#one day ill write john teller

[sythegun-aa-blog]

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[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 17/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

November approaches quickly.  The surveyor is due to arrive in only a handful of weeks.  The horses are coming along just fine with their training.  Mulder’s relationship with Katherine feels like it’s moving forward at a pleasant pace.  Just before the last weekend of the month, he asks her if he might accompany her into town that Friday.

“Of course,” she says.  “But, you don’t need to ask.”

“You might have plans with your friends and I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“I would like to call on Susannah and Monica and Doctor Black, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t welcome to join me.”

“Then, I will accept your invitation.”

“My invitation?  You invited yourself.”

“Did I?”

Probably the only thing he finds more delightful than when she raises her eyebrow at him is when she rolls her eyes at him.

He asks if she’d like to attempt to drive the wagon into town, but she declines.  She feels that she’s only just mastered the carriage and has not had any wagon lessons yet.  She’s more than happy to have him drive them.

Their first stop is the mercantile.  Susannah rushes out to greet them and pulls Katherine inside by looping her arm through hers.

“We’ve got the prettiest new fabric in that will suit you so well,” she says.  “I’ve been hoping you’d come by and held it just for you.”

“John,” Mulder greets, as he enters the store.

“Mulder, what timing.  The denim trousers you ordered arrived just this week.”

“Thank you, I’ll take them now if you’ll wrap them.”

“Already done.”

“Katherine has our supply list, but it looks like your wife has absconded with her.”

“Yes, she’s been waiting for her to come in.”

“I’ll just take a look at the catalog in the meantime, I may have a few other things to order.”

“Certainly.”  John slides the thick book of merchandise across the counter to Mulder.  “We saw Melvin ride through town a few weeks ago and take Doctor Black back with him to the ranch.  Heard you had taken a tumble from a wagon.”

“Just a little shoulder damage.  That does remind me, if you have any liniment, I’ll take a couple tins off you.”

“We’ve got Sloan’s.  The oil.”

“That’s fine, two bottles.  No, make it three.  I’ll bring one to the Doc.”

“He said Katherine patched you right up and did about as good of job with it as he would’ve done.”

“I guess if I had to compare the two, I much prefer the bedside manner of my wife.”

Mulder chuckles as John blushes and fumbles with the bottles of liniment.  He’s saved from any further conversation of his shoulder when Katherine appears with Susannah and some bolts of cotton fabric with a blue paisley pattern.

“Kate, you have our list?” Mulder asks.

“Oh, yes.”  She opens the little drawstring bag at her wrist and gives John the paper.

“Now that Katherine’s taken over from Melvin, you don’t have to translate his hieroglyphics any longer.”

“Yes, lovely handwriting.”  John nods and then starts to collect items from the list, all business.

“I was just needling your wife about that Sunday dinner get-together we promised,” Susannah says.  “You be sure not to keep her so busy she can’t do some proper visiting.”

“She is more than free to ride out at any time to come calling, but it has been a bit hectic lately.”

“Oh, we heard about your fall.  Doctor Black said Katherine did all the doctoring for him and he didn’t lift a finger.”

“It was a mild concussion and a shoulder dislocation,” Katherine explains.  “Just required a re-set of the shoulder and a good deal of rest.”

“John, put in for five of these undershirts here on page 67.  Kate, is there anything you might want from Montgomery Ward?”

“I don’t know.”

“Take a gander and put in for whatever you find with John.  I’m going to head across the way to the lumber mill just for a few minutes.”

“Alright.”

Mulder leaves Katherine at the mercantile and goes across the road to the mill.  It’s a noisy place with a lot of sawing and yelling and hammering.  The smell of sawdust is everywhere.  The air is thick with it and Mulder can swear he feels it clinging to him as soon as he gets within five feet of the place.

“Mr. Hartwell,” he shouts, waving his hat to get the foreman’s attention.

Mr. Hartwell leaves the saw he’s working with stuck in the lumber he’s cutting and takes his gloves off to shake hands.  “Mr. Mulder, good to see you,” he says.

“I’m soon to be in need of some lumber.”

“Oh?”

“I took over Old Man Goodwin’s plot and I’ve got a surveyor coming out a little more than a week from now.  He’s supposed to get me some plans for a bigger barn, new stables, and we’ll be doing a new bunkhouse and expanding the house eventually.”

“Is that right?  When might you be needing your order?”

“I hope to break ground by winter.  At least on the corral.  I’ve been clearing trees on the property and we can recycle some of what we’ve already got.  You still have a record on the build on my current plot?”

“I reckon so.”

“Let’s start with that same amount.  I’m about to run down to the bank.  I’ll tell Mr. Skinner you’ll be giving him an estimate and he can advance anything you need and I’ll take what I can get by let’s say, mid-December?”

“Well alright then.”  Mr. Hartwell nods.

“I’ll also be in the market to hire labor, so if you have anyone in mind you can point my way, I’d be most grateful.”

“I’ll ask around.”

“Thank you.”

The two men shake hands again and Mulder heads back to the mercantile.  John Jr. is loading up the wagon with their purchases.  He gives Mulder a wave.

“How are things with your sweetheart?” Mulder asks, helping to load the last of the crates from the porch.

John Jr. sighs.  “She broke off with me a couple weeks ago.”

“Well, now, that’s a shame.”

“She said I was boring and then the next day she was holding hands with Luke Doggett.”

“That the Sheriff’s boy?”

“Yes, Sir.  I can’t even be mad over it because Luke’s a nice guy.”

“Be patient.  You’re a hard worker and you’re not boring at all, you’re stable, like your father.  You’ll find a great girl one day that’ll appreciate that.”

“Naw, I think I’m done with girls for awhile.  I’m gonna save up and get a horse.”

“Well, horses are good too.  When you’re ready to buy, you come see me.  I’ll give you a good deal.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Mulder chuckles to himself as he walks away from John Jr. and goes back into the mercantile.  Katherine gives him a smile that makes him want to wrap his arms around her.  He puts his hand at the small of her back instead.

“Ready?” he asks.

Katherine and Susannah say their goodbyes.  Mulder helps his wife up into the wagon seat and then they head to the bank.  He leaves Katherine at the line to the teller’s window and waves to Skinner who motions him into the office.

“I wanted to let you know that we’re moving forward on the expansion,” Mulder tells him.  “Mr. Hartwell should be coming by with an estimate for lumber.  I told him to speak with you and you’d arrange to advance him anything he might need.”

“I can do that.”

“I also, uh…”  Mulder turns his hat over in his hands for a few moments and then he glances out into the foyer of the bank before he shuts the door to Skinner’s office for a bit of privacy.  “If you can get word to my lawyers through the branch in Fort Worth that I’d like to update my will, I would appreciate it.”

“Certainly, if that’s what you want.”

“I’m sure I’ll need an update of my account holdings, so whatever they need they can have time to put it together.”

“What brought this on, if I may ask?”

“Had a fall from a wagon a few weeks ago.  Nothing drastic, mind you, it just got me thinking and I’d like to make sure that if...well, if anything should happen, there’s no question of what my wishes are.”

“Your wife would be protected, by law.”

“Not well enough.  I want to make damn sure the ranch will stay with her, and I want to make sure Melvin will be taken care of as well.”

“I’ll get word and if anything comes back from your lawyers, I will let you know.”

“Thank you.”

“Does she even know?  Who she really married?  How much you’re worth?”

“No.”

“You might want to tell her sometime.”

“When the time is right.”

↭

Katherine feels more confident this time when she pays the mortgage.  The teller is polite, calls her Mrs. Mulder, slides the card to her that she needs to sign with a fountain pen and she doesn’t hesitate this time to write Katherine Mulder next to the date.

She’s finished before Mulder is done speaking with Mr. Skinner, so she waits for him outside by the wagon.  She’s never really gotten a good look at the town before.  The row of businesses stretches long and wide.  If the bank is the end point, the mercantile is the start.  In between there’s a sawmill, a blacksmith, the saloon, an icehouse, a cafe, a flour mill, a bath house, a meeting house, the sheriff’s office, a barber, a boarding house, a livery, a laundry, and the house of ill repute, as Mulder referred to it.

She knows there’s a church somewhere and a school, but they must be hidden in the outskirts of the town.  Doctor Black must have his practice somewhere off the main road as well.  Monica had said she lives off the road that veers left from the bank and she wonders how many other homes are out there and where everyone lives.  The Byers may make their home as part of their store, but presumably Mr. Skinner does not sleep in the bank.  And she remembers that Susannah said he had a wife.

Mulder comes outside and stands next to her.  “When I first got here about the only things that existed were the mercantile and the saloon,” he says.  “Sometimes it seems like all this just sprang up overnight.”

“Susannah was telling me today that a Wells Fargo office is coming in next year.”

“Long overdue for that, if you ask me.  Nearest place to send a telegram is either Abilene or Fort Worth, depending on where you’re at.”

“How many folks live here?”

“I can’t say I know for sure.  If I were to wager a guess, maybe fifty or so in town.  There’s a lot of ranches around these parts that do their business here, so if you consider them to be part of the town, there’s got to be at least another hundred.”

“It’s strange, but I grew up in a city of twenty thousand people and it always felt very small to me.  But, standing here, on a street you can probably walk up and back in a quarter of an hour, it feels enormous.”

“Well, they say everything is bigger in Texas.”

“I have heard that.”

“Where to now, fair Kate?”

“Where does the Doctor live?”

“Up that way behind the boardinghouse.”

“I’d like to drop in on Monica first then, since the Doc is on the way back.”

Katherine takes Mulder’s hand to climb into the wagon and he drives them down the road, over a short bridge, and then past a grove of trees.  A house appears as soon as they clear the trees, like an island in a sea of bluebonnets.

“Goodness,” Katherine says.  “Monica said you can’t miss it.”

The rumble of the wagon must have alerted her friend.  Monica comes out to the porch, wiping her hands on a dishrag.  She waves and jumps down the steps to greet them as they come down the lane.

“I hope you don’t mind us dropping in,” Katherine says as she climbs down from the wagon.  “We were in town so I wanted to say hello.”

