#minnesota frogs anyone

[unhingedwomandiaries]

I've been interested in the idea of attending one of those sketchy "mystery" kilo clothing sales for years. You know the ones - they pack random piles of used junk into plastic barrels, then charge you pennies per pound to dig through the wreckage like a raccoon foraging from a dumpster behind Wendy's. Well, someone finally dragged one of these sartorial dumpster fires to my municipality, so I jumped aboard the textile trash train. Early bird tickets were a whopping three quid, which is basically like paying to breathe air at that point.

I recruited my two wing-people for this safari because misery loves company (and splitting train fares). We pre-gamed by lurching around town at 10 a.m., haunting all the usual morning hipster dives - the chocolate shop, the candy shop that's clearly circling the drain, and the obligatory artisanal bakery that nobody really needs. When we finally sidled up to the kilo-plex, the line of fellow ragamuffins already stretched toward the cosmos. Dudes were straight-up strategizing on obtaining all the best Nike swag first so they could book it for the parking lot fencelike (ashamed) trapped raccoons. There was even a crazed blonde just strolling the queue, waving a crumpled tenner, and begging to cut to the front for money. The local rag had paparazzi stalking the congregation too, snapping pixels of these huddled apparel junkies for their big take-down exposé (as if anyone reads small town newsprint anymore).

Once the doors finally cracked, it was every tatter for themselves in a pushing stampede usually reserved for American families lunging at discounted flat screens on Black Friday. I'm talking body-on-body violence erupting over ratty 22-year-old Little League Baseball souveneers. Like some dude was straight-up fisticuffing another human because he wanted to own a dri-fit tank proclaiming "Shakopee Sno-Devils, 2001 Finalists!" Why? Do you even remotely care about 10-year-olds playing baseball in Shakopee, Minnesota in 2001? No, you absolutely do not. Nor do I believe you've ever been to that place.

While the peasants bludgeoned each other over silk rags, I beelined toward the handbag aisle where the day's true fortunes would be uncovered. I glimpsed a shipping crate emblazoned with those beloved Hermès boxes we've been conditioned to lust over since birth. My palms literally perspired as I cracked the seal, only to find the actual purse had already been hijacked from its cardboard shelter. Raptured. I briefly held a pink Prada bag in my hands before it was forcibly yoinked away by some more wanton pilferer. That was the trough's high-dollar ceramic penguin, now just a fleeting memory.

By checkout, my haul looked pretty measly - two skirts, two shirts, two scarves, all for a grand maximum of 43 measly pence. One scarf did happen to be low-key designer Gucci, which is kind of sad when you think about it. Like I literally paid pennies for an accessory some rich idiot once spent a monthly Dillard's wage on. We all have our checkered Buddhist moments of realizing all material goods are empty vessels waiting to be discarded after a few years of trophy ownership, I guess.

The clowns just kept flooding out of the car too - people were aggressively documenting their stupid clothing scores on social media like they'd unlocked the cover of Life magazine or something. Then we stopped for sustenance at this random "Bento" vegan place, which is a curious name since nothing they offered remotely resembled a Japanese bento box. My mate somehow ended up ordering "Sexy Mock Legs," which arrived looking like the vegan autopsy of a non-Brown Fraggle. Just a plate of creepy, smooth faux-frog appendages that nobody would want to ingest. We are a very bizarre species, are we not? Hunter-gatherers turned haul-uploaders, caping for the same singularly trite delusions with no collective awareness. Such is the fabric of modernity, I suppose. No pun truly intended.

[nonasuch]

oh man. so the version of this that’s rapidly coalescing in my head is very Parks & Rec/B99 in tone and style, which is why the department has to have a cartoon mascot that everyone is deeply embarrassed by. I was going to have it be a dodo (“don’t be a dodo, kids! leave the integrity of the timestream intact!”) but now I think it has to be a cheetah

additional worldbuilding:

a good chunk of their job is just accompanying legit researchers on authorized expeditions, which is boring as hell and mostly involves saying “no don’t touch that” every two minutes.

sometimes the authorized expedition is to a place that’s gonna get obliterated by a volcano in 48 hours, and there is at least one member of the department who thinks he should be allowed to bring a dune buggy/parasail/dirt bike/future extreme sport item of choice when this happens. he is not, and he is mad about it.

there is a tropical fish enthusiast working in the department. her home aquarium setup has completely flawless paperwork for every species, and anyone who says any of them were ever extinct is a filthy liar.

one of the sergeants is a Neanderthal. his name is Dave. technically he doesn’t need a job because he could live off the massive lawsuit settlement he won for being abducted from the Upper Paleolithic as a toddler by a well-meaning bioarchaeologist, but he likes to keep busy. he’s not complaining about having indoor plumbing and vaccines and all, but jeez, people, there are limits, y’know? he has a minnesota accent and this is never acknowledged or explained.

the season 1 finale revolves around a tank of extremely poisonous dart frogs that may or may not have gotten loose in the office. or the tank is empty because their removal from the timestream was successfully prevented. it’s definitely one of those.

here is a concept: time travel cop, fish & wildlife division

most of their job is dealing with the kinds of assholes who think black market tiger cubs are a great idea right up until someone gets mauled, except these are even bigger assholes with black market Smilodon cubs that they are even less equipped to care for

this is the most straightforward and therefore relatively headache-free part of their job, because it’s the same “put that thing back where it came from or so help me” song and dance every time

it’s also significantly less depressing than the trophy hunters who don’t even want an alive extinct animal. those are extra annoying because you have to undo the time travel that let them kill that poor Megatherium or thylacine or anklyosaur or whatever, and it’s always so much extra paperwork.

and those people suck, definitely, and have fully earned a stint in Time Jail. no question. but they still do not create anywhere near as much work as the obsessive hobbyists with their exhaustively careful best practices and worryingly good track-covering. also, weirdly, it’s almost always birds with them?

like. the guys who will flagrantly abuse Time Law to bird-nap breeding pairs just long enough to raise one clutch of eggs apiece, and return them seamlessly to their spots on the timeline. who are so determined to keep their pet (ha) projects going that no one even realizes what they’re doing until they have an entire stable breeding population of passenger pigeons up and running. who are now the reason that reps from six different zoos are about to start throwing hands right in front of you over who gets dibs.

those guys cause the most paperwork. and half the time they’re snapped up by the same zoo or wildlife preserve that gets their colony of ivory-billed woodpeckers or Carolina parakeets or — once, very memorably — giant fucking South Island moa, and they never even spend a day in Time Jail.

[strawberry-metal]

Weird law fact anon here to give you some laughs!!!

In Alabama, it is illegal to wear a mustache in church that makes people laugh.

In Alaska, you can not wake a sleeping bear to take a photo.

In Arizona, it's illegal to let a donkey sleep in a bathtub.

In Arkansas, you cannot honk your car horn near a sandwich shop after 9pm.

In California, if a frog dies during a frog jumping contest, it is illegal to eat that.

Also in California, it is illegal to eat an orange in the bathtub.

In Colorado, you are not allowed to keep a couch on your porch.

In Connecticut, a pickle cannot legally be called a pickle unless it bounces.

In Delaware, it's illegal to sell dog hair.

In Florida, if you tie an elephant to a parking meter, you still have to pay the same parking meter dues as you would with a car.

In Georgia, you cannot keep an ice cream cone in your back pocket on Sundays.

In Hawaii, it's illegal to stick a coin in your ear.

In Idaho, it's illegal to give someone a box of chocolates that weighs more than 50 pounds.

In Illinois, it's illegal to fall asleep in a cheese shop.

In Indiana, it's illegal to catch a fish with your bare hands... or with a firearm.

In Iowa, it's illegal for one armed piano players to charge money for their performances.

In Kansas, there's a poorly phrased law that states, "If two trains meet on the same track, neither shall proceed until the other has passed".

In Kentucky, it's illegal to sell dyed baby chicks, unless you sell them in groups of 6.

In Louisiana, it's illegal to send a pizza to anyone else's house without their knowledge.

In Maine, you can't keep up Christmas decorations after January 14th.

