became a priority, until, for some reason, everything fell into place.

HR :   It’s a  purely instrumental  record  - a departure perhaps from the music that people are used to hearing you play. Does it reflect your personal musical comfort zone?

DS : Well, some people will be very used to me working on instrumental albums. I recorded two with Jade Warrior and three with Cipher (my duo with Theo Travis). I find great beauty in instrumental music – especially when it evokes emotions of longing and soundscapes of imagined worlds.

HR :    The album features  a number of impressive guests - notably your  Gong colleagues, and Bill Nelson.   
Bill describes you as “an artist of the highest calibre” - coming from him that’s quite a recommendation isn’t it?!

DS : I am still truly astonished that I have been able to work with such great musicians – and to be held in such high regard by them is overwhelming. I've played with Bill for over 10 years now and it's been a joy. I was a big fan of Be Bop Deluxe and Red Noise and I've had the honour to play material from both bands with the man himself.

HR :   You’ve worked with a number of high profile musicians during your career - what was the most challenging project t o be part of?  And if you could collaborate with anyone at all - who would it be?

DS : The most challenging was probably a session early in my career when I was hired to play on an album by a Canadian band called Strange Advance. Also playing on the album were drummer Andy Newmark (John Lennon, Pink Floyd, Roxy Music) and Earl Slick (David Bowie). It was produced by the great composer and arranger Michael Kamen. It was a huge learning curve for me. It was a great experience but I felt that I was hanging on by my fingertips! In the end, things didn't go well with the producer/artist relationship – and the album was re-recorded in Canada with different musicians.

Who would I like to collaborate with? That could be a very long list! Peter Gabriel, Harold Budd, Jan Garbarek, Andy Partridge, Kate Bush, Steve Jansen, Bill Frisell, David Torn, Michael Brook, Zakir Hussein, . . . I could go on . . .

https://www.davesturt.co.uk/

[artificialqueens]

Dancing On Air (Scyvie) - Peridot

A/N: Hello wonderful people! New fic who dis? This is the longest thing I’ve ever written (5.6k words, not that much but it’s still an achievement for me) and it took me way longer than I anticipated to write. I’d like to thank everyone for the love on my last fic, I think it has something like 60 notes now which is so insane to me, thank you thank you thank you! Anyway, enough rambling, here’s the fluffy/angsty Scyvie dance class au that literally no one asked for but I wrote anyway. Let me know what you think!

Summary: To say Yvie didn’t like herself would’ve been the understatement of the century. She quite literally danced around the problem, distracting herself by moving to the music.

When she first saw Scarlet, Yvie was upside down.

Who knew she’d be the one to turn Yvie’s world upside down?

TW: Light bullying and low self esteem.

Feel free to come annoy me on my sideblog @peridot-aq. Hope you enjoy!

Yvie was early, for once.

Usually she would walk into dance class very late, after having rushed out of the house and practically sprinted to the bus stop only to discover that the next bus would arrive an hour later. She blamed the government for unreliable fucking buses.

However, this time she was early. Which was nice. It gave her time to properly get ready, instead of enduring the mad fluster to get on her dance shoes and join the class before a teacher discovered her lateness. No, today she could take her time. Breathe. Ponder the meaning of life, if she wanted. Hell, maybe she might even have time to stretch before the class. That would be new. The dancers were always expected to stretch beforehand, but thanks to untrustworthy public transport, Yvie decided to skip it almost every week in favour of catching up on what she’d already missed.

When she waltzed into the dance studio (a grand total of 10 minutes early, a new personal record) she was surprised to see that the cloakroom was pretty full - and she could recognise almost all of her classmates’ bags and coats and belongings. Funny.

This lead Yvie to come to the groundbreaking conclusion that they had all already arrived. She wasn’t expecting that. She was really early, after all. Ten whole minutes early, in fact. She wondered if they always got here at this time- and if she looked even worse walking in late each week as she thought she did.

Fuck punctuality.

Nevertheless, she was proud of herself for being ahead of schedule. She hung up her denim jacket on a hook and entered the studio with her head held high in a mock confidence, swinging the door closed behind her. She glanced around the room, mentally counting how many girls had arrived in an attempt to prove that her theory was correct. And, unsurprisingly, it was. Pretty much everyone in her class was already sitting around the wooden floor in small groups, some stretching, some getting into their dance gear, and others just talking aimlessly.

She quickly spotted Brooke alone in the left corner tapping on her phone and moved to join her friend, a somewhat smug smile creeping onto her face as she dropped her bag onto the floor beside her with a heavy thud. Brooke looked up at Yvie, slightly startled to see her.

“You’re early.”

“Hello to you too, Brooke!” Yvie replied sarcastically, joining Brooke to sit on the floor.

“You’re never this early, though. Did you get a taxi or something?”

“Nope, the same old shitty bus. Just a stroke of luck.” Yvie flashed Brooke a wide grin.

“It’s a miracle.” Brooke replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Hey, you should be proud of me, bitch!”

“I am proud. Maybe my good influence is finally rubbing off on you.”

“Shut up!” Yvie laughed.

Brooke was a pretty good influence. Yvie could admit that much to herself. She was a real perfectionist in everything she did- and more than anything, her dancing. Brooke wanted to be the best. And, in Yvie’s opinion, she was. She won competitions, choreographed routines for other schools, and was undeniably every dance teacher’s favourite. And it wasn’t difficult to see why. She was a star pupil- never forgot a step, toes always pointed, learnt new routines like learning the alphabet, and, as Yvie had come to realise today, was more punctual than her.

Yvie didn’t want to be the best. Yvie didn’t want to win competitions or festivals. She didn’t have Brooke’s perfect technique or her determination to succeed.

Yvie just danced. She would bend and stretch and twist and leap until her muscles burned and she was out of breath. The music would pound in her chest and make her head spin and overwhelm all of her senses until she forgot everything else around her.

And that’s why she danced. Yvie danced to forget. To push her thoughts out of her brain. To make everything stop inside her head. To forget the people in her life, her memories, her hopes, her aspirations, the things that made Yvie Yvie.

Yvie danced to forget who she was. Because she didn’t want to be herself.

She danced because even for just a few seconds, she could be someone else.

Of course, Yvie would never tell anyone that. She had come to learn that it was safer not to focus on it. People wouldn’t see her emotions that way. She had no intention of being pitied by anyone. She didn’t want to seem even more pathetic.

Besides, she faced enough unwanted attention on a daily basis- her collection of judgemental glances she’d received at dance class was rather large, and not something that she was proud of.

So, she didn’t acknowledge it. And whenever she remembered, she would simply dance to distract herself.

And, even though it wasn’t true, she convinced herself and those around her that there was nothing to worry about.

She zoned out of whatever Brooke was saying- something about cats, probably- and pushed the creeping insecurities to the back of her mind. Undoubtedly, she’d come back to that thought later.

To distract herself, she opened her dance bag and grabbed a pair of soft black jazz shoes before kicking off her red Vans and slipping them onto her feet. Brooke had mentioned something about the focus of this month being contemporary dance, and she was not prepared to dance barefoot, so her jazz shoes would have to do.

“and then, he jumped up onto the sofa and knocked over the…. are you even listening to me over there?” Brooke interrupted Yvie’s train of thought and shot her an overly exaggerated glare.

Yvie shrugged. “Short answer or long answer?”

“Both.”

“Short answer- nope. Long answer- I would literally rather watch paint dry whilst listening to a chess tournament on the radio than listen to another fucking story about one of your cats.”

“Fucking bitch!” Brooke playfully punched Yvie’s upper arm.

“Language, Brooke Lynn!” Yvie spoke in a fake posh accent, mocking a teacher.

Despite the terrible impression and Yvie’s inability to keep a straight face, Brooke jumped a little, afraid she had been caught misbehaving. She blushed slightly when she realised her friend had noticed her panic, and, of course, Yvie started laughing, as loudly and obnoxiously as always. Brooke had always been afraid of authority.

“Looks like my bad influence is finally rubbing off on you, Miss Brooke Lynn,” Yvie teased.

“Shut up and stretch already.”

Yvie liked being friends with Brooke. She liked being able to slightly bully her, and she liked that Brooke never took any of it seriously.

What she didn’t like was that she wasn’t friends with anyone else in the class.

It isn’t so bad, she’d often think. They all seem bitchy anyway. But, she wasn’t kidding anyone. She was kind of lonely, admittedly. Brooke was good company until the class actually started, and after that, her full attention was given to dancing perfectly. But, other than her, Yvie didn’t really know anyone else in the class. Sure, she knew their names, and they’d make small talk every once in a while, but she didn’t really have that meaningful connection with any of the other girls.

She could understand why Brooke didn’t, either. She was so focused on her dance that she never made time for anyone else. On the outside, she sort of seemed cold. But, now even she was higher on the social ladder than Yvie- she’d taken a real liking to this girl Vanessa, and was starting to drift away from her.

Yvie knew Brooke would much rather spend time with Vanessa than her. She also knew that Brooke only stayed with Yvie because she knew she had no one else.

Yvie didn’t care about being isolated. She didn’t care that Brooke would gaze over at Vanessa during the time she spent with Yvie.

All she cared about were the reasons why the other girls didn’t like her.

Sure, she was a little odd. And she was tall and lanky and she laughed too loud and she let her anger out when she didn’t mean to. But nobody knew who she actually was as a person. She always wondered what she did wrong.

But, as usual, Yvie pushed the thoughts out as quickly as they came, distracting herself by playfully punching Brooke in the arm after her comment. She was grateful that she still had her, even if she would rather be with someone else.

She decided to take some of Brooke’s advice and stretch- after all, she still had 6 minutes until the class began. She tossed her bag to the side and stood up, stretching her arms a little before bending over to touch her toes, and impressive feat for someone of her height. Brooke stood up to join her, performing Yvie’s stretches a little more precisely before slowing siding into the splits. A smirk spread on the blonde’s face. Typical Brooke, one-upping Yvie.

Well, that was a challenge that Yvie wasn’t about to turn down.

In one quick motion, Yvie hurtled backwards and bent her back as far as it could go. Her head swung just above the floor, and Brooke flinched at the sudden movement. Yvie felt the eyes of the whole room on her. She stuck out her tongue at Brooke, who had a look of surprise and bewilderment on her face.

Brooke didn’t laugh. She looked more confused.

That was her first warning sign.

Then, she heard a whisper. A mumble. She swore she heard someone start to laugh. It was starting. She panicked for a split second, her regret crashing through her brain like a stampede. She must look like such a weirdo. A creep. What sort of freak can bend right over like that? She froze, back still bent like a pretzel. She’d fucked up again. Why the hell was she like this? Why couldn’t she act like a fucking normal person, just for once?

And then, Yvie heard the door open. All the heads snapped towards the door, the sight of Yvie forgotten as quickly as she had been noticed. She sighed a grateful breath, thanking every God that she knew of that the ordeal had only lasted a couple of seconds.

The door closed abruptly. There was a girl standing in front of it.

The first time she saw Scarlet, Yvie was upside down.

Well, bent over backwards. But it doesn’t change the fact that in her first glimpse of the redhead, she was walking on the ceiling.

The girl lifted her chin and smiled, looking around the room. Yvie quickly straightened up to get a better glimpse of her.