“Are you kidding?  I’m thrilled.”  Monica hugs Katherine hard and keeps an arm around her shoulders as she waves to Mulder.  “I’ve got cornbread in the oven that’ll be done soon.  You’ll stay and have a cut before I bring dinner out to John, won’t you?”

“Well, that sounds too good to pass up,” Mulder answers.

“Come on in.”

The Doggett residence is similar to the ranch house.  There’s a dogtrot that runs from the front to the back, but the left side of the house is all kitchen and dining area, presumably bedrooms are on the right.  Monica offers them chairs at the table and then checks on the cornbread.  Mulder holds a chair out for Katherine as she loosens her hat and removes her gloves, but he doesn’t sit down right away.  He moves over to a breakfront along the wall and runs his hand over the smooth wood.

“This is a beauty,” he says.

“My boy built that,” Monica answers, proudly.

“The Sheriff did this?”

“No, our son Luke.  I swear he was swinging a hammer before he could toddle.”

Mulder nods and continues to run his hand down the side and across the front.  “How old might Luke be?”

“Fifteen.  Just had a birthday on the 13th of October.”

“That’s funny, we have the same birthday.”

“Your birthday was the 13th?” Katherine asks.  She’s mildly embarrassed that she had no idea her own husband’s birthday had passed.

“I didn’t even remember myself until just now.”

“What year were you born?” Monica asks.

“1861.”

Monica closes her eyes and tilts her head for a few moments.  “You’re a three,” she says, with a brief nod.

“A three?”

“Yes, in numerology.  Your life path number is a three.  It means you like to inspire others and make them smile.  But, if you feel you’ve been misinterpreted you can become sullen and withdrawn.”

“Is that right?”  Mulder grins as he looks at Katherine and she raises her eyebrow.  “But, I thought I was blue and red.  Now I’m a number?”

“Oh, you told him about his aura?”  Monica beams.

“I um…”  Katherine can feel the heat rising to her cheeks as though she were caught gossipping.  Mulder must sense her discomfort for he finally sits down beside her and takes her hand before hanging his hat on his bent knee.

“One day I’d like to hear all about it,” he says, squeezing Katherine’s hand.  “I was just wondering though, Mrs. Doggett-”

“Oh, call me Monica, please.”

“Monica, that’s really high quality work your boy does.  How would you feel about letting him come out this winter and work on an expansion out at my ranch?  I’d pay him, of course.”

“I’d have to speak with my husband about it, but I’m sure Luke would be thrilled at the prospect.  He’s been at us to quit school for the last few years.”

“Oh, but he can’t quit school,” Katherine says.

“Well, most of the kids around here quit by the age of twelve.  They’re needed at their farms or ranches.  Luke’s been the oldest in the schoolhouse for the last two years and he’s been pretty anxious to move on.  John wouldn’t let him since we don’t have a farm and he’s certainly not going to allow his son to take on a job at the saloon, which is about the only place that’d hire a boy his age.”

“I’m going to be looking to hire quite a few men starting next month or so,” Mulder says.  “There’s plenty of room in the bunkhouse for him and I’ll see to it he comes home for the week’s end.  Your husband is welcome to ride out any time to check in.”

“I would keep my eye on him as well, if you’re at all concerned about that,” Katherine adds.

“Oh.”  Monica puts her hand on Katherine’s arm and smiles.  “I don’t doubt that.  My, what a lovely ring!”

“Thank you.”  Katherine runs her thumb along the side of her ring band with her thumb.  “My husband got it for me.”

They spend the next half of an hour with Monica Doggett, sharing a slice of cornbread and chatting amicably.  Mulder asks her more about this numerology thing and she happily shares with him more about his life path based on his birth date.  When it’s time for them to take their leave, Mulder offers to drive Monica to the Sheriff’s office, but she says she would much rather walk.  It’s just about her only time to herself and she enjoys it.

They ride back up into town and Mulder passes the bank to go down a smaller road behind the north side of the town.  He points out a house up the ways with a sign hanging at the front that simply says ‘DOC’ etched in wood.

For some reason, Katherine feels nervous on the way up to the doctor’s porch.  She knows she already made a good impression on the doctor, but still wonders if that was just politeness.  The doctors she knew from nurse’s training were mercurial.  Someone bearing a compliment one day could come bearing condescension the next, or worse.  

Mulder opens the door to usher her inside.  Doctor Black peeks out from behind a curtain and smiles broadly.

“Just my luck,” the doctor says.  “I’ve just set a broken bone and could surely use your assistance while I mix a plaster.”

“Of course,” Katherine says.  She immediately takes her gloves off and hands them to Mulder.  

There’s a young boy perched at the edge of the exam table, no more than five or six, sniffling and sullen.  Katherine moves to him and right away she can see that his left wrist is broken.  She smiles at him and takes a gentle hold on his arm, cradling his wrist in her hands so the doctor can get to work on mixing a plaster.

“My name is Katherine,” she says to the boy.  “Who might you be?”

“Joey Skinner.”

“Is Walter Skinner your father, son?” Mulder asks.  

Joey nods and then wipes his nose with the back of his good hand.

“Has anyone gone to fetch Mr. Skinner?” Mulder asks Doctor Black.  “I could run over to the bank right now.”

“Yes, why don’t you do that.”  Doctor Black nods to Mulder and then hands Katherine a roll of gauze.  “I trust you can wrap up that wrist.”

“Certainly.”  She deftly holds Joey’s arm with one hand and uses her thumb to pin the edge of the gauze down and begins to wrap.  “Joey, you tell me if this hurts, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, how did this happen?”

“I was playing tag with Grace and Emma and Isaac and I was ‘It’ and I was running and I tripped on a rock and I felled down and my hand hurted real bad.  Grace yelled for Miss Holly and Miss Holly bringed me to the doc.”

“Well, I think you’re a very brave boy and we’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

“Now,” Doctor Black says, rolling a small table over with a bowl of milky liquid and wrappings.  “Joey, this might feel a little cold, but you do your best to hold still, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Excellent wrapping,” the doctor tells Katherine.  “Would you like to do the plaster?”

Katherine nods and the doctor moves the table to her side so she can work.  She runs the wrapping through the liquid and winds it around Joey’s small wrist and arm, moving methodically.  She has experience with setting and wrapping broken bones, but never on a child.  She’s cautious, but tries to be quick for Joey’s sake.  Doctor Black provides her with a few short instructions as she goes.

“Beautiful work,” Doctor Black says when Katherine is wiping her hands dry.  “Joey, is there any pain in your wrist now or in your arm.”

“It’s kinda itchy.”

“Yes, it might be, but you can’t scratch right now, I’m sorry.  We’re going to let it dry and when it’s done it’ll be hard as a rock and keep your wrist in place so it can heal.”

Joey’s bottom lip begins to tremble.  “Is it gonna be on my arm forever and ever?”

Katherine puts her arm around Joey and rubs his shoulder.  “Not forever, sweetheart, just a few weeks is all.  And the doctor will probably check on it a time or two to make sure it’s healing properly.”

“That’s right,” Doctor Black says.

“Joey!?  Joey!?”  Walter Skinner bursts through the door with Mulder behind him.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Joey.”  Mr. Skinner rushes over and for a moment, Katherine is afraid he’s going to grab the boy up in a fit of panic before the cast sets.  

“Everything’s alright,” Katherine says.

“What happened, son?”

“I was playing tag…”

As soon as Joey starts up with his story again, Katherine slips away from the exam table to go to Mulder.  “He okay?” Mulder asks.

“It wasn’t a bad break.”

“Good.”  He pulls Katherine’s gloves from his pocket and hands them to her.

Doctor Black comes up to the two of them and he and Mulder shake hands.  Mulder gives him the extra bottle of liniment he bought at the mercantile and the doctor thanks him.

“Looks as though your shoulder’s healed nicely,” Doctor Black says.

“Yes, well, I happened to have a very strict nursemaid to see me through.”  Mulder chuckles and Katherine demurs a little.

“If you think you could spare your wife for a few days a month, I’d be happy to have the help here.”

“Oh, I really couldn’t,” Katherine answers.

“Why couldn’t you?” Mulder asks.

“Well, there’s just so much to do.  And the expansion is coming up, so…”

“I’m sure we can work something out.”  Mulder nods to the doctor and at Katherine.  “Good skills should never go to waste.”

Katherine is all but rendered speechless.  She doesn’t know if she’s shocked or grateful or why she should even be so surprised.  Mulder’s the only man she’s ever known that doesn’t seem to want to control her in some way, who seems to want her to have independence as much as she wants it.  And she doesn’t just think he’s putting on airs of a generous husband in front of the doctor.  She believes that he means what he says.

“We’ll talk it over,” she says.

“Joey.”  Mulder produces a quarter and walks over and hands it to the boy.  “Next time you’re in the Byers mercantile, you tell Mr. Byers you want a bag of his best penny candy.”

“Gee, thank you, Sir!”

After they leave the doctor’s place and get back into the wagon, Katherine sits close to Mulder and holds his arm as he drives.  “Did you know Mr. Skinner had a boy?” she asks.

“Hell, until a few weeks ago, I didn’t even know he had a wife.  He doesn’t talk much.”

“I think that minor panic may have caused him to lose what little hair he’s got left.”

Mulder roars with laughter.

[oh-theres-a-woman]

Flowers in a Peaked Cap; Part One

A/N: Heres to attempt two at writing this author’s note… Let’s just say, I haven’t perfected the art of saving drafts. Note to self to actually find out how to make the draft before losing three solid paragraphs of rambling about the story… Sophie Points; Nil. Laptop/Internet Points; One. Welp, honestly internet and laptop have won a hell of a lot more than that. Just don’t remember how many times I’ve lost work because of not quite understanding how to post on here…. Safe to say I’m still a noob. 

Any hoot! Enough rambling about that stuff. 