In Maryland, though outdated, it's still technically illegal to wear sleeveless shirts in public.

In Massachusetts, you can't own an explosive golf ball.

In Michigan, women are technically not allowed to cut their own hair without their husband's permission.

In Minnesota, contests where the point is to catch a greased or oiled pig are illegal.

In Mississippi, it's illegal to disrupt a church service and parishioners are allowed, maybe encouraged, to perform a citizens arrest on them.

In Missouri, it's illegal to drive with an uncaged bear.

In Montana, putting an animal on railroad tracks with the intent of harming the train or the tracks is punishable by a $50,000 fine or 5 years in prison.

In Nebraska, it's illegal for people with STDs to get married.

In Nevada, it's unlawful to drive a camel down the highway.

In New Hampshire, you can't collect or carry away seaweed at night.

In New Jersey, it's illegal for men to knit during the fishing season.

In New Mexico, the state ordered over 400 words removed from "Romeo and Juliet" for being a little too unsavory.

In New York, it's illegal to take any pictures with big cats.

In North Dakota, it's illegal to lie down and fall asleep with your shoes on.

In Ohio, you can't get a fish drunk.

In Oklahoma, you can't make glue out of dead skunks.

In Oregon, it's illegal to go hunting in a cemetery.

In Pennsylvania, it's illegal to catch a fish with your mouth.

In Rhode Island, it's illegal to race horses on a highway, but if you do it's only a $20 fine.

In South Carolina, a man over 16 can't seduce a woman by lying and saying he'll marry her. Women can do it to men, though.

In South Dakota, casinos are not allowed to have a sign that says "casino".

In Tennessee, you can't share your Netflix password.

In Texas, it's unlawful to sell a human eye.

In Utah, it's illegal to ride a bike without at least one hand on the handlebars.

In Vermont, women need permission from their husbands to wear fake teeth.

In Virginia, having sex outside of marriage is still illegal.

In Washington State, should you be the person to confirm the existence of the species, it is illegal to harass or kill Bigfoot or Sasquatch.

In West Virginia, it's illegal to whistle under water.

In Wisconsin, butter substitutes cannot be served in a restaurant unless people specifically ask for it.

In Wisconsin, it's illegal to take a picture of a rabbit from January to April without a permit.

Lmao bruh what are these laws? Catch me in the streets selling human eyes yall. I got browns, blues, and even the rare gray and greens!

[wr0temyway0ut]

Content warnings: homophobia, references to abuse

Now the Lights Go Down

Part Nine: Minnesota, MN - October 15, 2022

Masterlist

The Spotlight's Your Hiding Place

Disclaimer: This is a fictional representation of TMZ and Kerrang!, as well as fictional representations of my wonderful fandom friends who lent me their usernames and pfps for this fic. All opinions expressed in this fic are completely fictional and created by me. Do not bother/attack anyone who appears in this fic.

Taglist 1 below the cut, ask to be added or removed!

@itsthebooks @kybee1497 @angelofarts @michelangelindraws @a-tomb-with-a-view @causewealwayshaveeachother @on-irratia @andwhenwepart @gayhistorynerd @williexmercer @bright-patterson @trashpandagamer @jaskiers-sweetkiss @sunset-bobby @valiantlyweepingdreamer @a-literal-supernova @thatsmyverb @sunrise-curve-dd @jatp-flynn @gluedonheadphones0325 @readyrogueone @allhailthesanders @deelizcious @k9kid @reginald-peters-my-beloved @julieandthequeers @chickwiththepurpleguitar @k-padfoot39 @till-our-stars-collided @moony221b @shadows-writing @fandomsfeminismandme @miss-atrophy @queer-fandom-frog @bclaros6 @whitetigerlover17 @corporeal-terrestrial @weneedglitter @prizmpaws @lupinblacktheone @watchwhathappensonbroadway @bowtiesareavenged @caswellseyes @bisexualreginaldpeters @phanhowell @actual-sleeping-beauty @wide-eyed-wonderer @it-tastes-like-lizard @wide-eyed-wanderer @actual-sleeping-beauty @iridescentkippen @whattfisausername @radio-silences 

[randomnoteforfuturereference]

Neither Nursey nor Dex's parents attended any of their games their first three years. Not family night. Not even the championships. Which... it's chill. Nursey's mama and papa have an overloaded schedule, and taking a trip down from Dex's village just for a game is a hassle. Besides, both boys get calls after each game, so really it's alright. It's chill.

Dex and Nursey even manage to convince themselves so.

Things change on the fourth year. After all, it's the Frogs last year.

Schedules are blocked off. Travel arrangements are made. Now it's not like they can make every or even most games, but they at least make family day and senior night. They even make the final conference game and a couple playoffs.

However, as it becomes more and more probable that SMH is gonna make it to the Frozen Four once more, a little issue arises for the Poindexters:

The Frozen Four is in Minnesota.

Dex tries to assure his folks (and himself) that it's alright; that it's enough that they managed to show up all at this final season.

His rationalizations don't fly.

Just as Shannon Poindexter is getting ready to bite the bullet for plane, hotel, and game tickets (and the nightmare prices that come with booking only a week in advance), she gets a call and is greeted by Deborah Nurse's voice.

"I assume that you and David are planning to travel. Have you made reservations yet?"

"I was just about to."

"That's good to hear. If you don't mind, I would like suggest a slight revision to your plan."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Wednesday morning, we'll pick you up at Bar Harbor Airport. Don't bother getting a hotel or game tickets either; that's already taken care of. And if anyone else would like to join, we can accommodate a couple more."

"..."

"We're going to watch our sons win a championship."

[haveyoureadthisqueerbook]

The Christmas Fling by Heidi Cullinan received 129 votes total. 1.6% of respondents answered YES, they have read it. 98.4% of respondents answered NO, they have not read it.

Sometimes it takes a village to fall in love. Eccentric, reclusive, socially awkward project designer Evan Myles doesn't date. Paying for sex with professionals is so much more efficient and suits his needs well enough. But when he's on assignment in rural Logan, Minnesota, for the Christmas Town project and a handsome stranger at the bar catches his attention, Evan decides it's time to break his rule. It doesn't matter that he's never so much as flirted before. It can't be that hard, can it? Davidson Incorporated lead architect Terry Reid hasn't been hit on so clumsily in his life. Terry's the first to admit he's a neurotic Prince Charming, and he's kissed his share of frogs of both genders, but he's never met anyone quite like Evan Myles. Evan calls Terry by the wrong name, mistakes Terry for a simple construction worker, and picks apart his work as an architect. Despite this rough start, Terry is lured by the brilliance of Evan's ideas, his quirky personality, and once they're alone in Evan's cabin, the man's mad skills in bed. Yet Terry knows it takes more than a single night of passion to make a relationship work, and after so many failures, he's just not ready to try again. Evan and Terry's path is strewn with stones neither of them can dislodge. Fortunately, they're not alone on the road to romance. They're in Christmas Town, home to matchmakers, meddlers, and more "fairy godfathers" than they could possibly know what to do with. Most importantly, in Logan, Minnesota, happy ever after is guaranteed.

[wondersofdreaming]

Lost Boys - SIX

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 1.500

Warnings: Mute on purpose. Stalking. Hiding. Teaching. Tracking.

Author’s note: Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Tag: @katerka88​ @littlefreya​ @hell1129-blog​ @mitzwinchester​ @mary-ann84​ @valkavill​ @sciapod​ @henry-cavlll​ @luclittlepond​ @iloveyouyen​ @trippedmetaldetector​ @radaofrivia​ @omgkatinka​ @gothwhopper​ @fcgrizi​ @vania-marie​ @alyxkbrl​ @readings-of-a-cavill-lover​ @singeramg​ @onlyhenrys​ @henrythickcavill​ @mis-lil-red

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list.

Feedback is appreciated.

MASTERLIST

[ONE] [TWO] [THREE] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE] [TEN]

James looked over his shoulder. He saw his younger brother walking away with a single tear streaming down his face. He couldn’t hear what his new foster parents were talking about while walking towards the car that was taking him far away from his brothers, his family. Trevor, his older brother by two minutes, stood at the end of the hall, nodding, encouraging him to keep walking. James smiled, hoping it would tell his brothers that they would find each other again.

