#like i love leighs music the most but its making no noise!

[endofapaige]

The Social Media Identity Crisis

I have had many names online. My real name: Ashleigh shortened to Ash usually but once upon a time Leigh. My middle name, Paige. I’ve been endofapaige, ohitsash, tragiclittleworld, scarletsvision, a few more embarrassing names from my Dan and Phil era. Every single one has once felt almost offensively wrong.

Even offline I’ve played with nicknames; I’ve never really gone by anything other than Ashleigh that even introducing myself as Ash feels wrong on my tongue. I prefer Ash though, the way it looks, the fact that nobody can spell it wrong, I love the way it sounds coming from my best friends and my boyfriend. But I can’t stick to it, to me I’m Ashleigh, always have been always will be. It’s different online though, because I don’t have to hear myself say the words, so online I’m Ash, not Ashleigh, just Ash.

I find it fascinating that the world is obsessed with pseudonyms and aliases. I know so many people who go by a nickname online, or simply by their middle names like I have. Every time you change your name it’s like you’re a different person entirely.

Ashleigh is me, the quiet girl who listens to everything but has nothing to say, who thrived in academics and is itching to get back to it after a break. Ashleigh is who I am to my parents, the sarcastic kid who comes out with the weirdest things and laughs at her own jokes. The only one to answer when a question is met with silence and will pick up on a dad joke that will lead to fits of laughter that confuses the ones who didn’t listen.

Ash is who I am online. The writer, the sarcasm that doesn’t always come across right, a lot louder than I am in real life. The girl with a lot of opinions and the need to share them with everyone I can. Ash is who I am to my friends, the one who gets drunk first and has to sit on the floor in the bar bathroom before I can drink any more. I’m the one who will sit and try and solve space and time on a Wednesday evening when I’m craving Nando’s. The one who starts the questions about what old classmate is with who and where they are now when normal conversation dims. The one who swears a bit more than she should.

To very few, I’m Ashie. My cousins and my uncle, who don’t see me all that much, grasping to an element of me that’s still the little kid I was when they saw me the most. To my boyfriend, though he uses all of them. Ashleigh when he’s mad or I’m having a moment, Ash normally, but Ashie mostly. When we’re messing around and acting like kids, play fighting and licking each other’s faces. Ashie is when I’m dancing to no music, when I’m making weird noises, when I’m jumping around like I’m 5 again singing songs out of tune and getting the words wrong on purpose.

That’s my social identity: Ashleigh, Ash, Ashie. So why have I spent so much of my online life wanting to be someone else? Why have I wanted an air of anonymity when my entire online presence is centred around talking about my life in its most truthful form?

Once there was an element of embarrassment, the horror I felt if someone found my Wattpad or my Twitter. It’s not like that now, I’m proud of my writing because it’s one of the only things that makes me feel special. I promote my blog now to anyone who will listen, even if I only post on it thrice a year, I’m still proud I have it.

That’s why I’m changing it all again, I think. I’m bored of the pseudonyms. Though no matter how many times I change my name now, I think endofapaige will remain. Because endofapaige is who I am online, as close as I will get to me. A name my mother came up with rather than a generator like the others, a name that contains the part of my name that gets mentioned the least. A name that sounds right when I say it. Endofapaige is me.

It happens a lot, my need to remake myself. But for now, hi, hello, I’m Ash, not Paige, though you can call me that if you’d like. This is my blog, my life, my identity. I’m sure the colours and branding will change a multitude of times since now, though look at how much prettier the purple looks to the blue! But that’s enough name changing for me, I think. It’s time to start again, being true to myself, and making use of everything I’ve been given from my name to my sudden fascination in media fandom culture to my writing abilities.

edit: please give a hand for the emerald green

[doorbloggr]

Saturday 1/5/21 - The Chad Absurd Confidence; NSP

With the spread of mass media, there's always someone to compare yourself to, and for most of us, that means a daily battle with I'm not good enough, there's so many people so much more talented, better looking, and charismatic than me.

I have struggled with this mentality for the longest time too, and like many others, I tried to cushion the blow by falling back on self depreciating humour. Haha I'm so pathetic. My drawings are so awful lol. Oh my god I'm so cringe, you guys must think my taste in anime is so degenerate.

But recently, I came across a meme on Twitter that has prompted a desire for change in myself.

Knowing you're not godlike but saying it anyway

Part of the draw of The Chad Absurd Self-Confidence Humour is that when you start using it, you know that you're not being serious about it. If I was to say "My last D&D session art is fucking godlike, put this shit in the Louvre next to Mona Lisa, Hirohiko Araki wishes he had my skills", of course I'm not being serious.

None of that is even close to the truth, but if I start saying good things about my creations, I've planted the seed in my mind that some of it might be true. And if other people have negative opinions on me, I've got to counter their arguments with unparalleled confidence that I'm better.

Ross "RubberNinja" O'Donovan's reply to the haters

I haven't taken up this attitude yet, because I have little to no practice with it. To use art as an example again, to improve, you can't just practice in a vacuum, its best to observe other's work and incorporate various techniques to strengthen your own skills.

But where would you look to practise putting yourself on a pedestal of Olympian heights ?

Ultimate Power Fantasy: Danny Sexbang

'Operation "I rule" is a total success!' - Unicorn Wizard, Ninja Sex Party

Ninja Sex Party (NSP) is a comedy rock/synth band by comedy duo Leigh Daniel Avidan and Brian Wecht who play the role of absurdly charismatic characters Danny Sexbang and Ninja Brian respectively. As the band's name implies, a lot of their music tells comedic tales of adult nature, often how godly Danny's sexual prowess is.

But Danny Sexbang is never framed as a perfect untouchable sex god, nor is he framed as a pathetic compulsive liar, there is an interesting middle-ground that perfectly encapsulates the absurdist confidence I discussed above.

"It's not just masturbation its an orgy for one, It's a fuckin' celebration it's an orgy for one" - Orgy for One, Ninja Sex Party

The song that prompted me to write this blogpost is Unicorn Wizard, a what-if story about the already amazing Danny becoming a literal super hero wizard. This type of power fantasy song is common among their music, and Dan is portrayed as someone who is definitely not as fantastic as he says, but his confidence surrounds him like a forcefield.

'I think I just dreamed it...' 'How was it? Amazing?' 'Eugh!' 'You mean Eugh-stounding? Yeah you do' - Unicorn Wizard, Ninja Sex Party

Instead of getting down-trodden when confronted with negativity, Ninja Sex Party teaches us to strike back with an unbridled level of confidence. This song isn't the only one we can learn from however.

A good halfway for people who struggle to not belittle themselves, is owning their weaknesses but with passion and confidence. Three Minutes of Ecstasy presents Danny boasting how he can last for three minutes in the bedroom and you should be very thankful for that.

'For one hundred and eighty seconds, The sex will blow your mind' - Three Minutes of Ecstasy, Ninja Sex Party

His lacklustre sexual abilities are played for laughs but its never pointing and laughing at Danny. He is owning that, 3 minutes of ecstasy, several nights a month, is actually for his lover's benefit. It would be dangerous to go any longer or harder because the sex is just that good. Even one's own mediocre abilities can be framed as impressive if you say it the right way.

Cool Patrol, Ninja Sex Party

And then Cool Patrol is a song about believing in yourself and celebrating how amazing you are. Of course in typical NSP fashion, we are shown that the aforementioned 'Cool Patrol' is not hard ass, heavy and hyper masculine, the Cool Patrol does silly dances, makes funny noises, covers themselves in lunch foods and are generally embarrassing. Sure you high-schoolers have leather biker clothes and sunglasses, but I can rub my thighs together and set fire to Mars!

'Now harness all your sexy fury in a victory stance, This is the Cool Patrol Dance' - Cool Patrol, Ninja Sex Party

But that's ok, confidence is not something given to yourself by others, it has to come from a belief in yourself. What you think is cool is going to be different from other people. Some people think that expensive cars, rap music, and snapbacks are cool. I think watching Vtubers, Monster Hunter, Dungeons and Dragons, and Caramelldansen is cool.

In order for me to truly enjoy myself as person, its not a case of blocking out mine and other's negative opinions of myself, it is accepting that those thoughts exist and providing absurd arguments in the other direction. Because if your response to those negative thoughts are not serious in the slightest, then those negative thoughts too won't be taken seriously.

And maybe eventually you'll come to believe you are truly in fact god-like.

Here's a playlist of confidence boosting Ninja Sex Party Music. Love yourself everyone.

[omgreading]

Make yourselves forget the plague is a Bitch, Book Edition

I was tagged by @appleinducedsleep, thank you!

What’s the most recent book that you’ve read and absolutely fell in love with? The Language of Thorns by Leigh Bardugo. It is a collection of folk tales she created for the Grishaverse and I think all of them are enchanting. You can see the inspiration from our own fairy tales in it, so at times it is kind of like a retelling. 

Do you keep track of how many books you’re reading every month? Yes! I use the Bookly app to track all of my reading and Goodreads as well. I also make daily posts on here about my reading sessions and overall progress with my reading goals. I am tracking all over the place.

What’s your stance on the debate as to whether or not we should dissociate their artist (writer in this case) from their art? I think it would great to try and do that and let the work stand for itself, but if you have problematic people out there doing awful things, I don’t want to read their work. I think it all depends on how involved you are in the work. I believe stories are deeply personal and I wonder how much of a person’s thoughts bleed into them. I honestly don’t have a good answer for this. 

What do you do when you can’t focus on a book? I usually don’t have a problem focusing on books. I always have background music playing and that lets me tune out other noise. Whenever I get into a book, the background music eventually fades away too. If a book is too boring to hold my attention, I usually put it down and try something else for a bit.

Do you pay attention to the gender/ethnicity/race/sexuality of the authors you’re reading, aka do you actively try to read books written by diverse writers? No, and I should. If the book looks interesting I will pick it. I’ve read more women this year than I usually do, but that is because I chose to focus on series and fantasy more. It just so happens that what I am reading is written by women. Unfortunately, I don’t think of these things and I should find a way to be more considerate when I choose something to read. 

Paperback or hardcover? Why? Paperbacks. I genuinely think most hardcovers are ugly. I like the way a paperback feels better and I think they are more manageable when reading. 

Which language would you like to learn just to be able to reads its untranslated literature? Russian! Anna Karenina is my favorite book and I would love to be able to read it in it’s original form.

Pick up the book that is closest to you. Convince me to read it in less than 10 sentences. It’s The Language of Thorns by Leigh Bardugo. Folksy retellings of fairy-tales, from the Grishaverse, steeped in magic, and with a wintery background in most cases. Lessons of morality, sometimes wrapped in cruelty. 

I TAG EVERYONE!! If you want to do it, then I tagged you!!

[seventyfiveapples]

In Transit - Chapter 10

Previous Chapters: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE

Or: The whole enchilada on AO3

Summary: When Officers Jakoby and Ward are hand-picked by the Magic Task Force to transport a dangerous convicted murderer, they must stay a few steps ahead as various enemies, forces of magic, and mistakes from the past complicate their path.

Author Notes: This is it! The last chapter. I hope you liked it! I had fun writing it. Comments are very much appreciated.

Two weeks after returning home from the prisoner transport assignment, Nick climbed the front steps of Ward’s house carrying two heavy grocery bags. In one, he brought a variety of tomatoes, peppers, and squash, straight from his garden. In the other, he brought cheese, pasta sauce, and noodles to make a big garden lasagne.

Ward had been off work due to his bullet wound for those two weeks. He was anxious to return, but he still had restrictions on how much he could bend or lift. On nights when Sherrie had to work late shifts at the hospital, Nick had offered to come by and make dinner. Tonight was the first time Daryl had taken him up on his offer. Nick didn’t know if his partner needed the help or was just stir-crazy, but either way, he was glad for a chance to spend the evening with friends, outside of his house.

He knocked, and it was only seconds before Ward’s daughter Sophia flung open the door, excited to see him.

“Nick, you’re late! Dad said you were coming at 6:00!” Nick checked his watch - it was 6:04. “I want to show you something!”

“Sure thing, rockstar, just let me set these down and say hi to your dad.”

“Okay.” She sat down on the couch and waited.

“How’s he feeling today?”

“He says he feels good.” She shrugged. “He just took a nap. I’ve been making him take those vitamins every day, like you asked.” Nick chuckled as Ward walked into the room, shaking his head.

“Are you telling everybody my business, Sophia?” he teased, kissing his daughter on the top of her head.

“Just Nick!”

“Well, that’s okay, then, I guess.” He turned to his partner and his face grew more serious. “Hey Nick. How’s it going?”

He knew what Daryl was really asking. He’d filled in his partner about everything that had happened on the rest of the transport assignment - well, most of it - and Daryl had been uncharacteristically gentle with him ever since. He was almost warm.

Nick shrugged and turned back to his groceries, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Oh, you know me, partner. I’m fine. Staying busy.” He looked up at Ward with what he hoped was a convincing smile. “I’m okay.”

“Hey man, I just wanted to say...” Daryl trailed off and shook his head. “Thanks for making dinner. I know Sophia would be happy eating chicken nuggets every night, but - just, thank you.” Nick knew his partner wasn’t a man of deep emotional displays, but he could tell Daryl was trying to communicate something more. Nick appreciated the effort and nodded in response.

“Nick! The groceries are down- can I show you something now?”

“Be right there, Sophia.” He patted Daryl’s non-injured shoulder. He knew human males were somewhat awkward about showing each other affection, and hoped this gesture would be appropriate. “You’re welcome, Ward.”

Sophia grabbed Nick by the hand and led him to the backyard where she pointed out a bushy basil plant in a terracotta pot. It was thriving, at least two feet tall and full of fragrant green leaves..

“See, Nick? Someday I’ll have a big garden like you.” He was impressed and asked her questions while she gave it some water. She pointed out other pots around the yard - she was growing mint in two of them, rosemary in another.

A few minutes later, Nick and Sophia were busy assembling the lasagne while Ward iced his shoulder on the couch. Nick could tell Ward was hurting more than he admitted.

“Nice, even layers, Sophia.” Nick was slicing vegetables while Sophia arranged them and the other ingredients in layers in a baking dish.

“Thank you. Hey Nick? I’m sorry about your friend,” He stopped slicing and looked at her. “My dad told me that you were sad because you had a good friend who moved away.” Daryl never told his daughter about death he saw at work. He said that he would be more honest with her eventually, but for now he didn’t want her to worry. “My best friend last year moved away to Florida and I was sad, too. If you want, I can help you write her a letter.” She said this in a quiet, serious voice.