She was pretty. She looked around Yvie’s age, but she seemed quite small. Thin, short, pale skin with a few light freckles. She stood tall and confidently, wearing a dark grey sports bra and matching leggings, clearly an expensive purchase. She carried a small black bag over one shoulder, and had a silver charm bracelet around her wrist. Her auburn curls fell loosely over her shoulders. Her pink lips formed a smile. Long black eyelashes framed her cool blue eyes.

She was pretty alright.

She announced her name as Scarlet. It was a pretty name. Of course she had a pretty name. It suited her well.

The groups of girls gathered around her to introduce themselves, a swarm immediately surrounding the small girl until Yvie could no longer see her. Yvie didn’t move. She just watched in awe of girl.

Not just because she was pretty. But she seemed nice. Something about her smile was genuine.

There was still no way to prove it she was or not, of course. She could easily be another Ra’jah or Ariel from her confidence and her clothes alone. But Yvie had a feeling, a feeling that she didn’t quite know where came from.

A feeling that she might be on her side.

The girl was immediately dragged over to a huddle of girls at the front of the room beside Ra’jah, bombarded by endless questions and compliments. Yvie stayed in the back of the room. She wanted to ask the girl so much, but quickly came to the conclusion that she wouldn’t be able to get a word in edge ways. Instead, she listened to her answers- she was 16, she bought her bag in top shop, and yes, her hair was naturally that colour.

It didn’t answer any of Yvie’s questions, but it was a start.

The door swung open again, this time no one turning to face it, too distracted by the new girl. Miss Alyssa entered the room, ready to begin the class, and upon seeing Scarlet greeted her with a warm smile and a few kind words. Something about how she’s already fitting in well in the class.

Before she knew it the sea around Scarlet parted and the other girls took their positions, spread out in front of a wall of mirrors, waiting for the class to begin.

It was at this point that Yvie realised that she never finished stretching.

The one fucking time she’s early and she didn’t even get to finish stretching.

Miss Alyssa tapped at her phone, connecting it to the speaker, and announced to the class to practice their improv as a warm up whilst she… did something- Yvie wasn’t paying attention. Some slow ballad started pouring out of the speakers, and their teacher left the room as quickly as she had entered.

There were a few seconds of uncertainty before anyone started to move. As much as Yvie would’ve loved to just start dancing there and then, she waited until most people were already preoccupied by their own movements. She couldn’t risk doing something weird and everyone staring. Not again. One embarrassment per lesson was sufficient.

The music slowly seeped into Yvie’s muscles, and she let a breath escape from her lips. A breath that she hadn’t realised that she had been holding. A breath that allowed her to let go.

She kicked her legs high and stretched out her arms and twirled, loosing herself in her movements. She didn’t care how she looked in this moment- she felt like no one else was in the room, and everything about herself was a distant memory. She felt nothing but the music, coarsing through her veins and moving each limb for her. She didn’t have to think. The next move just came. She didn’t have to be Yvie, just for a moment.

Her moment was broken, however, when her eye caught Scarlet dancing in the mirror.

Dancing. If you could even call it that.

The girl flailed her arms around wildly, spinning and bending and jumping like a maniac. Her legs moved like a baby giraffe, and Yvie was genuinely concerned that she was going to hurt herself.

It took Yvie longer than it should have to realise that she wasn’t joking. She was dead serious.

Soon enough the other girls around her stopped in their tracks too, eyes glued to Scarlet. And then came the whispers. And the mumbles. And the laughter. Sounds that Yvie was all too familiar with.

But this time, they weren’t about her.

And, somehow, even though Yvie was sure she must have noticed the staring, Scarlet didn’t stop moving. And the smile on her face never dwindled, not even for a second.

Strange.

***

Even from her first moments in the class, Scarlet had created a reputation for herself. The other girls who at first swarmed to be her friend had scattered from her as far as possible, only giving her the time of day in order to laugh at her later.

But, the girl didn’t seem to care, even though everyone else seemed to care about her.

Even Brooke had something to say about her.

“She’s clearly delusional,” she said to Yvie over the phone later that night.

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh come on, you saw the way she was acting. She genuinely believes she’s some amazing dancer.”

Yvie paused for a moment. She thought about the girl’s confidence, the way she held her head up and smiled through the stares.

That smile. It didn’t seem boastful. It just seemed like she was having fun.

“I don’t know about that…”

“Why else would she sign herself up for an advanced dance class?” Brooke laughed to herself.

“I don’t know, to learn? Did you think about that, Brooke? Maybe she just wants to get better and-“

“But an advanced class. Why the hell would she sign up for an advanced class if she knew she can’t dance for shit? She’s so full of herself, and everyone else thinks so, too.”

Yvie didn’t know why she was getting angry. Brooke had a point. But, for some reason, with every passing word about Scarlet, she felt as though she needed to protect her.

Yvie’s jaw clenched “Why do you care?”

“What?”

“Why the fuck do you care, Brooke? This isn’t like you. Is it Vanessa? Is she telling you all this shit? You trying to impress her?”

“No, it’s not Vanessa, it’s-“

“Well then why do you care?”

“Are you serious, Yvie? I care because…” Brooke faltered. “I care because she’s making dance a joke. You know how much I care about dance… She’s an embarrassment-“

“Shut the fuck up!” Yvie felt tears sting in her eyes. She was yelling down the phone now. She couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Whatever, Yvie. I’m just telling the truth.”

“But you don’t even know Scarlet-“

“Neither do you!”

Yvie’s heart dropped in her chest. She was right. She didn’t know Scarlet. But something told her that they were wrong about her.

Maybe she was just being idealistic. Maybe she’d lured herself into a false sense of hope.

Or maybe, she was delusional too.

She didn’t know.

“I’ll see you in class, Brooke,” Yvie said dryly before hanging up the phone, holding back the tears that brimmed her eyelids.

***

The next week Yvie walked into class late. Back to her usual schedule. Maybe it was because of unreliable buses. Or maybe it was because Yvie had second thoughts about showing up at all.

She saw Brooke huddled beside Vanessa and some of her friends. She didn’t even glance Yvie’s way the whole lesson, not once.

However, everyone else stared alright. Word must have gotten around about their argument. Yvie wasn’t surprised. Rumours spread like wildfire amongst insecure teenage girls.

Scarlet was receiving her fair share of glances too. If a pair of eyes wasn’t on Yvie, it was on Scarlet. The whispers and murmurs filled Yvie’s ears for the whole class, but she couldn’t decipher whether they were about her or Scarlet anymore.

All the while, Scarlet didn’t seem to give a shit.

Yvie danced to distract herself from it all, the music taking over each limb as she freely improvised a solo in the back of the room. She forgot about it all for a while, filling her brain instead with the emotions of the song.

This was why she needed to dance. She savoured every second of her blissful ignorance.

The end of the class felt like a rocket ship crashing back down to earth.

Yvie knelt on the floor and packed up her dance bag in silence, once again painfully aware of the eyes on her. She didn’t look up until she heard a voice by her side.

“Hi.”

She jumped. Tilting her head upwards, her eyes met an eager-looking Scarlet with an arm outstretched towards Yvie to help her up. Without thinking, Yvie grasped Scarlet’s hand loosely and allowed the smaller girl to haul her up off of the ground.

“Um, hey.”

“Yvie, isn’t it?” Scarlet asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

“Uh, yeah. And you’re Scarlet.”

“Yup,” Scarlet giggled. “So listen, there’s something I wanna ask you.”

“Uh, go for it.”

“I noticed your dancing earlier, and I think you’re really good. Like, really really good. I was wondering if you could teach me a little sometime. Y’know, help with my technique or whatever.”

For a second, Yvie couldn’t breathe. Her heart swelled at the compliment, and something about Scarlet’s dorky smile made her feel special.

Plus, she was even prettier up close.

But, she was ever aware of her classmates’ suspicious glances. A hush fell across the room, ease dropping girls desperate to hear Yvie’s reply.

Yvie was conflicted.

She liked Scarlet. She wanted to know so much more about her.

But Scarlet was dangerous. Yvie knew that the longer she spoke to Scarlet, the more the class would hate her. Scarlet could make everything worse.

Her heart told her yes. Her head told her no.

A million thoughts rushed through Yvie’s brain at once. Thoughts of Scarlet and her smile and her compliments. Thoughts of Brooke and her anger and her judgement. Thoughts of the others and their insults and their laughter.

And, they led her to do something that she would regret.

“Um… no thanks… I don’t really want to.”

She did want to. She wanted to so badly.

But she couldn’t face it.

Without another word Yvie walked away from Scarlet, a chorus of quiet giggles filling the room. Guilt washed over her, knowing that the laughter was at Scarlet’s expense.

She didn’t dare look back at her.

***

The next time Yvie saw Scarlet wasn’t at dance class. Yvie had decided to skip the next week. And the week after that. She didn’t think that she would be able to keep herself together. She had acted like a fucking idiot. She repeated the same words in her head over and over- Scarlet didn’t do anything wrong. Scarlet isn’t the bad guy. You are.

Her guilt had swallowed her whole.

She swore she would do anything to start that day again. To change her answer to yes.

Yvie found herself outside studio for the first time in weeks because she was at the end of her tether.

Since she hadn’t been to dance class, she had no way to distract herself. All of her insecurities had built up, and now she found herself at breaking point.

She needed to dance. She needed to get everything out.

She had double checked there were no classes on that night, bolted out of her house, jumped on the next bus and stumbled to the studio door in a daze, without so much as a second thought. But now, as she stood with one hand resting on the door handle, her stomach flipped, reminding her of her of all the reasons why she shouldn’t go in.

Her fear. Her guilt. All the bad things that have happened behind that door.

And that is exactly why she needed to go in.

To face it on her own terms. To forget it.

She pushed the brass handle and practically fell through the door, each step forward making her body shake. Even just being in the building made Yvie’s head spin.

Some would say she was overreacting. Yvie wished she was.

Of course, she’d done bad things before in her life. It wasn’t a new feeling. But she’d never felt guilt like this before.

Scarlet was the one person who had been nice to her and she still acted like a bitch.

She hung up her coat in the empty cloakroom, fiddling with the zip on her dance bag as she tried to calm herself down. It’s fine. You’re alone. Nothing bad can happen this time. She slipped on her worn jazz shoes and took a deep breath before walking into the hall.

There was a girl in the room.

A familiar girl with auburn hair and sea blue eyes and a smile as wide as the Milky Way.

Of course Scarlet was there. Great. Just great.

Scarlet’s curly hair was tied back in a emerald green scrunchie, with a pair of white earphones framing her face. She wore an oversized band t-shirt, primark’s finest black leggings and not a stitch of makeup, and somehow she still managed to look like a sports illustrated model.

Ok, maybe she wouldn’t go that far. But she still looked pretty fucking good.

At first, she didn’t notice Yvie enter. She stood in the centre of the room in front of the mirror wall, lipsyncing some song to her reflection as she jumped around wildly. Her facial expressions were addictive- unpredictable and exaggerated, drawing Yvie into the story that the song was telling. She wiggled her eyebrows and opened her mouth wide, making Yvie smile to herself.

God, she was such a dork.

Yvie silently made her way towards the centre of the room to where Scarlet was flailing around. Just watching her. She noticed little things that she hadn’t before. The way her ponytail bounced as she danced. The way her chest rose and fell with each quick breath. The way dimples appeared on both cheeks each time she flashed a smile in the mirror. Each little detail, every freckle and mole, painting a perfect picture that Yvie tried to memorise.