His new foster father had a heavy hand on his shoulder as they walked farther away from Trevor. James looked into the stern look of his new foster father and the smiling face of his foster mom, who were going to take care of him until he was old enough to go search for his brothers.

“We have a son, his name is Charlie, and I hope you two will get along. He’s really excited to meet you,” Margaret Marshall was a talkative woman, and James felt safe around her, while Richard Marshall had a cold and intimidating aura around him, opposite his wife, who was warm and caring.

Charlie wasn’t ecstatic to have a ‘brother’, but he slowly warmed up to James. Charlie never pushed James to talk. Richard was a different story. He scolded James every day for not talking. James was stubborn. He wasn’t going to let the chief of police take him down.

A month came and went by fast. James’ school day had been cancelled, so they had called Margaret, who couldn’t pick him up and called Richard. He wasn’t happy to do it, but he brought James with him to the precinct.

“Sit, here, don’t touch anything. Maggie will be here in an hour to pick you up,” Richard told James and sat behind his desk. James looked around the room. There was a board filled with pictures of beaten up women, some were sporting black and blue bruises, others had bleeding wounds on them. James walked over and studied the photos. Richard was watching him closely, wondering what the young boy was thinking.

“Are you afraid, boy?” Richard asked. James turned to look Richard in the eyes.

“No, sir,” he whispered. Richard’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. He hadn’t expected the curly-haired child to speak to him.

“What do you see, boy?”

James went back to look at the women. He studied the faces, looking at their hair colour, how their bodies were built.

“They all have blonde hair.”

“What else?”

“They are all dead.”

“Does that scare you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they look like Margaret.”

Richard’s eyes widened. He stood from his chair and went to check the pictures. He hadn’t noticed before. All the women were blonde, like his wife, were about the same height, as his wife, and the autopsy showed that they all had blue eyes, just like his wife.

“Fuck.”

Since that day Richard made sure to spend more time with James, who started talking more and more around him but kept quiet at home.

Charlie, who had warmed up to James, started taking the younger boy with him to his outings. They would venture into forests, sit on the beach, walk around the parks. Sometimes Charlie would tell James about his day in school, other times he would teach James how to track and notice different clues, the way Richard had taught Charlie.

With time did James start asking Charlie questions about the tracking. Charlie even gave his new brother a compass to always have in his pocket, should he ever get lost.

“Come on, I’ll show you where to hide if you ever need a safe place,” Charlie told him while they were scavenging for edible mushrooms in the forest. The leaves were orange, yellow and brown. The earth was moist and full of life. Charlie made sure that James knew where they were at all times until they reached a small waterfall.

“Charlie, I don’t like this,” James told his foster brother.

“Don’t be scared. It’s just a cave. You can hide from adults in here, maybe not mom, she might just be able to squeeze inside. This is where I hide from dad when he’s mad.”

“Does he get mad a lot?”

“He used to, but since you came, he has been a little less grumpy. He even smiled at nothing yesterday.”

James nodded. He promised never to tell anyone about the hiding place before they went home.

What James didn’t know was that he had to break his promise.

Margaret wanted to spend a little one-on-one time with James. She took him to the forest to search for different plants they could make a salad out of.

“Do you like Minnesota, James?” She asked and plucked a flower to put in her hair.

“I do,” he answered shortly.

“It’s going to snow soon, have you tried being in a snow fight?”

“No.”

“They’re really fun, but Richard doesn’t like them. He becomes so grumpy when someone hits him square in the chest, or worse, his face.”

Margaret chuckled and didn’t hear the sound of a branch snapping. James barely caught the end of a long black coat, before it disappeared behind a wide tree.

“Maggie?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I want to show you this really pretty place I found; can we go there? Please?”

“Of course, honey.”

James did his best to sound calm, while he talked his little mouth off, walking towards the waterfall. He made sure to make Margaret hurry, so they had a little lead to the stalker.

“… and then Jenny wanted to kiss all the boys in the class, so she ordered us to stand in one line and then she would kiss us on the lips. We all didn’t want to do it, so Nicky told her to go kiss a frog instead, and she did and came back and told everyone that the frog was slimy and it didn’t turn into a prince,” James rambled away. He kept a loose eye on the stranger, who was walking a few hundred metres behind them. They rounded the corner and there was the waterfall.

“Come on, Maggie, hurry, it’s right in here.”

James pushed and pulled Margaret towards the icy cold water that was splashing down.

“You go in first, dear,” she said and shoved him gently to the hidden entrance of the cave. James went in but kept a hand on her shirt. He watched as she squeezed herself between the rocky walls.

“Are you okay?” He asked breathlessly.

“Yes. James, we have to be very quiet, okay? I believe that we were being followed,” she whispered to him as she pulled the young boy in for a hug.

“You… you noticed?”

“Sweetheart, I noticed him before you asked to come here. Richard has been in the police for almost 15 years. He has taught me a few tricks.”

They moved deeper into the cave, away from the light, so if the stalker tried looking inside, he wouldn’t be able to see them.

“Maggie?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When we get out of here, will you adopt me?”

“You want to be part of our family?”

“Yes, can I?”

“Of course, baby.”

“I want to change my name too.”

“Yeah? What do you want to change it to?”

“I like Walter, Walter Marshall.”

“Then we’ll start calling you Walter.”

It took an hour before Maggie was brave enough to venture to the entrance, having found no service while inside the cave. She called Richard to come and get them, then went back to sit with Jam… no, Walter.

Half an hour later they could hear Richard’s booming voice yelling at the police officers to find his wife and foster son. Maggie carried a tired Walter out of the cave into the darkening night.

“Richard? We’re over here,” Maggie exclaimed and walked in a fast pace towards her worried husband.

“Are you alright? What happened? You were so cryptic on the phone,” Richard asked.

“We were followed, so Walter brought us to the cave, and then we waited until I thought he was gone before I called you.”

“Who is Walter?”

“That is the name of our son.”

“Which son?”

“The one in my arms. We are adopting this brave boy into our family and he wants to change his name to Walter Marshall, Richard.”

“That’s great news, dear. I was going to ask you, if we should adopt him, but it seems I don’t need to ask.”

“No. Did you catch the stalker?”

“Yes. He was lurking around a few hundred metres from here, calling for you. He didn’t use your name, but he was saying things like ‘I like a good game of hide and seek.’”

“Is he the killer?” Walter asked, lifting his head from Margaret’s shoulder.

“We need to test his DNA, but we are certain he could be. Thank you for protecting your mother, son. You were very brave… Walter Matthew Marshall.”

[icarusthelunarguard]

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

Aries

They say you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince. If you remember who “Joe Cartoon” is, then you know this is a horrible idea. Keep your kissing lips away from anyone who needs a heat lamp to stay alive.

Taurus

Striving to be the best in your area of expertise is commendable. May we suggest upping the bar a little and being more than a figurative doormat. You want to impress us, be an actual doormat; the hair on your back will collect dirt well.

Gemini

You need to stay better hydrated, Gemini. Your drinks need to be more water-based than they have been. Milkshakes and mixed drinks don’t qualify. Remember, you’re trying to set an example for your young garden sprouts. Be good to them.

Cancer Moon-Child

Leave it to you to try to solve every problem at the same time. You’re burning yourself out. Just handle the first one and so many more will just naturally fall into place. Start by changing your name from “Shrpitzer” to “Grolph” so you can break into show business.

Leo

Games of chance are in the mood to be nice to you this week, Leo. Try your hand at Online Poker and see what we mean. Fair Warning, though, it won’t last long. Enjoy it while you can.

Virgo

Showtunes are your ticket out of jury duty this week. You don’t need to sing them, just hum them, quietly, as you walk through crowds of people. Soon you’ll have people wondering why “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin' “ is on everybody’s lips.

Libra

This week’s job search will take you to the YouTube Nostalgia Department, Libra. Since the Era Of Reboots ain’t dead yet, you’re going to help resurrect some old classic series. Get used to saying, “Will It Blend?” and, “Is It A Good Idea To Microwave This?” and you’ll have a new career ahead of you!