“That’s um… That’s really nice, Sophia, thank you.” He looked away as his eyes started to water, but she had noticed.

“Does she like stickers? I have really good stickers. We can put a lot of stickers on it.”

He smiled but couldn’t respond for a moment. Sophia gave him a gentle hug and went back to the lasagne.

The rest of the evening went well. The lasagne was a big hit and there were plenty of leftovers for the Wards. After dinner, Daryl, Nick, and Sophia played board games. It felt good to Nick to laugh and joke with the Wards and get out of his head for a few hours.

The happy feeling lasted the whole drive home. It wasn’t until he walked up to his door that the heavy, empty feeling settled over him again. They’d broken up more than a year before he saw her again at the transport assignment, but seeing her again, being with her and then losing her all over again: it all felt too fresh. He meant what he’d told Leigh at the safe house - he had never stopped loving her.

He grabbed his mail from the box on his porch, walked in the door, and tossed the stack onto his kitchen table as he turned on lights.

That was odd.

Something in his mail made a rattling noise when it hit the table. He rifled through the stack and picked out a bubble-envelope with his address hand-written and no return envelope.

Inside, there were only three items: a packet of Brandywine tomato seeds, a packet of Gold Medal tomato seeds, and a business card for Agent Kandomere’s office at the Los Angeles branch of the MTF.

--

The next morning, Agent Kandomere was standing by his office window, still drinking his coffee and trying to plan out his day. It was earlier than any of the other agents arrived, but outside in the hall, he heard some kind of commotion.

“Agent Kandomere?” paged a voice - his assistant - over the telephone’s intercom. He pressed a button to respond.

“Yes?”

“You… have a visitor. He’s insisting on seeing you now. I’m sorry, sir. What should I say?”

Kandomere expected this visit. He sank into his chair and pressed the button again.

“Go ahead and let him in.”

He only had to wait a few seconds before Officer Nick Jakoby burst in, his face a mix of emotions.

“Where is she?”

--

Leigh - or Kelly, as she’d be known from here on - was settling into her new life. She felt like “settling” was a good way to describe it, honestly. Her life was just smaller now. Under MTF orders, she couldn’t contact anyone she knew before, but who were they worried about? Her family had disowned her, the public thought she was serving a life sentence, and the Inferni thought she was dead.  There was only one person she missed, and he, too, thought she was dead. She couldn’t exactly call him up to chat, even if the MTF hadn’t banned her from that. He’d never forgive her.

According to the MTF agents, in a few months they would move her from this suburb to a permanent home in a different city and pay for any job training of her choice. She’d have a new name, a new career: a fresh start. It wasn’t a terrible offer, all things considered. In the meantime, she was managing a coffee shop and living in a modest apartment.

She was safe, but she was bored.

She also found herself with quite a bit of time on her hands. Her apartment had an abandoned community garden and it reminded her of Nick every time she walked past it. It was too sad in its neglected state: she decided to bring it back to life.

Nick... She missed him terribly. She also felt incredibly guilty about letting him believe she was dead. The plan was so last minute, hatched between Leigh and Kandomere moments before they faced Chad and the others. Leigh knew at least it would keep him safe, but she regretted it now.

Kandomere had promised that he would tell Nick the truth if he asked, and Leigh/Kelly had promised that she wouldn’t contact him. Hey, she’d waited almost a week and a half before mailing him those seed packets. She did hope that the agent was better about his promise than she had with hers.

She turned her attention back to the rocky, dry patch of earth she hoped to make into a garden. Earlier that day, she’d made quite a haul of gardening supplies from a local gardening supply shop. She kneeled down in the dirt, started unpacking her tools and seeds, and took a deep breath.

She was going to plant some tomatoes.

--

Nick only stopped to call into work - the first time he’d ever taken leave - before hitting the road, driving straight from the MTF office to a city about 45 miles away. Now he stood, heart in his throat, knocking on the door of Leigh’s new apartment.

No answer.

He knocked again and waited. Same result. Nick reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper with a few different addresses on it. One for a coffee shop - maybe she was at work? Should he just show up there, or wait here? Did one of these options cross the line from “sweeping romantic gesture” to “creepy”?

He slowly walked back to his car, trying to decide what to do next. For a moment, dread crept in as he realized: once he knew she was alive, he had found her in twelve hours. Had the Inferni gotten here first?

Just as fear started to send him spiraling, some movement at the corner of his eye stopped him. He spun around to see -  Jirak H. Orc it was really her - Leigh. She was in an empty area next to the apartment complex, crouching in the dirt, listening to music and stabbing a small patch of dirt with a hoe, vigorously but aimlessly.

He ran over to her and stopped about ten feet away. She still didn’t see him. He walked closer, around the crudely mangled dirt patch, until he was standing right next to her. He didn’t know how to start so he kept looking at her, not quite believing that she was alive, here in front of him.

She looked different, he noticed. She’d probably altered her appearance with magic. Her hair was now short and dark brown. Her nose, her cheekbones, her jawline were slightly different as well but the way her body moved, her scent, her eyes: he would know her anywhere.

She paused her assault of the dirt patch and sank back onto her knees, catching her breath. She reached behind her for her water bottle but found nothing. Confused, she started to stand up to look for it better. When she saw Nick’s familiar figure behind her, holding out her water bottle, she nearly fell right back down.

“Nick! Oh my gods, is that really you?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” He looked as stunned as she felt.

She was about to throw her arms around him and kiss him, when she hesitated.

“I’m so sorry, Nick. I wanted to tell you, but Kandomere made me promise not to… You got the tomato seeds?”

He chuckled. “They were in my mail yesterday. It was nearly 10:00 when I got home and found them. I went straight to the MTF office this morning. He didn’t take much convincing, surprisingly.”

“I made him promise to,” she said, her face serious. “Are… you upset? Angry? I know it was shitty but it really was the only way-”

Nick closed the distance between them with one step and pulled her into a kiss, interrupting her. She wrapped her arms around his familiar, broad shoulders and kissed him back. After a few minutes, he pulled back and looked at her straight in the eyes.

“No,” he told her. “I’m not angry. Not upset”

“Oh.” She smiled. “Good.”.

He wiggled his eyebrow ridges a few times and scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. This drew a surprised laugh from Leigh.

“Which one of these apartments is yours again?” he asked. She grabbed her keys and pointed the way. She patted his chest as he carried her to her door and felt an unexpected rattle from his breast pocket. She peeked in and pulled out - the packet of Gold Medal tomatoes she’d sent him.

---

Six months later, things between the two of them were stronger than ever, and “Kelly” had moved into Nick’s house. It had taken a bit of work, convincing the MTF to let her return to L.A., but apparently she had been quite persuasive. No one was looking for her now, which helped. She’d also apparently talked herself into a job doing consulting for the MTF, which, she reminded them, would make it a lot easier to keep tabs on her.  

Today was a Saturday and the two were sitting down to lunch. Nick was cooking while Leigh read a book. She was so engrossed that she was shocked when she looked at the time and realized Nick had been in the kitchen close to an hour.

“Nick, honey? What are you doing in there?”

“You’ll see…” A short time later he emerged, practically beaming as he presented her with a plate of food. There were tomato halves, with the seeds scooped and the insides stuffed with diced vegetables and herbs. They were served against a bed of cottage cheese, fresh spinach, and blueberries. She wasn’t sure how this meal took an hour to prepare, but he looked so pleased she couldn’t help smiling back.

“Enjoy,” he told her, smiling. He seemed to be waiting for something.

“Are you going to eat, too?”

“Oh! Right.” He popped back into the kitchen and came back with his own similar dish. He sat down to eat but still seemed to be waiting for her.

“Are… you going to watch me eat?” She asked sardonically, lifting a stuffed tomato to her mouth

“These are from the seed packet you mailed me, by the way. These seeds led me back to y- Careful! Cut it first.”

She was startled. He never raised his voice. What was he up to? She lifted her knife and cut the tomato in half. Nick’s brow furrowed.

“Cut the other one.”

“Nick, what on earth - oh!” Her knife struck something hard inside the second tomato and she fished it out with her fork: a silver ring etched with an intricate orcish pattern. Inscribed around the inside were some Bodzvokhan letters. “Nick!”

Meanwhile, he’d moved from his seat at the table, and was now down on one knee in front of her.

“Leigh, Kelly, no matter what your name is, it’s the most beautiful word I know how to say. I think we’ve been through about everything two people can in the past two and a half years, and I only find myself falling more and more in love with you, every day. I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather spend my life with. Leigh Caldwell, will you-”

“YES!” She yelled, tackling him and sending him falling backwards on the floor. She held her face as she covered him with kisses.

“-marry me?”

“Still yes!”

He laughed as she continued kissing him all over his face. All of a sudden she stopped.

“So wait, it took you an hour to hide that ring in a tomato?”

“No… It took a few minutes to cut everything up, a little more to arrange everything on the plate, and then about forty-five minutes to take apart the garbage disposal so that I could find the ring after I dropped it.”

Oh, sweetie. You are a strange, sweet man.”

“Hey, you’re marrying me.”

She laughed and kissed him again. “What does it say here, in Bodzvokhan?”

“It says ‘Yours, always,” He looked up at her with a shy expression. “It was the ring my grandfather gave to my grandmother.”

“It’s beautiful, Nick.” She helped him off the floor and they stood looking at each other for a moment, smiling. The proposal - tender, heartfelt, beautiful, and clumsy - it was perfectly Nick. She loved him so much and she knew this was only one of a lifetime of surprises. 

A life together with Nick Jakoby: the future looked happy and bright.

[pardontheglueman]

The Christmas Message

Three sleeps before Christmas, Leigh found herself startled awake in the middle of the night by the utterly impossible sound of falling snow. Leigh knew that this phenomenon couldn’t really be happening, knew that the sensation she felt deep in her bones was inexplicable, that even a million snowflakes, woven into one unfathomably magical snowfall, could never make so much as a single sliver of noise as they settled upon the face of the earth, knew that even the heaviest snowfall is masked by the infinitesimal ticking of the bedroom clock, as it measures out the slow, circuitous, passage of time. Nevertheless, the fact remained: a midnight snowfall had mysteriously disturbed her rest. 

Leigh lay motionless for the longest while. As she listened to the percussive sound of the snow rap against the misted glass of her bedroom window, she sought to persuade herself that the icy drumbeat might be explained away as a simple hail-storm, or by an angular wind rasping against the treetops or, more imaginatively, as the ricochet of white lightening deflected sharply from the rows of smoke-smudged rooftops opposite. Deep down, though, she sensed that there was nothing to disturb the louring night other than the lonesome murmuring of the moonlit snow.  Leigh tried to calm her breathing, to think beyond the strange turbulence outside. Something about the music of the snow thrumming along the power lines had unnerved her. With her eyes squeezed shut, she imagined a plume of incandescent snow spreading beyond her garden, engulfing the whole of the town before disappearing into the darkling night.                                                                                                 

                                Leigh had always loved snow, loved nothing better than to trek playfully across an unblemished landscape first thing of a winter morning. She delighted in leaving her size five footprints on the newly-minted surface while daydreaming of sledding toward the Pole. She liked to see a hard rind of crusted snow packed tight against the windscreens of parked cars, or blown up against the driveways of the expensively furnished houses on Cardiff Road. She liked rolling stupendously large snowballs just for the sake of it, although she sometimes put her hard work to good use by aiming them at unsuspecting snowmen, congratulating herself with an excited whoop each time she dislodged one of the oddly misshapen heads from its roly-poly body. She studied the greened mountains that turned impossibly white between the closing of her eyes last thing at night and their opening again first thing in the morning.  She even ordered the ranks of Christmas cards on the dining room mantelpiece solely with regard to the amount of snow pictured on them, placing those with idyllic, wintry snapshots, even if they were from obscure aunts she had never met, in front of the cartoonish offerings hand-delivered by her best friends. She liked shaking snow-globes furiously until the mini-blizzards she created seemed ready to shatter the glass in her hand..

Leigh believed that snow brought an air of mystery to her drab old town. She believed in the power of snow, like magic, to deceive the eye, to trick the grubby, littered streets of her estate into becoming a vast, white wilderness ripe for exploration and discovery. She loved snow most of all, though, because her father had loved snow. She remembered a night when he propped a kitchen chair against the back door and sat there for hours on end watching the snow falling from a Christmas sky, determined to remain at his sentry post until the flakes dwindled down to nothing or he simply fell asleep, whichever came first. It hadn’t snowed at Christmas for three years, though, and even then it was little more than thin sleet, late on Boxing Day, that had failed to settle. Her mother had let her stay up late that night to see if the snow amounted to anything. They drank milky coffee together and watched in disappointment as the slivers of sleet turned to unwelcome rain.

‘It just doesn’t snow like it used to when I was a girl’, her Mam had observed, looking wonderingly at an old photo of herself perched on her home-made sled with a smile blossoming on her face as big as the Brecon Beacons itself. ‘The most we get these days is a dusting that’s gone before you know it’. ‘Dad always used to say that snow fell like manna from heaven when he was a boy’, Leigh replied, her voice snagging against the still-raw memory of her father’s voice echoing throughout the house.

Sometimes, she asked her mother to tell her about the great snowfall of 1963, when bakers’ vans got stuck in the snow by the dozen and her Grandfather had stupidly got himself lost in a blizzard on his way for a swift pint in Rhydyfelin Non-Pol. Her Grandfather had a soft spot for snow too, especially if it resulted in a whole fleet of 132’s being marooned in the freezing tundra of Maerdy bus station, leaving him unable to get into work for a day or two!                                                                                                                     Leigh, smiling at the memory of those conversations, reached under her pillow and checked her watch, only to find that Old Father Time had somehow nodded off, or that the world had seemingly snowed itself to a standstill. She lay there a while longer, listening to the cold clacking of the snow while summoning up the courage to look outside. When she eventually pulled back the curtain her room was lit suddenly with the luminous glow from an astonishing snowfall that had somehow drifted all the way up to her bedroom window. She looked up at the sky through a tremulous swirl of flakes that ricocheted against each other in the freezing wind and was surprised to see that Eglwysilan Mountain had disappeared altogether behind a fog of snow.

It was then that she looked down into her garden and saw the strangest sight. Her name had been carved deeply into the brittle snow. She blinked in exaggerated fashion a half-dozen times, then let out a thin whistle and a fat giggle, both at exactly the same time; a neat trick that she had only recently perfected, and of which she was still immensely proud! She stared at her name for the longest time, then cŵtched herself into a ball and watched the blizzard blow for another hour, expecting at any moment that her name would vanish forever under the rushing of the snow. Instead, her name became cemented in the blue ice, shining crystal clear in the snow-light. She imagined God, in his heaven, looking down and reading her name out to the angels. She imagined her father doing the same.