Yvie wasn’t one for sappy romance. But fuck, if Scarlet wasn’t the prettiest girl she’d ever seen.

Scarlet jumped out of her trance upon spotting Yvie, her face flushing red as she took out her earphones and laughed to herself. If Yvie had been in her position she probably would’ve melted into the floor, but somehow Scarlet’s demeanour never changed.

“Oh my god! You scared me!” Scarlet laughed loudly, her trademark smile making Yvie feel a little warmer.

“Sorry! I didn’t know anyone was in here,” she laughed in return.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” Scarlet tucked a few strands of baby hairs behind her ear and fished in her pockets for her phone. She tapped the screen twice, pausing the music, and let the earphones slip out of her ears and hang loose. “How are you, anyway? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh yeah, I haven’t been in class for a couple weeks, but I’m pretty good I guess.” Only part of it was a lie. Sure she hadn’t been feeling great for a while: but right this second, she didn’t think she could feel any better. “Um, how are you?”

“I’m alright,” she giggled. “Trying to improve my dancing but it’s not really working. I guess I just have two left feet.”

“Oh, no you don’t! I’m sure your improving loads!”

“I better be,” Scarlet rolled her eyes and grinned. “I’m paying too much money for these classes to still dance like fucking a stick insect after.”

The two burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the walls and bouncing around the room. The sound reminded Yvie of the laughter that normally filled the room- the laughter of her peers, usually directed towards her. But this laughter was kind and warm and genuine. Nothing like what she was used to.

However, it did remind her that she had something to do.

She didn’t know how she was able to form the words of an apology in her head. But before she could overthink it, the words escaped from her lips.

“I’m really sorry, by the way.”

“Sorry for what?”

Yvie had rehearsed what she was going to say in her head every day since the incidents. But in the moment, her perfect speech was forgotten, and she just let her thoughts spill out of her brain the way they were, frantic and messy and real.

“About the other week… when I said I wouldn’t help you. I acted like a dick, I was in a bad headspace and I really, really wanted to help you, I swear, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it because I was worried that-“

“Shhh. It’s okay. Calm down.” Scarlet shook her head and chuckled. “I get it. You were just protecting yourself.”

“I… Why would you think that?”

“It’s alright, Yvie. I know you were. And I don’t blame you for it. I’m not oblivious. I’m aware they talk about me. I find it kinda funny, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! They all believe that I think I’m the best dancer in the world.” Scarlet shook her head and smiled. “They really don’t know me at all.”

Yvie sighed. “They don’t know me, either. None of them really do.”

“Well, the way I see it, people’s blatant stupidity can be the perfect comedy.”

Yvie roared with laughter. She’d never thought about it that way before, but she couldn’t deny that it seemed like a pretty good outlook to have.

“So anyway, Miss Yvie. How’d you find yourself here on a Tuesday evening?”

Yvie hesitated for a moment. “I honestly don’t know. I just wanted to dance, I guess. Dancing’s kind of my therapy. Is that dumb?”

“Not at all. Acting’s kind of mine.”

“Oh, so you’re an actress?” Yvie smirked, watching the way Scarlet’s nose scrunched up at the question.

“You could say that. All amateur stuff though. Mostly musical theatre. But, I thought if I’m actually gonna pursue it I would probably need some dance lessons.”

“Ah, so I assume that’s how you ended up here?”

“Yup. I’m very much aware that I can’t dance, but thanks to acting I’ve been with plenty of dancers.” Scarlet snickered. “I’m kidding, obviously. But you could be the first, if you’re lucky.”

Scarlet winked before dissolving into fits of giggles, Yvie laughing nervously beside her. Her comment should not have made her heart somersault in her chest. It should not have made the blood rush to her cheeks. And it definitely should not have made Yvie think about Scarlet’s full lips, and what it might be like to kiss them.

Definitely not.

It was at this point that Yvie realised that she wasn’t overthinking about anything. And she hadn’t even danced yet.

She realised that maybe she didn’t need to dance. Maybe she just needed Scarlet.

“Anyway, Yvie,” Scarlet started, pulling Yvie out of her trance, “is there any chance you wanna go back on that no? Because I still can’t figure out how to do a fucking pirouette.”

***

The two girls talked and laughed and danced for what felt like hours. Scarlet had connected her phone to a speaker, and blasted every Lewis Capaldi song in existence, including loads that Yvie had never heard of. She didn’t really view herself as a Lewis Capaldi kind of girl. But, it suited the lyrical genre, so it would have to do.

And, to Yvie’s surprise, Scarlet wasn’t actually that bad. Sure, her sense of rhythm was a little off and she danced kind of messily, but she could tell that Scarlet was a true performer. She really acted out the emotions of the song, and it was something special to watch.

Afterwards, Scarlet had suggested that she would buy Yvie a smoothie to thank her. Despite her refusal Scarlet had insisted and practically dragged Yvie to the café down the street, Yvie only going along with it because she had convinced Scarlet to let her pay next time.

And that’s how Yvie found herself sipping a strawberry smoothie across the table from a beautiful redhead with ocean eyes, twirling a strand of her own dark hair around her finger.

The closest thing to date Yvie had ever experienced.

She was busy enjoying the sound of Scarlet’s voice as she told a story when a question caught her off guard.

“So, you never told me, why weren’t you at dance last week?”

Yvie hesitated. For a moment, she was unsure what to tell her. She didn’t want to be pitied. She did want to seem pathetic.

But sometimes it’s okay to be vulnerable. And something about Scarlet made Yvie throw her inhibitions to the wind.

“I had a fight with Brooke a few weeks ago… the next week in dance class I felt like I had nobody. And the other girls were all talking about me and staring. More than usual, anyway….”

Yvie sighed. Scarlet didn’t interrupt. She just listened, encouraging her to continue with a nod of her head.

“I don’t know why it affected me so much this time. Whenever things have got bad before I would dance to distract myself. I don’t know…. I was feeling really guilty about you too…”

“Don’t feel guilty about me, I already told you it’s okay.” Scarlet gave Yvie a soft smile and place a hand over Yvie’s on top of the table. “And you never have nobody. I’m here now.”

“I know, and I’m so fucking grateful, Scarlet. Thank you for forgiving me, I know I don’t deserve it, I was stupid and I should have never-“

“Stop, Yvie. It’s alright. It’s in the past.”

“I know, it’s just….. the guilt didn’t really help out the fact that I don’t like myself.” Yvie glanced downwards, a pang of shame forming in her chest.

Scarlet squeezed Yvie’s hand across the table. “Well, I like you a whole lot.”

Yvie’s eyes widened. “I like you too.”

The day ended with fingers interlocked at a bus stop, Scarlet insistent upon waiting with Yvie for her bus. And, when it arrived, Scarlet leaned up and pressed a kiss into Yvie’s cheek as they loosened their grip on each other’s hands.

A kiss that was soft and sweet. A kiss that set off fireworks in Yvie’s brain. A kiss that made Yvie feel like she was walking on air.

No. Dancing on air.

She got onto the bus, her mind floating in euphoria, and smiled at a waving Scarlet as she rested her forehead against the window.

***

The next week, Yvie arrived at dance class early. Her fingers were laced with Scarlet’s, and they entered the room side by side, seemingly oblivious to the whispers and stares of the other girls.

And, they danced. Not because Yvie wanted to distract herself, but because she enjoyed it.

Besides, nothing could distract her from Scarlet.

[suffragettecity100]

1892: Ida B Wells and her Anti-lynching Campaign

39: The Fierce Ida B. Wells

Ida B. Wells-Barnett, 1862-1931, lead an extraordinary life. Born into slavery in Mississippi, she was three years old when slavery was abolished. Yellow fever struck her family when she was 14 years old. Both her parents and younger brother died. Wells took a teaching job in order to support and care for her remaining siblings and later moved everyone to Memphis, Tennessee.

In 1883, she was on a train from Memphis to Woodstock, TN, where she had a teaching job. She had paid for a first class ticket to avoid the rowdy and crowded second class cars. The conductor asked Wells to move to the second class car because of her race. She refused, insisting that she had fairly bought a first class ticket. She was forcibly removed from the train and even bit the conductor and tore part of her dress in the scuffle. (This was 72 years before Rosa Parks politely refused to sit at the back of the bus.) Refusing to be mistreated in such a manner, Wells sued the railroad company for damages. She won the first trial but it was overturned by the state supreme court in 1885.

In 1892, Wells had just started her journalism career in Memphis when three African-American men were brutally lynched in a neighborhood called The Curve just outside the city. It was a purely racially motivated attack designed to intimidate the African-American community. The root cause was that the African-American owned “People’s Grocery” was more successful than the white-owned grocery in the same neighborhood. Link to the full story listed below.

She decided to investigate the real reasons why African-Americans were being targeted and set up for lynching attacks. She wrote several newspaper articles and a pamphlet. The locals were outraged by this and burned down her printing office while she was away. Under constant threat of harm, she left Memphis to go to Chicago where she continued her national anti-lynching campaign even going to England to bring international attention to cause.

In Chicago she met and married William Barnett, a lawyer and newspaper owner. Wells choose to hyphenate her last name. The couple had four children and she continually balanced motherhood with her suffrage and civil rights activities. She said, “I honestly believe I am the only woman in the United States who ever traveled throughout the country with a nursing baby to make political speeches.” Baby Herman was with her in 1898 when she met with President McKinley and lobbied congress (unsuccessfully) for an anti-lynching law. 

In 1913, Wells founded the Alpha Suffrage Club, one of the first suffrage organizations specifically for African-American women. She and 60 delegates from Illinois went to the 1913 suffrage parade in Washington D.C. They were told that African-American delegates had to march at the back of the parade so as not to offend the southern suffrage groups. She argued to march with the main Illinois group, “Either I go with you or not at all. I am not taking this stand because I personally wish for recognition. I am doing it for the future benefit of my whole race.” She was still told to march at the back of the parade. Wells appeared to comply but at the last minute she doubled back and joined the all white Illinois group with the support of her white co-suffragists, Belle Squires and Virginia Brooks. 

Wells was a major suffrage leader among African American women but despite her education, fierceness, and qualifications, she faced racism from most of the prominent white leaders of both suffrage and temperance movements. Her militant and fiery temperament was necessary for her to be so courageous but it also worked against her. Even African American groups like the NAACP found her to be too radical to be an effective leader and often distanced themselves from her association. Leaders like W.E.B. Dubois felt that African Americans should be their best selves under Jim Crow Laws to show their dignity and peacefully win public support; Wells argued that there shouldn’t be Jim Crow laws at all and wanted people to push back against discrimination. Wells was put so far off to the side that she was not even mentioned in the NAACP article published in 1912 about the people who had led the campaigns against lynchings. 

Ida B. Wells-Barnett deserves more recognition than she has had. It’s easy to take her often inflammatory quotes out of context or be put off by her intense nature. She was willing to make a scene in public to stand up for racial equality. She would not go to the back of the parade, nor the second-class car. She called attention to the inhumane horror of lynching and made it real to general public by showing graphic pictures of the mutilated bodies. She was fighting for her people and for women’s rights despite the personal risks of being an outspoken African-American woman. 

Many times it takes uncompromising radicals to call attention to issues even if it’s the more moderates who eventually find a way to make the changes happen.