After posting the first piece to this story; in the very very early hours of this morning. I couldn’t help but feel the massive urge to continue and work on the more of Tillie’s little adventure. It made me want to think about her as a person outside the relatives that we already know. What this girl’s goals are and ambitions. Unlike the rest of her family, I think she has a relatable amount of vulnerability and anxieties that are more from society’s working in the 1920s compared to her brothers; Arthur, Thomas and John that all suffer war-related mental illness and scars.   

Actively she’s a romantic escapist that wants to make her brothers and aunt proud. Making a name for herself in the means of writing and exploring the tales that are brewed from the memories of old days. 

In the progression of this story, I want to be able to explore the growth in Tillie as a young woman. The stepping out of her brothers’ shadows and coming into her own. Growing into a more confident young woman that could be from meeting new people like in this chapter and moving away from her fears. 

I do see romance in this story, something like and full of all the trend first experience one faces at one stage or another. In terms of smut, I’d think it’s lighter and would be something that is worked towards. Tillie to me doesn’t seem rather lust-driven. So, it’ll happen if it does, and if not; its simply because Tillie Shelby isn’t interested in that sort of thing. 

Important note; I’ll be working on organising the Taglist a little more throughout my next few posts. Please notify me if you’re interested in anything specifically and want tags there or if you mind just being on the general tag list and included in every story I post. Thank you!!!  

Requested By; @csigeoblue​

Parts; [ Prologue ] 

Taglist; @zodiyack​, @itsfrancisneptun​, @amys-small-world​, @fandom-fucking-shit​, @hesagod-notyet​, @hinagiku0​, @dylanlover24​, @amirahiddleston​, @a-dorky-book-keeper​, @theamuz​, @csigeoblue​, @smallheathgangsters​, @beautycinders 

Word Count; 1400

Watery Lane wasn’t the play that supported the wild fantasy’s of Tillie Shelby, but the little bookshop that was filled with many hopefuls or lads that were born a little more well off collectively grouped together. Reading the stories they wrote. This gathering was apparently one that caught the attention of the paper since the known publishers and well-off lads from another book club around England had found themselves doing a sort of travel for their source material. 

Since the profile of this club of prolific writers had taken interest in the area of Small Heath and its inhabitants. Inviting upstart writers or aspiring tellers to come and meet them. So, onward the youngest Shelby strolled until she pulled open the door of the quaint little bookshop. The signal of her arrival was the sound of her kitten heels and the ringing of the bell on the door. Doe-like blue eyes that were like the crystal-clarity of the purest of water found themselves settling on a group of well-dressed gentlemen.  Her eyes flicker between some faces she knew of Small Heath, most of them being the arseholes she went to school with and thought themselves privy to a better life. 

It wasn’t that Tillie didn’t believe they weren’t welcome to it. Mostly, it was the way they treated people in order to get there the young woman didn’t quite agree with. She was rather foolish coming to her though since her brother’s had a very vision about how the Shelby family should be seen. Their measures to getting things done with it were also less than admirable. Perhaps, it was the fact that Billy Bronson, James Fitz and Joe Gilbert made hers and Finn’s school life a living hell one way or another. But, it also made it seem extremely unfair to talk to their older brothers about what happened. Since most knew better than to fuck with the kin of the Peaky Blinders. 

Plooms of cigarette smoke clouded in the air, filling the bookstore with a spiced herbal infusion and rippled tailored sticks of tobacco. Moving her gaze from the lads she knew; to the new arrivals. The youngest of the Shelby mob offered a little smile. “Is there room for one more?” Tillie finally spoke up, pulling her book that contained the novel she had poured hours and hours over. Smiling hopefully. Arms hugging the expensive leather made book that her brothers banded together in the hopes for a lovely birthday present in the days before the war. 

Hoping that she’d fill in with various things she enjoyed to draw, but instead, Tillie hadn’t touched it until she was old enough to respect things. Asking Aunt Pol to help her keep in a safe place until then. Scraps of paper were best for sketches in any case. 

Eyes ever hopeful looked at the posher sort, some seemed wary until a certain collared lad smiled and offered a little nod then the place he’d been sitting. Away from the boys that seemed to make life a little more bothersome. “Thank you,” she whispered, settling down in the seat. Resting the book down on her lap before looking to the other lads who straightened their composure.

“We were all about to introduce ourselves since we’ve never travelled outside of London for such a meeting before. Yet, it seemed like a brilliant idea when bought up. Birmingham seemed like the best place, so raw and thrilling. Small Heath alone.” Spoke finally a lad in a handsome waist-coat, the colouring of coal, stiff collar and matching suit made her think of it being something her brother; Tom would wear. Only on the best occasions, or when he was dressing-to-impress. Unlike Thomas, this lad had handsome hazel eyes, the slightest tan to his skin like he enjoyed the frolicking on the beach. His name was Walter, but everyone called him, Walt. 

“Even the presence of criminal activity and organisations like the Peaky Blinders, it does make the area a prize for writing. Wouldn’t you agree, lads,” spoke up for eccentric Norman, who took delight in the thing that only made Tillie smile in a measure of great awkwardness. The name seemed to follow her everywhere she went, and there was a measure of awkwardness for that.  “Sorry, miss, I didn’t quite mean to be so rude, it’s just you don’t seem the sort to know much on that end, too kind and pretty, huh?” Norm covered himself for any form of rudeness that could have been interpreted. 

Only causing a polite little lowering of her head, as her hands wrapped anxiously around her book’s spine. Before relaxing at the conversation drifting off elsewhere. Sobering to the notion that the following cough from Joe Gilbert had goosebumps appearing on her arms. Causing a vast amount of discomfort in the young woman. Tillie traded glances with the nicer of the Londoner’s; Robert. Whom quickly coughed to get things back on track. 

“In any case, back to the introductions. We shouldn’t dwell too long on the story topics if we’ve lacked the proper course of introduction. Shall I start?” Robert spoke up, settled against set up for the purpose of meetings. “My name is Robert Augustine, myself and these other gentlemen,” he said, gesturing to the others in the group of London lads. 

“Are from a collective of young men that wish to write and publish arts. Never before have we had a lady join us, but surely in this modern world we’d be able to welcome the bright minds of femininity amongst us. After all, lady authors are blooming into the publishing world more and more with each generation.” His words seemed to still the anxiousness within her soul at the agreement of his other companions. Looking forward to seeing a hand extended to her, Robert allowed her to stand. The mix of coarseness and softness met between the two palms meet. 

Holding her book, Tillie looked down smiling a little at her feet. Hugging her book to her chest, like it was the most precious thing to her. That was… Because it truly was the thing that held so much value to her heart. Her right hand still gently in the hold of the Londoner, cheeks lightly warming. “I’m Tillie Shelby, and I like to write about my brothers, their stories before the war. When we were kids,” she lit up sweetly talking of her brothers. Her hand and Robert’s naturally finding it parting, before he settled in his spot by the desk. Arms folding at his chest with a little smile. 

“Would you be willing to share any of those stories?” Robert asked in a light voice. Tillie could only think of one response. 

“Would I ever,” she beamed with a presence that seemed to warm the room and the quiet little shop around them. Settling down into her seat once more, she didn’t think about when the others were introducing themselves. Instead, she found herself lost within stories. The more whimsical tales of lads that laughed and partied. Or the ones that filled with a warmth that made her think of the family that suppressed or lost who they were before the war. Among them, none had known those woes and horrors. 

They’d seen things happen on the outside. Felt the absence of a brother, father, uncle or grandfather that either died or lost what kept to their memory that their younger-selves recalled. Tillie was young then. Merely a baby in some regard. But she couldn’t ever forget the days of laughter, wherein night terrors; her heroes would just come up and curl into the undersized cot she called a bed. Soothing their fingers along with the softness of infant or child hairs–that had yet to understand dryness or damage. 

When business didn’t entirely rule the Shelby family but happened in the background. Those were her tales. The tales of rawness and loss from a different scene. Where her brothers; the men who took over the role of an absent father, became; fathers, uncles, older brothers and best friends. And… Pol became the only mother she ever knew and remembered. Her voice spoke of the volumes to family values and how terrible things broke people. Yet, she never uttered their names aloud. 

Only recording them within her mind when she read the tales that meant something to one of her brothers. Art. Tom. John.

[anotherkindofmindpod]

I’d love for you guys to have Mark Lewisohn on your show just to grill him. As someone who’s experienced workplace bullying and sexual assault, that he would go so far as to paint Klein as “heroic” when he said things like “reluctant virgin” is just so devastating to me. It makes me feel ill. I do NOT want this man to have a say in Beatles history. I love the Beatles. I don’t want that tainted by people who will paint over abuse just to feed their own self importance.

We vehemently agree, Listener!  Thank you for writing in.

Our list of grievances with Mark Lewisohn is long, but in a nutshell we believe his intent is to publicly “redeem” John Lennon and we have seen copious evidence that he will go to whatever lengths he has to in order to do this. 

That includes, but is not limited to: 

Claiming that readers of his Tune In Series may consider Klein the “hero” of the Beatles break-up

Deliberately spreading the demonstrably false lie that John (and Yoko) did not have a significant heroin problem in the late 60s and early 70s (Lewisohn suggests Cold Turkey is just John playing make believe)

Displaying unapologetic favoritism by using glowing terms to portray John and Yoko as the world’s most perfect romance, as opposed to Paul and Linda, whose 29-year marriage he dismisses as “conventional” and motivated by appearances (namely Linda’s pregnancy, even though it was planned) and Green Card needs

Stating that he could tell from watching the infamous “it’s a drag” clip that Paul was kind of sad, but primarily annoyed at how much positive attention John was getting on the day of his murder

Apparently suggesting to an audience of his Power Point Show that Paul maybe stole a leg off Yoko’s bed (the bed she had delivered and built in the Beatles’ recording studio, mind you), a personal “theory” which is based on the fact that Paul later wrote a song called “Three Legs” (you know that song: “My dog, he got three legs, like the bed you inappropriately brought into Abbey Road 2 years ago which I secretly vandalized behind your back because I have nothing better to do, am certainly not busy writing the Beatles Swan Song and don’t have a fucking 7 year old at home or anything”)

This isn’t even to mention Tune In, which could be a whole separate post and episode. Suffice it to say, this book often reads less like a Beatles biography and more like John Lennon Fanfiction to us.