For a while, soon after his passing, Leigh had spent her evenings in her father’s old room, leafing through rows and rows of his books in an attempt to rekindle her memories of him. She was disappointed, though, to find no trace of his daft sense of humour sandwiched between the yellowing pages of ‘The Great Gatsby’ or ‘Tess of The D’Ubervilles’. She felt there was nothing in either book that was revelatory, nothing that offered a new clue to his character, nothing at all that would stop her memories of him from evaporating with the passing years.  

When dawn broke she dressed, sprayed on the last drops of her White Musk perfume and went to stand quietly in the centre of the garden. The snow continued to fall heavily about her and it became impossible to see the sky through the kaleidoscope of snowflakes that dappled the air. Because it was Saturday she’d let her mother lie in and, anyway, she didn’t feel like talking to anyone, not to a single person on earth. She was transfixed by the message in the snow. What could it possibly mean?  There was no rational explanation for it. She had understood that much immediately. 

Nobody, not even the class clown Martin Pryce, who had been nursing a crush on her since primary school, would be crawling around her Antarctic garden in the middle of the night trying to sculpt a declaration of undying love into the freezing snow. For a while, she considered the possibility that the word etched into her garden was supposed to be sleigh and that the letter S had been lost in the drifting snow. However, that seemed an even more ridiculous explanation. It was more magical, more mysterious than that, she was sure of it. What else could explain her name still being preserved there, throughout an endless snow-squall?                                                                     

Leigh decided not to tell her Mam about the bizarre message. Instead, she took refuge in her room, making up an excuse that she was having a Christmas Movie day - a triple-decker of It’s A Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street and Muppet Christmas Carol. She spent the day, though, mostly watching the unrelenting snowfall, her thoughts drifting off into the dreamy whiteness outside her window. Inexplicably, her name did not vanish but remained firmly embedded in the snow. Exhausted by a mixture of worry and excitement, Leigh fell asleep before supper. 

When the sunlight fizzed between the blinds, catching the girl a glancing blow across the temple she stirred and began, at once, to remember the mystery of the snow. She rolled across the bed and raised the blinds. The snow had continued to fall between the constellations the whole night long and now, in the fresh snow, underneath her name, the words ‘BE MERRY’ had been chiselled into the pallid surface. Someone, somewhere, was sending her a message.  She was unsurprised when she began to cry. She felt a surge of loneliness sweep through her body and lodge squarely behind her eyes. She waited a long while for the redness around her eyes to melt and for her headache to simmer down before attempting breakfast. She picked up a handful of mail, blotted with fresh snow, from the rumpled doormat and yawned her way into the kitchen. She made herself a coffee and a boiled egg. She thought hard about telling her Mam about the message in the garden. She pictured an uneasy smile spreading over her Mam’s face mid-explanation. Her Mam had a lopsided sort of smile that occasionally hung about the corners of her mouth a fraction too long as if it didn’t know where to go when the fleeting moment of happiness that had prompted its surprised appearance had passed. She looked at the boiled egg and grinned, the half-hacked shell dangling over the edges of the eggcup reminded her of one of her mum’s sad, unfinished smiles.

She retreated, instead, to her bedroom with the intention of listening to her father’s favourite festive record, ‘Christmas Greetings with Perry Como’, an album that was played faithfully in the run-up to Christmas each year. She didn’t play the record, though, preferring to sit in silence while watching the crumbling snow slip through the cracks of a gloomy sky.  Eventually, she drifted off to sleep in the pale shadow of the snow, as the pleasant voices of carollers exchanging their Merry Christmas’ carried across the town’s snow-cusped streets. When Leigh went downstairs for her tea she found her mother writing Christmas Cards and listening to “Fairy Tale of New York”. Her mother had a tear in her eye, which she quickly blinked away.

‘Can you believe it’s still snowing?’ her Mam asked. ‘What’s the forecast say, Mam?’ ‘It’s a bit strange, love. They say it’s stopped snowing everywhere, but right here. I can’t really account for it!  It’s raining down the road in Nantgarw, and your Nan says it’s been tipping down in Pentre all day too. It seems that good old Ponty is the only place in the whole of Wales that’s set for a white Christmas this year!’   Leigh sat down by her Mam’s side ‘Mam, were you crying because of Dad?’ Leigh asked, quietly. ‘It’s okay, love, it’s just the time of the year. I should be getting used to it by now’. Leigh gave her mum’s hand a squeeze. There is no getting used to it, though, is there, she thought to herself. ‘Do you remember any of Dad’s Christmas stories, Leigh?’ ‘There were so many, Mam - ‘Rudolph’s Ruined Reputation’, where Rudolph, of all reindeer, got himself lost on another foggy Christmas Eve, ‘The Golden Key’, where the key for the toy factory went missing just as it was time to load up Santa’s sleigh, and then there was ‘Heatwave’, where unusually clement weather threatened Christmas!) They both laughed out loud. ‘The course of Christmas never did run smooth, Mam.’ ‘But there was always a happy ending, Leigh’. Santa always got that sleigh off the ground in the end and there were always presents under the tree. Your Dad cherished his childhood Christmases, he wanted you and your sister to feel the same way’. Leigh gave her Mam a long hug, which was her way of trying to fend off the familiar sadness that clouded over her when she talked about her father. ‘You just missed Louise on the phone. She’ll be arriving around six if the trains are on time’. Leigh was only half-listening to the news of her older sister’s Christmas plans. She was still thinking of her father.

   Her Dad had loved everything about Christmas; from opening the first door of his Advent calendar on the 1st of December to singing Auld Lang Syne at the top of his voice at midnight on the 31st and anything remotely Christmassy that went on in between. Each year his ritual would be the same; re-reading A Christmas Carol on his commute to and from work, decorating the tree to the sound of Perry Como’s “Home For The Holidays”, highlighting his favourite festive films in the bumper edition of the Radio Times, taking us to see Father Christmas switch on the Taff Street lights and even to meet him in person, usually in Caerphilly Garden Centre, or, in later years, when the old gent seemed to be going up in the world, in his very own grotto in Ynysanghard Park!  For Leigh, Christmas simply hadn’t been Christmas since her dad’s passing. For sure, she still liked Christmas, but it was just that she couldn’t bring herself to love it anymore.                                                        

To stop herself from thinking, Leigh went out into the street to inspect the snowmen along her road. Some, it had to be said, were pretty poor specimens, but there they all stood; bellies haphazardly bloated by the whisking snow. She couldn’t help but laugh at their inelegance, clad as they were in ill-fitting Santa hats and threadbare scarves. Most had carroty noses that jutted out from king-sized heads and scraggly branches of uneven length for arms. She watched a family; a mother and father, two girls, one around her own age, and a very small boy move their belongings into the house opposite. As the children carried their small cases back and forth up the snow-chalked driveway she waved in their direction. They gladly returned her gesture, the boy wishing her a Merry Christmas at the top of his voice. She felt cheered and, without noticing, began to murmur a song her Dad would sing to her at Christmas when she was very small -

‘Christmas Day is on its way It’s time for Kris Kringle Through the hush of a starry night You can hear his sleigh bells jingle’

She tried to recollect the rest of the song but could only bring to mind the chorus

‘Good old Santa, Good old Santa Claus What’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours You’re a good old Santa Claus’.

She stayed in the street for a very long time because she sensed that the crisp evening air was somehow redolent with the fragrance of Christmas. A change in the direction of the wind blew a puff of snow into her eyes, so she huddled back in the doorway, watching a sluggish convoy of snowploughs wind through the neon-lit lanes, until the wintry night began to close in, and she could see her breath unspool in the starlight.

Louise was only 10 minutes late. She came in carrying a suitcase and a bag of presents, singing “Home for the Holidays” so boisterously that she scared the neighbour’s cat off the relative warmth of the windowsill and out onto the cold lawn. You always knew when Louise was home from University, because the quiet house would suddenly be filled, room by room, with the sound of her enthusiastic singing. Leigh gave her sister a cŵtch and helped her stack the presents under the tree before blurting out, ‘Come and see the garden, college girl’ I’ve seen enough snow for one day, Leigh’ ‘There’s something out there I want to show you’ ‘It’s too cold and I’ve just got these boots off’ joked Louise ‘Okay, come to my bedroom, you can see from the window’ They raced each other upstairs and jumped on the bed. Louise pulled up the blind and waited for Louise’s reaction. ‘Uh, okay, you’ve written your name in the snow. It’s mad, Leigh, you must have frozen out there, How many hours did it take you? ‘I didn’t write it’ ‘Mam then, how long was Mam out there’? ‘Mam doesn’t even know it’s there. It just appeared, overnight. It’s snowed solidly for twenty-four hours but it hasn’t swept the name away. If it snowed for twenty-four days and twenty-four nights, it still wouldn’t. It’s magic, Louise, or a miracle, or something. I heard it fall, too, Louise, that first night the snow actually woke me, me of all people! It’s not ordinary snow. It can’t be’.

Louise felt Leigh’s hand tighten in hers, as they continued to watch clusters of snowflakes quake and tremble in the wind. 

                                                                    Louise lay on the bed and Leigh cŵtched up to her until their mum called them for supper. After Louise had told them, at great length, how rehearsals for ‘A Christmas Carol’ were going - she was playing the part of Fred’s wife (again) - she put on her duffle coat and went into the back garden. The skyline and the snowfall were an indistinguishable grey. The words were still engraved on a slab of settled snow, clear and visible until the streetlights dimmed, one by one, and night fell over the white gardens of the Valley.

In the morning, while Leigh slept, Louise went again to look at the message. The snow still fell in abundance. She looked for the longest time and a tear settled in the corner of her eye. When she went inside she woke her sister gently and brought her a breakfast of tea and toast. ‘There are more words. Look and see’.

Leigh peered through the frosted pane and the glimmering snow falling over the garden. The message had been added to again during the night, but now seemed complete. LEIGH BE MERRY CHRISTMAS AND FOREVER XXXX

Leigh said nothing. She sat at the window, brushing her long, brown hair, while staring out at the marbled garden. A cool riff of wind blew a dusting of flakes from the old, ice-capped, willow trees that rimmed the lawn.       Louise said quietly ‘Come downstairs when you’ve finished, I want to show you something’. When Leigh came down she saw her sister sitting at the dining room table surrounded by a stack of Christmas Cards ‘Louise, it’s too late to be sending cards. It’s Christmas Eve, though we can pop one across to the new family opposite. ‘They seem very nice’.  ‘These cards have already been sent, to you, to me, and to Mam, a long time ago. Come and read them’ Leigh picked up a Christmas card that showed a small cottage in the snow, with a Christmas robin in the foreground. She opened up the card. Inside, in her father’s untidy handwriting, was a declaration to her mum To Karen, Be Merry, Christmas and forever Love, Gary XXXX Louise handed her another card that showed a jolly Santa flying his sleigh through the thickening snow at the pole To my Darling daughter Becky - Leigh BE MERRY Christmas and forever xxxxx Dad P.S, only seventeen days to go!!!!

Leigh sorted through the cards, they were all written by her Dad and they were all signed off the exact same way. Tears burnt her eyes as she read and re-read them, trying to picture her father saying the words ‘Don’t you remember, Leigh, Dad always used to say that ‘Be Merry, Christmas and forever’ ‘It can’t be Dad, Louise. You know it can’t ‘. ‘I’m sure it is. Who else would write it? We should show Mam’. ‘No’, shouted Leigh, and ran upstairs crying. For what seemed an age she stared blankly through the window at the message written in the midst of the immeasurable snow.                                                                   Before lunch, Leigh put on her favourite Christmas jumper (Santa shaking hands with a snowman), her matching hat and scarf and went into the garden. The rooftops remained cloaked in snow, and the sky was shrouded in a frail mist. Snow continued to fall about her as she walked toward the message. Leigh reached down to touch the snow, tracing her hand along the powdered groove of the first letter. As she crumbled the stone-cold snow between her fingers she began to tremble and her heart started to jitterbug crazily inside of her. Visions of her past, present and future went bobsleighing before her big brown eyes and she started to swoon. She fell backward, arms outstretched, into the snow and lay there flat on her back. Her mother happened to glance out of the kitchen window, at precisely the time Leigh crash-landed in the snow. Her mum smiled; making a snow angel was such a cool thing to do she thought as she carried a tray of mince pies toward the oven.

As Leigh lay motionless, visions began to swirl about her like cascading snow; she saw herself first as a child, being raised high by her Dad, to deposit a golden star on the top of their Christmas tree; then she saw her teenage self being chased around the garden by her Uncle, who just happened to be carrying an armful of heavy-duty snowballs. Suddenly, she was walking up the aisle to be married, and at Christmas too! One of her bridesmaids was the girl who had just moved in across the street, the other with bobbed rose-gold hair, was her sister. The groom looked handsome and, indeed, somewhat familiar. Leigh couldn’t entirely dismiss the sickening possibility that it was Martin Pryce, her unrequited Romeo from junior school. A hard-edged breeze jostled snow shavings loose from the overhanging branches and the flakes fell like confetti upon the couple as they walked hand in hand toward their wedding car.

Then she could hear the voices of children, echoing across a snow-frosted mountain. Twin girls, who looked the spit of her sister, and an older boy, were sledding down an alabaster slope. The boy turned toward her and shouted ‘are you watching, Mam?’. She looked carefully at the lively boy as he smiled, and there really was no mistaking that smile. She’d seen it time and again in family albums – it was her father’s smile, the one captured in her most treasured photo of her dad pulling a small dinghy through the green shallows of Tenby’s South Beach, a bountiful smile broadening across his face, frozen forever in time. The small boy, battling his way through the bone-sapping snow had the exact same purposeful smile as his late Grandfather.