Scorpio

You’re caught in a dilemma, Scorpio. You know how cool all these new home automation gizmos are, but you’re afraid of them. That isn’t the dilemma, though. It’s trying to explain to your friends the Tech Truism that says, “If it’s automated, Someone can hack it.” Remember, Alexa is NOT your friend. And neither is “Microsoft Bob for Windows 95”! And not “CLIPPY” either!

Sagittarius

With the summer heat about to step up, you might want to consider taking a trip to visit the Northernmost Point of the Contiguous US, aka, Young's Bay Resort! Small problem is you can’t get there in a car because you’d have to cross into Canada. And there’s no airport. But if you head to Arnesen's Rocky Point Resort, Minnesota, you could rent a boat to take you! It’s only 30 miles on the water, it can’t be THAT bad, can it?

Capricorn

Remember that pet rock you put googly eyes on so it would have some kind of personality to it? Once it dies, how are you going to bury it? You never thought about that, but now you have to. Consider putting it in a shoe box, floating it on the lake, then shooting a flaming arrow into it. It’s what it would have wanted. Just remember to wear a forearm guard on your left - those bowstring scrapes hurt!

Aquarius (*Post-BRIBED*)

Last week’s Horrible-Scope was bought and paid for, but it was returned for… lemme see what that reason was again… “Wrong Size and/or Colour”. And since we only give store credit instead of refunds, here’s your replacement Horrible-Scope; Cats can be genetically modified to glow in the dark and look like they are radioactive. This will not give them 18 half-lives, but it’ll help save your life at night so you don’t step on them in the dark. Do a cost-benefit breakdown to see if the investment is worth it for your cardiologist co-pay.

Pisces

Tattoo removal is not something you can just learn through YouTube videos and buying a laser off of Amazon. It takes longer than that and you know it. But if you don’t believe us try it on yourself. Buy a dressing room three-way mirror and you’ll be able to get at that tramp stamp of yours. By The Way, it translates as, “Circumcised Squirrel”.

[edenamador]

100 Things about My Father

I forgot I was a poet. Skip down for the poem that came to me as clear as a crystal last night. Trigger warning - Suicide. 

I mean I have an inclination toward having dreams at night, 

thinking they have deeper meaning, and waking up with music in my head at 1:15am in the morning. 

There is something about 1:15 in the morning which has a razor sharp precision to it. Even though I’m more of a disconnected abstraction. Some constellation of stars nobody has given meaning to. Dreaming about that straight crush in college twice in one night. All this after in real life, oh and he was a poet too, now in grad school, who knows if he is the happy academic he craved to be. Who knows if he is still writing poetry or writing technical sentences with so much jargon nobody can understand. . . 

Its all rambly. I know it is annoying but that is how it comes to me. He asked me if I had followed the spirit and I told him I wrote the poem I was suppose to write. He was proud of me, like a dead ghost now, I loved him then but he is a stranger in a distant land now.

Yes, I was at Target, a place I worked so long ago and a previous co-worker said to me, “You look poetic, like you could be a poet.”

I didn’t know what to say but now I am dreaming of my poetic college muse and he is telling me to follow the spirit just as Beauvoir so now I’m on tumblr again because of that Target co-worker who said I should have a blog and get a following. An idea I laugh at because my poetry is well, I am poetic, I am not exactly a poet if I’m not writing poetry. So I guess I will share what came to me last night. At least a draft. 

My mother always says, “You have choices to make.”

So when my boyfriend says, “You never talk about your father,” and then asks, “Why is that?” 

I pause and my mother’s voice repeats, “You have choices to make.”

I could say a hundred things about the same thing. Like a simple fact about the color of a chair, “My father is dead.”

It sounds like, “The chair is red.”

1. My father died. 

My boyfriend might ask how he passed away which means I have to say more. This leaves me with more choices but I haven’t even jumped the first hurdle. I don’t even run track but the baton has been given to me, “How did he die?” I could have anticipated the next question and already answered it more bluntly. 

2. My father blew his brains out.

If I want to keep my boyfriend I should frame things particular to his way of life. That would be too precise and come off as indifferent like my father never mattered to me. He didn’t.

3. He died when I was four. 

Again, if I put it this way he might ask, “How?” and I would get to say

4. He loaded a pistol. I think it was a .45 pistol or a glock, and took the weapon to rat lake where he blew his brains out. 

If I present it with “when I was four” the cold way in which I say, “He blew his responsibilities away,” pops like a childhood bubble.

5. He’s pushing up daisies. 

6. He’s seven feet under. 

7. He croaked. 

Before the gun fire went off out in the country where only the frogs and flora of the boreal northern forests would hear it the American toads reed. When the gunfire went off silence consumed the forest for a few minutes before returning to normal a few minutes later. A few hours later, with the loons calling, a friend of my father’s came across his body and reported it to the authorities. 

8. My father was a mail carrier.

I could have said this as it would have delayed revealing the information about the death of my father, and how he died, the conversation about the long term effect it had on my psychology and the psychological impact on the rest of my family. Though, according to my mother everything turned out fine. Which is why as I approach 30 years old I am waking up in the middle of the night because I’m having dreams about people in graduate school programs saying, “He doesn’t even talk about his father! He talks about Black Lives Matter, Marxism, Gender Theory and all this crap, but he hasn’t even mentioned his father.”

9. My father is out of the picture. 

10. I would rather not talk about my father. 

11. I didn’t know much about my father. 

12. I don’t remember much about my father. 

13. My father left me with dry skin and a proclivity toward depression. 

14. My mother was a single mother. 

15. I guess I don’t talk about my father. Hugh, I wonder why that is. 

I like this because I can act like I’m just as dumbfounded by it as my boyfriend is. Creative writer circles often told me I am not concrete enough. So I guess we were sitting at a park in Hutchinson Minnesota when my boyfriend at the time asked this question. A few years later when the relationship had faded and I asked to be dating again he told me, “Some gay men have issues.” While I cried about it and refused to speak to him ever again he was right. I was a gay man with issues, daddy issues to be exact. 

16. My father had a beard. 

17. My father was an alcoholic and when my mother said she had enough he couldn’t handle it and blew his brains out. 

This one is the worst of them. It sounds like my mother caused my father to commit suicide. Nobody but my father took a gun to his head and blew his brains out. 

18. My mother never remarried after my father was out of the picture. 

Again, I could say this but it remains vague enough to lead to other questions any intimate partner would have the right to know. Or perhaps nobody has the right to know about my father and that I have the right not to talk about him to anyone. “Did they get a divorce?”

19. Do we have to talk about this. I’d rather not talk about this because I am not ready to reveal that story and its long term effects on me. Look, it’s a nice day and I’m happy talking about a million other things. 

This might indicate I lack the trust necessary to share that story. He may take it personally and think that our relationship should be more open. Or he might respect that answer and remain curious. Most people would talk about both their parents openly and in positive ways.

20. All the options in my life have been formed by my father’s decision to kill himself.

21. He killed himself. 

22. He offed himself. 

23. He decided he no longer wished to live. 

24. When given the option between suicide and coffee he chose suicide. 

25. I need counseling to answer that question. 

My mother was right. The choices were really endless. I could even use the same word presented in a different way. There were a lot of strategies for answering this question. Even after the question was asked I kept gathering new academic methodologies to answer the question, “Why don’t you talk about your father?”

26. If I open up about him I’m afraid I will scare you away because if I talk about my father I am admitting that I am a flawed human being with an abnormal childhood upbringing. 

Again, more options appear even if I avoid the subject of my father all together. It seems that certain events have greater effect on the long term psychology of the individual than others. But was my childhood “abnormal” or was my mother “doing the best she could” in situations which were out of her control? But it couldn’t of been out of her control. . . “Everybody has choices to make. . .”

27. “My father died when I was four.”

28. “I was four when my father died.”

I cannot remember which of these I used but it was one of the two. So I said what I thought in the moment. I paused. I know I paused and my boyfriend said, “Only if you are comfortable talking about it.”