Lewisohn managed to distinguish himself by doing (some) research and unearthing some original documents. That he had some skill in research is not surprising given that he started his career in Beatledom as a researcher for Norman, on his book Shout — which Lewisohn still contends is a good book. Norman, on the other hand has evolved his opinion of his own work and thinks Shout was flawed, so has written a whole biography on Paul to make up for what he sees as the failure of Shout, which is his underestimation of Paul. Unfortunately, Lewisohn does not seem to have made this same journey. He pays lip service to John and Paul being equal, and then spends all of his time and energy trying to prove otherwise. Norman says that he has created a monster in Lewisohn. We take his point.

One of our biggest issues with Lewisohn is that he vigorously promotes himself as an unbiased truth teller, and his calm manner seems to telegraph this. But it is not true. The research that Lewisohn does and the spin that he applies to his findings are all heavily biased. As we mentioned in one of our episodes, he travelled to Gibraltar simply to experience where John and Yoko got married. Yet when Paul calls the May 9th meeting over management the metaphorical cracking of the Liberty Bell, Lewisohn doesn’t even bother to Google it so he can understand the metaphor.

What he chooses to research is also a form of bias. For example, we at AKOM are very interested in Paul’s relationship with Robert Fraser during the Beatle years — since Paul has commented that Fraser was one of the most important, influential people in his life. Paul McCartney was the concept artist behind Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, the Magical Mystery Tour film, the iconic Apple logo, and he co-designed the covers of the White Album and Abbey Road.  All of these are pretty defining moments in the Beatles’ career.  As Beatles fans, we’d like to know more about Paul’s art education and influences. But we would be shocked if Lewisohn dug into Fraser at all beyond his relationship as John and Yoko’s gallerist/curator (and heroin dealer, but since that isn’t a thing in Lewisohn’s world then maybe he will be ignored).

We think Lewisohn benefits massively from the fact that Beatles authorship was like the Wild West since its inception, when everyone with a connection to the Beatles (plus or minus a personal axe to grind) wrote a book about their experience. It was absolute chaos, with no rules, no checks and balances, uncredited sources, etc. Just an absolute shit show.  What Lewisohn did was bring some order to the chaos with some proper documentation. But again, what he chooses to dig into often reflects bias. And this certainly does not mean that he is intellectually or emotionally equipped to interpret his findings. Doing this takes social intelligence and insight, which is a very different skill. As a creator of myths, he is no better (and no more insightful or original) than many of the others who came before him; he worships John Lennon and freely admits it. He is not even close to being unbiased.  But in this dumpster fire of a fandom he has at least checked some boxes and done some digging.  The fact is, the bar has been so low for so long that Beatles fans don’t even know how to expect or want better.  But WE certainly expect better.  We expect some breakthrough, fresh thinking.  Not just Shout with Receipts.

We think it’s significant that Lewisohn was deeply disliked by George Harrison, who lobbied to get him kicked him off the Anthology project. He was fired from Paul’s fan club magazine, and yet no one seems to think he might hold a grudge about that, too?  Lewisohn so distorted John and Paul’s relationship in Tune In that he believes he is the target of the lyrics in Paul’s song “Early Days.“  And he either thinks that’s flattering or funny, because Lewisohn seems to truly believe he knows John Lennon better than Paul McCartney does.  We find it almost tragic that Paul is so bothered by the way his experience and relationship is being portrayed by authors (perhaps Lewisohn) that he wrote a song about it. In it, he conveys his frustration and heartache about how everything is misconstrued and we find it absolutely outrageous that Lewisohn would not take this to heart.  Perhaps Lewisohn thinks Paul should listen to him for a change? And if he doesn’t like it, then tough, because Lewisohn knows better? We think Lewisohn should do some serious soul-searching about “Early Days” because if one of his main subjects is saying, “you are getting it wrong and it is breaking my heart”….maybe, just maybe, he should listen and rethink things.  Maybe apply a little creativity, out-of-the-box thinking and empathy. This is what his heroes did.

Meanwhile, Jean Jackets are SO BUSY complaining that Paul McCartney doesn’t like Lewisohn because he “tells the truth!” that they fail to notice that Lewisohn has become a mouthpiece for Yoko Ono.  He has already started white-washing John Lennon’s history, promoting John and Yoko as the true and only geniuses versus Paul as the craven, small-minded Lennon disciple who (through no virtue of his own) was born with the ability to write some nice tunes.  Lewisohn’s version of John, on the other hand, is ALWAYS a sexy, visionary genius on the right side of every issue.  He even went out of his way to recently trash Paul’s early 70’s albums, which -in addition to being obnoxious and we believe wrong (since we love them)- is totally outside his purview.

Lastly, to address your original point, Lewisohn’s claim that Klein may be viewed as the “hero” of his Beatles History reveals that he hasn’t shown sufficient empathy or interest in Paul’s experience.  This claim at best ignores and at worst condones the fact that Klein was an abusive monster to one of the two founding members of the Beatles.  As we discussed in Episode 4, Klein was a criminal who bullied Paul in his creative workspace, disrespected Paul in his own office in front of his own employees and actively pitted Lennon against McCartney for years.  It’s hard to imagine ANYONE who inflicted more damage on the Beatles and Lennon/McCartney than Allen Klein.  In addition to the wildly inappropriate “reluctant virgin” nickname, he verbally threatened to “own Paul’s ass” (to which Paul responded “he never got anywhere near my ass”). Klein was so disrespectful to Paul and Linda’s marriage he pitched the idea of procuring “a blonde with big tits” to parade in front of Paul to lure him away from Linda and destroy their relationship.  Let’s also never forget that Klein contributed lyrics to the song “How Do You Sleep.”  Allen Klein literally gave Paul nightmares.  Anyone who so much as pretends to care about Paul’s break-up era depression (including his alcohol abuse, his inability to get out of bed and his terrifying sleep paralysis) would not champion Allen Klein.

Yes, Klein is a human being and therefore has his own POV, same as anyone else.  But a Beatles biographer is beholden to four points of view only: John, Paul, George and Ringo.  And when an outsider is openly hostile to one of the Beatles and damaging long-term to all of the Beatles, it is beyond inappropriate to portray him as a hero.  This type of comment, made publicly to an audience of Beatles fans, invalidates and seeks to erase the real trauma inflicted on Paul McCartney by Allen Klein, and we think Lewisohn should apologize for his comments.

Instead, Lewisohn’s current buddy is Peter Brown, whose book, The Love You Make so offended and angered Paul and Linda that they literally burned their copy (and photographed it burning for good measure).  This information doesn’t appear to bother Lewisohn in the least. Why not?

George referred to Norman’s Shout as “Shit.” But Lewisohn thinks it’s a great book.  Why?

How any Beatles or Paul or even George fans tolerate Lewisohn is baffling to us; we don’t recognize a real human being in his version of Paul, and his version of John is a superhero rather than a man.  We suspect that fans have come to accept the traditional story and at least appreciate some properly-documented facts. 

But as we are constantly trying to demonstrate on our show, just because the story has always been told one way, doesn’t mean it’s right.  Because in the end, Mark Lewisohn has no special insight. He wasn’t there. He is a guy who bought into a narrative during the Shout era, and is cherry picking his findings to support it.You can find a discussion of Lewisohn here

[amplesalty]

Halloween 2020 - Day 1 - The Stand (1994) - Episode 1 The Plague

Gee, an epic post-apocalyptic story about an out of control pandemic. Never heard that one before.

Much as we like to tie the Halloween season to the Christmas one by opening up with a festive horror movie, why not link back to the TV binging that provided some content to this blog earlier in the year by partaking in this mini series? We’re only covering part one here today as this is like four feature length episodes. In a worst case scenario, the rest will serve as backups that I can plug in if I’m having an off day so to help me from falling behind. But ideally they’ll go up once a week on the same day as a standard movie post. You manage to go back to actually doing 31 entries for the first time in donkeys years and it all goes to your head and you suddenly think you can do 34!

This has actually been on my list for quite a while now, we do love a good (or bad) Stephen King adaptation around here and I have a distinct memory of seeing this on TV when I was a kid. I’m guessing it must have played over a few nights over here at some point or maybe over a bank holiday or something? Not that I really remember much in the way of details, just the cornfields and a creepy face which we’ll get on to.

It’s something that’s stuck with me over all these years, I actually got a copy of the book at one point in what must have been the early to mid 2000’s. Still have it actually, I dug it out for the sake of this entry. Seems it’s a version from 1980 from it’s first run as a paperback in the UK. Seems to have a page or two missing near the start in amongst all the copywright business but otherwise it’s in okay shape.

Even has some writing on the first page that I can only make out in parts, one section seems to read ‘an old man beats a mule’. Or perhaps, more pertinently to this story, a mute...

Cover seems a bit dull and non descript compared to the various other ones that have come out over the years. There’s something interesting to this original version with the two figures fighting, very much a literal take on the good versus evil nature of the story with one figure dressed in light colours and the other dark. The dark figure is wielding a scythe which is obviously closely associated with the Grim Reaper. Seems to have some form of beak sticking out of its hood too and the robes and shoes seem to be almost harlequin or jester type clothes?

I wasn’t really expecting much going into it, especially based on the 1990 mini-series of It. I think because of the nature of It being partly set in the 60’s, as well the contemporary portion which just looks very 80’s, gives it this image in my head of being very dated. Outside of a few actors like Tim Curry, John Ritter and Seth Green, there’s not really any notable stars in it either and even though, Green’s notably arguably came much later on. The Stand though? This thing has some names, even if the bigger ones are just small cameos. Amongst the main cast you’ve got Gary Sinise, Molly Ringwald and Rob Lowe. Obviously Ringwald isn’t a massive star or anything and is only really known for that string of John Hughes movies in the 80’s but around this time was peak Sinise. He’s not long removed from starring in Of Mice and Men (...and men....and men...) and would have roles in Forrest Gump, Apollo 13 and Ransom in the following years. Plus that big stretch in CSI:NY in the 00’s. But then you’ve got people like Ed Harris and Kathy Bates showing up, albeit briefly but these guys have some clout. I mean, Bates had just won the Academy Award a few years prior for her role in Misery so maybe she felt compelled to do more work under the King umbrella. Even the more minor roles seem like a roll call of ‘hey, it’s you!’ with Ken Jenkins (AKA Bob Kelso from Scrubs), Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and the proprietor of Joe Bob’s Drive In, Joe Bob Briggs.