‘I’m watching, Ga’, you’re super- brave’.  She heard her answer ferried back on the breeze and felt a cheery glow as the boy responded by thrusting his gloved thumbs up into the whitening air. He held the pose long enough for his mother to document his triumph over Mother Nature and then re-launched himself onto his sled and whooshed back down the snow-flossed slope for the hundredth time. Then she was awake, terribly cold and confused by the sight of her mother and her sister bending over her, trying to lift her gently from the clasp of the snow. She remembered nothing of the flurry of visions, but she was aware of an intense feeling of well-being and the pleasant warmth of absolute happiness spreading over her as she looked into the concerned face of her big sister.                                                                                   That night it had stopped snowing, as she somehow knew in her heart that it must. Soon the snow would start to thaw, gradually thinning into clumps of slush to be kicked haphazardly against the kerbsides by bands of small boys making the streets playable for the traditional Boxing Day footie matches that would spring up out of nowhere. Coal-grey rain would soon resume its routine dominance of the valley landscape, washing away the snow for another year. Leigh woke early on Christmas Day to find that the message had disappeared sometime in her sleep, but she was not saddened by the discovery. As dusk fell, she stood in the garden to better hear the Christmas bells ring out and to look up at the night sky and the braille of bluish stars that divined a pathway through the heavens leading, she felt certain now, from one world to the next.

In the turmoil of the last few days, her memories had become unmoored, had drifted dangerously in the cross-currents between the past and the present. She had, though, discovered a precious secret in that journey between the distant poles of life and death. The becalming knowledge that as we seek to make our way in this world memory can grant us safe passage, and provide us with a place of sanctuary in which to rest until the storms of unimaginable loss finally blow themselves out. 

Leigh knew, then, the true meaning of her father’s Christmas message. Knew, deep down in her soul, that the communion between father and daughter would last forever. Knowing that was so, Leigh fell in love with Christmas and with life all over again.

The End

[dillinger]

MICHELLE LAMY

MONTAGE OF A DREAM DEFERRED

After nine years and 45 exhibitions, Red Bull Space Paris is moving to new digs – but not before ceding the floor to an exceptional woman, Michèle Lamy, for one last event. The collaborative and protean sound installation, to be shown during RBMA Festival Paris, will be our farewell to Rue du Mail. 

As one of fashion's last true eccentrics, Lamy needs no introduction. Over the course of their 27-year partnership, she and husband Rick Owens have been essential in bringing radicality back into the fashion limelight.

At 1,600 years of age (as she likes to repeat,) she remains a fantastical figure, with her jewel-encrusted gold teeth, black-tipped fingers studded with esoteric rings, and trademark “third eye” highlighting her own – steel-blue – eyes. A veritable creature of her own making, she is a cross between witch, shaman and gypsy, all the while maintaining one foot in the world of art, another in fashion, one hand in design and another in architecture – her head swirling with music.

Ripped out of her bucolic Jura upbringing by the May 68 upheaval, the student of Deleuze soon embarked on a myriad of adventures. After stints as a law student, stripper, performer and (conventional) dancer, she left France at the dawn of the 1970s for the United States, drawn by its counter-culture like a moth to a flame: “I was fascinated by American music, literature, and culture. I was in love with Bob Dylan and his unusual phrasing, his way of using language,” she recalls. “Either way, French culture, for me, ended with Proust. It was American literature and music that raised me. I went from May 68 to Studio 54!” Her California dreaming of a bohemian life, surrounded by her idols, like transgender provocateur Vaginal Davis, or fashion freak Leigh Bowery, quickly became a one-way ticket for L.A., where she set up her own fashion line, LAMY, alongside a restaurant, "Les Deux Cafés," located in a former Las Palmas parking lot, with its kitchen across the street – providing a de-facto spectacle in the form of its waiters crossing the street to serve their clients. 

The Café provided Los Angeles with its much-needed push into renewed relevance, drawing in a high-and-low crowd ranging from the most exotic freaks of the 90s underground to Madonna (who stopped in to celebrate a Grammy win,) and Sharon Stone, who regaled guests with impromptu musical numbers. Yet “Les Deux Cafés” was also home to a cabaret, where everything became possible, and where Michèle would satisfy her other, more secret passion for music: “It was [70s LGBT figurehead] Hélène Hazera who made everything click for me when I was hanging out with her and the rest of the Gazolines gang in the 70s,” recalls Michèle. “She told me my voice sounded like Marianne Oswald's. She played me one of the singer's songs, which was written for her on the back of a napkin by Langston Hughes. That's how I discovered this sublime poet.” Hughes, the charismatic gay poet who has been a central figure of the 1920s Harlem Renaissance, has haunted Lamy ever since, prompting her to keep his poetry vital with her own musical adaptations. 

Under the masterful direction of Bobby Woods, the Deux Cafés Cabaret quickly became a den of possibility – and extremes. “Our band was called the Deux Love Orchestra, a sort of house band to the restaurant,” explains Bobby. “Our weekend shows, which eventually became a weekly packed-house kind of affair, would go on into the early morning, and feature lots of renowned surprise guests. Larry Klein, who won a bunch of Grammys, was part of the band, and his ex-wife Joni Mitchell stopped by to sing a few times, as did Boy George. It was incredible, a hot mess – one time, a bunch of lambs even joined the party! But the highlight was always Michèle's performance. Her smoky voice converged with the lyrics and poetry to create a surreal atmosphere, and the whole audience was subjugated. We recorded a number of LPs, some of them live from the Cabaret. At the time, Michèle and Rick lived in his apartment across the street, which only had a toaster for a kitchen – so all dinners where toast-based. Rick started having runway shows in the Cabaret, with the Deux Love Orchestra providing the soundtrack as the models worked the catwalk.”

In 2003, Lamy would turn the page on her L.A. adventure and move to Paris with Owens, who remains one of the fashion's capital most audacious figures. The couple moved into the “Palais,” an immense town house just a stone's throw from the National Assembly, that was once the property of the Socialist Party. The unreal palace was designed, decorated and organized from floor to ceiling as per the couple's wishes: raw concrete walls left bare or covered in artwork, African busts and brutalist furniture – and, of course, a pulsating electronic soundtrack. Thus opened a new chapter in Lamy's life, which she would summarize with grace in an Oyster Magazine interview: “In my twenties, I wanted to escape my rich provincial upbringing, so I abandoned studies as a defence attorney to striptease. I was involved in the May, 1968 protests in Paris, and in the early seventies I wanted to be Bob Dylan. My thirties were spent living the Californian Dream surrounded by artists, and giving birth to my daughter Scarlett Rouge. My forties were an entrepreneurial era in Los Angeles where I met my honey, Rick Owens, and I will spend my fifties enjoying life with him.”

Over the last decade, Michèle, who listens only to electronic music and hip-hop, has become a muse for some of today's most brilliant musicians. She thus collaborated with artist Matthew Stone and gay rapper Zebra Katz for one of Owens' shows; was featured as an unnaturally magnetic figure in the video for FKA Twigs' M3LL155X; commissioned food-based music from UNKLE's James Lavelle for her Bargenale multimedia installation at the 2015 Venice Biennale; shared a passion for boxing with Mos Def; got involved in the creative process of A$AP Rocky's “At. Long. Last. A$AP” – even if she regrettably failed to put him in a dress; she scored hip-hop darling Dexter Navy's “Paris Now – Saint” short for Red Bull Music Academy; guested on Tangiers’ latest “Black Asteroid”; produced and starred in the video for Christeene's “Butt Muscle”. And of course, she counts Kanye West as one of her die-hard fans: “we get along famously,” she laughs. “He thinks he's white, and I think I'm black!”

The renaissance woman/modern-day muse could not refuse Red Bull Studios Paris invitation to record a score for her installation “Montage of a Dream Deferred,”which she created as a living homage to Langston Hughes. “But I am not a singer, or a musician, or a composer. Music for me is a meeting of the minds, a matter of performance, collaboration – and whimsy,” claims Michèle. “So, I jumped at the opportunity to take part in this project, without really having an idea of what I would do. At the same time, the contemporary artist Nico Vascellari invited me to collaborate with him on his Scholomance show at the Palais de Tokyo. That's how the idea for this collaboration took shape.”

It was thus in the intimate atmosphere of Red Bull Studios Paris that the Lavascar project was born: eight tracks full of brutal percussion and industrial soundscapes amid which Michèle's voice, all the way to her demonic laughter, takes on a new spatiality: “Michèle gave me her full support and trust,” says Vascellari, “and I told her I wanted to work with her on something very primitive and intuitive, based on rhythm and vocals, which, in a way, are humanity's first instruments. But I also wanted to try and capture what is inexpressible about her, her incredible presence and magnetism. As she moved and danced in the studio, her rings and jewelry would knock against each other, and I felt it necessary to document and record this energy. Now, when I listen to these eight tracks, the image that comes to mind is of Michèle in a cave, surrounded by wild animals raring to eat her alive, and with only her noise and her poetry to keep them at bay.”

Montage of a Dream Deferred, an exhibition and recording by Michèle Lamy, in collaboration with Nico Vascellari, Matthew Stone, Matt Lambert, Scarlett Rouge. Limited edition vinyl (500 copies,) available at the opening. 

From september 25th to october 20th Opening reception september 25th 6pm-9pm ​Red Bull Space Paris, 12 rue du Mail, 75002 Paris

[leighkhoopes]

The first big meme of 2017 has arrived and it's List the Top 10 Albums That Influenced You As A Teenager. This was an almost impossible selection for me, so I gave myself some additional ground rules: these albums all came out when I was an actual teenager (13-19, to be precise) and I promptly wore them out something serious. These are also albums that I continue to listen to and enjoy to this day. I also took the *complete* album into consideration—almost all of these are total listen-throughs for me, even though there may be some other songs and singles that had more of an impact on my impressionable teenage brain. 

 So, here's the list, how old I was when they came out, and some thoughts, in no particular order: 

Sleater-Kinney - One Beat (2002) I was: 17, in between high school and college This was the first SK album I ever bought, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. It was on one of those listening stations at the local music store (RIP ear-x-tacy) and the opener with its urgent drums, spindly guitars and fantastic vocals and harmonies drew me in immediately. Apparently One Beat was their "political" album and that makes sense, but the infectiously jangly "Oh!" remains one of my all-time favorite songs to this day, and though I've listened to the rest of their catalogue, One Beat remains my favorite to this day. 

Christina Aguilera - Stripped (2002) I was: 18, college freshman Fun fact: I was one of those angsty teens who mocked pop music while hiding my secret shame at loving every bubblegum beat and boy band dance jam. When you're a teenager, you have to keep up appearances—I knew I wasn't one of the popular types, so I tried to be a "rock" kid and turned up my nose at what turned out to be some really great songs. My dear Ms. Aguilera changed all of that for me. I had already loved her first singles (You cannot deny "Genie in a Bottle," so don't even try) and her complete ownage of "Lady Marmalade" for the Moulin Rouge soundtrack, so when Stripped came out in all its sexual and bold yet vulnerable and honest glory, I found the soundtrack to the twilight of my teenage years. Everyone knows about "Dirrty," "Beautiful," "Can't Hold Us Down," and "Fighter," but have you heard the soft sensuality of "Lovin' Me for Me"? What about the deep piano soul of "Underappreciated"? This album is packed with both gems and jams, and remains relevant to this very day.

Eve - Scorpion (2001) I was: 16, high school junior I came late to the rap game, since I wasn’t allowed to buy CDs with parental advisory stickers until my senior year of high school, so I've made a lot of progress, but I didn't get the kind of hip-hop education most of my friends have besides what made it onto the radio at the time. This was post-Tupac/Biggie but pre-50 Cent, and the airwaves were mostly dominated by the aforementioned pop and its bad cousin pop-punk. So when Eve's basically flawless "Let Me Blow Ya Mind" featuring Gwen Stefani's damn near perfect hook and what I would learn is a quintessentially Dr. Dre beat dropped, all slinky and sexy and sassy, I was beyond obsessed. The rest of the album is on point, too: "Who's That Girl?" became an anthem for me because I could easily sing back "LEIGH's that girl!" (la la la-la, la la la-la); "Gangsta Bitch" was a sick collab with Trina and Da Brat; and "Got What You Need" is a great call-and-response banger courtesy of Swizz Beats and some other lesser Ruff Ryders rapper who is probably mad that Eve destroyed him on this track and probably in real life as well. 

The Kills - Keep on Your Mean Side (2003) I was: 19, college sophomore Somehow I got this CD for Christmas? I don’t remember how or where I heard about it, but this album for me is the perfect combination of sexy and scuzzy with raw guitars and sparse, swampy beats and endless, unbearable chemistry between VV (Allison Mosshart) and Hotel (Jamie Hince) that continues to this day. Fifteen years, four albums, and multiple side projects (and one very high-profile marriage and divorce) later, and I am one of those fans who firmly stans for them to live happily ever after in musical harmony and continuing rock n’ roll cuteness. They’re just SO PERFECT TOGETHER, OKAY? Anyway, this album is great, and you should listen to it if you haven’t already.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs (2001) I was: 16, soon-to-be high school senior If I had to pick ONE album that was the most influential to me of all of these, it would be Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ seminal self-titled EP. It dropped right before my senior year of high school, when I was finally starting to figure myself out a little bit and realizing that I liked loud music by loud ladies that I could dance to and scream along to, regardless of genre or format. The Strokes, The Hives, The White Stripes, and all their ilk were kicking off a new rock revolution, but there were so few ladies out there making as much noise as I needed them to. Karen O was not a great singer, but the way she whispered and groaned and wailed over the wall of sound that Nick and Brian created with just a guitar and a drumset was revelatory to me, especially after I got to see them live a few years later, smushed up against the stage at the Southgate House and rapt as the speakers pounded in my chest and Karen sprayed beer and spit on all of us, and she leaned down at the beginning of “Our Time” at the end of their set, when I was exhausted and enthralled, put the mic in front my face and together we crooned “To break on through-ooh!” YYYs continued to put out some great music and evolve their sound not-so-greatly in the following years (sorry, y’all, but Mosquito was not good), but nothing seared itself so firmly on my psyche as Karen and me covered in sweat, singing what should have been an anthem for the pre-1990 Millennials: “It’s the year to be hated / so glad that we made it.” If that doesn’t sum up everything everyone’s ever said about those of us born between 1980 and 1999, I don’t know what does.

Daft Punk - Discovery (2001) I was: 16, high school junior If there’s another album I had to name as one of my top all-timers, completely different but still equally influential, it’s Daft Punk’s Discovery. Daft Punk allowed me to embrace my love of dance and electronic music, and built a perfect unifying force among me and my friends, providing that anthem we’d been waiting for with “One More Time,” a song that still fills me with joy every time those first few beats fade in and I can’t help but smile when it drops and that surprisingly, beautifully warm vocoder voice comes in over the spaces between. The rest of the album is literally iconic as well, and really cemented Daft Punk as the arbiters of dance parties for everyone, all-inclusive, delirious and endlessly entertaining and ultimately joyful.