This week’s song pick: 

“Strange Fruit” sung by Jill Scott (Intro by Morgan Freeman) https://youtu.be/OkXAxpzE6Gk

#FightForThe19th #SuffragetteCity100

Episode 39 Sources:

https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/ida-b-wells-barnett

https://dp.la/primary-source-sets/ida-b-wells-and-anti-lynching-activism/sources/1113

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/against-all-odds-65322127/

Detailed account of the Curve lynching incident: 

https://blogs.memphis.edu/benhooksinstitute/2015/09/30/memphis-and-the-lynching-at-the-curve/

Lynchings were not limited to African-Americans. Italians were the second most common target.

http://www.iaovc.org/lynching-of-italians/

[mymisfortuneforyourenjoyment]

March 8, 2019, 4:31pm

I have a chronic illness called POTS - that’s postural orestatic tachycardia syndrome. In simple words, my nervous system is broken and the biggest problem it causes is with my heart.

My doctors have sent me to cardiac rehab. Which, apparently, is something I’m supposed to be ashamed of? At least that’s the impression that I got when a 60-some year old woman also at the rehab clinic whispered, “Are you here for... cardiac rehab?”

By the way, I’m not ashamed. Not one bit.

I’m annoyed, though. The last time I saw my cardiologist, he said to me, “I can’t prescribe exercise in a pill. It’s up to you. I can’t do anything about it.” True, doc. That’s true. But my good dude, stop acting like I’m not trying. Stop assuming that I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing. I have been exercising, to the best of my ability. He doesn’t believe me, though.

I’m also just pissed, frankly. I’m in shape. I can do whatever the exercise doctors asked me to do. It’s the day after that fucks me up. The “postural” in POTS means that my symptoms are tied to what position I’m in - laying, sitting, standing, moving. The “tachycardia” bit means that the more vertical I am, (so the longer I’m standing) the higher my heart rate goes. Anyway, all that to say that the day after exercising, I can’t stand for more than ten seconds without fainting. I started this exercise program twice before, at home. Both times, I ended up in a wheelchair for a month after because when I stood, and sometimes when I sat up, I fainted.

So now I’m going to the hospital each time I exercise. Today was the first day. It’s a 36 week program, three times per week. This is basically how my day went:

Bought a bus ticket on my phone through an app. I rush my service dog to do her business before we got to the bus stop. She nearly makes us late. The bus driver and I make eye contact. The bus driver sees my service dog. I give a “what the fuck” face and throw my hands up because she’s not slowing down. The bus skids to a stop. I get on, show her the ticket on my phone and say, “Thanks.”

I get off at the right stop. I rush to the office - I have anxiety. A man snaps and whistles at my dog. “Please, don’t.” Got there a half hour early like I was told to, perfectly on time. I check in at the front desk. The receptionist calls me by the wrong name, my given name. I cringe and try to correct her, but she doesn’t let me speak. She ogles at my dog. The receptionist says I’m too early. She takes me back to the gym anyway.

She tells me to sit down but then blocks the chairs, talking to a nurse. I feel awkward so I let my dog sniff around the equipment, it’s a new place and all. She’s not very interested.

“Is that a dog we can’t touch?”

“Right.”

“Can we talk to her?”

“No. It distracts her.”

“There’s a new girl here. She has a dog.”

I want to die.

I sit down and tuck my dog under my seat. Good dog. I forgot treats. I feel bad because it’s a new situation and she could use the encouragement. She does wonderfully, though. 

A woman wheels up and talks to the dog. She doesn’t ask to pet her. Another woman, the one that whispered cardiac rehab, insists on showing me a picture of her daughter because, to her, we look so much alike. We don’t. The daughter  has kinda short brown hair that resembles mine. “She has an easy smile, just like you.” I smile and want to say thanks, but choke on my words because I’m anxious.

The woman teases and guesses that my name is Chip. I thought about saying yes, but told her the name I go by instead. Took her three times to hear me right. My name isn’t hard. Just a bit too masculine sounding for her to accept that it’s my name, I think. She introduces me to everyone there. She’s trying so hard to be welcoming, but no one will shut up about my dog and everyone’s assuming I’m a girl and I’m anxious.

A man sits next me. He’s three times my age and reminds me of my grandfather. He asks what breed my dog is, boxer lab mix. I’ve had this conversation with strangers so many times, I swear I need to start counting just so that I can add that bit of information in the conversation so that people can better understand my annoyance. He struggles with his phone, wanting to show me a picture of his dog, a labradoodle. I explain how to get to the picture he wants to show me. The woman from before insists on showing me her dog, a mutt.

Three doctors finally stride into the room perfecting in sync together in a little pack, which is funny to me. I watch them in the mirror. I can’t see around the huddle of ten people waiting for them.

I’m handed a packet of information. I take my time reading it. My doctor is annoyed that I’m actually reading it and taking so long - I’m dyslexic. She sits down and runs over it with me. It’s a lot of information and I can’t remember any of it.

She takes me into the gendered locker room, the women’s, and shows me how to put on the heart monitor. It’s a chest strap that correlates to a watch. I lift my shirt and show my scars from top surgery as she puts it on. I wanted to say that I’m transgender and I use they/them pronouns, but the words catch in my throat and I say nothing.

She walks me through the rest of the process. It’s long and confusing. She teaches me how to use the recumbent bike, with all of its functions on the screen. She’s impressed that I do so well. I told her that exercising is not the problem. It’s the day after. She bids me good wishes for tomorrow as I leave.

I walk to the bus stop. The bus comes very soon after I get there. I am the only one at the bus stop. I make eye contact with the driver. He speeds past. “What the fuck!” I swear more and pace around. I feel bad that I’m acting the way I am around a teen boy that cannot make eye contact with me and sits on the sidewalk with his legs bent up in at weird angles. I think I’m making him nervous.

I look up on my phone when the next bus will come. I sit on a cement base of a flagpole nearby. I take out my phone, texting friends about being passed up completely. That’s the second time it’s ever happened to me. My phone is at 30%. It dies. Probably from the cold. My fucking bus ticket is on my phone.

I try to get into an education building. It’s a Friday, the university campus should be open. The building was locked. I walk back to the hospital in the cold. My dog is shivering.

I ask the concierge if there is a way to charge my phone. He says that there are no charging stations and apologizes. I walk up to a group of four people sitting in a cluster of chairs in a waiting area. A woman is on the phone. I stand awkwardly until I get up the courage to say, “Excuse me, I’m really sorry, but does anyone have an iphone charger?”

The woman on the phone says that she does. Her daughter, sitting next to her, says that her charger won’t work because her mother has an android. The mother pulls out a universal charger. I thank her profusely.

I sit on the floor by a plug. I hold my phone up by the plug that’s 2 feet off the ground. The cord is only 6 inches long. My phone turns back on. It’s at 24%. I want to wait 15 minutes at least and leave in time to walk back to the bus stop. I charge for my phone for 12 minutes. My phone is at 30%. The woman’s car was brought up by the valet and she needed to leave. I thank her profusely.

I rush to the bus stop, even though my dog pulled towards the grass, wanting to do her business. I tell her that we’re in a hurry - I’m anxious. We get to the bus stop ten minutes early. I let the dog pee and sit on the cement block by the flagpole. There are other people around. The bus comes. I pull my phone out and the app actually turns on without loading for 4 minutes. I board the bus.

My phone is at 24%. I turn on music because I’m anxious. My phone dies but I leave my headphones in. I get off at the right stop. I decide to begin chronicling my bad days and my bad thoughts on a public social media platform. I don’t care if anyone read it or if anyone follows me.

[bthenoise]

Celebrate 10 Years of ‘Constellations’ With August Burns Red’s 10 Favorite Moments From The Writing, Recording & Touring Process

When it comes to most album anniversary tours, some fans tend to think those 10, 15 or even 20-year treks are just for the longtime listeners and nostalgia chasers. Instead, many seem to forget about the bands actually playing those beloved records on a nightly basis. 

Take metalcore juggernauts August Burns Red, for example. Gearing up for their 10-year anniversary tour for 2009′s groundbreaking LP Constellations, the seasoned outfit has thoroughly enjoyed tour prep as they’ve run through songs like “The Escape Artist” and reminisced about some of their fondest decade-old memories.    

Be it playing tour games on the road, surviving terrifying snowstorms or the impact of playing “Indonesia” live for the first time in the Southeast Asian country, looking back on 10 years since Constellations was released, JB Brubaker, Brent Rambler, Matt Greiner, Dustin Davidson and Jake Luhrs have all accrued memories that will last a lifetime. 

Speaking with The Noise about some of those life-changing Constellations moments, Brubaker, Rambler, Greiner and Davidson compiled 10 of their all-time favorite memories from the writing, recording and touring process dating all the way back to 2007. To check out the list to get you even more pumped for August Burns Red’s upcoming tour, be sure to see below. Afterward, to grab tickets, head here.      

Lastly, if you’d like a chance to win free tickets – yes, FREE! – head here.

Brent Rambler

The Constellations recording process and touring cycle houses many fond memories for all of us. Here are three of my personal favorites that stick out. Let’s get cracking in chronological order!

“White Washed”

The lyrics for “White Washed” were some of the first more aggressive and “angry” lyrics that I had ever tried to write at the time. However, the words flowed like water because they were very in the moment. I started working on them immediately after a youth pastor surrounded me with a group of teenagers directly outside of our tour van. He proceeded to condemn [me] and the other members of the band simply for having a case of beer on our [tour] rider. He wanted to try and make an example of me in front of all the kids he brought with him. The whole thing was super inappropriate and out of line, BUT the lyrics for one of our most popular songs came out of it so it was worth it!

First Home

The recording process for Constellations was extra exciting for me because literally a week before we left I had an offer accepted for my first house. I remember being very proud because it was a big moment in proving to everyone that I could earn a living off of making music. For weeks while we recorded, I was heading to notaries and post offices to work on the closing process of the home, and since we were in Florida while making the album, I had to sign over power of attorney and do the sale over the phone. We returned home super late from Florida, but instead of crashing at my parents where all of my things were, I grabbed the keys and just sat in my new house.

Chicago House Of Blues

Constellations came out while we were on tour in the summer of 2009. The tour had some cool highlights, but I think the biggest one was selling out the Chicago House of Blues for the first time. At that moment it was our biggest headline show ever and packing such a notable venue felt amazing. Afterwards, we had a big celebration with the other bands backstage and it capped off a great night!

JB Brubaker

“Put Him Up!”

In December of 2009, we were on the road with Underoath and Emery. We became really good friends with the guys in Emery and would hang out with them every night after the shows. They had purchased their own passenger bus and gutted it and turned it into a tour bus. It was DIY but so cool. We’d hang out, drink beers, have dance parties and tell stories. Emery taught us one “game” that we still play on our tour bus today. Occasionally, when someone new would walk on the bus, Toby (Emery’s bassist/vocalist) would slowly start chanting “Put him up! Put him up!” The chant would catch on with other people on the bus until everyone was shouting it, at which point the newcomer would be picked up and crowd surfed to the ceiling of the bus. It was basically a “welcome to the party” greeting and always got a good laugh. We are happy to continue to carry the tradition on a decade later.