The landscape of TV feels very different today with actors much more willing to work in the field as it’s taken on much more artistic integrity. The greater availability of shows after they’ve aired, be it through DVR, home media or streaming, has enabled people to watch in far greater numbers. There was a time when the big break was deemed to be making it to Hollywood and starring in motion picture epics but it seems more and more that story tellers are moving away from the relatively cramped 2 hour-ish format of the silver screen to having their vision play out over a long form story and the big name actors are following suit. I feel like things would have been very different back in the early 90’s so to have these names attached.

Seems for a long time there were plans to turn this into a movie, it’s even referred to during a ‘making of’ feature on the blu-ray (pretty much the only feature on there I might add) as a ‘motion picture epic’ but this must have been done way into production so either they were confused or trying to mislead viewers for some reason? Apparently in the early 80’s the idea was for the success of Creepshow to finance production of The Stand but took until the early 90’s for everyone to finally settle on the miniseries.

Very much a big budget affair too for a TV Show, $6m per episode. And it’s needed given the scale of the story, taking place in all these different locations, the special effetcs and with so many characters involved with over 125 speaking roles across the series. It’s definitely a jump up from It, even though that had the two different time periods, it only had a budget of $12m across its two parts compared to the $24m here across four parts.

But to finally address the massive elephant in the room, this story centers around an outbreak of a strain of influenza seemingly created in some shadowy government facility. After something goes awry in the lab, a doomed insider pleads with the guy watching the main gate to seal the facility but he instead piss bolts for his nearby house and hurriedly bundles his wife and child into their car as they make their escape. Everyone else is not nearly as fortunate though as the camera pans the facility, lifeless corpses strewn throughout that have seemingly dropped dead in the middle of their everyday activities, there’s even one guy doubled over on a ping pong table. All of this is set to the sounds of BOC’s Don’t Fear the Reaper and culminates with the image of a crow picking at a doll dropped by the child in the rush out of the front gate. The crow features prominently on the front cover of the blu-ray I have, perched atop of a skull. Though, I know they’re going for the whole post-apocalyptic vibe but what about the superflu is causing the road to burn up and crack like that? The bird also shows up a fair bit throughout the episode, I was going to talk about it being a raven and how such birds are linked with ill omen and death but it’s a crow apparently. Who knew? Not me, I’m no ornithologist. It also seems to be very closely linked with a mysterious figure that is alluded to throughout, a ‘dark man’ or monster.

When the original carrier of the disease makes his way into Arnette, Texas, and crashes into the gas station that Sinise’s character Stu Redman is working at, his dying words are of his efforts to escape from a dark man that was chasing him and that no one can out run him. Maybe in that moment you’d think this is just a state of delirium and he’s speaking oddly poetically about trying to outrun Death himself but as the show goes on, more and more people speak of this dark man, almost as if everyone in the grip of this disease comes to share this vision.

And speaking of visions, we can’t forget Mother Abigail and her cornfields. Both Lowe and Sinise’s characters are whisked away in their dreams to the middle of nowhere where a centurion on her porch warns of them of an ominous future. Think Mama Murphy from Fallout 4 only with much less chem addiction. The only thing Mama Abigail needs is her bread. What is it with King and fields anyway? You’ve got In the Tall Grass, plus the corn fields here and in Children of the Corn. There’s probably more I’m forgetting too. It’s either cornfields, writers in distress or killer ‘whatever I can see in front of me whilst I’m pitching this story’ with this guy.

In a way though it’s good that the show takes this supernatural turn because otherwise this would be a little too on the nose to be watching in this current climate. It’s very eerie to see such similar events play out on screen, starting with the widespread rumours and misinformation. It starts out innocently enough with talk of this so called superflu being downplayed, covered up by the government as an anthrax attack or outbreak of swineflu. I remember back to those more innocent times at the start of the year when COVID was naively dismissed as little more than another flavour of the month disease like the swineflu, sars or ebola that would be here today and gone tomorrow. But then you’ve got things like the sense of paranoia suddenly surrounding a simple cough or sneeze, talks of quarantines, social distancing, the implementation of masks (which one reporter describes as not being able to stop a flu germ with a hangover) to the more disturbing scene of lethal force being used against a TV news crew who refuse to surrender footage they’ve shot of army troops disposing of bodies. Granted, we never got anywhere near that level, I think the worst we had was that guy from CNN getting arrested or that Aussie reporter being pushed over.

They even managed to mirror how universal a pandemic like this is, from the common man to the height of celebrity. One of the characters we’re introduced to is a singer who, whilst he seems to be one of the few lucky to have some immunity, still sees his mother succumb to the virus. Just like we saw with the likes of BoJo or Tom Hanks, it really is a great leveller and, as a wise man once said, ‘You might be a King or a little street sweeper but sooner or later you dance with the Reaper!’. I guess we can take solice that we haven’t quite had the societal collapse that this show manages to pull off in less than a week, with Times Square on fire and a guy running around shooting people like he’s in Falling Down. That’s not to say we wont get there, we seem to be hovering more around general civil disobedience right now with the growing frustration of lockdown and PPE spilling out into protests.

It makes for compelling viewing to see how quickly things break down from simply a man having the sniffles to people being rounded up from their homes and ushered into army vehicles. There’s a lot to take in as the show has to establish the events taking place and introducing it’s multitude of characters so there’s not really much room to breathe. Hopefully episode 2 can relax a little now and give the cast some time to grow. There’s still some standout performances though such as Redman’s growing frustration at being cooped up in a test facility, lashing out at the doctors and nurses coming in in their hazmat suits, prodding and poking him. It would have been nice to see more scenes with him and Dr. Dietz. They have one argument where they nearly come to blows before having a big showdown by the end, with the Doc being one of the last staff members left alive, seemingly crazed by their inability to find any answers in Redman’s tests and he threatens to take his frustrations out on Redman by shooting him. He might be immune to the virus but I bet he’s not immune to a bullet. Dietz starts out with this complete lack of empathy, almost to the point of having a rather cheery deposition considering the circumstances, as he finds some fascination in the speed at which the virus causes death. But he becomes more and more short tempered and threatening as the days wear on and it would have been good to see a more gradual descent.

The aforementioned Ed Harris plays General Starkey overseeing the initial bioweapon project and the fallout of it’s outbreak, perhaps overseeing to a fault as it becomes pretty clear from his ever increasing five o’clock shadow, dishevelled clothing and massive bags under his eyes that he’s slept very sparingly since the initial breach in containment. I think for the entire time we see him, his screen never changes from a shot of one of the cooks at the base of the initial outbreak slumped over, face down in the meal he was preparing. It makes a bit of a change to go from the quite verbal exchanges of Redman and Dietz to Starkey’s physical appearance and facial expressions putting across his mood.

[fangwhoria]

11/11/11

thank you so much to @fluffythewritingplant the god of my existence for tagging me!!

Rules: Answer 11 questions, Ask 11 questions, Tag 11 people!

okay,,,, you asked 15 questions. you even numbered all of them, so it wasnt a mistake,,,,, idk if im just supposed to pick 11 or if you just got excited of if you legitametly don’t know what 11 is,,, Either way im gonna answer all of them cuz people who are bad at math are valid and i love talking about my wip!!

1. What is your favorite part of writing?

you know that moment when youve been kicking yourself over a plothole in your wip for ages, and suddenly something just pops in your head and all the pieces fall into place? yeah. that feeling

2. Do you prefer reading or writing?

i dont have much time for either right about now, but id have to say writing only because im kind of a control freak and if im writing the story it goes the way I want it to

3. How many people have read your stuff?

not many! those of you who see my posts on here and one of my friends occasionally. im very self concious about people who can see my face reading my stuff

4. How many people irl have read your stuff?

like,,, maybe 2

5. Are there any books or movies that inspired your writing?

percy jackson made me a writer

6. How many WIPs do you have?

only one main one atm, but another has been pushing at the back of my mind for a little while, but that ones just a couple of scraps of story

7. What are some ideas you had to throw away because you just didn’t have the time to work on them?

ive nevr had to throw things out because of time, but ive had to scrap some cool things because they either didnt fit in the plot, like in one of the early versions of FYofH where Johanna was acting as a fortune teller during the time Delilah was deceased, or a year ago i really wanted to write something about fairies but i just didnt have enough ideas for that story to really develop it at the time. One day ill go back to it

8. Have you ever written any poetry? Wanna show some of your stuff?

lol i hate writing poetry with a passion, but here ill write a quick one, just for you

*ahem*

Sometimes

I want to 

lie down

in the woods

and become one 

with the roots

There you go! an elle original! right off the top of my head!

9. What’s your favorite line/scene you’ve ever written (several are possible of course)?

im particularly fond of this one from a couple days ago: 

She felt like ice was building up inside her, starting at her heart and encasing her internal organs, then her bones, until ice was forming around her eyes and mouth and slowly covering her entire body until she was nothing but ice, an icicle previously known as Johanna.

and since im too lazy to go through my file of nice lines by elle, heres a thing i wrote at 3 am a month ago while high on cold medicine:

Shes In love with the giddess of desath beacuaes she loves biug tiddie goth gf but since she s agod they canmt be togtgher and since shes a witch he cant deie to be w her so its angsty and sad but big tiddie sun lady UInserstands the gays and is like “its okay lol”n ajnf that s hweom its endas

10. What’s your favorite quote

not really a quote but the whole song No Choir just really inspires me, ya know? like happiness doesnt have to be this big amazing complicated thing, it can be as simple as just sitting with someone you care about

11. What’s your favorite quote by someone you know?

“Knowing the surface area of this chef boyardee party hat is important because if your child has such a big brain from eating so much chef boyardee, we have to make sure the hat will fit”- my friend while she and i were giving an academic presentation. i will give no more context than that

12. What’s your favorite book?

SO MANY--- Carry On will always have a special place, as well as Percy Jackson, and i LOVE the Raven Cycle SO MUCH  and miss peregrines is super wild but soooo my aesthetic

13. Which book do you regret reading?

looking for alaska by john green

14. Is there something you regret writing?

i dont regret anything iveever written. they were all learning experiences that were essential tomaking me a better writer. 