Le Tigre (1999) I was: 15, high school sophomore I’ll admit it: I missed the Riot Grrl movement by several years, so Kathleen Hanna and Le Tigre were a new experience for me. I loved the edge and the anger in her voice, the fuzzy throwback sound and sampling that made it seem like something I could do if I just tried harder and wasn’t so shy and scared to raise a ruckus and my voice. One thing I’ve noticed about so many of these albums and groups is that I really liked stripped-down music with big sounds created by small groups of people: duos and trios make up the bulk of my favorite albums during this era. I got to see them live as well, when JD Sampson joined the lineup and became my introduction to confusingly, distractingly sexy nonbinary people, and it was at the height of the Bush era, in the middle of my college years, and while I didn’t feel the exhilaration of singing with Karen O, I felt the freedom of dancing my ass off and screaming until my lungs my ached, unafraid of who I might bump into with my unruly booty, unafraid of who I might offend with my burgeoning baby feminism. I was sad when they stopped recording and disappointed at their recent lackluster Hillary Clinton track near the end of the election cycle, but I’ve loved the resurgence of The Julie Ruin and the ongoing reinvention and determination Hanna continues to project in the face of so much bullshittery that permeates our world and culture today. 

The Mars Volta - De-Loused in the Comatorium (2003) I was: 19, college sophomore At the Drive-In was another band I missed out on the first time around, but The Mars Volta popped up in my circles of smartass potheads once I started to find my tiny tribe of people in the rural Kentucky college town in which I lived for four years. I’ve always loved a man unafraid to belt out an anthem, and Cedric Bixler-Zavala golden throat soared over Omar Rodruigez-Lopez’s prog-rock symphonies and movements, and it sounded just as good when I was stone cold sober as when I was self-medicating in the name of social acceptance and anxiety avoidance. I will forever associate them with giant spliffs and endless laughter, letting the discordant sounds wash over me and and Cedric’s voice burn through me, as well as making myself a zombie prom queen Halloween costume under a waxing moon after a bad breakup, working some kind of dark magic to transform myself into someone no one would recognize, even if only for a night. There was always a sadness that permeated these songs, something that got lost in their later, more esoteric albums I could never get into, and there was something on this album that made me feel okay with being sad, allowing myself to feel my feelings that I tried to keep hidden for far too long.

Ludacris - Back for the First Time (2000) I was: 16, high school junior Again, the most rap I had ever really listened to before high school was MC Hammer and Will Smith’s squeaky clean radio-rap, so Luda’s debut was a major eye-opener for overly-sheltered white suburban me. "What's Your Fantasy" and "Phat Rabbit" were titillating, sure, but also fantastic rhymes and beats, and "Stick 'Em Up Bitch" and "1st & 10" were darkly hilarious under their gangsta veneers. "Southern Hospitality" brought bravado to what could have just been another Neptunes beat, and throughout it all, Luda's flow was so sick and smooth, so full of wit and wordplay and unashamed sexuality, and I loved to blare it driving through my parents’ neighborhood, even after the speakers in my car blew out and sounded like nothing but surly vibrations as I dawdled on my way home for my 11pm curfew. If I had to come in at what I considered an unfair, oppressive time, I was going to wake up everyone else in the process. Yes, I was a not-so-secret dick when I was a teenager–weren’t we all? Side note: I'm kind of sad Shawnna never made it all that big, and this video is the absolute perfect time capsule of the year 2000.

Peaches - The Teaches of Peaches (2000) I was: 16, high school senior I’ll also admit this: I fucking loved “electroclash.” That amalgamation of punk and dance music was everything to me, the perfect blend of rock guitars and big beats that enmeshed everything teenage me loved about being loud and dancing like everyone was watching and not giving a fuck either way. Peaches was gross and vulgar and rapped about sex with no emotion but pleasure, and she got even dirtier as the years went on, but The Teaches of Peaches was seminal and shocking and just the kind of thing a slightly crazed and endlessly awkward, horny teenage girl needed to hear to start embracing my own weird sexuality and rampaging hormones and confused feelings, instead of keeping them locked away and shameful like I was supposed to. Everyone knows and loves "Fuck the Pain Away," thanks to its cameo appearances in Lost in Translation and the Jackass movies, but "Lovertits" was always my personal favorite from this album. The moment that breakdown takes over is pure brilliance and one of my favorite moments in any song ever. Peaches dancing in front of the mirror in this video is teenage me, always and forever, singing to myself when no one was looking and finally finding away to sing to myself in public, out loud, and not caring who heard me. I'm still working on it, but I think these albums did a lot to push me in the direction I've gone and to get me where I am now as a feminist and a lover of music and dance parties for life.

Honorable Mentions: 

Beck - Midnite Vultures (1999)

No Doubt - Return of Saturn (2000)

Madonna - Ray of Light (1998)

The Strokes - Is This It (2001)

N.E.R.D. - In Search Of... (2001)

[robertacraigaz]

Baton Rouge Traditions: An Online Book

Baton Rouge Traditions is a collection of essays– those generated from the Baton Rouge Folklife Survey in addition to others from the New Populations Job, the Louisiana Folklore Miscellany, as well as earlier jobs. Following this intro, the essays are organized into 6 phases: Baton Rouge Gives, Baton Rouge Makes, Baton Rouge Plays, Baton Rouge Worships, Baton Rouge Works, and Baton Rouge Diversifies.

Each essay includes photographs that can be bigger and viewed as a slide show. A lot of essays also have audio clips from the taped meetings. Essays noted with an asterisk (*) in the table of contents have matching field records, readily available upon demand, that use more details.

Subsequent to this essay, the introduction consists of Customs of Baton Rouge, a photographic essay arranged around folklife categories. It includes photos of everyone as well as custom documented in the survey along with customs not recorded by interviews, such as various other craftspeople and also musicians, but also traditions such as office personalizeds, memorials, parades and also marching groups, as well as landscapes.

Baton Rouge Offers focuses on three significant philanthropic initiatives in Baton Rouge: teams taken part in pet rescue as well as individuals that make as well as donate standard fiber arts. Folklorist Carolyn Ware looked at the previous, particularly groups seeking “for life homes,” in addition to their special events, customizeds, as well as volunteers’ personal narratives. Documenting the latter, Laura Marcus Eco-friendly researched fiber artists who make quilts, prayer serapes, caps, as well as other handwork for policemen to give to at-need kids, and also for handwork guilds and craft groups to donate to premature children, cancer patients, and also experts. Two such efforts started in Baton Rouge have become regional as well as nationwide projects: Strings of Love and also The Granting Quilt. Laura Marcus Eco-friendly and I additionally documented St Joseph altars, which are gifts to the area, with a special concentrate on the specialty cakes.

Baton Rouge Makes consists of people that draw upon their diverse heritages to develop a selection of standard crafts. Folklorist Douglas Manger documented cowboy saddles and whips, metal producing barbeque pits, fly tying, horseshoeing, leatherwork, and also airbrushing in addition to wooden boats, christening dress, and power saw sculpting. Folklorist Jocelyn Donlon and also leisure research studies researcher as well as digital photographer Jon Donlon documented fabricators of Mardi Gras sphere gowns and also parade outfits. Folklorist Laura Marcus Green recorded quilter Judith Braggs as well as the ways in which her quilts reflect her heritage. Photographer James Terry and also I recorded African American custom holders that tailgate, do handwork, make fabric dolls, and also celebrate Juneteenth. Folklorist Daniel Atkinson focused on the power of narrative for custom holders when speaking about their practices and also documented the creator of an African American museum and also a quilter who made training help for the museum in addition to carvers, painters, a filé manufacturer, and also a split oak basket maker. Barbara Franklin composed her memories of making dolls and supporting her household for the Louisiana Mythology Miscellany and it is included here. Some tradition bearers have joined public programs or even got gives, like boatbuilder Keith Felder and also whipmaker Billy Anderson. Others had not formerly joined public programming, such as christening gown seamstress Lorraine Bergeron and also saddle manufacturer Ken Raye.

Baton Rouge Plays includes essays on entertainment practices. Douglas Manger profiled sac-a-lait angler Glenn Davis, as well as Jocelyn Donlon documented the Spanish Town Mardi Gras celebration. Essays about secular music and dancing customs consist of Dominic Bordelon’s 2009 essay on Latino songs as well as dance and also Guiyan Wang’s 2009 examination of the value of dancing in the Chinese community. Ethnomusicologist and folklorist Joyce Jackson upgraded paperwork on Baton Rouge blues songs, with a certain concentrate on bluesman Larry Garner, that maintains the most typical collection amongst his local peers. Songs author Ben Sandmel took a look at other nonreligious songs practices consisting of Cajun fiddle, zydeco, c and w, as well as jazz.

Celebration Quartet, based out of College Baptist Church, is a guys’s gospel quartet that sings typical and also modern gospel songs, gone along with and also unaccompanied. The quartet sings for worship solutions and special events in and around the community. Picture: Maida Owens. Baton Rouge Venerates considers spiritual songs and also ritual customs in regional churches, synagogues, mosques, and temples. Joyce Jackson checked out preaching styles of four African American priests and also, in 1996, she discussed scripture quartet The Zion Travelers for a recording job. Anthropologist Liz Williams documented choirs, chanters, cantors, as well as track leaders in varied Christian churches. Ethnomusicologist Maureen Loughran documented other spiritual noises from Greek Orthodox and also Vietnamese Buddhist incantations and also Muslim address and also crucial music to Jewish as well as Christian songleaders and also group singing. From the New Populations task, Daria Woodside documented the Hindu festival of Navaratri in 2007 as well as a puja or Hindu prayer service in 2006. In 2009, Emma Tomingas-Hatch recorded Vietnamese altar customs in Baton Rouge as well as Lafayette. In the 2017 Louisiana Folklore Miscellany, Von de Leigh Hatcher blogged about her family members custom in the Pentecostal church and also the importance of hair for women and it is included here.

In the facility, veterinarian pupils’ brief white layers as well as short sleeves (left) distinguish them from medical professionals, who put on longer white layers. Image: Courtesy of LSU College of Veterinary Medicine. Baton Rouge Functions consists of essays on work mythology. This area is especially solid with an unique focus on individuals used in small companies that have actually specialized skills, such as music tool repair work, automobile airbrushing, bakers, and also specialty boutique proprietors. Jon as well as Jocelyn Donlon concentrated on repair work services– shoes, furniture, rod and also reels, instruments, and also precious jewelry in addition to a locksmith and also clothier. Douglas Manger recorded a taxidermist, barber, funeral home, custom-made sign maker, piano receiver and a clothier. He also checked out restaurateur Wirt Bellue and exactly how he used his welding skills to creatively solve troubles for his restaurant and food processing service. Laura Marcus Green considered bakeries and also specialized cakes including grooms cakes and also the emerging tradition of cakes that reveal a child’s sex. She likewise documented store owners who specialize in hats and also outfits for African Americans to put on to church. Maria Zeringue recorded food business consisting of ethnic grocerys, boudin manufacturers, as well as tea cake manufacturers. David Kunian recorded long-time state capitol workers and also tales concerning the structure.

Work practices documented with an Archie Green Fellowship from the Collection of Congress Folklorist Carolyn Ware brought into play her work with the Louisiana State University College of Veterinary Medication and discussed vet custom-mades and also rituals, consisting of workplace traditions. Folklorist Maria Zeringue recorded tea cake manufacturers, boudin manufacturers, and also specialty grocers. David Kunian recorded legends of the State Capitol by interviewing veteran capitol workers. Laura Marcus Eco-friendly documented the African American custom of wearing hats to church as well as for various other special occasions with a focus on sellers that sell them.11.

Baton Rouge Expands includes essays from the New Populations job that concentrate on immigrant neighborhoods in addition to a write-up from the Louisiana Mythology Miscellany. In 2007, Jun Zou considered the Baton Rouge Chinese neighborhood, including its practices of paper folding, feng shui, events, and foods. In 2007, Jocelyn Donlon documented the practices of different Muslim areas consisting of Bosnian pita bread making, henna, Palestinians cross stitch, and also calligraphy. 2 of these essays were first released in the Louisiana Mythology Miscellany. In 2010 Dominic Bordelon analyzed Latino experiences in the city, in 2012 Cecelia Vo recorded her household traditions surrounding the Vietnamese Moon Event, as well as in 2017 Sylviane Greensword considered African immigrants that have hair intertwining beauty parlors in Baton Rouge.

Check all location here.

source https://platinumtreeservicepros.com/baton-rouge-traditions-an-online-book/ from Platinum Tree Service Pros https://platinumtreeservicepros.blogspot.com/2020/07/baton-rouge-traditions-online-book.html

[platinumtreeservicepros]

Baton Rouge Traditions: An Online Book

Baton Rouge Traditions is a collection of essays– those generated from the Baton Rouge Folklife Survey in addition to others from the New Populations Job, the Louisiana Folklore Miscellany, as well as earlier jobs. Following this intro, the essays are organized into 6 phases: Baton Rouge Gives, Baton Rouge Makes, Baton Rouge Plays, Baton Rouge Worships, Baton Rouge Works, and Baton Rouge Diversifies.

Each essay includes photographs that can be bigger and viewed as a slide show. A lot of essays also have audio clips from the taped meetings. Essays noted with an asterisk (*) in the table of contents have matching field records, readily available upon demand, that use more details.

Subsequent to this essay, the introduction consists of Customs of Baton Rouge, a photographic essay arranged around folklife categories. It includes photos of everyone as well as custom documented in the survey along with customs not recorded by interviews, such as various other craftspeople and also musicians, but also traditions such as office personalizeds, memorials, parades and also marching groups, as well as landscapes.

Baton Rouge Offers focuses on three significant philanthropic initiatives in Baton Rouge: teams taken part in pet rescue as well as individuals that make as well as donate standard fiber arts. Folklorist Carolyn Ware looked at the previous, particularly groups seeking “for life homes,” in addition to their special events, customizeds, as well as volunteers’ personal narratives. Documenting the latter, Laura Marcus Eco-friendly researched fiber artists who make quilts, prayer serapes, caps, as well as other handwork for policemen to give to at-need kids, and also for handwork guilds and craft groups to donate to premature children, cancer patients, and also experts. Two such efforts started in Baton Rouge have become regional as well as nationwide projects: Strings of Love and also The Granting Quilt. Laura Marcus Eco-friendly and I additionally documented St Joseph altars, which are gifts to the area, with a special concentrate on the specialty cakes.