Touring Australia 

It was August of 2009. Constellations had recently come out and we were invited by Parkway Drive to support them on a tour across Australia. It was our first time in Australia and an honor to be supporting them. They were the hottest metal band on the continent and drawing huge crowds. After the monster travel day to Australia, we arrived to find a bunch of luggage didn’t make it. Qantas Airlines outfitted us with small care packages to keep us afloat until our baggage was recovered. Inside were heather gray sweat shorts and matching t-shirts. The first show was in Brisbane at an outdoor hillside [venue] called Riverstage. They were expecting 7,000 people which was more people than we had ever played for at that time. When we were setting up our equipment on stage before the show, I failed to take into account the voltage difference between Australia and the US. I plugged in my pedal board and heard a pop followed by the smell of burning electronics. I had fried my pedal board’s power supply, rendering my pedals useless. I had to borrow a pedal board from Architects, who were also playing on the tour. (I think we need to do this same tour lineup again!). When we took the stage that night I was a ball of nerves. I unfortunately played sloppy for the large Australian crowd, but I don’t know if anyone actually noticed or cared. We debuted our song “Meddler” for the first time that night. (I played that song particularly poorly.) The tour was overall a great experience. I have very fond memories of hanging out with the guys in Architects and playing massive shows in every city.

Touring South America

In August of 2010, we were doing a tour of South America. It was our first time traveling there. Our buddies in Blessthefall were coming with us and it was going to be awesome. The first show was in Sao Paulo, Brazil and over 1,000 people showed up. We were treated like celebrities and it was a completely surreal start to the tour. The final show of the tour was scheduled for August 28th in Caracas, Venezuela. About a week before the show, we learned of political unrest in Venezuela. The president there was known for being a hot head and pulling stunts like closing down the airports. It was determined to be unsafe for us to travel to Caracas because of the possibility of getting stuck there should the president lock down flights out of the country.  Instead, we booked a last minute show in Quito, Ecuador. With a week to get the word out, we weren’t expecting much. The show was held in a small youth center. There couldn’t have been more than 150 people there but it was such a special show for us. The appreciation and enthusiasm the crowd showed us was unmatched. We felt honored to have been received with such open arms and on such short notice. What felt like a disaster waiting to happen turned out to be one of the biggest highlights of our South American tour.

Dustin Davidson

The Day The Van Died

Thankfully I found a journal entry from Thursday, April 16th, 2009 so that I can write accurately with every detail about the day that our van died. We were pretty early into a tour with All That Remains and Born of Osiris when as you may have guessed -- our 16 passenger Chevrolet van (unnamed to my knowledge) took its last breath of air and sipped its last ounce of gasoline (which in those days contained 0% ethanol for you engine nerds). According to my journal, we woke up at a decent hour, grabbed continental breakfast from the hotel and headed out on the road for the next show. I was first up to drive on that day and while on the road about 60 miles away from our departure our sound engineer Jade asked me, “So how long do you think this van is going to last? Do you think it’ll make it through the rest of the tour?”

“Yeah, I think it’ll last for the rest of the tour - at least I hope so,” I replied. Just as I finished that thought our speed began to decrease rapidly while ascending a hill on the highway. I let off the gas and the engine shut off. As I was pulling over to the shoulder the temperature gauge shot up, the breaks were extremely hard to press because the brake booster went out and smoke poured out from under the hood when I was finally able to bring the vehicle to a stop. “Well, I think we need a new van,” I said.

I don’t remember how many miles that van had but it was surely over 200k so something like that was bound to happen at any time. Born of Osiris was able to pick us up so that we could make the next show which was in Syracuse, NY and after the gig our friend Ricky picked us up and drove us back to Lancaster so that we could van shop the next day and get back out on the road to meet up with the tour again.

The Storm That Left Us Stranded

In the winter of 2009, we did a short tour with Underoath and Emery. It was a very fun tour filled with hangs and packed shows. However, the drive home was something that I hope to never be a part of again. After the tour ended in New Orleans, JB and Brent flew home while the rest of us (Matt, Jake, TM Josh, merch guy Mychael and myself) opted to save some bones and drive the van/trailer home. We knew there was a huge rain storm coming but we had plenty of time to beat it home by getting on the road directly after that last show - or so we thought.

Sometime in the early hours of December 18th during our drive home, we blew a wheel bearing on the trailer and had to pull over to take a look at it. This was an ongoing problem for us back in the day. You see, this was a time before the Axe-Fx / Kemper. A dark time when we carried many guitar/bass cabinets. Our trailer was always filled to the brim. We were simply carrying too much weight and would blow out wheel bearings left and right no matter how we packed the trailer.

This blow out was one of the worst ones we ever had. Since it was still dark outside, whoever was driving the van couldn’t see the smoke so they ended up driving for a while after the bearing gave out which led to the bearing fusing to the spindle which meant that we couldn’t fix the problem ourselves. We had to wait for a small repair shop to open up so that we could have the bearing fixed and while waiting to have everything repaired the storm passed us. It was only rain at the time but we knew it would turn into a mild blizzard. We finally got on the road in the early afternoon but it was too late - the damage was done.

I don’t recall which highway we were on, but it indeed was shut down and we ended up spending the night in the van on the highway until we could get moving again early the next morning. Around 6am when traffic started moving again, we opted to drive to the next closest exit and get a hotel since the roads were still covered in snow. Our drive home was supposed to be about 18 hours without stops and it ended up taking us 3 days. It’s fun to reflect on it now and talk to those that I share that memory with, but it’s safe to say from that day on, I never drove the van home from the end of a tour again.

Matt Greiner

Constellations Artwork

It was December 2007. I was getting inspiration for album artwork from the most unassuming source, a black and white movie from the 1940s. It's A Wonderful Life is a movie about a supernatural intervention in the life of a frustrated businessman. In the movie, an angel is sent from heaven to show George Bailey what life would have been like had he never existed. At their high-school graduation party, George is reintroduced to Mary who has had a crush on him since they were kids. Under the moonlight, they're walking outside when George suddenly turns Mary towards the sky and asks, "You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down."

As I watched the scene unfold, I played out the idea of a rope tied to a star in the sky. I put pen to paper and ran with the concept, pulling inspiration from Matthew 6 where the idea of Heaven coming to earth is introduced. The stars represented steadfast anchors by which we find direction throughout our lives. The kites represent our own fleeting emotions that will alter direction just as the wind changes. I remember getting on the phone with Ryan Clark, the creative mind behind the company Invisible Creature, and explaining the artistic concepts that would eventually come to fruition in the pages of Constellations.  

“Indonesia” 

In 2007, I awoke to find that a relative had died in a plane crash. David Clapper had always been passionate about flying. It wasn't uncommon to see his single-engine Cessna flying over our family farm in Lancaster County, PA. He devoted his time assisting those in need in Southeast Asia by flying the sick and dying from the bush to the nearest hospital, which often times was a several hour flight. On one of his return flights to the bush, he encountered a storm that blew his plane into the side of a mountain. I remember going for a drive after finding out the terrible news. I was so upset that someone doing such a good thing had died in such a terrible way. Here was a man who gave his time and energy to helping others and, in the end, sacrificed his life doing so. I remember wondering what his last words might have been as the plane spun out of control, crashing into the side of the mountain where it still resides today. I learned an important lesson that day. That is, not every question in life has an answer, at least not one that will satisfy. "This is the time to turn down our heads and turn up our hearts."  

I remember traveling to Indonesia on the Constellations Tour. We played an outdoor venue for a large group of excited fans who were seeing us perform for the first time. When it came time to play "Indonesia," a feeling came over me that I'll never forget, an overwhelming sense of humility. The band I helped start in my parent's basement in Lancaster County, PA was playing in Southeast Asia performing a song written about my relative who had passed away on that very continent just the year before. The fans in the crowd seemed to sing about him like he was their relative, not some stranger who's name they merely read in the liner notes of a CD. Near the end of the song Jake screams the words, "David, rest in peace." I'll never forget hearing the crowd sing those very words so loud they could be heard over the amplification of our own instruments. A story goes a long way, sometimes even to the edges of the other side of the planet.  

[lamarbuyshouses]

Beto Bets on the Border

Miguel Roberts/The Brownsville Herald via AP

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Beto Bets on the Border

Will showing up with a high-minded call for border solidarity translate to the historic levels of Latino turnout that O'Rourke needs?

–

by Justin Miller August 24, 2018

After winning the Democratic primary for Beto O'Rourke's congressional seat, his friend and political ally Veronica Escobar, an exuberant former El Paso County judge, began planning a four-day “Border Surge” bus tour to spread the gospel of Beto in the Texas borderlands, where he struggled in the primary.

The goal of the tour, which wrapped up this week, was to knock on thousands of doors and kick off a fevered get-out-the-vote push that will increase Democratic voter turnout in the 32 border counties by 15 percent. That lofty feat would bring in 170,000 new votes and, Escobar hopes, help put O'Rourke over the top in November.

In order to come even close to winning, O'Rourke needs to do a hundred different things that Democrats have failed to do in the past. That includes achieving record levels of turnout in the Rio Grande Valley, one of the largest- and fastest-growing pockets of Latino voters in the nation - and an area notorious for low voter participation.

After years of Republicans (and some Democrats) using the U.S.-Mexico border as a punching bag for their war on immigration, O'Rourke and his allies are hoping that a high-minded call for border community solidarity from El Paso to Brownsville - 825 miles to the southeast - will resonate with voters.

Veronica Escobar, who will likely become the first Latina elected to Congress from Texas, has made increasing turnout for O'Rourke along the border her personal mission.  Justin Miller

With less than two months until early voting begins, O'Rourke's most recent campaign swing came with a sense of urgency.

The Observer tagged along with Escobar's “Border Surge” bus tour, which included rallies and blockwalking in Laredo, McAllen and Brownsville, to see what O'Rourke and his allies are doing to reach out to Latino voters and jumpstart turnout in one of the most crucial regions for statewide campaigns.

'He's the male Ann Richards'

Just weeks after launching his presidential bid by calling Mexicans “rapists,” Donald Trump flew to Laredo to preach about the dangers of illegal immigration and promote his border wall plan. Surrounded by a security detail, Trump claimed that he came to the Texas border city at great risk to his personal safety.

Three years later, Escobar and a busful of about 30 volunteers - mostly older women, all without a single bodyguard  - survived the harrowing 10-hour journey from El Paso to Laredo for the first stop in her “Border Surge” tour.

With the 100-degree heat lingering into the evening, hundreds of Laredoans flock into the Casablanca Ballroom to hear from O'Rourke as he makes his eighth trip through the city. “He's the male Ann Richards as far as charisma goes. And the South Texans loved Ann Richards,” former Webb County Judge Mercurio Martinez tells me. “He wins over every person he talks to.”

The statewide Democratic ticket has tagged along for O'Rourke's swing through Laredo, McAllen and Brownsville. They deliver a series of long-winded stump speeches like an amateur warm-up act killing time before the headliner, who's speeding down I-35 from an afternoon event in San Antonio.

You can feel the crowd turn electric when O'Rourke and his entourage enter the hall. He hangs off to the side, greeting supporters and taking photos as Cristela Alonzo, a comedian and TV star from Hidalgo County and Beto's travel companion through the Valley, warms up the crowd.

Then he jumps on stage and delivers a speech in his hallmark style - stream-of-consciousness, but remarkably coherent. He touches on everything from family separations, Dreamers and health care to veterans and ending ongoing wars to Trump's “collusion in action in Helsinki with Vladimir Putin.” He's often at his most candid when talking about growing up in El Paso and about the tragedy of family separations.