29. I might cry if I talk about my father. But I don’t think I will. I usually don’t but its sad. Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything. Why do people say sorry when I say this? What personal responsibility did they have for it? Why do I have to answer this question? Why will this question always come up when in relationships? 

30. His death effect me because I was too young. 

That’s a lie because I know it impacted the whole trajectory of my life. There were material consequences. For example his life was attached to the union. This left my mother with a small financial cushion to fall back on when she was left to raise three children. While it may have been small it was enough for her to go to college for ten years and get a bachelor’s degree in education. 

31. I never talk about my father because then I have to talk about my mother. My mother looks like an American hero for the choices she didn’t make but talking about my mother also reveals the hidden demons I am not suppose to talk about as it might make her look bad. 

32. I never talk about my father because it usually becomes a really long essay about masculinity, the effects of neo-liberal feminism, and requires a master’s degree in sociology and a Ph.D. in philosophy to get to the bottom of it. It requires skill, tact, intelligence, emotional strength, and persistence to answer with any certainty. It’s a philosophical question at heart and I am not a philosopher, I am merely a subject exposed to systems of power which shape my experience in a world I did not create. 

“Why don’t you talk about your father?”

33. Why did he commit suicide? Why did my brother point a gun to my head? Why did my mother trust a teenager to get me to and from school going ninety miles an hour down icy unplowed country roads at seven in the morning? Why did the chicken cross the road? Why is the sky blue?

34. He’s sinking in the swamps. 

35. The worms are feeding on his body. 

36. He’s dead. 

37. He’s gone. 

38. He’s no longer with us. 

If at this point the possibilities seem pointless, redundant, or obnoxious, imagine being at work when a co-worker flippantly says, “I’m ready to blow my brains out.”

39. My father hurt his back and wouldn’t go to see the doctor. It was severe pain and he couldn’t really talk about it. He drank his physical and mental pains away. Sometimes he would come home drunk and punch walls in. I do remember waking up to the sound of shattering glass. The stove glass broke because my father kicked it in during one of his masculine temper tantrums. 

40. I didn’t know it when it was first asked but I now think my father died because of hyper-masculinity. I don’t think he was allowed to express any of the emotional or physical hardships he had. He likely had depression and was obviously having thoughts of suicide. Other’s in the family had committed suicide and had mental issues. When I go to the psychologist they show me genetic connections but as a sociology major I am thinking more about the limits on men expressing emotions. My father couldn’t express his emotions, that’s for sure, so he likely imploded, quite literally. 

41. I don’t mean to come off as cold hearted or disconnected, it’s just that the death of my father strikes me more as an abstraction than a concrete reality. When it does come up I am reminded of my differences, my class upbringing, the social values that played out in my childhood. 

42. For my brother my father was a something which became a nothing. For me my father is a nothing who, when asked about his existence, becomes a something that should have been, but wasn’t. 

43. By opening up about my father I cannot really say who he is without explaining who he was not and for me he was more of a not than a was. 

44. “Your father loved you,” my aunt says. 

45. My father bought two stuffed monkeys. The monkey was Abu from the Disney show Aladdin. He did this a few months before he killed myself. In addition to that he also bought me a small baseball glove. My uncle on my mother’s side went with my dad to the store to pick these up. My uncle says he was likely planning his suicide during this time and asked my mother that we hide these items when my uncle was around so he wouldn’t be reminded of my father’s suicide.

How could my father have loved me if he blew his brains out? It hardly seems like an act of love to abandon your child at the age of four. 

46. “God has a plan for everyone and even though it may not make sense to us down here there is a plan and there is nothing we can do about it.” Likely something my pastor said or something my grandmother said or something someone said along the way. When on a date with an attractive suitable man one doesn’t want to delve into religious theology and questions about the existence of God, determinism versus free will, the meaning of life, and deeper levels of spiritual enlightenment, or lack there of. One wants to eat ice cream, giggle about some superfluous thing, and see if one can see some concrete shape in the clouds: its a duck, a bird, a dinosaur, a giraffe. What do you see when you look at the sky? Is there something more out there? 

When asked about my father I am asked about a whole series of causal effects. When asked about my father I am asked to see myself as an object in the world formed by what the existentialists refer to as facticity. At this moment I free myself from the container which shaped me and am allowed to reconstruct the object that I am as I choose. 

I also begin to ask myself, “what if things had played out differently,” as I am prone to ask the questions I was told weren’t worth asking. I was told there were no answers to them but the questions which don’t have answers are the questions I like the most. So being asked about my father is really asking me who I am and how I became who I am. I am inclined to answer if one has the time for it. Most people don’t have the time, the intellect, the patience, the attention span, or the emotional capacity for such things. So I prefer to say, 

47. “Shh, daddy is sleeping. We must not wake him. He’s a terrible ghost. Let’s play hide and seek with death! Can you count to one hundred?”

48. “In any case, that little boy didn’t want to grow up for fear of becoming serious.” pg. 327 Jean Paul Sartre War Diaries

49. “But as soon as man grasps himself as free, and wishes to use his freedom, all his activity is a game: he’s its first principle; he escapes the world by his nature; he himself ordains the value and rules of his acts, and agrees to pay up only according the the rules he has himself ordained and defined.” 326 Jean Paul Sartre 

50. “And man is serious when he forgets himself; when he makes the subject into an object; when he takes himself for a radiation derived from the world: engineers, doctors, physicists, biologists are serious.” 326 Jean Paul Sartre The War Diaries

51. When my father died my mother was left to raise three boys. He was a step father to one of my brothers so one of my brothers still had a father. So my father is really three people: a dad who was then wasn’t, a dad who wasn’t then was, and a step dad.

I could have never explained all this that day I was asked. There in a rural town in the middle of a corn-field playing out the waves of one of my first gay relationships I simply said, “My dad is dead.” Reality is bleak like that. It restricts possibilities. Reality is only here in the field of “you have choices to make”. Reality are the options available. I am free to make choices in relation to concrete possibilities. For example I used covid stimulus money to pay for my rent so I could I have time to write this. I could have used it to buy copious amounts of liquor to subdue my existential angst. I could have used it to put it to my loans. I quit my job to give myself the time necessary to heal the wounds of the past. I refuse to conform to the pressure to buy a vehicle and get a license because I would have to buy car insurance which would mean I need a job to pay for the cars insurance. I would need gas to go back and forth to work where I would only continue to suppress my authenticity. Authenticity can never be achieved. It can only be something which is consistently reproduced. I reproduce myself as a writer only in the act of writing. Even the short pause between characters I realize other possibilities. Writing must be a consistent act I partake in everyday as a way of pursuing my own projects with the material conditions given to me.

52. My father is four people or five people because he was a co-worker to my middle school friend’s father, also a wife, a brother, an uncle. Six or seven people. He was never a grandfather though and could never be a grandfather. He could never have the possibility of being a grandfather so when my nephew says he doesn’t have a grandfather, his great uncle says he would be happy to fill the role. So my uncle, married to my mother’s blood sister, is my nephew’s grandfather. 

The more I think about choices the more I start to confirm that choices are in relation to particular material conditions given to a situation which show the constricting impact of choices. 

53. My mother, because of my father’s death, often found jimmy-rigged options for babysitters when family members were not available. When she realized my brother and I weren’t mature enough to handle being at home alone by ourselves, she looked into other options such as having me stay at the library until it closed. Later I learned that urban libraries have a phrase for this condition called, “Library latchkey kids,” which are children who’s parents are busy because of social economic conditions they end up going to the library after school for free baby-sitting. 

https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=16451347

I would stay in the library until it closed. My mother would slip the librarian a twenty dollar bill. I asked about it once and I learned in one way or another not to ask about such things. 

When I took the Myers Briggs test in high school I scored nearly a hundred percent INFP which to me meant I was destined to be a genius like Shakespeare, taught in English classes all around the world for centuries to come. It meant I was introverted, intuitive, feeling, and perceptive. It meant that my room was messy but that my bookshelves were ordered perfectly with the Dewey decimal system. In high school I read Waiting for Godot with no idea it belonged to existential literature. On the question of why I don’t talk about my father, I am still Waiting for Godot. 