Baton Rouge Makes consists of people that draw upon their diverse heritages to develop a selection of standard crafts. Folklorist Douglas Manger documented cowboy saddles and whips, metal producing barbeque pits, fly tying, horseshoeing, leatherwork, and also airbrushing in addition to wooden boats, christening dress, and power saw sculpting. Folklorist Jocelyn Donlon and also leisure research studies researcher as well as digital photographer Jon Donlon documented fabricators of Mardi Gras sphere gowns and also parade outfits. Folklorist Laura Marcus Green recorded quilter Judith Braggs as well as the ways in which her quilts reflect her heritage. Photographer James Terry and also I recorded African American custom holders that tailgate, do handwork, make fabric dolls, and also celebrate Juneteenth. Folklorist Daniel Atkinson focused on the power of narrative for custom holders when speaking about their practices and also documented the creator of an African American museum and also a quilter who made training help for the museum in addition to carvers, painters, a filé manufacturer, and also a split oak basket maker. Barbara Franklin composed her memories of making dolls and supporting her household for the Louisiana Mythology Miscellany and it is included here. Some tradition bearers have joined public programs or even got gives, like boatbuilder Keith Felder and also whipmaker Billy Anderson. Others had not formerly joined public programming, such as christening gown seamstress Lorraine Bergeron and also saddle manufacturer Ken Raye.

Baton Rouge Plays includes essays on entertainment practices. Douglas Manger profiled sac-a-lait angler Glenn Davis, as well as Jocelyn Donlon documented the Spanish Town Mardi Gras celebration. Essays about secular music and dancing customs consist of Dominic Bordelon’s 2009 essay on Latino songs as well as dance and also Guiyan Wang’s 2009 examination of the value of dancing in the Chinese community. Ethnomusicologist and folklorist Joyce Jackson upgraded paperwork on Baton Rouge blues songs, with a certain concentrate on bluesman Larry Garner, that maintains the most typical collection amongst his local peers. Songs author Ben Sandmel took a look at other nonreligious songs practices consisting of Cajun fiddle, zydeco, c and w, as well as jazz.

Celebration Quartet, based out of College Baptist Church, is a guys’s gospel quartet that sings typical and also modern gospel songs, gone along with and also unaccompanied. The quartet sings for worship solutions and special events in and around the community. Picture: Maida Owens. Baton Rouge Venerates considers spiritual songs and also ritual customs in regional churches, synagogues, mosques, and temples. Joyce Jackson checked out preaching styles of four African American priests and also, in 1996, she discussed scripture quartet The Zion Travelers for a recording job. Anthropologist Liz Williams documented choirs, chanters, cantors, as well as track leaders in varied Christian churches. Ethnomusicologist Maureen Loughran documented other spiritual noises from Greek Orthodox and also Vietnamese Buddhist incantations and also Muslim address and also crucial music to Jewish as well as Christian songleaders and also group singing. From the New Populations task, Daria Woodside documented the Hindu festival of Navaratri in 2007 as well as a puja or Hindu prayer service in 2006. In 2009, Emma Tomingas-Hatch recorded Vietnamese altar customs in Baton Rouge as well as Lafayette. In the 2017 Louisiana Folklore Miscellany, Von de Leigh Hatcher blogged about her family members custom in the Pentecostal church and also the importance of hair for women and it is included here.

In the facility, veterinarian pupils’ brief white layers as well as short sleeves (left) distinguish them from medical professionals, who put on longer white layers. Image: Courtesy of LSU College of Veterinary Medicine. Baton Rouge Functions consists of essays on work mythology. This area is especially solid with an unique focus on individuals used in small companies that have actually specialized skills, such as music tool repair work, automobile airbrushing, bakers, and also specialty boutique proprietors. Jon as well as Jocelyn Donlon concentrated on repair work services– shoes, furniture, rod and also reels, instruments, and also precious jewelry in addition to a locksmith and also clothier. Douglas Manger recorded a taxidermist, barber, funeral home, custom-made sign maker, piano receiver and a clothier. He also checked out restaurateur Wirt Bellue and exactly how he used his welding skills to creatively solve troubles for his restaurant and food processing service. Laura Marcus Green considered bakeries and also specialized cakes including grooms cakes and also the emerging tradition of cakes that reveal a child’s sex. She likewise documented store owners who specialize in hats and also outfits for African Americans to put on to church. Maria Zeringue recorded food business consisting of ethnic grocerys, boudin manufacturers, as well as tea cake manufacturers. David Kunian recorded long-time state capitol workers and also tales concerning the structure.

Work practices documented with an Archie Green Fellowship from the Collection of Congress Folklorist Carolyn Ware brought into play her work with the Louisiana State University College of Veterinary Medication and discussed vet custom-mades and also rituals, consisting of workplace traditions. Folklorist Maria Zeringue recorded tea cake manufacturers, boudin manufacturers, and also specialty grocers. David Kunian recorded legends of the State Capitol by interviewing veteran capitol workers. Laura Marcus Eco-friendly documented the African American custom of wearing hats to church as well as for various other special occasions with a focus on sellers that sell them.11.

Baton Rouge Expands includes essays from the New Populations job that concentrate on immigrant neighborhoods in addition to a write-up from the Louisiana Mythology Miscellany. In 2007, Jun Zou considered the Baton Rouge Chinese neighborhood, including its practices of paper folding, feng shui, events, and foods. In 2007, Jocelyn Donlon documented the practices of different Muslim areas consisting of Bosnian pita bread making, henna, Palestinians cross stitch, and also calligraphy. 2 of these essays were first released in the Louisiana Mythology Miscellany. In 2010 Dominic Bordelon analyzed Latino experiences in the city, in 2012 Cecelia Vo recorded her household traditions surrounding the Vietnamese Moon Event, as well as in 2017 Sylviane Greensword considered African immigrants that have hair intertwining beauty parlors in Baton Rouge.

Check all location here.

from Platinum Tree Service Pros https://platinumtreeservicepros.com/baton-rouge-traditions-an-online-book/

[mrstevenbushus]

Installing the AV and Invisible Spealers

If you think of sound systems as an add-on at the end of a project, think again. Should you want good quality audio for music and entertainment, then you’ll need to work with an experienced team early on in your scheme to determine how to achieve the best acoustics, speaker tech and locations, cabling infrastructure etc.

On the Build It House, we’re taking audio seriously, so we’ve partnered with Amina UK to install their innovative invisible speakers, hidden in the walls and ceilings behind a plaster skim.

What are invisible speakers?

Amina’s design replaces the standard cone used in most loudspeakers with a flush-fitting flat panel that uses smaller vibrations to generate sound. The tech delivers 180° audio, avoiding the directionality conventional products suffer from. With Amina’s range, the sound is just as good whether you’re stood next to a speaker or at the other end of a room.

One of the Moss Technical crew (Leigh Ivins from Rockfield Smart Homes) installs the back box for a hidden speaker in the hallway

And the quality truly is fantastic, as I discovered when I met with Amina director Babs Moore at one of their partner showrooms, Redline in Essex . Babs ran me through how the panels work and put the tech through its paces with a series of film clips and music.

One test pinged sounds around the different speakers, underlining why they call the setup ‘invisible’. The panels seamlessly integrate into the walls and ceilings, and the omnidirectional sound means you simply can’t tell where they are in a room.

I’m a fairly techy person, and have always loved listening to music, but I can’t claim to be anything close to an expert when it comes to audio setups.

The zone’s iQ3 panel in position, flush with the face of the plasterboard

Thankfully, Babs has a knack for explaining even the most technical concepts in a way that pretty much everyone can understand. She was also hugely enthusiastic about what we’re trying to do with the Education House – and I very much had the sense she puts just as much care and energy into every project.

In all honesty, the sound quality blew me away. Within seconds, I was certain we had to demonstrate this tech in the Education House. It needs to be heard to be believed. The invisible speakers are one of our bigger luxuries, along with features such as the statement staircase, but this is by no means the most expensive sound system out there. And it will give our finished home cutting-edge wow factor.

The benefits go beyond sound quality, too. One of the big attractions of another relative newcomer to our homes, underfloor heating, is that you can save valuable floor space compared to using conventional radiators.

It’s a similar story with invisible speakers. By integrating these panels into walls and ceilings, you avoid the need for hulking great floorstanding models and escape the alternative of, as Babs describes it, “ceiling acne with visible overhead speakers.”

Specifying our setup

Initially, we’d envisaged a 5.1 surround sound media room in the basement, with no other audio. But talking it through with Babs and Moss Technical, our smart home installer, we decided to go further to future-proof the house and fulfil our remit as an Education House.

In the basement, we’re fitting Amina’s ALF120 subwoofer. This is the only part of the installation that won’t be completely hidden: a small grill will be left open at the bottom of the unit

So in the basement, we’ve fitted seven of Amina’s entry-level iQ3 speakers (great bang for your buck) and its ALF120 passive subwoofer. These are in a 5.1.2 Dolby Atmos configuration, with five wall speakers, two in the ceiling and the sub to give an immersive, 3D audio experience. We’ll be installing a projector later in the build.

The black box for an Amina iQ3 speaker installed. We’ve chosen pink cabling for all our audio to make it easy for all our trades to identify.

We’re playing with different configurations on the ground floor, so you can experience a range of options and compare quality. Accompanying the lounge TV is a pair of Amina’s high-performance Mobius 7 ceiling speakers, along with both an ALF40 and an ALF80 subwoofer to demo different levels of bass. Naturally, in a conventional home you’d just have a single sub.

The iQ3 flat panel installed into the back box. Note the slight gap all around the speaker: this will be filled with a jointing compound.

 There are also two rival (visible) in-ceiling speakers so you can experience the difference in sound transmission. In addition, there’s an iQ3 in the dining room and another in the hall for a quick comparison.

SONOS amps will drive everything, while Moss has based the TV distribution on a 4K matrix to deliver yet more future-proofing – although initially we’ll just use standard smart TVs. The audio links back intelligently to the house’s central Niko control hub. So, for example, when somebody presses the video entry doorbell, the music will pause and notify you.

The fully plastered basement walls. If you look closely, you can still just spot the outline of the speakers. Once the decorating is done, they’ll be totally invisible.

Installing the hidden speakers

Our Mobius 7 and iQ3 speakers are plaster-over designs (although the Mobius can be finished with a range of materials, from wood through to leather). We’re installing them into standard 12.5mm plasterboard on our stud walls and joisted ceilings. In the basement, we’ve battened out beneath the beam and block floor to create a recessed ceiling feature, so it’s a similar story here.

It’s important to get the centres right between timbers to allow enough space for the speakers. That’s easy with stud walls, as by the time you get onto this first-fix work you’re likely to have made many of your fit-out decisions.

We’re installing two Amina subwoofers in the lounge, to demonstrate the different levels of performance available

But floor joists get designed and installed very early on, so if you want discrete in-ceiling speakers, you need to make sure this is factored in early to avoid any need to notch out.

By this point, all the first fix cabling infrastructure was in place – including the wiring for the AV, which was pulled through the plasterboard where required. The speaker installation is done between the tacking and skim stages. A suitably sized hole is left in the plasterboard (Amina provides templates) and a back box fitted between the studs or joists. This is fixed only to the plasterboard (not the timber).

CHALLENGES ON SITE: THERE’S ALWAYS A SOLUTION

Ideally, you’d always get the invisible speakers in before the plaster skim is done, as it’s simpler to ensure a smooth finish.

This is what happened in the basement at the Build It House – but time pressures meant that we had to do it a little differently on the ground floor. We needed to get our floor tiles down to avoid delaying other follow-on trades, but you don’t want to do that before the ceiling is skimmed.

Working with Amina’s sales engineer, John Cattani, and the Moss team, we figured out a solution that worked for everyone. We marked out a 100mm tolerance around the speaker locations so that the crew could crack on with plastering most of the ceiling – feathering in around the tolerance area.

These speakers are now in and commissioned, and finishing them off should be a simple job.

Technically, the back boxes aren’t essential – so they can be omitted if the joists are tight and there’s not enough room. But they act as a mount for the speaker, optimise sound quality and minimise unwanted noise transfer. The tricky bit is ensuring they’re perfectly in position, so when the speaker panels are screwed in, they finish flush with the plasterboard. The setup is then tested prior to the skim, while the speakers are still accessible.

Finally, the speakers and joints are taped with scrim and the plasterers can do their skim (which must be 2mm thick max to get the correct sound performance). The process isn’t rocket science, and Babs tells me some DIYers have installed the speakers themselves. But for peace of mind and to ensure the best possible sound quality, we never questioned getting them fitted professionally (plus using a qualified installer will give you access to Amina’s 10-year guarantee).

I can’t wait to hear them in action!

The post Installing the AV and Invisible Spealers appeared first on Build It.

Article reference Installing the AV and Invisible Spealers

[latestnews2018-blog]

There Were Zero Things Better This Week Than Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s Victory Face

New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/there-were-zero-things-better-this-week-than-alexandria-ocasio-cortezs-victory-face/

There Were Zero Things Better This Week Than Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s Victory Face

Welcome to Good Shit, HuffPost’s weekly recommendation series devoted to the least bad things on and off the internet. 

This is obvious, but the best thing I saw this week was NY1’s video of 28-year-old Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez realizing she had beaten out Joe Crowley in the Democratic primary for the 14th Congressional District of New York. The results all but assured that she will soon become the youngest woman ever elected to Congress, and they set off a predictably nauseating period of 24/7 news coverage.

Challenger @Ocasio2018 toppled one of the top Democrats in Congress, @repjoecrowley, Tuesday night in their primary in the 14th District. The victory stunned even her, live on our channel. #NY1Politics https://t.co/fnK1O0bacz pic.twitter.com/RjuqHJpn1p

— Spectrum News NY1 (@NY1) June 27, 2018

But the particulars of that moment were mesmerizing: the way she convulsed just for one second when she saw the results; her widened eyes and covered mouth, first with two hands, then with just one; when she shook her head exactly once and replied “Nope” after an interviewer asked Ocasio-Cortez to put what she was feeling into words; and then when she composed herself and told the world that the victory belonged not just to her but to everyone who was with her. It was something wholly foreign to 21st century American politics: pure, uncorrupted joy, and we were right there with her in the bar to witness it. What a shocking delight. ― Maxwell Strachan 

Gucci Mane In Iceland

If you love yourself, watch this video of Gucci Mane in Iceland. Then you should mention BET, VH1, HGTV and the Travel Channel on Twitter, and petition for him to have his own show in which he travels the world and talks about how it makes him feel. Fuck, I love Gucci so much it hurts. ― Julia Craven

World Cup Tequila Shots

Re: Korea defeating Germany, thus allowing Mexico to progress to the next round–this video of Mexican fans bumrushing the Korean embassy in Mexico City to thank the ambassador personally, and forcing him to down tequila shots is so beautiful and perfect 😂 #KORGER pic.twitter.com/E1GeZCRrlK

— Very Stable Genius (@Rantaramic) June 27, 2018

Mexico got thrashed by Sweden in its final World Cup group stage game on Wednesday, but South Korea’s improbable win over Germany allowed Mexico to advance to the next round anyway. So, after the game, Mexico fans swarmed the South Korean embassy in Mexico City, mobbed the ambassador and other consular officials, and all but forced them to do shots of tequila with them. Then they chanted, “Korean, brother, you’re Mexican now!” The videos brought me genuine joy, even though the week was otherwise mostly awful. Mexico, which has had a pretty fun ride through this World Cup so far, plays Brazil in the first round of the knockout stages on Monday morning. It’ll be worth a watch. ― Travis Waldron

New Books!