As a native El Pasoan and close friend of O'Rourke's for about 20 years, this campaign is personal for Escobar. “I feel that we are giving [the state] our best. He is a son of the border,” she says. But she worries about the prospect of O'Rourke losing because of dismal border turnout. Political analysts point to early indications that, even in the Trump era, Latino turnout is likely to dramatically fall off like it has in previous midterm cycles. And in a cycle that's focused on flipping suburbs, many Democratic groups have, once again, failed to prioritize Latino outreach. “Shame on us if that were to happen,” she says. “That would send a really terrible message to the White House, to state leaders, to Republicans, to all those who demonize us that we're OK with it and that it doesn't bother us.”

'This election could be decided by the person whose door you knock on'

On a steamy Saturday morning, O'Rourke climbs onto a stone ledge at a park in north Laredo to present to a crowd of about 60 volunteers his romantic belief in the power of blockwalking. “They may not see the TV ads that we've got running now, they may not hear the radio spot that might play on their way home from work. They will remember that you took the time this morning … to listen to them.”

Even as his campaign starts to ramp up more traditional modes of outreach, he has no intention of de-emphasizing this cornerstone of his DIY campaign. “In the closest Texas Senate election in decades … this election could be decided by the person whose door you knock on.”

O'Rourke's crowd sizes keep getting bigger with each pass through a town.  Justin Miller

Using Polis, the campaign's voter database app, which provides a real-time map of low-frequency Democratic voters, Escobar goes from house to house in Laredo's middle-class Hillside neighborhood. It takes a minute to get her bearings, briefly walking the wrong way as she tried to find a street. “This is the problem with door-knocking in a city you don't know,” she says. Another problem: It's hard to convince unlikely voters to vote when they don't answer the door. For the 45 minutes I tagged along, she knocked on about a dozen doors and got answers at only one or two. She'd leave a handwritten note, hoping that might help.

Tagging along with Escobar is Sergio Mora, a former Webb County Democratic Party chair. The enthusiastic crowd at last night's event makes him think change just might be afoot in Laredo. But is there any other evidence that voters are unusually fired up. He shrugs. “That's the big experiment this cycle.”

One El Paso volunteer tells me that most people who answered their doors in Laredo had never heard of O'Rourke and many had no intention of voting.  

'This is a powerfully sacred place to me'

The 150-mile stretch of remote highway between Laredo and McAllen has lots of big ranches, wind turbines and Border Patrol agents, but not much in the way of voters. The “Border Surge” bus skips past Zapata, Jim Hogg and Starr Counties, roaring on to Brownsville. Meanwhile, O'Rourke stops off for his sixth visit to McAllen, the seat of Hidalgo County. It's the epicenter of the Valley, where the number of registered voters has more than doubled since 2000 to about 330,000.

Several hundred supporters packed Cine El Rey, a downtown theater, to capacity with even more folks filing into the restaurant next door to watch him via livestream. O'Rourke tells reporters before his speech that the Valley often feels like the center of the universe to him. “This is a powerfully sacred place to me.”

While he's cast himself as an unsullied ally of the border, O'Rourke's voting record includes a wrinkle or two. Pressed by a local reporter on whether his controversial vote for an appropriations bill that put at risk the future of the local Bentsen-Rio Grande Valley State Park, he performed an uncharacteristic punt. He says he's “working with colleagues on both sides of the aisle. We're doing everything we can to stop that [from being constructed].”

With that, O'Rourke was whisked away by his aides.

'People always call Brownsville and the Valley 'the sleeping giant”

The hour-long drive through the suburban sprawl of chain restaurants and shopping centers between McAllen and Brownsville is a reminder of the Valley's rapid growth - even as climate change and urbanization put the Rio Grande at risk.

On the border by the Gulf, Brownsville is the heart of Cameron County. O'Rourke very nearly lost here to Sema Hernandez, an unknown Houston activist, and now needs the area to turn out for him in huge numbers. This is his sixth visit to Brownsville.

At his third and final event during his Valley swing, hundreds pile into the sweaty Tex-Mex Nightclub on a frontage road off Interstate 69 to hear O'Rourke deliver another barn-burner. Afterwards, as he wends his way through the crowd to get outside, greeting well-wishers and selfie-seekers, he emphasizes the importance of the RGV to his statewide strategy. “It's everything. It's everything,” ticking off how many times he's been to Laredo, McAllen, Brownsville and other Valley towns.

O'Rourke's rallies often feel like an alternate universe. People are filled with hope, their Texas cynicism washed away. It's a place where anything - a post-partisan reckoning, a surge in Valley turnout and yes, even a Democrat winning statewide - seems possible. Life is sweet at a Beto rally. But outside that bubble, the feeling can get quickly wiped away.

The Valley's elections are driven by an internecine political machine with a long history of corruption. Candidates lean heavily on politiqueras, who charge campaigns to turn out voters. His campaign has prided itself on doing things differently, and in the primary O'Rourke apparently declined to use them.

I asked whether he has any plans to use politiqueras for the general election. “We're getting behind those who are volunteering their time to knock on doors. There are some neighborhoods where the residents there don't have the luxury to knock on doors on a Saturday. They're working their second job or their third job,” he says. “If we can find paid staff in those neighborhoods who are gonna be able to knock on doors, who know their neighbors, we'll do that as well.”

O'Rourke hangs off to the side with volunteers from El Paso before his speech in Laredo.  Justin Miller

Vicente Martinez, a local activist and recent graduate of the University of Texas-Rio Grande Valley, is skeptical of a voting surge around here. “People always call Brownsville and the Valley 'the sleeping giant'” and wonder if now is when it will wake up, he says. “I heard that in elementary school and I heard that after Trump was elected.”

Is Beto doing enough to reach young people? Martinez smiles and points to the venue where the band is still playing. “Tex-Mex conjunto. That's not a millennial thing. … It's a little stereotypical.”

'The greatest candidate of our generation'

A powerful Gulf breeze sweeps through Tony Gonzalez Park, cutting the early morning's humid heat and rustling the palm trees that dot the park. Volunteers sip on coffee and munch on pan dulce as they get ready to hit the streets of Brownsville. Escobar grabs a bullhorn and introduces O'Rourke as “the greatest candidate of our generation.”

This is Day 22 of his relentless 34-day sprint around the state. Dressed in his black skinny jeans and white dress shirt, which he'll wash during a live-streamed laundromat trip a few hours later, O'Rourke delivers an energetic call to action. But the fatigue is evident in the bags forming under his eyes.

After his speech, he heads out to block walk in the surrounding Southmost neighborhood with State Representative Eddie Lucio III, a 39-year-old attorney whose father, Eddie Lucio Jr., serves in the Texas Senate. From there, he stops for a roundtable in Harlingen, eats a Tex-Mex lunch, does his laundry and drives the two hours north to Alice for a town hall.

O'Rourke hopes that an army of volunteers knocking doors will lead him to victory.  Justin Miller

Tony Martinez, the Brownsville mayor, says O'Rourke just might have the winning political formula, but admitted that “he's probably not as known [in Brownsville] as I'd like him to be.” To increase turnout by 15 percent in this county, O'Rourke needs to drive out 25,000 more voters than Democrats did in 2014.

Cameron County Judge Eddie Treviño Jr. is one of the few not wearing a Beto T-shirt - he's facing an election fight in November and sports his own black-and-orange campaign shirt. He says that O'Rourke has injected a sense of urgency into the local politics and is doing the work that Democrats in the area have long neglected to do.

O'Rourke's multiple trips through the Valley seem to be moving the needle, Treviño says, at least a little bit. “I think we're going to surprise a lot of people. I like that we're just creeping up now and not gonna peak too early,” Treviño says.

Blockwalking as a duo in Los Fresnos, a small exurban town 30 minutes north of Brownsville, Treviño and Cameron County Clerk Sylvia Garza-Perez emphasize to residents that Beto is a Democrat and a fronteriza who is against family separations.

Luis Gonzalez, who voted for O'Rourke in the primary, was one of the few people who had heard of the El Paso congressman.  Justin Miller

Of those who answer their door, almost no one knows who O'Rourke is, but they politely listen, nod along and promise to vote.

Hanging out in his yard with his boxer, Luis Gonzalez was the only person who knew of O'Rourke, having voted for him in the primary. He's not so sure about any sort of surge and lamented the fact that O'Rourke seemed to focus on the bigger Valley hubs like Brownsville and McAllen. “What about the farm towns? Why isn't Beto coming here?” he asks.

'I don't believe it will happen organically'

At their last blockwalking event on a Monday morning, Escobar and her El Paso volunteers gathered at a park in a nice suburban neighborhood on the northside of McAllen, waiting for local volunteers to show up. Luciano Chano Garza, a local party activist, begins calling up more people to see if they could come out. Celia Hilber, an older woman who recently moved back to the Rio Grande Valley from Alabama, was one of the only other local volunteers there. “I may not be able to give much money, but I can give my time and effort,” she says after taking a team of El Pasoans to blockwalk.

With the help of people like Garza-Perez and Treviño, O'Rourke needs record levels of turnout in Cameron County.  Justin Miller

Danny Diaz started Cambio Texas with the sole purpose of increasing turnout in the lower Valley. The group hopes to target about 25 precincts in Hidalgo County -  where about a third of the population lives in unincorporated colonias - with especially bad turnout in 2014. But the group is still fledgling and doesn't have much in the way of money to fund a large-scale operation. He's talked to the state Democratic Party, but says they haven't committed any sort of funding.

That leaves O'Rourke's campaign trying to fill in the gaps. He's been running radio ads in the area for a while, opened up two campaign headquarters in the Valley and hired a cadre of local field organizers. But the campaign is still largely relying on volunteers to help with phone-banking and door-knocking.

“I don't believe it's a guarantee that [a border turnout surge] will happen. I don't believe it will happen organically. I don't believe that anger alone will fuel it. But we have one of the two components: an inspiring candidate,” Escobar says. “We need an army of field volunteers knocking on doors and spending the time with those voters who [would otherwise] stay home.”

Infographic sources: 2014 figures from the Texas Secretary of State, 2018 figures courtesy the Texas Tribune.

The post Beto Bets on the Border appeared first on The Texas Observer.

[lauracaskey]

My SNL ‘standby’ experience: 4/14/18

So this weekend I lived out a dream I’ve had for more than 15 years -- I waited in the SNL standby line for tickets.

Back in December, my friend Kristi and I decided we were going to try for SNL standby in the spring season. Since the schedule is not set in stone in advance, to help us choose the date I created a Google Docs spreadsheet (I’m obsessed) with a list of the most common Saturdays to have shows for the last 10 years. We settled on the second weekend of April since (see chart) there has been a show on that Saturday every year. We booked our flights/bus tickets, chose an Airbnb, took days off, and then waited.

About two weeks before we were set to go, NBC announced that John Mulaney would be hosting on April 14 and I literally screamed. (I was in a meeting at work and Kristi texted me, and I let out a small scream. In a meeting.) It felt like fate. 

I have been an SNL fan for a good portion of my life and have seen basically every episode since the 2003-2004 season. Along with that, I have always loved John Mulaney, beginning with his Update appearances, his work with Bill Hader ( ❤), and, of course, “New In Town” which has been one of my favorite standup specials for more than five years now. I missed his show in Charleston, SC, earlier this year and figured I would need to wait a few more years for him to go on tour before I’d get a chance to see him.