54. My father’s suicide, in the long-term, meant I got to be alone with books. I often tired of reading and would chat with the librarian. She would ask me if I had a girlfriend and show me the things she wanted on craigslist. Sometimes she had to rapidly click her computer screen to hide some areas of the internet that should not be looked at while a minor sat reading Dr. Seuss, books about nature, or how volcanoes worked. I loved reading. I could never get enough. One of the librarians never believed I read as many books as I did and often discredited some of the books she believed were above my level. I was smart and there’s nothing worse to rural people than a smart, effeminate, boy with a love of reading.

I was always told that my mother was good and was always asked if she was still in college. For ten years I said yes she is in college. For twenty years I never told anyone my brother pointed a gun to my head because she left us unattended with the gun case unlocked. When I brought it up to her in my late twenties she said it wasn’t possible because my twenty year old cousin was there in the camper. When I asked I thought I was testing whether or not she could have subdued her ego enough to admit to the possibility that it may have not been the best choice to leave minors unattended with an unlocked gun case at home. That’s the way things were with her growing up so why would it be any different with us? All of a sudden she gets away with making the right choices because, “She pulled herself up by the bootstraps and got a degree in education.”

Anytime I try to explain my experiences of these circumstances I am caught in a social trap by which the liberal value of women choosing careers over a life of drunkenness and whoreish behavior to capture the love of a man my mother’s story overrides. My experience of having a gun pointed at my head by my own brother is over-ridden by another set of values. 

55. I had a shot gun pointed to my head by my own brother because I was singing too loudly and he was hungover because he was drinking alcohol. 

56. I didn’t know if the shot gun was loaded. 

57. I stopped singing, fell backwards, and made a snow angel.

“Well, you’re mother could have brought over a bunch of rotten men. You could have been sexually abused.”

58. My brother used to chase me around the house naked and dry hump me. These are the effects of leaving minors unattended after school out in the country. And you know it which is why you started getting babysitters for us. It was after too many nights coming house to a destroyed house that my mother decided to have some family members watch over us and make sure we did our homework.  

59. “Stop being a victim you liberal snowflake.”

60. But I’m actually criticizing the effects of applied feminism in the 21st century. 

61. “You’re mother is a good person.”

63. “It could have been worse.”

64. “Everything turned out fine.”

65. “Everyone has trauma to deal with. Everyone has baggage.”

My boyfriend told me of growing up. His father was a chemist at Kellogg’s and his mother was an instructor at a community college. He was a potter, a knitter, and a banjo player. He became an English teacher. He told me that one time his dad brought home bags of Lucky Charm marshmallows for him and his sister to eat. His father recorded their responses to the marshmallows and adjusted the ratios of sugar based on those tests. That doesn’t sound like trauma to me. That sounds like a healthy childhood which leads one to have self confidence, self esteem, and the emotional stability necessary to face the mixed messages of life. In the meantime I seek out people who tell me I’m dumb, ugly, stupid, and will never amount to anything because I think that’s a normal relationship. If I am not doing that I am hiding in my room wondering what the point of being alive is wondering if there is any hope for me to heal and get better.

66. My father’s suicide is a traumatic past which shapes my entire experience. It’s a past that I have the right to represent by writing it. It’s a past which is not, “Everything turned out fine,” and no my mother did not, “Pull herself up by her bootstraps,” she had choices to make and one of those choices was to leave minors home alone with a gun case full of weapons and to trust that nothing bad could have happened in that circumstance. I will not limit myself to the blindness feminist discourse encouraged when I told my story to an existential philosophy professor at a liberal university. Yes, she could have chosen worse, but it could have turned out much better. I will not sit here silently submitting to my brother’s words, “Don’t tell anyone or I will kill you!”

“Why don’t you talk about your father?”

67. Well kill me. I’d be better off anyway. I am willing to die for the truth in the same way an American soldier is willing to die for his country. I am willing to stand for something even if I am alone. Pull the trigger. If it makes you feel like a man to point a gun at your brother you might as well pull the trigger. 

“It wasn’t loaded. Do you think I would actually put a shot gun shell in it. I love you, I’m your brother. Do you think I’m an idiot? I wouldn’t actually do that. . .”

“Why don’t you talk about your father?”

68. It’s exhausting. It’s a threat to my existence. It reminds me that blowing my brains out is a real possibility whereas for most people its a thing you say when life sucks. The following is an example of that. 

When I was working as an English as a Second Language instructor I thought I had made it. I thought that teaching immigrants and refugees English meant I had established myself as a concrete being in the world permanently enmeshed as a career oriented man. My degree in Sociology was justified and my graduate certificate was no longer a waste of time, energy, and effort. I quickly learned that my masculinity was always under question and that the few men in that field were perfectly miserable beings. The whole notion that people became teachers because they were heart filled beings with a passion for helping others vanished when my co-worker, a professional teacher who taught abroad in Japan, made the shape of a gun with his finger, lifted it to his head, and pulled the trigger. I had simply asked him how he was doing and it was apparently not well. I was feeling rather dismal and would like to think I responded like this. 

69. It’s a great position to be in. A cock loaded full of cum in my mouth and my cock loaded full of cum in his mouth. The tension was rising. Would we ever get to the desired result of all of our efforts? Would we ever achieve orgasm? Would we ever blow? Rest assured we exploded and were perfectly satisfied. There’s just something about holes and filling them which none of us can resist. Yet, even when the hole is filled to the brim with hot cum we feel so empty that we can no longer go on and so we pause. It’s okay to have long periods of stagnation so long as we can pull out at the right time and forgive ourselves for our responses to the past. The future may not appear to hold much but there is so much time and so many holes to fill. 

70. They covered my father’s hole with makeup. They closeted the cause of his death. At the funeral they closed the bottom half of the casket which made me think that someone cut my father’s legs off with giant scissors. I screamed. I was convinced that his legs were cut off with giant scissors and that someone had caused his death. 

71. How is a four year old suppose to understand this when adults are unable to tell the truth when the child asks questions about his dead father. He isn’t going to understand these things if adults themselves still don’t understand them. Adults go to great lengths to omit the grievances and effects of such events. “Everything turned out fine,” and “You’ve got choices to make.” 

A four year old’s brain is not ready to understand such things because adults don’t understand them. His memories are barely forming and he is still fascinated by blowing bubbles. Adults have lost their imaginations. He smiles at the sound of popcorn popping while adults drench popcorn in so much salt and butter that they die of heart attacks and call it death by natural causes. A child laughs when he sees a frozen lake swarmed by a hundred seagulls as teenage boys stuff frogs down the barrels of shot guns and laugh when American toad guts go spiraling into the sky like fireworks.

The events surrounding my father’s death are my first memories. There are many of them like the pastor holding me trying to give me comfort. I press my stomach for comfort. My first memories are the feeling of anxiety, that weird pang in the stomach which goes unexplained by doctors and still causes ulcers. There’s my cousin saying my father is away for a very long time and that he is in heaven. These memories attach themselves to future interactions when all compiled leave one wishing there were no choices to make at all. It leaves one wishing that there was one defined path meant for everyone which would eliminate all angst and all decisions. In fact it often feels better if there was no free will at all and that God really did have a plan for each individual. 

There is another pastor, who many years later, told me my father was in hell. This leaves me with one of those ridiculous choices and questions, “Is my father in heaven or in hell?” There is my aunt who tells me that my pastor is wrong and the Bible never mentions. There is my uncle who says people who don’t believe in God are not allowed in his home. There is the ice cream I ate after I was taken out of the funeral home to ease the emotional burden a screaming four year old must have placed on my father’s friends and family members. The ice cream was a temporary cure which taught me that negative emotions could be easily drowned with chocolate sauce and colorful sprinkles.

72. My father is in heaven. 

73. My father is in hell. 

74. My father is in purgatory. 

75. I don’t know where the fuck my father is. 

76. Do souls exist?

78. What is the difference between agnostic theism and agnostic atheism?

79. It’s ok to think about dying now and again. I think everyone has thought about it now and again but I’m not sure. I’m only one person with so many heartbeats. 