Amazon

If you want to deftly thread the needle of unplugging from the horrifying news cycle while still thinking deeply about all the political, social and economic factors that have combined to make it so horrifying, allow me to humbly suggest two electrifying debut novels that were published this month.

Confessions of the Fox by Jordy Rosenberg takes the hoary tale of an 18th century folk hero ― the infamous English pickpocket and jailbreak Jack Sheppard ― and transmogrifies it into a wildly entertaining epic featuring a trans hero and a London underworld as diverse in race and gender identity as the real 18th century London was. 

Set in Oakland, California, There There by Tommy Orange weaves together the stories of urban-dwelling Native people grappling with the consequences of white colonization that has disconnected them from their heritage. All the while, the plot builds inexorably toward a shocking conclusion. ― Claire Fallon

“Salvage Dawgs”

For anyone who wants to escape the madness of the news cycle, turn off the worrisomely relevant “Handmaid’s Tale” and flip to the DIY Network ― where you can peacefully watch Robert, Mike and the rest of their Black Dog Salvage team carefully extract architectural elements from private homes, historical properties and crumbling mills across the eastern U.S. states. I first caught on to “Salvage Dawgs” four years ago (as an HGTV fanatic), and with a new season currently airing on Sundays at 9 p.m., I’ve been thoroughly enjoying it again. ― Leigh Blickley

“Demolition Man” Nacho Fries

Taco Bell

Is it a coincidence that in “Demolition Man” ― a movie depicting a world of peace, love and Wesley Snipes with bleach-blond hair ― every restaurant is a Taco Bell? I think not. Now, in honor of the 25th anniversary of this cinematic masterpiece, in which Sylvester Stallone says “Heads up” before literally kicking Snipes’ head off his body and people clean their butts with seashells, Taco Bell is bringing “Demolition Man” nacho fries to San Diego Comic-Con. And as if this partnership could get any more perfect, the fries are supposedly free.

So even if you’re not into “Demolition Man” (but, really, who even are you?), it’s still enough to make you say, “Aw, bell yeah.” Anything else happening in your life is nacho problem. But just remember: This is still Taco Bell we’re talking about, so keep those seashells ready. ― Bill Bradley

Some Hedonistic Art

Irena Jurek

“Strawberries Wild,” 2018, acrylic, graphite, colored pencil, glitter and collage on paper.

Fuck self-care, “Alive With Pleasure!” ― a new group show at Asya Geisberg Gallery in Manhattan ― seems to suggest. These dire times require unabashed hedonism, stripped of nutrition, intention or good sense. Curated by Irena Jurek, the exhibition takes its name from the playfully seductive Newport cigarette ads from the ’70s and ’80s. The works on view ― by artists including Caroline Chandler Wells, Raúl de Nieves and Melissa Brown ― are united by an excessive energy that oozes from their materials, style, palette and subject matter. Strawberry orgies, sprinting nipples, smoking birthday cakes and rainbow horses with serious BDE populate the gallery space, manifestations of self-indulgence far more strange and satisfying than bubble baths and goat yoga. ― Priscilla Frank

Kieran Culkin In “Succession”

Listen, I do not know how I feel about “Succession” on the whole. It is a longish HBO show filled with rich white men whose business dick swagger is very sad emoji, pretty frightening and a little funny. But I do know how I feel about Kieran Culkin in “Succession,” and that is that Kieran Culkin in “Succession” is very hot. He is the media conglomerate sex idiot I never knew I needed. He is the entitled son of a Rupert Murdoch avatar that I would otherwise hate if he weren’t so good at sick sibling burns and fast talking. He is Igby Slocumb, if Igby had just gone ahead and Jeff Goldblum-ed himself. That scene where Kieran Culkin in “Succession” is wiping his own semen off the window of his high-rise office window is exactly how I imagine Wall Street Men behave, so maybe this is a documentary. I don’t know. Watch it for Kieran. ― Katherine Brooks

Music For Your Ears

It’s always been difficult to get a handle on Deerhoof’s noise pop. It’s both artful and art-damaged, heavy metal and wistfully melodic. On a recent episode of the great podcast “Essential Tremors,” drummer Greg Saunier explains at length how the band’s sound is rooted in an unlikely source: Burt Bacharach’s orchestral pop. Saunier is a captivating storyteller, unwinding his tale much like his band’s twisty songs bouncing from a nostalgic remembrance of his mom’s love of soft rock to dissecting the essential genius of the 1968 hit “Do You Know the Way to San Jose” to karaoke singing. “People have rarely agreed with me on this, but I pretty much think of Deerhoof as being a soft-rock band,” Saunier said. ― Jason Cherkis

Freaky people, clap your hands! You’ll hear that command on “The Now Now,” the latest LP from sprightly synth cartoon band Gorillaz. We could use a freaky handclap or two right now, especially if it’s filtered through baroque bops like “Humility” (a summer jam if there ever was one) and “Magic City.” This album? It’s sunshine in a bag. ― Matthew Jacobs

A Movie About Aliens

This week I’m all over “How to Talk to Girls at Parties.” Don’t be fooled by the “Dude, Where’s My Car?”-esque name, this is an entirely precious, entirely new, entirely weird movie about growing into love in the most outlandish of circumstances. Enn is a punk boy in the ’70s who likes nothing more than scaring old ladies on his beat-up old bike and eating tomatoes that grow in the sewer, but his life gets shaken up when he meets Zan, an alien girl from a clan of introverted extraterrestrials touring Earth. I loved the subversion of expectation, like when he leans in to kiss her and she vomits on him. Somehow this is still cute. Elle Fanning is a great alien, and Nicole Kidman makes an appearance as an aged punk, which is worth it just to see her done up in the requisite 3 inches of eyeliner. The special effects are really campy and kind of jarring, but fun if you just go with it. And Mitski (!) even makes an appearance on the soundtrack to round it all out. Upon watching it, my mother said, “What in God’s name did you just show me?” Great fun. ― Anna Krakowsky

Maeve On “Westworld”

The best thing for me this week was, hands down, the subtle power of Thandie Newtown’s performance as Maeve on the Season 2 finale of “Westworld.” There’s this one, glorious shot of her toward the end of the episode, defiantly using her powers to hold off a horde of crazed hosts in order to protect her daughter. It’s brilliant on many levels, foremost because it’s the instant where the show fully crystalizes something that, all season, it had only been half-committed to acknowledging: Maeve is basically every black woman who has had to save herself (and everyone else) because no one else would. In light of the dumpster fire that has been this week and quite frankly this entire year, there’s something cathartic in seeing that visual metaphor on screen. ― Zeba Blay

The Passionate Experts On “Ologies”

My evergreen podcast recommendation this summer has been “Ologies,” a delightful science series. Each episode features a different expert, or -ologist, who can expound on all the cool shit to do with topics including death, birds, fear, squids, even postcards (!!!). Host Alie Ward is a true delight and basically asks all the weird questions I’d want to ask. It’s educational without feeling too heavy. Listening to people who are passionate about things is kind of the best thing? I’ve yet to come across a dud episode, and there are nearly 40 in the back catalog to work through on your journeys this summer — or simply your journey ~through life~. ― Jillian Capewell

And Finally, This Photo

received a very promising tip today pic.twitter.com/UaAJGwoVWz

— Ashley Feinberg (@ashleyfeinberg) June 28, 2018

This photograph was DMed to me by a stranger with absolutely no words or explanation. It is beautiful and makes me want to die, which is all you can really hope for with art. ― Ashley Feinberg

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[grapsandclaps]

BALDY BALDY OVER THERE WHAT'S IT LIKE TO HAVE NO HAIR

Hello Everyone! Welcome to the review of Show 76 of the #100showyear that took me once again to Stockport for a Sold Out No Vacancy Futureshock Wrestling show featuring the Triple Threat Adrenaline Title match with Pete Dunne (Champion) vs Soner Durson vs Xander Cooper. As with GPW and Futureshock the other month, the name value of Pete Dunne has added not only bums on seats but a buzz around both products introducing new faces to Soner Durson who has been tearing up the North West scene and is a lock for appearances in Progress or even Fight Club Pro.

But before all the fun of the fair, it was time to meet up with a host of people from the graps gang who were either here for the wrestling or as new challengers for the coveted BritWres Pool Championship currently held by Athers.

First pub was The Chestergate which is based near the main shopping area in Stockport and provides a service for all of your sporting needs with BT Sport and Sky Sports on over at least 8 screens. Drinks here was your usual run of the mill drinks with pints of Amstel Bier being £2.90 which is lower than usual, some of the clientele was less than to be desired including a man with a fully tattooed head looking like a reject from the Blue Man Group.

Next pub was the local Wetherspoons establishment, as we know is a britwres staple to go to at least one and stay there forever. Drinks here including a pint of Ginger Tinge (4.4%) for £2.49 and a pint of Lager Shandy for £3.20 which as a responsable drinker like myself, I found to be a bit steep in price.

Spoons done, it was off to the Pool Mecca of Stockport - The Nelson Tavern where a waiting Athers (cue in hand) was waiting for the raft of contenders to his throne. Lets see what went down:

I myself lost a no.1 contenders match with Chris Linay after my big giant hands didn't get out of the way quick enough to cost me 2 shots to allow Chris to clear up after my protests over the Loughbrough Rules fell on deaf ears.

Athers valiantly lost his title to former title holder Our Geoff after a close contest. Geoff then surrendered the title to The Boozerweight Chris Duffy due to "Death By Black Ball, Duffers fresh from drinking Lemonade all afternoon continued on a decent win streak over Linay, Geoff again and a lucky win over myself (black ball of doom).

But the run came to a halt, with Champion at the start of the day - Athers coming back to regain his crown and in doing that before any other contenders could get warmed up, he drove off into the Stockport Sunset with his title, which will next be defended on October 22nd at The Fenton in Leeds - Free Admission in but bring your 50p's.

Pool drama done, it was on to the wrestling which started at least 35 minutes late due to the sheer amount of people jam packed into the Guildhall and as we would find out a massive sound problem which left us with no music for the 1st half.

Enter Matt Taylor Richards (He Fears Bread) asking us to do our best to sing the entrance themes or make enough noise as possible for the wrestlers, to which the Futureshock Faithful duly obliged. So what was the first sing- up OH! I mean Match Up.

TELL ME WHAT YA THINK YOUR LOOKIN AT! PANTS! Danny Hope vs DOOOO DOOO DOOOO DOOOO DOOOOO DUH DUH Abel Stevens. This was a good opener with Abel who has been on a run of losses since a good opening start to his fledgling career and it was here, his streak of losses continued as Danny Hope hit a superkick for the 1-2-3 for a morale boosting win for Hope.

Next match was Chardonnay who wasnt reported to have had a sang theme tune vs Lana Austin who came out to a rendition of Aerosmith's "I Dont Wanna Miss A Thing" mixed with "Do The Conga" by Black Lace. Good womens match here with Champion Lana Austin getting the win in around 10 minutes with a DDT for a popular victory. Chardonnay who I remember last seeing as a chav character in NGW and Futureshock looked the part here in this new role as Lady Chardonnay not looking pleased at the aled up congregation on the back row.

To the sound of claps mixed in with The Caravan of Love by The Housemartins - its JJ Webb vs The Sound of Stomping and RAAAARRRS! - its a newly masked Cyanide. Ive got to say, I love Cyanide in this monster role just rag dolling his opponents including a super one armed backbreaker that looks like it legitamately breaks his opponent in half, this is what poor JJ fell to in a valiant effort.

I can see Cyanide running through a few of the lesser lights on the roster, till a Rampage Brown comes back for a huge big lads collision that could be all kinds of great.

Back from the second half and the sound had made a great comeback to save our voices or maybe because Halls Soothers had sold out at the nearby petrol station.

Meat & Veg (Don Meacho & Ryan Hendricks) vs the ever popular Tag Team Champions Sexy Gents (Sexy Kev AND JON!). Really enjoyed this match despite it being a face vs face setup but the sway of the vote went to The Sexy Gents who are a good unit to watch. It once again proved fruitful here for The Gents who hit the Big Money Shot to get the win. After the match, Cyanide came down to smash both Don & Ryan so im guessing thats your next opponents on Cyanide's list of terror, Meacho vs Cyanide could be a good scrap if it happens.

The chimes of Genesis rang out and here comes everyones favourite bald chicken - Damon Leigh who got some right abuse about his bald head:

BALDY BALDY OVER THERE

WHATS IT LIKE TO HAVE NO HAIR

IS IT HOT! IS IT COLD!

I DONT KNOW COS IM NOT BALD

REPEAT X 6

He took on Mr. Lovely Hair, Lovely Face On His Pants, The Mane Event, Cos' He's Worth It - James Drake.

A previous contest between the two ended up with the famous Chicken In A Bin Spot with Damon in said bin. This match was a play off that match and was a very fun match between to of the most underated workers in the UK, Damon especially is a comedy genius.

The finish came when Drake got distracted by rival Zack Gibsons music only to get hit by a move from Damon to lose in a fantastic match. Thankfully though the bin made a return to end up over Damons head, who was then hung up in the corner ready for Drake to take pictures with Resident North West Booing Machine - Shauna, Top entertainment.

Talking segment time with Ashton Smith being officially declared in a presentation as Futureshock Champion who asked for new challengers and out came T-Bone who accepted with a giant headbutt to set a title match for the 19th November.