Okay maybe i regret that lams college au just a little

15. If your OC’s were actual people in your life, what would your relationship be like?

they would all be annoyed by me because im annoying

if you actually read all of this youre my hero

my 11 questions are to pick 11 questions from the list i just answered

tagging these absolute heroes: @lauraswritingjournal @nkta-ink @vasilisapeadarsan @inexorableblob @cawolters @kenny-d-juice @katabasiss @floortile-flowers @writer-in-drag @towaniisme @ink-on-poppies no pressure yall!

[olga-eulalia]

You know what? I can post terrible self-indulgent fic if I want to, so here’s a Sleeping Beauty AU, featuring Silver and Flint. ~3500 words. R just to be on the safe side. Some non-con. Unbeta’d. Non-native speaker writing here.

Chapter 1

Once upon a time, when it was late winter and John Silver had been travelling across the land for many months, he came into a forest that was dark and strangely quiet, and he thought he’d lost the path when suddenly, just before nightfall, a hollow-way appeared in the gloom that brought him safely to the entrance of an inn.

The room was dimly lit, the ceiling low, and smoke came curling out when he entered. For a moment, all faces were turned towards him, squinting. But since Silver was not altogether unpleasant to look at and had the gift of a charming smile he found himself accepted rather warmly for a mere stranger passing through.

Over the years he had learned a couple of valuable things: That news, embellished, were quick to draw a crowd. That people in general enjoyed the company of a man who held their opinions in high esteem. That a ripping yarn was as good as any currency in that even the most standoffish were afflicted with an unusual bout of generosity once the teller’s tongue started to feel a bit parched. And all these, and more, came in very handy that night.

*

Now it was true even then that every place, no matter how remote, had its own stories, some of which people liked to talk about gleefully and often. While others, they only mentioned under their breath or kept secret altogether for fear of catching their oddness. And as knowing which was which was nigh impossible in advance, one had to excuse Silver. It was nothing but his natural curiosity that made him ask about the manor in the distance, whose it was, and he couldn’t have known that it would bring conversation throughout the room to a halt.

"The Devil's," a woodcutter muttered into his jug of ale.

The blacksmith, no less brawny in stature, set down his mug and corrected him.

Then, bit by bit, more people felt confident enough to chime in. Indeed, a rather fierce competition arose as to whose sources were the most reliable, whose account the most accurate. The innkeeper's face was impartiality itself as she pulled another frothy pint.

From what Silver was able to gather the building had been abandoned for more than two generations and folk in these parts believed that it was frequented by a most godless crowd: Ogres, ghosts, witches and suchlike. It was somewhat difficult to pin down the particulars of the tale since it morphed as it went from teller to teller, but in one aspect they all agreed: Don’t go near. The message was so uniform that one could almost believe everyone either in on a joke or cleverly hiding something from an outsider.

Silver, intrigued, had just made the decision to discover for himself whether the place held anything of value that could make his detour yet worthwhile when a shadow by the fire spoke up.

Hogwash! A tall, old man shifted his lined face into the light. In his days, everyone knew that the manor had been bewitched and that the only way to release its residents from the spell was to bestow one kiss on the beautiful princess trapped inside.

The old man frowned at the amusement rippling through his audience. He continued: Some of his friends had tried it in their youthful folly. Thought they could best the brambles that encased the stone walls as securely as an iron casket, but none of them were ever seen to make it through. Or return.

"Witchcraft." The woodcutter nodded.

The talk then shifted to discuss other possible doings of the Devil and whether the local magistrate was in cahoots with him, and Silver, feigning bodily discomfort, moved across the room to occupy a cosy seat by the fire as well.

"I'd very much like to see this manor house for myself," he said. Perhaps the tale and her teller's name would find their way into the book he was writing, he offered as incentive, hoping that, at the end of the day, an interested listener would make up for an empty promise. "You wouldn't happen to remember the shortest way?"

The old man studied the frayed edges of Silver's second-hand coat and his peg leg with great care, but Silver’s face yet more carefully still. From the corner of his mouth, where a missing tooth allowed him to comfortably fit the amber stem of his pipe, he admitted, “I do.”

Chapter 2

A glittering layer of ice outlined branch and fallen leaf. Overnight, the ground had frozen over and Silver’s breath fogged the air as he walked the perimeter. His snares were empty, winter mushrooms sparse. With the supplies in his bag dwindling, a longer stay would be ill-advised, and it pained him to think that he'd have to seek his good fortune elsewhere while the turreted manor sat like a most precious egg pristine in its spiky nest. His gaze roamed all that unspoiled glass and iron he'd be able to sell if only he could find a way to get his hands on it.

At one point, the house must have lorded over a large swath of land. The tree-lined road, whose faint remnants had guided him on his way, stretched for about two miles up north and the overgrown front gate was wide enough to fit six horses side by side. In an abandoned farmstead close by, under a roof that sat worryingly askew, Silver had made camp. And though he had a good view of the premises, there was nothing out of the ordinary to report on. Except for one very obvious thing:

The unusually large thornhedge that wrapped the manor in a tight embrace, covering it all the way round and almost all the way up the highest tower. Even the forest kept its distance from such an unruly, greedy growth that had swallowed up ladder, plank and axe in its past and more recently Silver’s handsaw.

He spotted the tool and began to tug at it with all his strength, hoping to pry it from the clutches of the hedge this time. The sun's rays were slanting in just so that he could make out something stuck further inside the thicket. A piece of clothing perhaps. Or perhaps it was...

"Good morning!" An old woman, snugly wrapped up in shawls, had come out of the woods and startled him.

"Good morning," he scrambled up his last ounce of cheer. Seeing that she was dragging a bundle of brushwood along on a makeshift sledge, he then offered his help, though, truth be told, he deemed his own work far more important and had no real intention of abandoning it.

She mustered him with a critical eye and declined. “You seem very busy.”

As it turned out, she was much more interested in what he was doing anyway, lingering by his side and quizzing him about his intentions.

Those were nothing but chivalrous, he assured her. Curse-breaking was his business. Drawn by the warm sparkle in her eyes, he leaned in and said, "I heard," and then recounted the old man's tale.

"Oh, nonsense!" She poked the hard ground with her walking stick. "When I was young, everyone knew that it was no princess trapped inside this bloody hedge, but a handsome prince." The edges of her smile gleamed with gold. "You let me know if you need any help in waking him from his slumber."

Despite the chill, Silver flushed terribly, seeing himself bent over a downy pillow, lips skimming across a prickly cheek, and gave a chuckle that only drew more attention to his self-conscious state.

Perceptive and kind, the old woman changed the subject, entertaining him with anecdotes of bygone days for a while, bringing to life the bustle of the estate with such clarity in his mind’s eye that he was almost tricked into mourning its loss.

“Snow's coming. Can always trust my bones to be right about that,” she eventually said and then pulled a wrinkled apple and a handful of raisins from her coat pockets -- a sweet haul which she handed to Silver in its entirety, patting his cheek. “Good luck, dear.”

*

Long after she had disappeared back into the forest, Silver was still sitting on an empty plinth with a raisin tucked between his back teeth. When was the last time someone had shown him such kindness? Gifted him food without expecting anything in return? Called him dear without disdain? He should've been more honest about wanting to help her. He should've been more honest in wanting to immortalize the old man's name in a book, too. But instead, he had chosen this. This unrewarding task. This confounded thing.

His next attempt at freeing the saw was rather ungentle. And the more he chided it for its stubbornness, the more the hedge creaked and fought against his efforts. With thorns like talons, it rewarded his impatience by goring him to the bone.

Chapter 3

In the wan morning light, slowly among the branches, snowflakes descended. The forest lay quiet and still as if it had taken a deep breath and slipped under a white cover where it now waited for the sun's return.

While Silver’s sore hands were preparing his belongings for the journey ahead, carefully cording up his burlap bag, his thoughts were far away already, imagining a warm spot, a mouth-watering meal in the next town. He was about to turn his back on the manor, erase this disappointment from memory to the best of his ability when it pierced him: Red.

Red, almost purple, amidst the fresh snow and ashen wood, a delicate bud poked its head out from an array of tender green where yesterday none had been visible, so vibrant and soaked with colour that paint might drip from it at any moment. Behind it, within reach, another blossom coiled. And then another. Dazzled, Silver quite forgot all caution and stepped closer to touch them with his fingertips. They were real, all of them. And a little further on, closer by the wall, where warmth huddled by the stones, one had unfurled its petals like a joyful welcome.

There he saw that he had come a long way already and that the forest was barely visible from this far inside the hedge. Slender rods arched above him like a protective bower, criss-crossing densely. If the old tale had been true and those been possessed of malicious intent, escape would have been quite impossible at this point.

So when the man-high wooden door at the end of the path yielded and allowed him in, Silver grinned: People like him never got stuck in fairytales.

Chapter 4

It was as quiet as the whispering snowfall outside. But a peal of laughter might ring out any moment. A door fall into its lock. A serving-maid pass by, carrying a stack of freshly folded linen. Sumptuous carpets muffled Silver’s steps as he walked the long, branching hallways of the manor, a flickering five-armed candelabra in hand that illuminated a wealth of riches difficult to wrap one’s mind around. Marble, golden ornaments, exquisite furnishings -- only the finest, most expensive materials had been good enough for the owner, whom Silver had started to think of very dearly.

Coming into the great hall by way of the kitchen, he had tried his way through the pickled goods in the pantry till his stomach was stuffed full so that his gait was unhurried now and slow while the bag in his tow grew heavier fast.  