80. I don’t think I will commit suicide because it doesn’t solve anything. Living doesn’t solve much either but at least I can say I tried to count to one hundred. 

81. I might cry if I talk about my father. 

82. It’s ok to cry. 

83. It’s ok to cry. 

84. It’s ok to cry.

85. It’s ok to cry. 

86. It’s ok to cry. 

87. If you cannot sleep count the sheep or cry. 

88. It’s ok to cry. 

89. Real men cry. 

90. Real men cry. 

91. Real men cry. 

92. Real men cry like big men. 

93. Real men cry like grown men. 

94. Real men cry like real men. 

95. It’s ok to cry. 

96. It’s ok to cry. 

97. Facts may not care about feelings but feelings are always seeking out facts to justify themselves. One must be careful about the facts used to represent their feelings. 

98. Over intellectualization isn’t crying. It’s a defense mechanism. 

99. It’s okay to cry. 

100. Everything turned out fine. 

[vrepit-salutatorian]

AP Lang exam be like

[sophiathebanished]

Weird ass tag game

I was tagged by the amazing @pusheen1802 🦋

1) Warm or cool colors: cool💚💙💜

2) Sci-fi/fantasy or realistic fiction: sci-fi/fantasy👽🦄

3) How many unread bookmarks on AO3: 0🔖

4) Repitles or amphibians: amphibians because frogs are so cute! 🐸

5) What's one weird assumption about the place you live: that it's covered in snow all year round bitch we have 4 seasons it gets hot as hell in Minnesota it has been in the 100's degrees Fahrenheit ❄🌸🌻🍁

6) Can you read on car trips: no 🙅‍���️

7) Would you rather live by the ocean or in the woods: ocean 🌊

8) What's one food most people like but you can't stand: avocados 🥑

I tag @wolfish-willow, @softplaidpajamas, @tracy7307 and anyone who wants to do it 💟

[aurorawest]

Quarantine Q&A

I was tagged by @bereft-of-frogs. Thanks!!

Are you staying home from work/school?

I’m working from home. I was already doing wfh once a week prior to this and my team was mostly wfh anyway (we were all in the office together only one day a week). So this isn’t a huge change for me. I also had the flu in December so I worked from home for quite awhile then.

If you’re staying home, who’s there with you?

My wife and cat. The wife is full-time work from home also.

Are you a homebody?

Yes and no? I’m very introverted, so that part doesn’t bother me, but I’m all about new experiences and right now, those are pretty tough to come by.

What movies have you watched recently?

Thor: Ragnarok was the most recent full movie that I watched. Before that...umm...I watched the first half of the production of Coriolanus that Tom Hiddleston was in? But that was way back in February before all of this started. It feels weird to say I haven’t had time to watch the second part but I have to watch it on my computer, and that means I can’t write, so, I kind of haven’t had time.

An event that you were looking forward to that got cancelled?

God. Ace Comic Con—and I had the Tom Hiddleston VIP ticket so yeah, that one hurt. Vérité at First Avenue/7th St Entry. Little Dragon at...First Ave I think? A chamber orchestra concert at a local brewery. My brother-in-law’s birthday celebration. Easter dinner. Rock the Garden at Walker Art Center (Tegan & Sara were playing). The Beastly Bash at the Minnesota Zoo (that one is just postponed to September). Black Widow and the entirety of MCU phase 4 getting pushed back one release date.

Currently our trip to Walt Disney World to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary is very much at risk (late May) and so is our trip to South Africa/Botswana (July). We were planning on a trip to Disneyland in the autumn to do the Halloween party there and see the new Avengers Campus, but with construction shut down, who knows when it will actually open (it was supposed to open in July). I had also hoped to see The Naked & Famous, Jimmy Eat World, and Sylvan Esso this summer, but I’m worried about buying tickets.

What music are you listening to?

Just my music library. Some of the stuff I seem to be listening on repeat: Chelsea Jade (who are amazing live btw), A R I Z O N A, the three singles from The Naked and Famous’s upcoming album, Gordi, Emily Burns, Parade of Lights, FOURS, Dessa (in particular ‘Good Grief’).

What are you reading?

Almost nothing. It’s terrible. I hadn’t read much of anything until a couple days ago when I picked up one of my Doctor Strange books. I finished that one and read another today. A couple weeks ago I got the newest Jane Foster: Valkyrie and the first Strange Academy, so I read those too. I should read a book.

What are you doing for self-care?

Trying to get outside. On weekends we go to the park we volunteer at (obviously we’re not volunteering, but it’s a nice park) and in the evenings we take a walk. I also hid my facebook and twitter apps from myself on my phone because they’re both so toxic to my mental health. That helped a lot.

I’ll tag @mareebird and @franniebanana and anyone else who wants to do this. But no pressure!

[niennanir]

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov, Phil Coulson & Nick Fury Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Phil Coulson, Nick Fury, Melinda May, Darcy Lewis, Chewie | Goose (Marvel), Peggy Carter Additional Tags: growing up is hard to do, Strike Team Delta, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha Romanov Joins SHIELD, Clint Barton Joins SHIELD, Violence Series: Part 36 of Coulson Lives, but the Avengers might be the death of him. Summary:

There's an epic tale at SHIELD about the recruitment of Clint Barton by the most legendary agent in SHIELD history, and a story about how the Man Who Never Misses turned around and recruited the Red Room's single greatest spy. It's the sort of blood curdling tale told to wide eyed young junior agents, murmurs of A Different Call and reverent whispers of Budapest. The story of Coulson's Strike Team Delta; Hawkeye & the Black Widow.

This is not that story. This one is true.

---

“So they just sci-fied your ears and tossed you back in the field?” Darcy asked with a curious frown, poking idly at her bubble tea.

“Well, not exactly,” Clint shrugged as he folded his paper receipt into an origami frog. “I was out of the field a couple of months for the initial treatment. I was supposed to be out for four months because they had to fit me with these hearing aid looking things to recalibrate my ears but then Phil went and got himself arrested in Minneapolis and Fury didn’t have anyone to send in to clean things up. So he pulled me off of medical leave and sent me and Natasha to post bail.”

“How in the hell did Phil end up arrested?” she demanded.

“It happens more often than you’d think,” he replied, releasing the frog so that it hopped over his spoon. “At least it was Minnesota. I’ve been arrested in some places where just being American is a capital offense. Phil was doing some leg work investigating some kidnappings and he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and got fingered as a suspect.”

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[musicallyrich]

Crate Digger’s Corner: 3/6/19 Adrian Belew live at the Fine Line; Minneapolis, MN

Crate Digger’s Corner…by DJ Musically Rich

If you are Frank Zappa, David Byrne, Robert Fripp, David Bowie, Trent Reznor or a host of others and need a guitarist to round out your album and/or touring band there is one name that has shared time with all…Adrian Belew. At the Fine Line Music Café Adrian Belew took the stage as the leader of his own quartet and as the frigid Minnesota temperatures fell outside, he heated up the several hundred in attendance on the early March evening.

I arrived with two friends and we came in on the tail end of the first song, but he quickly shifted into his second song on what would become a (welcome) recurring theme of the night. He played the title track to the 2002 King Crimson EP “Happy With What You Have To Be Happy With”. I don’t own an extensive amount of his solo albums. I am definitely not familiar with his newer material, although, from what I have wandered across today, he headed a power trio (maybe actually named that) for an extended period. I mention this, one, because I cannot give you the titles of a lot of the songs they played. Two, I was definitely unfamiliar with some of the songs as well. One solo song that I knew and knew the name of was ‘Men In Helicopters’. It’s a thoughtful song about the toll that man puts on the earth’s resources.  His band consisted of himself on guitar, a bass player, drummer and a second guitarist/multi-instrumentalist. He did a short set with just the power trio (I’m assuming all of the songs came from that era as well), and that was part of the highlight of the night. When stripped down to a three piece, it was fun to hear them and it felt a little more aggressive (note this was just the 8th show with the multi-instrumentalist, and he mentioned that the other two had been part of the trio, so I think with some more time that will help with the cohesion of the quartet. That being said I had absolutely no issue with the play of the quartet, either). He also played ‘Troubles’ from the album “Side Three”. That was the third of three experimental albums he released featuring him solo on the second album (with a few miscellaneous musicians, and with Les Claypool (Primus, Frog Brigade, Oysterhead) and Danny Carey (Tool) along with the few other musicians on the first and third albums.