So, for us to have picked a random date and to have him host on that random date felt perfect (It also helped to heal the burn from the fact that Bill Hader hosted two episodes prior, and I missed planning my trip for that date.)

Being a hardcore SNL fan for the last 15 years, I knew what the standby process entailed. Long waits. Sleeping outside. The possibility that even after all of that waiting we still might not get in. I was prepared.

Kristi and I bought and borrowed all of the camping/backpacking gear necessary and easy to travel with (by plane for me from SC, and by bus for her from MD). We got into NYC on Thursday, and Thursday night I monitored Twitter and the SNL Reddit page for updates on the standby line. We decided to check the line at 9:30 a.m. on Friday and if it was more than 30 people, we’d go ahead and put our stuff down.

For those unfamiliar with the process, the SNL Standby line is on 48th St. between 6th and 5th avenues. It starts approximately beside the Nintendo Store and stretches down 48th toward Times Square, wrapping around Rockefeller Center towards the “Tonight Show�� entrance. Depending on the host, people can start lining up as early as the Wednesday before shows. (In this case – since John Mulaney is a pretty big draw for SNL fans – the line began late Thursday night.)

The standby tickets are given in order beginning at 7 a.m. on Saturday. You get the choice of dress rehearsal (which is what we chose) or live show, and the NBC pages give you your number for both before you choose your tickets.

We got there a little before 9:30 a.m. and there were already 28 people waiting in front of us. We decided not to risk it, and set our space up and began the wait. (For anyone familiar with the area, we were directly across from Sean’s Bar. Let’s just say the sight of that giant Guinness became a familiar one over the next 22 hours.)

We couldn’t have asked for better weather to wait in. It was sunny all day and during the afternoon it reached about 75 degrees. We both had on t-shirts and leggings and didn’t have to put on jackets until about 2 a.m. It stayed warm and pleasant for most of the day.

The weather definitely affected the number of people in line. By that afternoon, the line reached the end of the block and had already begun its turn around the building. Later, we heard from the security guards that the line reached the 300 person max they allow and that they began turning people away from waiting at 4 a.m. on Saturday.

The location is also great for waiting. There are plenty of restaurants, you’re not too far from Times Square, and there are two nearby Starbucks where you can use the restroom and charge your phone. We likened it, on that day, to being at the beach. We had sleeping bags, chairs, and an inflatable camping couch, with the great name of Chilbo Baggins, that made the whole experience incredibly enjoyable and comfortable. (I can provide my entire supply list for anyone interested.)

We also had some pretty great line neighbors who we were able to talk to for most of the day. Growing up in rural South Carolina, it was surreal to be surrounded for the first time in my life by people who were just as obsessed with SNL as I am.

The one issue we ran into, and completely didn’t understand, was line sitters. There are several line sitting companies in NYC that allow people to pay them to wait for them in line. For a process that seems to be based on rewarding people with free tickets for taking their time out to wait, it seems incredibly unfair, and I’m not sure why NBC allows it. We had two line-sitters in front of us who were gone for five hours at a time, while the rest of us were basically informed we had to take short, infrequent breaks or we would lose our places in line. Multiple people spoke to the guards and pages about the situation, but they ignored our complaints. On top of never being there, they also held loud business meetings right beside us during the night, and at 4:00 in the morning one of the line sitters from further back came up to the two sitters in front of us blaring an alarm on her phone and yelling about people cutting in line.

It was also angering that we waited 22 hours for tickets, and the people who paid for people to “wait for them” (not really) were able to show up well-rested and perky at 5 a.m., and got in before us. (The couple in front of us even had the nerve to complain about how sore their legs were from waiting those last two hours.)

The worst part of the night is definitely that stretch from about 2 a.m. to 5 a.m. where it starts to get cold and you’re getting tired. Also after 10 million times, it gets really old to have people come by and ask “What are you guys waiting for?” and for them to have absolutely no idea who John Mulaney is. Thankfully, I had a little bit of foresight and made a sign before going that really helped us out.

A little after 7 a.m. on Saturday the pages came out to distribute tickets. When they got to us, we were numbers 10 and 11 for dress rehearsal and 20 and 21 for the live show. I know that usually close to 50-60 people get into both, but since I cared a lot about John Mulaney – and Kristi was super tired and staying up late another night almost seemed out of the picture – we chose dress since with such a low number we were pretty much guaranteed to get in and it’s a longer show.

After grabbing a quick breakfast at Chick-Fil-A (you can take the girl out of South Carolina…), we headed back to our Airbnb in Washington Heights and slept into the afternoon.

We ate an early dinner in the Village and got back to Rockefeller Center around 6:15 p.m. The ticket says ticket holders should report to the NBC Store to check in. I’ve heard they’re usually pretty strict about letting people line up early, but we were able to go ahead and get in our spots in line in the NBC Store when we arrived. They put you in line in groups of 10, so I was at the end of one line and Kristi was at the beginning of the other.

Around 7:15 they began bringing us all upstairs to the second floor and then to the elevators to the eighth floor. Because I was number 10, I was one of the last ones in the elevator, and therefore in the front of the elevator. When we hit the eighth floor, they quickly pulled us out of the elevator, filed us through the halls and then rushed us into the studio, meaning that I was in the first few people to be seated.

I was placed in the front row of the balcony almost in the EXACT center! Because it is a live, working set, there are no “perfect” seats with “perfect” views, but I feel like I got pretty dang close. I was able to see both the cold open and the monologue very clearly, along with a good portion of the sketches.

After going back and watching the live show, I noticed a ton of differences between the live version and dress version we saw.

In addition to the two “cut for time” sketches posted on YouTube, there was another sketch cut with John, Cecily, Kyle, Kate, Alex, and Mikey about 1920s novelists. John was trying to become a new member of the famous Stratford-on-Odeon group of writers and proceeds to insult everyone in the group. Kristi and I both noticed in that sketch (and in others), John was was saying completely different things than those that were written on the cards– kind of doing a reverse Stefon.

There was also a bit from Update cut with Alex as Conor McGregor.

John also had some extra jokes in his monologue and in the “Switcheroo” sketch.

As other accounts have noted, the biggest highlight of that night was the complete disaster that was the dress version of the “Lobster Diner” sketch. At the beginning, they had trouble getting Kenan’s tank through the door and the laughing from Pete, Chris, Kate, and Kenan was even worse. If you watch the YouTube version of the sketch, they actually took some cuts from dress and put it into that version. The part with Pete laughing is from dress, along with the ending number. The audience was dying.

I also really enjoyed the “Wedding Singer” sketch and would have probably chosen that over the “Horns” sketch. I can hear myself laughing in the video they posted on YouTube at the parts where John interjects.

I felt a little emotional throughout the show, just because SNL has always meant so much to me. Just to be there, in that studio. Hearing “Live from New York…it’s Saturday Night!” and the theme music start up while I’m sitting right there; it was overwhelming. When they wheeled the Update desk and background out I was just in shock. I also spent the commercial breaks just taking in the experience of being in Studio 8H. There were lights above me with the old 1960s/1970s NBC logo.  I was thinking of all the people I admire who have been in that studio–the original cast, my favorite cast members (like Dana Carvey, Bill Hader, and Jimmy Fallon), my favorite musicians (Paul McCartney, Paul Simon, George Harrison), my comedy heroes (Steve Martin, most of the members of Monty Python). It was crazy. And also to see Lorne Michaels in person, working down on the stage was just surreal.

At the end, they filed us all out back into the hallway where we were able to see the famous photos of former hosts and former sketches. Also, as I’ve heard others note before, the hallway (where I assume the writers are) smelled extremely strong of pot. Michael Che was also in the hall (possibly related? Haha).

We exited through the NBC Store, which was the only place still open in Rockefeller Centre at the time.

In all, this little adventure in NYC was the best trip I’ve ever taken in my life. I talked to some of the “old-timers” around me who have been doing this for years, and one told me that she could tell that I was going to do this again; that I had “caught the bug.” Which is absolutely true. I’ve definitely “caught the bug” and despite all the waiting, the stress, and the just overall exhaustion involved in the SNL standby process, I can see me doing this whole thing again very soon.

Another side note: I also attended Seth’s monologue rehearsal on Thursday, and he is the sweetest with the audience. That was so much fun, and because it was Thursday, SNL was in rehearsal and we got to see Pete Davidson and Kyle Mooney in the hallway. I was also standing beside the SNL stage, waiting to go into Late Night, and through the curtain I was able to see John, Luke, and Heidi rehearsing the “Horns” sketch.

[athena1138]

So, I’m a bus driver. As such, I see a lot of shit.

(My shifts range from 3-6 hours, and my campus is relatively small so I get bored so I start counting stuff and I write down things that I notice or things that make me smile. This is a small compilation of the last 3 weeks-ish of my job. (Please note: I work 19 1/2 hours per week. That’s it.) 

*In two weeks, I have counted 124 broken headlights. Obviously, some of these are repeats, but I’m pretty confident in saying my margin of error is 40 max. So, 80 cars with broken headlights. 

*I have seen roughly 194 dogs in the past month. A good number. Very pleasing. Yes. 

*1 cat, and I was surprised because it was in a pretty busy area of campus. 

*I’ve had 19 individual potheads on my bus, a group of 3 which gets on at the same time every night and I’ve just started opening my window as I pull into the stop. It’s not even worth it. They reek. 

*The other night, there was this very nice guy who got on. When I pulled to the stop, I thought he was just wearing a blanket, which given that it’s been 30 degrees or lower, it’s not unusual. He wasn’t. It was a full blown serape, and he was also wearing a black cowboy hat. He was a larger guy, so it’s hard to miss him, but as he got off my bus he turned towards me, tipped his hat, and said, “You have yourself a good night, Ma’am.” It was adorable. I love him. 

*Last Friday there was a 3-car accident on my town’s highway and a popular side road, which just so happened to be on my route. It was pretty interesting to watch them go about cleaning up as I was stuck in the traffic for 10 minutes. 

*The Friday before that, there was a high speed chase at the end of my incredibly shitty 6 hour shift. Included in the chase was the suspect vehicle, 4 campus police cars, and 6 city police cars. One of the other drivers called the chase in on the radio as an alert to all of us, and then he called back and told the dispatcher that the suspect vehicle had thrown a bag out of their window at his intersection. The bag turned out to be a stolen handgun. The chase continued until at least I got home. It was pretty cool. 

*Apparentfuckingly headphones do not exist, as literally everybody gets on my bus and plays music/videos/phone calls on full volume all the fucking time and fam. It’s annoying as shit. Like, I’m trying to listen to my fucking music. It’s not playing for you. It’s playing so my ass doesn’t fall asleep or get distracted or anything like that. BUY SOME FUCKING HEADPHONES. 

*Food is 10x more aromatic on buses and all it does is make me hungry no matter how long ago I ate. 

*We have about 28 geese living in our duck pond. I’ve named the alpha Delorian. There are also 6 ducks. 

*40% of the conversations I hear are about sex. The other 60 is probably just complaining about someone else. 

*Apparently nobody knows that buses have wide turn radii so people will literally be sitting in the middle of the already tiny road trying to turn left while I’m trying to turn right and sit and stare at me. And then when I tell them to go, the like 4 people that have accumulated behind them think I’m talking to them, too. Make room for fucking buses. 

*Also, nobody seems to understand that those thick white lines near stop signs actually have a purpose. Here it is: If you are over the line, it is much more difficult for me and semis not to hit you. If you are behind the line, it is much easier for us to avoid it. BACK THE FUCK UP BEHIND THE LINE. 