Wherever he went, whether rounding a corner or climbing a stairway, eyes followed him, recognizing him as someone who did not belong and looking on his presence with according disdain. At times bewigged and befrilled, at times presented on black silk and ermine, a hundred unhappy faces judged his actions as he explored room after room. It filled him with an odd sense of satisfaction to see that a couple of these portraits had been knocked down and vandalised, their faces ripped out.

Following those, he discovered that someone had beat him to the library. Books had been pulled out, drawers upturned, the floor strewn with loose papers. Ransacked it appeared in stark contrast to the rest of the house which remained undisturbed in its stately splendour.

Like a box full of choice jewels, the lady's bedroom opened up to him, the surfaces sheened with mother-of-pearl gloss in the pale light. A satin evening gown had been laid out. Matching jewellery. Items that Silver thought to leave untouched, stepping past them into the adjoining chamber where he found half the curtains drawn.

In the dusk, which made it difficult to tell shadow from shape, Silver at first believed that an armful of clothes had been carelessly flung across the bed, but the glow of his candelabra soon transformed it into two knee-high boots, a dark coat and even in the dimness the red shock of hair then became unmistakable.

Silver backed away, withdrawing his light as fast as possible. A doorframe bumped his elbow and startled him into speaking. "I'm awfully sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to disturb...,” he said.

But the figure continued to sprawl facedown as if felled by a mortal blow.

Silver hesitated. He thought of the bag bulging with jewellery and artworks that was waiting for him outside in the hallway and he thought of what happened to thieves who were caught stealing from rich people's homes. And then, unbidden, the memory of the two old people and his own wheedling talk entered his mind and prompted him to drag his courage by the scruff.

It took both hands and a lot of strength to roll the body onto its back. Thick strands of hair fell aside, revealing a face both virile and elegant, its features so handsomely drawn and complexion so delicate that Silver was quite startled by its beauty. He had spent enough time in the study, rummaging through the documents there and looking at the portraits to know that this man was not the master of the house, and since there was no plunder on him except for a scrap of paper clutched in his hand, which made thievery an unlikely motive for his being here, his presence remained a mystery.

A quick examination revealed no visible wound. And another couple of minutes gave certainty that the man’s life was not altogether gone. Both his heartbeat and his breath merely came very slowly and could not be quickened by any means at hand. Whatever it was -- surely a quick peck would not be able to cure as strange a condition as this.

To distract himself from that particular thought, Silver grabbed the crumpled paper and smoothed it out. The lines there were even, the letters themselves full  of verve as their author vowed to do the utmost to mitigate the damage of the curse and apologised more than once for reneging on the promise of forever, but that these drastic measures were necessary, alas, to avert a much more dreadful fate.

“So I take it you’re James?” Silver, stirred by the intimate, imploring tone of the letter, pondered the sleeper’s face.

By the minute now, the old tale gained in plausibility until it had lodged itself in Silver’s mind like a bulky obstacle that he couldn’t think past, and he caught his gaze returning to those tender lips again and again. Considering it as a real possibility was simply absurd. And it definitely wasn’t good sense that made him lean over and study the man from up close. His thick eyelashes. His freckles. The faint lines bracketing his trim, red beard. Was his expression dreamy? Thoughtful? Mournful? Silver, watching the candlelight shift emotions around like ill-fitting puzzle pieces, couldn’t say.

Nerves aflutter, he gnawed on his lip and considered what if. He lowered his face further. "You’ll forgive me if I," he said, voice thinning to a whisper, “try,” and then hardly dared breathe while he let his mouth sink down into the midst of that soft beard and onto silken lips.

*

Satisfied, at last, that it would be considered a kiss and not only an attempt at one, Silver drew back and watched for a response. But none came.

Of course, none came. He shook his head. Truly, it was high time to put silly notions of fantastic deeds aside once and for all.

“Well,” he said, “I’m sure you’ll be back on your feet in no time. I’ll just... need to take some things to incentivise the good doctor to make the trip out here. I’m sure you’d understand.”

Concentration proved a slippery thing when he tried to picture his loot and which item he could part with painlessly and, idly searching for a clue perhaps, he glanced at the man’s face again, expecting tacit permission there, but finding green eyes instead whose focus jumped, caught and pinned with terrible accuracy. Silver’s gaze was dragged into them like light into an endless well.  

The man pushed himself upright. With an unexpectedly gentle caress, a touch so light that it was barely there, he slipped Silver’s bandaged hand into his palm.

Silver, suspended in a state of anticipation, let it happen. He was glad to be greeted with no anger and no confusion, only a persistent kind of curiosity.

They held each other's gaze for a long moment and then plaintively, evoking an overwhelming need to comfort and reassure, the man asked him, “You’ll forgive me?”

“I,” Silver said and at that instant found himself grabbed by the nape, a thumb splayed across his pulse. “Wait! No, I didn’t mean to– I thought-”

As the man pushed him back onto the bed and shifted his muscular body on top of him, it dawned on Silver too late that he had read the signs wrong, that what he had interpreted as curiosity was voracious appetite instead. And as a gust of hot breath moved over his neck and a set of sharp teeth grazed the all too tender skin there, he remembered that some people knew how to craft a spell with skill and purpose and that not all of their handiwork was meant to be broken.

Pain pierced his skin and sank deeper, sounding out the depths of him.

It seemed impossible that someone might desire such a thing as this and therefore Silver had no words at the ready that would stop the act from happening, and his tongue, which had talked him out of many a precarious situation, floundered.

Compared to the immovable grip on him, his own struggle seemed laughably weak, as if his hands were only curled into loose fists, as if his limbs were good for not much more than a twitch, as if he weren’t struggling to free himself with all his strength, now hanging from a mouth like prey.

The man’s lips were fastened tight to his neck, drinking deeply from his heart’s stream. Warmth radiated from the wound, crawling up Silver’s cheek, down over his chest. Slim-fingered, it reached into his veins and sprouted blossoms, letting them grow as tall as trees so that they tinted everything in the luminous red of their immense petals. To Silver they seemed a marvellous thing and he thought he might rest a while in their light and laze in contentment where pleasure was so abundant and he wanted for nothing. Drowsy, he was rocked. Sated, he was fed more. Aroused, he was excited further until ecstasy prickled all over his skin and every individual heartbeat was delight, so that he was a reedy whine, a writhe in the sheets, and nothing more.

His body didn’t seem to know what to do with all that bliss, and he cusped and came inside his drawers -- a feeble lift of his hips. And then he was spat out.

Waiting for just that moment, cold, slavering, laid hands on him and made him shiver. With a head full of noise and his vision flickering out, he rolled over and dragged himself across the bed, miles and miles of bright cloth stretching out ahead of him. Reason, perhaps, whispered that he was not going to make it, not in such a weakened state, and he could not counter it, not understanding why he was trying to leave in the first place when there was so much comfort and joy waiting for him just an arm’s length away, only knowing that he absolutely must.

And so he grabbed another delirious inch of his freedom and then another, and slowly, ever so slowly managed to pull himself to the edge of a cliff. He clutched at it, belatedly trying to mitigate his fall, already plummeting.

A pair of strong arms gathered him into their cradle, clasped him tight and lifted him up. “Are you trying to lose another limb?” He was deposited somewhere flat and impossibly soft and then covered in warmth. Silver let the world happen around him for a while. “When you’re awake your hand will need cleaning.” The hair was brushed from his face. “And I’m sure you’ll be hungry too.”

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Chicago Tribune: 50 FFWPU / UC members allegedly joined Aum Shinrikyo in Japan. Aum later carried out the 1995 sarin gas attack on the Tokyo subway.

                           1995 Tokyo subway attack

Chicago Tribune   January 5, 2001 By Uli Schmetzer, Tribune Foreign Correspondent.

In Japan, Spirituality Search Can Lead To Cults

1,100 Former Followers Of A Guru Known As The Voice Of Heaven Have Filed Lawsuits Claiming Damages Totaling $546 Million.

KISARAZU, Japan — The cure came to Tsuneo Kikuchi in the form of a dapper, silver-haired messiah—“His Holiness” Hogen Fukunaga, who promised Kikuchi long life and a place among the chosen when “the world falls apart.”

In the guru’s private chamber, an austere room with a ceiling of painted stars, Fukunaga, known to his followers as the Voice of Heaven, ordered Kikuchi to take off his socks so he could examine his feet.

"Your little toe is too short," the Voice of Heaven said. "It means your foot is out of balance. It means you have a health problem. Now let me check if the powers of heaven are flowing."

The kind of metaphysics preached by Fukunaga, 55, has attracted millions of Japanese, many disillusioned by the decline of Japan’s economy and the social displacement that has followed. Sociologists say many questionable spiritual organizations are operating in the vacuum created by a protracted recession that has eroded the confidence of this work-oriented society.

For generations, many Japanese workers believed that their future in their nation’s hierarchical corporate system was guaranteed and that their jobs would last forever.

These assumptions have been shattered.

Unemployment and economic uncertainty have created feelings of betrayal and insecurity that have led large numbers of Japanese on a search for spiritual guidance. In some cases, the search has led to membership in a cult.

"In Japan moral precepts have collapsed," said Masahiko Nakamura, a psychology professor at Ehime University. "Parents have lost authority. Teachers cannot control their students. Older people have naught to cling to. Nothing has replaced the old spiritual education since the war, and no one has taught us about God or the power behind mankind. The Japanese are lost. We don’t have the Christian belief that God is watching over us," he said.

The search for a new credo and an alternative to corporate cradle-to-grave security has spawned a bevy of individuals peddling their own weird brands of salvation. These spiritual gurus run organizations structured on the corporate system of strict hierarchy. Most seem determined to export their credos to branch offices abroad.

The worst of these organizations are the doomsday cults. Secretive and often brutal in preventing desertions, they prophesy Armageddon or promote a “new world order.”

The public was reminded just how dangerous some of these groups can be when a Tokyo court last year sentenced to death two members of the Aum Shinri Kyo for their role in planting sarin nerve gas on the Tokyo subway in 1995 and cyanide in public toilets a year earlier.