Throughout the show, besides revisiting lots of snippets of Crimson licks within solos, he also had that recurring theme, which was playing King Crimson songs that he had been a part of during his time with that group, which spanned over two decades. Along with the one that was already mentioned, he played two in a row, the blistering, angular ‘Frame by Frame’ and ‘Neal And Jack And Me’, which is a bit gentler in sound (both from the early 80′s). He also ripped through a version of ‘Three Of A Perfect Pair’. His final song, which had tons of looping and effects (maybe off of “Twang Bar King”, one of those I know but can’t pinpoint)  was a great workout and afterwards many in attendance left, and admittedly, he made it sound like the last song of the set should be expected as an encore as well (I felt). They also turned up the house lights which is usually a sign of no more music. Then, he came back, and all that were still in the building gathered back into the center of the room as the band came back and played an absolutely wonderful, menacing ‘Thela Hun Ginjeet’ for the final song, also a Crimson tune.

His band was on fire. Adrian was on fire. If you are into guitarists who are complete masters of their craft, Adrian Belew is still at the top of his game. At 69 years of age, his voice isn’t quite what it used to be, but I don’t imagine that there was anyone left disappointed because of that. I would say, as if it wasn’t implied already, is that it feels a little like he’s putting together a band to resemble the ‘80s Crimson band he started with. If that’s the case, and even if it isn’t, what matters is that it is working. You won’t see many more talented. They are obviously enjoying themselves, and most obviously, the crowd had a great time. If Adrian Belew is headed to your town on this tour, and it is still in its beginnings, get out there and catch the show.

Some of the many albums he shows up on (for other artists or as part of a band) [obviously all recommended]:  The Bears- s/t, David Bowie- Stage, David Bowie- Welcome To The Blackout, Bela Fleck & The Flecktones- Outbound, King Crimson- Discipline, Cyndi Lauper- True Colors, Nine Inch Nails- The Downward Spiral, NIN- The Fragile, NIN- Hesitation Marks, Porcupine Tree- Deadwing, Paul Simon- Graceland, Paul Simon- The Rhythm Of The Saints, Talking Heads- Remain In Light, Tori Amos- Strange Little Girls, Frank Zappa- Sheik Yerbouti

A few recommendations from his catalog: “Twang Bar King”, “Young Lions”, “Inner Revolution”, “Side Three”

To see photos of albums in my collection follow me at djmusicallyrich on IG.

Here is a clip from a live show of his from a few years ago...

[reesewestonarchive]

writing questions

tagged by @forlornraven​ and tagging anyone back that might be interested

[1] Which season is your favorite to write in and why? 

I don’t honestly know that I have a favorite season to write in... I do like to write with my window open at night in the summer, though, ‘cause you can hear the frogs o:

[2] If you could live anywhere in the world for a year while writing a book that took place in the same setting where would you choose and why? 

pnw. If I didn’t have to write a book that took place in the same setting I’d say one of the coasts, but nah.

also everything I write takes place in minnesota or in some made up world so :shrug:

[3] Do you have a preferred font to write in?

arial or helvetica, but scrivener defaulted to palatino and I can’t figure out how to change it to default to anything else, so... that I guess

[4] What, in your opinion, is your most unusual writing quirk? 

like raven I do a bunch of stupid shit because of OCD, so I don’t use certain words and will go out of my way to avoid them. some of this results in the style I have now, because when you can’t use specific words you gotta get creative and verb some nouns to make it work :shrug:

otherwise, I dunno

I don’t know if there’s a bonus question this time but for anybody that might want to do this, I have one for you: what was your character’s favorite childhood toy?

[lovemesomesurveys]

Have you ever watched The Golden Girls?: I watch it pretty much everyday.

Did you ever like the Ninja Turtles?: Nah, I wasn’t into that.

How often do you drink water?: I drink it everyday, about 3-4 glasses.

Last alcoholic drink you had?: I think it was Jack and Coke, but I don’t remember. It’s been over 5 years now.

When’s the last time you were at a hotel?: A couple years ago.

Do you like Easy Cheese?: Yeah. It’s great with Ritz crackers.

How are you feeling right now?: Kinda sicky and tired.

Name a movie with Freddie Prince Jr.:: She’s All That.

Ever been in a meaningless relationship?: No, I wouldn’t call it meaningless just because it didn’t work out.

What kind of soap do you use?: Caress body soap.

Who would you kiss right now, if you could kiss anyone?: My pup.

Do you get cravings to smoke?: Nope.

What color is your couch?: Gray.

Do you like tape?: Sure?

Are you afraid of the dark or were you ever?: Well, I can’t sleep with my room completely dark so there’s that. I sleep with my TV for some light and for some sound because I can’t have it completely quiet, either.

When’s the last time you went outside?: Last Thursday.

Do you have trust issues?: No, not really. I have opening up and expressing myself to others issues. I do it great in surveys, but not at all in person.

What’s your favorite food?: Taco Bell bean burritos with no onions, extra sauce, and extra cheese with sour cream on the side.

Does anything on your body hurt right now?: Always.

What’s your favorite place to go when sad?: So basically where am I all the time? I’m always in bed.

Know anyone on birth control?: Possibly? I don’t go around asking.

Can you play any instruments? Not anymore. :( I probably couldn’t even play Mary Had a Little Lamb anymore now since it’s been over 10 years since I’ve last played piano.

Would you go swimming right now if you could?: No.

How long was your longest relationship?: I always count the thing I had with Joseph, which was almost 4 years.

Are you tired?: Always.

What are you looking forward to in the next 3 months?: Nothing.

What are you known for?: Health related stuff, mostly I feel like.

What town do you live in? I live in a city in California.

Have you ever had a serious accident?: You might say the one that caused me to be a paraplegic was pretty serious.

Do you want to get married?: No.

Has anyone ever threatened you?: No.

When’s the last time you burned a candle?: I personally didn’t light it cause I’m a big scardy cat when it comes to fire (and most things let’s be real), but we had a nice smelling autumn one burning this past Thanksgiving.

What’s your dream job?: I don’t have a dream job.

Could you take a nap right now?: It’s 3:41AM so I’ll be going to bed soon.

Where’s the closest stapler?: *shrug*

Have you ever watched the t.v. show Friends?: I’ve seen it here and there, but never paid much attention to it. I never got into it.

Have you ever gone frog hunting?: No.

Who’s the last person to seriously hurt you?: Me.

Do you ever suffer from dry skin?: Yep, my hands and my face.

Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal?: I don’t like cuddle with them, but I have 2 I keep on my bed.

Do you like getting dirty?: No.

When’s the last time you were embarrassed?: I feel that way all the time because of certain things.

Are you a very flirty person?: Not at all.

What’s the closest electronic thing? This laptop. My phone is next to me, too.

Would you rather have a boy baby or a girl baby?: No baby.

How’re your grades?: I’m done with school.

Have you ever been scammed?: Yes.

Do you like dogs or cats more?: I’m a dog person.

Did you like the movie Four Christmases?: Yeah.

What’s the weather like right this moment?: It was raining last night. It’s not at the moment, but it’s cold.

Have you ever been to Duluth, Minnesota?: Nope.

Who was your favorite babysitter?: One of my aunts.

Are you supersticious?: I’ve been doing the whole knock on wood thing for so long it’s just habit, but I don’t really believe in it.

Have you ever cried wolf?: Yes.

When’s the last time you ran 1 mile?: Never.

Do you like crowds?: Nooo.

How often do you brush your teeth?: Once a day at least, sometimes twice.

Do you swear?: Very, very rarely.

Are you gullible?: I’m usually pretty skeptical, actually.