Main Event time with the aforementioned 3 way stated at the start of this review. I would go as far to say that this could easily be in the Top 5 Futureshock matches of the year, everyone looked brilliant and worked their arses off in a over 15 minute match. The finish came when Fitzgerald was distracted by Little Daddy Walter whilst Xander Cooper was laying the boots to Soner Durson, but whats this - Sam Bailey for the save or so we thought till 😮😮😮

BAILEY TURNS ON SONER! Bailey laid Soner out leaving Cooper to submit a valiant Durson who tapped out, so your new Adrenaline Champion - Xander Cooper to the boos of the audience.

Drinks prices - £2.50 for bottles of Desperado and £4 for pint cans of Guiness.

Overall a great show with not a bad thing to report, a molten hot crowd who added to the show in a great way despite the early technical issues. Make sure you check Futureshock Wrestling out for upcoming dates at theor website, one of which is the 19th November back in Stockport #grapsandclaps.

[floridageekscene]

Otaku culture values a lot of things–community, open-mindedness, art, pocky… But two valuables I find especially prevalent among anime aficionados are “breadth” and “depth.”

Breadth is the desire to enjoy variety—that spice of life that broadens our appreciation for culture, genre, and style. Breadth, for example, is the ability to watch anime genres as opposite as Attack on Titan and Bunny Drop side-by-side and acknowledge (if not enjoy) both of them.

If breadth is valued by otaku culture for its ability to expand horizons, however, depth is what internalizes those experiences and makes them meaningful. A desire for depth is a craving to dive as far into one particular series, genre, or author as possible and churn the soil for its richness. The deeper I plunge into a series, the more mastery I wield over it and the more of it I am able to apply it myself and the world around me. It’s when I internalize the anime I’ve watched that it’s able to shape my perspective, my beliefs, and even my comprehension of focus subjects like the Meiji Era (Rurouni Kenshin), volleyball (Haikyuu!!), and mythology (Fate/Zero).

Florida Anime Experience not only grasps the importance of depth, but also acts on it. Since its creation in 2011, FAE has been religiously dedicated to becoming, not the largest of Cons, but the most focused of them. Six years later, FAE is still a passionate love letter to otaku, bringing all forms of Japanese entertainment—video games, manga, maid cafes, J-Pop, cosplay, and, of course, anime—together under one all-but-pagoda-shaped roof.

The Scoop:

What – A three-day event centered on Japanese culture, with special focus on anime and manga’s influence on creativity and culture

When:

Friday, March 10th: 10:30AM – 10:00PM Saturday, March 11th: 10AM – 11PM Sunday, March 12th: 10:00AM – 4:30PM

Where – Radisson Resort & Conference Center

Who – Amanda Miller, Cherami Leigh, Cristina Vee, Kate Higgins, Stephanie Sheh, Al Aki, Noise Complaint, Nerdy Karaoke, and Maid Café Mikkusu

Price – $20-$25 (single-day), $45 (weekend)

Perks – An anime viewing room, costume contests, a vendors room (with over forty booths), an artist alley, a Japanese video game room, a maid cafe, and more

My first, and only other, trip to Florida Anime Experience was in 2013—a year when the closest thing I’d ever experienced to anime was Kingdom Hearts and Avatar: the Last Airbender. While I felt very welcomed at FAE 2013 by open-armed staff and conversational cosplayers, I wasn’t able to engage the event from an otaku’s point-of-view and felt very much like I was looking through a window into a wondrous, unfamiliar world. My previous convention experiences had only been with Con giants like Megacon and Metrocon—both events with worthy fame to their names but that focus on scooping up as many fandoms as possible into their weekends. In other words, Cons that, quite successfully, go for breadth.

Four years and 150 anime, manga, light novels, and OVAs later, I returned to Florida Anime Experience, eager to finally participate as a fully-fledged otaku. By the end of the day, I left feeling like I’d become Hokage.

To be more specific, Florida Anime Experience provided (and attracted) everything I’d ask for from a Con centered on Japanese culture. More importantly, I left the event with many experiences, ideas, and keepsakes that I didn’t have when I entered. I believe that’s a true mark of success for any convention.

For example…

I stepped into the Anime Viewing Room and caught a few minutes of My Hero Academia—more than enough time for me to scribble it down on my lengthy to-watch list. I tried two new flavors of taiyaki. I witnessed a round of Hatsune Miku: Project DIVA in action. I met three voice actresses for the first time and obtained six signatures. I put on my first kimono. Most significantly, I made a new friend while waiting in the autograph line.

It’s said that you get from something what you put into it. I think that’s true when attending most any Con. In the case of Florida Anime Experience, though, the process became almost subconscious. New experiences burst around every corner and from every vendor’s table, many of which I ran out of time (or money…) to try for myself—boba tea, the manga library, the maid cafe, henna… Fortunately, hundreds of other otaku were able to experience these novelties, with no table ever left unoccupied by a curious passerby.

Vendors reflected Florida Anime Experience’s distinct themes with katana-sharp pin-pointedness. Figurines, phone strap mascots, rare blind box collectibles, window-sized wall scrolls, dakimakura, and weapon replicas maintained a very strict emphasis on otaku interests. Video games, film, music, literature, and snacks originating in Japan also found their way into vendor’s wares, in-between all the Yuri on Ice, Haikyuu!!, and Naruto merchandise. Despite being of Western origin, RWBY unsurprisingly managed to carry a significant Con presence through both cosplay and fanart.

The Artist Ally wrapped around the centralized vendor’s hall like a picture frame. While there weren’t as many artists as there were merchants, I got the impression that FAE selected them very deliberately. No two were alike, and I don’t just mean that in the “all art is unique” sense. Each artist had a particular medium they specialized in—felt character magnets, clay chibi dolls, three-dimensional shadow boxes, traditional art, digital art… And, of course, most art was inspired by Japanese media. Not all of it, but most. It seemed FAE wanted to honor its artists’ liberties, as long as a certain portion of their wares were dedicated to the Con’s theme.

Due in large part to FAE’s selection of voice actresses, Sailor Moon was a frequent sight all around. I lost track of the number of blonde hair buns and magical staffs I passed, and that’s to say nothing of the themed panels, fanart, figurines, wall scrolls, and other memorabilia based on the Senshi.

Amanda Miller, Cherami Leigh, Cristina Vee, Kate Higgins, and Stephanie Sheh held two autograph signings each day, which idealistically allowed for everyone to participate in the meet-and-greet. I stood in line for an hour on two separate occasions and was the cut-off in front of a few dozen people the first time around. Fans patient enough to try their luck a second time found themselves rewarded, and the convention staff put a limitation on autographs and photography in order to ensure as many attendees as possible were able to meet the actresses.

Despite having never watched a single episode of Sailor Moon, I went home with six autographs from other series. Amanda Miller, Cherami Leigh, Cristina Vee, Kate Higgins, and Stephanie Sheh have impressive resumes and have starred in many of my favorite anime—Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works, Trigun: Badlands Rumble, and Naruto. (As it was Higgins’ first time in Florida, I was especially excited to get a Saber autograph.) Essentially, whether I was a Sailor Moon fan or not was far from a deal-breaker in the autograph line, much to my delight. My encounters with the actresses were brief but pleasant, and I took away the impression that they enjoyed being among the fans and hearing their personal stories.

The actresses also shared some stories of their own. A Sailor Moon Q&A with all five special guests allowed both Senshi and fans to lay their hearts on the table. Amanda Miller related how the role of Sailor Jupiter helped her overcome a period of heavy depression. I could feel  silence weighing the room as listeners took in her story.

That sense of transparency characterized Florida Anime Experience. The staff were very personable and the attendees responded in kind. I never felt as though I were being “babysat” by the convention staff. Instead, I was treated as though I were “part of the show,” spoken to as an equal and subconsciously asked to help keep things running smoothly by playing my part.

When I obtained my press pass, I was informed that I wouldn’t get any special access with it—because FAE wanted me to experience the Con from a regular attendee’s perspective. Florida Anime Experience is a “by fans, for fans” event, with the playing field courteously levelled. It’s one of the most laidback Con experiences I’ve had the pleasure of attending. Other Cons would be wise to take note.

At the beginning of my review, I made a big deal about Florida Anime Experience going for depth, rather than breadth. Naysayers may argue that FAE limits itself by restricting its theme, but it’s this singular focus that allows FAE to dive as deeply and precisely into its own Con culture as it does. If you are a fan of Japanese media—especially anime—and you live in Central Florida, then Florida Anime Experience should be on your list of annual pilgrimages.

And if you have no idea what kawaii means, who Tezuka is, or which way to read a manga, but you have a curious and open mind, then you’re guaranteed to get a hands-on, cultural crash course more fun than any other at Florida Anime Experience.

Florida Anime Experience is a three day pop culture convention celebrating anime, manga, and Japanese pop culture.

Visit the FAE Official Website

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Photography by Amy Covel

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  Florida Anime Experience 2017 Otaku culture values a lot of things--community, open-mindedness, art, pocky... But two valuables I find especially prevalent among anime aficionados are "breadth" and "depth."

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Hyperallergic: The Curator of LA’s New ICA on Opening Up the Insular Art World

Jamillah James, portrait by Paul Sepuya (courtesy of Jamillah James)

LOS ANGELES — Jamillah James wasn’t always on track to be a curator. “I didn’t actively become interested in visual art until I was in my late teens,” she told Artslant last fall, “and I certainly didn’t think of working in the arts until my early-to-mid twenties. I’m a bit of a late bloomer.” She even failed drawing in college. “My big secret is that I don’t have a master’s degree,” she confided to Hyperallergic, which is a rarity in the highly professionalized arena that curatorial studies has become. Despite her unorthodox path, however, James has established herself as a curator to watch. With her recent jump from assistant curator at the Hammer Museum to head curator at the ICA, the revamped Santa Monica Museum of Art slated to open this fall in Downtown LA, she is poised to make an even bigger splash.

Coming from a musical background, James’s first experience curating was with a cross-disciplinary show while studying at Columbia College in Chicago. “With some encouragement from professors at school, I began working on what would become my first exhibition,” she told NYArts. “It was a sound and homemade instruments show, coalescing both my interest in art and music.” After graduating, she stayed in Chicago, organizing music and performance shows focused primarily on the experimental noise scene, even playing drums and touring with her own band. “I booked Lightning Bolt, Mindflayer, Wolf Eyes, Hair Police, Neon Hunk, Metalux — all those weirdos,” she jokes.

A stint working in publishing in New York was followed by a move to Baltimore, where she started curating more visual arts–centered exhibitions at nonprofit institutions and artist-run DIY spaces. Her curating career with more traditional arts institutions began in 2010 when she became a curatorial fellow at the Queens Museum, working on their Queens International biennial. Then, from 2012 to 2014, she was a curatorial fellow at the Studio Museum in Harlem, where she worked on an exhibition of early work by LA-based conceptualist Charles Gaines, which would travel to the Hammer Museum.

Her move west was spurred by a trip she made to LA in the winter of 2014. “I booked a ticket and came out here in January. I wanted see the Forest Bess show that had come from the Menil, and that was my first time at the Hammer. I was blown away by the show, and I’m a total sucker for marble,” she says of the Hammer’s palatial building. “The way things look here is so different. Everything is elongated, spread out, low to the ground. I’m used to galleries that are the size of this table. I went back to New York and it was cold and dreary. My mind was blown from being here.”

She was in the process of applying to a doctoral program at the University of Rochester, to study with Douglas Crimp, “a personal hero,” when a position opened up at the Hammer. “I thought maybe after grad school I would go to LA, but the opportunity to do so came a lot sooner. I knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.”

A Shape that Stands Up installation view at Art + Practice (all photos by Brian Forrest / Hammer Museum, unless noted)

At the Hammer, James was responsible for organizing shows at Art + Practice, a Leimert Park–based nonprofit focused on art, education, and social services founded by artist Mark Bradford. The two institutions had a unique relationship whereby the Hammer would provide curatorial support to Art + Practice for its first couple of years. “It was a learning experience for both organizations,” James says. “And I got to build a good relationship with Mark Bradford, one of the most important American artists working today. He was incredibly generous to take a chance on a young curator like me, trusting in my abilities to make programs that would be relevant to their audience.”

Hammer Projects: Simone Leigh, installation view at Hammer Museum

These exhibitions included A Shape that Stands Up, a group show of painting and sculpture that toe the line between abstraction and figuration, and an ambitious solo show by Alex Da Corte that featured room-sized installations incorporating colored lights, video, sculpture, and even scents. “I think it’s an honor, a privilege, and a challenge making exhibitions that are relatable and feel important and that aren’t just this insular thing where I’m only talking to five people. I don’t want my exhibitions to be preaching to the choir,” she says. “I want people to feel welcome when they go to see an exhibition that I’ve worked on, but I also want people to be challenged. With Alex’s show, that was the first time we staged installations at A+P. I wanted to push the envelope and up the ante in terms of what art can be, and what it can look like, and who can make it.”

Alex Da Corte: A Season in He’ll, installation view at Art + Practice

With her new role at the ICA — the non-collecting kunsthalle with more than 12,000 square feet of space — James plans to continue pushing those boundaries, building off of the Santa Monica Museum’s history. “One of the main things that is to our benefit is that we have years of history supporting emerging, under-recognized artists and allowing established artists to take new directions by supporting more experimental exhibitions,” she says. “We’re putting our money, time and intellect where out mouths are and really advocating for artists who may not ordinarily have opportunities to show in an institutional setting.”

James locates her own work as a curator, and the ICA’s vision, within a larger context of opening up an art world that has been insular and exclusionary for far too long. “I want to see us get to a point where museums aren’t just having one black artist a year, one Latino artist a year — that every season there is an artist of color, women artists, queer artists, and that we are all actively working against the canon. We have to work against this cult of genius and allow there to be a diversity of voices, especially at this moment in time where civil liberties are going to be trampled upon and people are really going to experience oppression in a whole new way.”

ICA director Elsa Longhauser put it succinctly when she told Artforum: “[James] champions the values that ICA LA holds in highest regard — critique of the familiar and empathy with the different.”

This broadening of opportunities and diversity of voices extends not just to the artists James works with, but to the audiences she hopes to draw to her exhibitions. “I like to think of curatorial practice as a pedagogical practice. Curators are the conduit between artists and publics. I would love to see there be more direct interaction, but I’m happy to be in that go-between role to assist artists as they realize ambitious projects, to help with cultivating a language around the work that they’re doing for a general audience, and to be there as a resource for visitors who have certain questions about the work. At the end of the day, allowing people to experience an experience and letting them do it on their own and come to their own conclusions is just as important as the blood, sweat, and tears — and Red Bull — that I pour into writing about an exhibition,” James says. “It’s all valid.”

The post The Curator of LA’s New ICA on Opening Up the Insular Art World appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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