*You would be amazed how many cars drive around at night with their lights off. Just absolutely fucking astounded. I sure as shit am. Just tonight, I counted 15 cars without their lights on. I even flashed a few, which I’m not supposed to do, and they just kept on going, lights still off. Like, people, it’s 10pm. I don’t care if you can see on our well lit campus or not. Your headlights are there for a reason. 

*I’ve also recently made the discovery that every single building on our campus has the same color paint inside. Every single building. I’ve been here 3 goddamn years and I just realized. 

*Also, if I listen to the oldies station, I can’t tell you how many vine-based songs I hear. The “Every step you take I’ll be watching you” song comes on at least once a night. It’s insane. 

And now for some more political/controversial/racial observations. (tl;dr: white people fucking suck.)

I should mention, I’ve thought white people suck for a long ass time, but my job is only confirming it. I also may be more inclined to find fault in white people because generally we suck. (((I am white as Wonder Bread.))) Also, please note, I say Asian because my school has a mixture of students from all over Asia. Most of them are Chinese, but I’m uncomfortable generalizing it by just saying Chinese. We also do not have a wealth of Hispanic/Latinx students at my school, so mostly they’ll go unmentioned.

*In the past 3 weeks, 47 white people have entered the road without looking. Only 4 black people have done it, and 2 Asian people have done it. I’ve not noticed any other ethnic/racial groups. 

*Today, there was a white girl standing on the sidewalk with 6 bags spread out all over, blocking the entire sidewalk. People had to step into the road or the very wet grass to avoid her shit and all she cared about was her phone. 

*Out of the potheads, it’s pretty much half black and half white, so whatever stereotype there is about black people doing more drugs than white people, it’s bullshit. At least in my very small study.

*Also today, there were these two white girls on my bus. No prob. My route takes me from campus to a vacant elementary school where I turn around and come back to campus. The other main loop goes from campus to our stadium and apartments near the stadium back to campus. Each bus is very clearly marked as either Red (Mine) or Green (Stadium.) I had picked the girls up on the ass end of campus, and took them all the way to the elementary. They didn’t get off. I figured, “Ok, maybe they’re just wasting time or waiting for a friend to get on or something.” I started to go back to campus. AS I WAS TURNING ONTO CAMPUS, one girl very snottily goes, “UHHMMMMMMMM aren’t you going to the stadium??????” I, being in a pretty cranky mood, went, “No.” She just scoffed and goes, “AND WHY NOT?” I don’t know how, but I managed not to cuss. I said, “Because that’s green loop. This is red loop. Red loop only goes to that school and back to campus.” She didn’t say anything else but I could see her and her friend were about to fucking blow their heads because they wasted MAYBE 5 minutes of their lives. They jumped off at the next stop, walked across the street, and was immediately picked up by the Green loop. If anything, I saved them from standing in the cold for another 10 minutes. 

*White people, especially guys, tend to be the people who pretend to jump or push each other in front of buses. Obviously, this isn’t FUCKING FUNNY. If I hit a pedestrian, not only will I lose my job and my license and could maybe even go to jail, IT SCARES THE FUCKING SHIT OUT OF ME WHEN THEY DO IT BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW IF THEY’RE SERIOUS OR NOT. But they think it’s a fucking joke. I have never had an Asian/Hispanic/Black person joke about doing this. But I’ve only been a bus driver since January, so my input is basically meaningless. 

*Maybe 1/3 of white people will thank me or wish me a good evening or something along those lines (One guy is particularly enthusiastic about it. He’s fun.) More than half the black passengers thank me, and nearly all the Asian students thank me. Just saying. 

*Manspreading is 100% a thing. Some of the buses we have have rows of 3 fold-able seats which are technically reserved for handicapped people, but they never get on because we have a designated disabilities bus. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is, how many people are on my bus, it doesn’t matter. There is always at least one guy sitting on one and a half of those seats. Today I got on a bus (as a passenger, but it still counts) and this dude was literally taking up the entire row, and the bus was pretty full. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. He had his legs spread between two seats and his backpack was sitting on the third. Guys, I may not have balls, but I do have breasts that get in the way, and trust me when I say, they CAN BE ADJUSTED. If your balls are so sensitive and large that they need their own entire seat, 1) you should consult a physician, and 2) you need some supportive underwear. Maybe tuck a sock under them to give them some lift. I don’t care. Just shut your damn legs to at least your own seat. 

[getseriouser]

20 THOUGHTS: You can't bite the boys of the Bulldog breed

FUNNY that.

The Bulldogs were wooden spoon certainties and in a world of trouble, now we jump off Essendon as quickly, pardoning their victors as we do.

Collingwood wins by four goals against a lowly Carlton and now Buckley is showing something we’ve never seen before?

West Coast kick six unanswered goals in the final term when their travelling opponents had a smaller bench than an inner-city apartment’s kitchenette and they are now on the path to greatness?

Steady on.

 1.       Cricket first - in a sport that desperately could use some PR right about now - why haven't we had a female umpire a men's test match? Has it happened and no-one noticed? Or is it a glaring oversite with other men’s competitions around the world catching up? Cricket Australia needs me. James Sutherland, you have my number, give me a call.

 2.       So the Doggies. Had a significant portion of their best line-up out on Sunday and showed a bit, showed us what we think the 2016 premiers should be playing like. Round One was what it was, and yes they had a stinker to follow up, but these Dogs will be just fine, probably not a top four fancy but certainly a long way from the bottom of the ladder come the end of August.

 3.       As for their opponents, well yes, little excuse. Unlike the winners, Essendon were pretty close to rolling out their best team (Gleeson perhaps the only exception?) and yet were pummelled and lucky to have gotten so close. In that case, on Sunday, that just comes down to a bit of want and desire. Not good. But there’s always a next week so not all is lost at Tullamarine.

 4.       Hasn’t the man love come for Nic Naitanui since Sunday night. He is back, there’s no-one better in full flight, best on ground and probably a Logie, Nobel Prize and a chance to play for the showcase on Price is Right too. However, and this goes somewhat for Stef Martin who also played a ‘blinder’ on the weekend, who were they rucking against? Both Geelong and Port Adelaide did not possess a first-choice ruckman, so for Naitanui and Martin to go bananas is bare minimum. That’s what separates Max Gawn and Brodie Grundy above the others. Gawn defeated an All-Australian ruckman in Todd Goldstein, Grundy took down a pretty handy colleague in Matty Kreuzer too. So, as mentioned above, when it comes to ruckmen dominating games with no equal – steady on.

 5.       Geez the Power run it dicey with opponents they should just be taking care of. Credit to the Lions I guess but Port are so lucky. Yet, a win is a win, they didn’t stuff it up like last year when this would have gone against them, if they ride their luck and make amends, this is still a very positive platform for Ken Hinkley’s men.

 6.       This column continues to be enamoured with the Freo back six. A solid, in-form and gelling backline is the foundation of good, great sides. The combination of Joel Hamling, premiership player, the assured veteran presence of Michael Johnson and Stephen Hill, the rapidly developing Alex Pearce and Luke Ryan plus one of the recruits of the year in Nathan Wilson, that’s a very good core group. Let alone the fact their mids look great especially their captain and their forward line is functioning and dangerous alike, again, it’s all set up for success.

 7.       Friday night, gee the heat came for Jacob Weitering. Liam Jones had a few brain fades but I’m not sure why the sole focus of the attention for Carlton letting a winless team roll through for nine unanswered goals went on the former no.1 pick? How about some attention for the midfield who looked completely absent leaving the Blues’ defence with little prospects to do anything to stop the wave? Starts with the captain whose getting away with doing the best part of bugger all so far in 2018.

 8.       Their opponents, first win for the Pies, they looked alright. Throw Elliott, Fasolo and Moore with what worked Friday inside 50, the back six is improving and confidence with ball movement can grow into the season – they present ‘some’ chance to be 4-4 after eight rounds where their draw does get easier than the start. Need luck, some they need to create themselves, some the way of good fortune.

 9.       Different role for Scott Pendlebury, essentially ran with Cripps all night, now Cripps did end up with 26 but wasn’t anywhere near as influential as Round One. A big stat: no-one in the competition has tackled more so far this season than the Pies' skipper, not known for the real physical side of the game but leading by example in that way.

 10.   Gold Coast leads the tackle count after three rounds with 250, they did have 98 in Round One though in the monsoonal conditions against North who had 86 themselves and are second for that team stat as you’d expect. Third though, Collingwood, 212.

 11.   Interesting, the teams that have had been tackled the most, North and Gold Coast are high because of Round One, but number one? Carlton, averaging 77 a game where the average is 62. They are really struggling to find space. The best, no surprise, Richmond, averaging 50 a game. Dogs just behind in second best, they actually are playing ok.

 12.   Essendon are the by far the worst team for conceding uncontested possessions so far, a decent margin ahead of second worst Brisbane. That’s down to workrate and team discipline as we said before.

 13.   Last team stat, inside 50s conceded, the worst, Geelong, ahead of North, Gold Coast and Carlton. Averaging over 60 a game conceded the Cats, so once opposition get the ball, it’s too easy to transition, or turn the Cats over and get re-entry. The best, Melbourne, Port and Freo, just over 40 a game, big difference.

 14.   As for Geelong, Ablett goes down and so did their chances coincidentally. He wasn’t the sole factor but once he came off at the start of the fourth the Eagles flicked a switch and ran rampant. Almost immediately he has become their best player and just edges Dangerfield perhaps for their most important. And he ain’t no spring chicken, with an increasingly concerning knack for picking up niggles.

 15.   Sunday saw Clarko almost orchestrate another upset; they will overachieve far too often this year. The Tigers were by far the better outfit but I credit the Hawthorn coaching box and not lady luck for the fact the Hawks were in it almost all the way. Such a genius.

 16.   So the Saints are looking into Dylan Shiel. Josh Kelly stayed, so there’s nothing to suggest that Shiel might do any differently. But given the Saints ‘perception’ right now, other than monster cash – good luck.

 17.   Buddy watch, might not get a vote, only got two goals although one was just mega, but was in the best half dozen on the field easily and is on big time in 2018. Please make sure you get on.

 18.   Want to touch on big Melbourne crowds -  six crowds at the ‘G so far of approximately 55k and above with some over 80k. Three including Hawthorn, two with Collingwood, two with Richmond. A couple 40k+ at Etihad too, both Essendon games. Hawks-Dees will be good this week, two huge games next week Dees-Tigers and Pies-Dons, with those four clubs reverse the Sunday after too. People are turning up to the footy in droves, the game’s going well.

 19.   Let’s have a look at Sydney, their NRL crowds, 19 of the 37 ‘fixtures’ (they've had double headers) so far in the NRL have been in Sydney, a mix of old suburban and big stadium venues. Only two crowds over 30k, averaging 16k, other than Origin or finals not likely to get anything over 40k all year. Yes the money is in TV, but crowds are still a very important revenue source and talks to fan engagement. Yes, the Giants are still too new in a tough environment, the Swans though, two home games, both 34k, the two highest attended football games in town so far in 2018.

 20.   Conor McGregor throws a hand trolley at a bus. Connor McKenna bites Tory Dickson. If you meet an Irishman, named Connor, with a Scottish surname, back away slowly…

(originally published 10 April)