The most notorious of the doomsday gurus is Shoko Asahara, 44, now on trial for murder in the subway attack. The incident allegedly was part of a plan to destroy the “old world” and make room for a new creation—populated by Asahara’s disciples.

Police were told Asahara was trained by the Agon-shu sect.

Fifty members of the Unification Church sect allegedly joined Aum, including arms dealer Kiyohide Hayakawa.

Another cult, Sukyo Mahikari, sees Japan as the cradle of a new world order. Yoshikazu Okada, who reinvented himself as “Savior of Mankind,” founded the group. Today it has branches worldwide, including in the U.S.

Okada was exposed before his death in 1974 as the lieutenant colonel in the Japanese Imperial Army who devised the strategy for the so-called Rape of Nanking, in which Japanese troops allegedly murdered 300,000 Chinese and raped 20,000 women after conquering the Chinese city in 1937.

In an effort to crack down on sects, Japanese police in November charged Koji Takahashi, founder of the Life Space Cult, with the murder of a 66-year-old follower. When the member suffered a brain hemorrhage, the guru tried to cure him by beating on the patient’s head.

During a raid on Takahashi’s Tokyo headquarters, police found young children who had been kept out of school and being fed only once a day.

Meanwhile, Fukunaga has been charged with fraud and illegally practicing medicine.

Kikuchi recalls that Fukunaga circled him, touched his head a few times and finally said: “Your energy is stagnant. Only 30 percent flows, 70 percent is stationary. It means something bad can happen to you anytime unless you follow our instructions.”

All Kikuchi, 69, had been looking for was a cure for his high blood pressure.

Yet he was impressed, not so much by the pledge of long life or the diagnosis but by the photos in the guru’s outer office. They appeared to show Fukunaga shaking hands with world figures including President Clinton, Pope John Paul II, Mother Teresa and Mikhail Gorbachev.

What happened during the next 12 months to Kikuchi is not unusual for victims of neo-religious cults and sects anywhere in the world. He lost his self-respect and some $150,000 to the Ho-No-Hana Sanpopogyo—Way of the Flower/Three-Teachings cult.

The so-called foot cult was founded by Fukunaga, who wears $5,000 suits and custom-made Italian shoes. His wife, according to senior cult members, regularly spent $6,000 to $7,000 a month shopping.

Before he was allowed to see Fukunaga, Kikuchi was taken to an automatic teller machine near the cult’s Tokyo office and told to withdraw $1,800 for a personal audience.

Kikuchi was a man of means. He owned several restaurants in this small coastal town 50 miles south of Tokyo. Today he claims he was coerced during a number of visits by cult officials to shell out another $22,000 for a five-day training seminar at the cult’s sprawling headquarters below Mt. Fuji.

The purpose, he said, was to “purify” his mind and body.

"I was a fool," said a rueful Kikuchi. "I paid all that money to be brainwashed and tortured. The instructors kept 28 of us awake day and night, making us repeat Buddhist mantras, making us write mantras into a 100-page notebook and chorus for hours the guru’s seven commandments and the slogan: ‘I am happy and healthy, I’m happy and healthy…’ "

Any lack of enthusiasm was punished with latrine cleaning.

At the end of the seminar, tired, groggy and ready to accept or do anything, the trainees were asked to state if their minds had been liberated. Kikuchi said he felt no different.

"So they retrained me twice and all the other trainees started screaming and yelling at me until I admitted I now felt different. They are very determined people and made me sign a piece of paper pledging to recruit someone else within 72 hours. I would have signed anything," he said.

He recruited his wife. She paid another $22,000 and recruited their daughter-in-law who in turn recruited her husband, who, in desperation to find a recruit, offered as trainees his three children ages 9, 11 and 13.

"It didn’t stop there," Kikuchi said. "They told me to join a private school at 7 million yen [$6,900] per adult. But we had become suspicious by then. The Voice of Heaven never told us anything about the future. All he ever said was: `Who can you bring to us next?’

"Before he went to the seminar my son was in debt already for $100,000. But the Voice of Heaven told him he would recover everything if he joined. Today my son is broke and I am poor," Kikuchi said.

Two years ago Kikuchi and a group of other former followers sued His Holiness. Their suit is one of hundreds waiting to be litigated.

In May, police arrested the guru and 11 of his senior associates. Prosecutors charged them with practicing medicine without a license.

Investigators said that over the past decade the cult accumulated cash and assets worth $870 million from 30,000 members who paid consultation fees and bought fake remedies and icons peddled as cures for anything and everything.

So far 1,100 former followers have filed lawsuits claiming damages totaling $546 million. A court in central Fukuoka district already has awarded one group damages totaling $227,000.

Fukunaga might yet face manslaughter charges in the deaths of four recruits who died during rigorous initiation rites at Mt. Fuji.

Legal experts say Japan’s criminal justice system is ill equipped to combat the cult phenomenon.

"The biggest question is on what basis will the authorities decide whether this is fraud," said Takashi Hirohashi, editor of the monthly New Religions magazine.

Following his arrest, Fukunaga exploited this dilemma. He simply told investigators he could no longer remember what the divine voice had told him.

Worse, he said, he wasn’t receiving any more instructions.

http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2001-01-05/news/0101050185_1_gurus-new-world-order-spiritual

FFWPU and Aum Shinrikyo connections

[evanongraham]

Karen Graham believed that her days as the "Estee Lauder girl" were long behind her. After all, she was retired from modeling and had spent most of the past decade at her country home in upstate New York, teaching the sport she loves: fly-fishing. Then, "out of the blue" in the summer of 1998, Lauder senior vice president Robert Luzzi called her up. "Would you be interested in doing another ad campaign for us?" he asked. Graham was surprised, pleased and excited. Then she had "this moment of terror," as she puts it. "Do you know how old I am?" she asked. Exactly the point: Luzzi did know. That's why he wanted Graham to be the face for Lauder's Resilience Lift Creme, a skin-care product designed for women "in their 40s, 50s and beyond." It was a campaign that the current "Lauder girl," Elizabeth Hurley, wasn't right for -- at 34, she is just too young. So, at age 54, Karen Graham is back in modeling -- but this time, you can call her the "Estee Lauder woman." "I felt so relieved that I didn't have to try to look younger, prettier," Graham says. "I could be me. And be happy and confident of it. "There is beauty at every age. Just because I don't look 22 anymore doesn't mean that I don't look beautiful anymore." While the years have indeed slipped by, some things about Graham have barely changed since the days when she graced innumerable Lauder print ads shot by Victor Skrebneski. The Mississippi native and Sorbonne graduate still is a beauty, with the fine features and slender bones that inspired modeling matriarch Eileen Ford to hire her after they met by chance on the stairs at Bonwit Teller. Her delicate looks so captivated legendary photographer Irving Penn that he insisted Vogue editor Diana Vreeland hire her for a fashion spread despite Graham's relatively small frame. ("I have to really stretch to reach 5-8," she says.) Grace Mirabella, Vreeland's successor, put her on Vogue's cover many times and helped make Graham one of the most recognized faces of the 1970s. She quit modeling in 1985, when she was 40, to concentrate on rearing her son from a short-lived second marriage. "I had made up my mind, early on in my career, that I was going to retire when I was on top in my profession," she says. Few people could have guessed what her next profession would be. She had gotten her first fly rod as a Christmas gift in the early '70s. "My brother gave me that fly rod, and that was the beginning of a lifelong passion for the sport," she says. In 1991, she moved 100 miles from Manhattan and bought a 17th-century stone cottage in Rosendale, N.Y. There she has four wooded acres of peace and privacy. And yes, a river runs through it. Thanks to the fact that she had saved much of her earnings as a model, Graham was able to turn her beloved hobby into a career. With her business partner, Bert Darrow, she runs a fly-fishing school that introduces novices to the sport. Despite countless hours spent standing in a trout stream, her fair skin looks remarkably untanned and clear. Graham gives the credit to Lauder's Futurist foundation and concealer cream (which she uses for daily protection) as well as to decades of conscientiously wearing hats and sunscreen. When she was modeling full time, "most of my bread-and- butter was beauty work," she says, and she had to protect her complexion in order to be "the Lauder girl" for 15 years. That scrupulous care has paid off, 30 years later, with a face that can still take the camera's scrutiny with ease. "That's proof positive that environmental aging is preventable," says Graham. Looking good on the outside is important -- but, she adds, feeling good on the inside is even more essential. Time has moved on. Her son now is a college junior, and thus not much younger than his mother was when she became a celebrity. But for Graham, these years are joyous: rich with opportunities to travel, to learn, to grow. "You know, I wouldn't trade all these wrinkles to be 22 again," says Graham. "Or, let's just say, the gray hairs. "Instead of thinking of what is over, think of what's beginning. It's the beginning of a new freedom. It's time to enjoy life."

[tweetadvise]

Kim Krause Berg Predicts 2014 The Year of Buzz (Lightyear)

It looks like the other day when my concept of fun was making client sites move up and down Alta Panorama search results page after a code change and web page refresh.

December is known for too many traits, like holidays, times off, fourth quarter tax obligations and also snow. For we internet individuals, it's likewise a time to examine as well as the regular and also twisted Google roller coaster formulas and every word Matt Cutts delivered to his search engine marketing flock. This is the time where we examine the past and contemplate the future, make forecasts and also examine those from in 2013 to see that won or lost.

This year I chose to make some predictions of my own. Since no one predicted Jill Whalen would ever retire from her search engine optimization profession, I really feel risk-free in jumping in with mine just to see if my Zen Mother visionary abilities are razor sharp.

1. I predict that PubCon will FINALLY have a local workshop in Philly or a surrounding residential area so I can drive there as well as conserve money on flights.

2. The backlash versus Google will certainly continuously become an underground activity of defectors. I don't think these fed-up folks will run to Bing or Yahoo!. Rather, they will rally around a new online search engine being constructed in the below ground caverns of Mt. Shasta with the help of unusual technology contributed by Star People that have been enjoying this whole point and making fun of us.

3. WordPress has had its heyday. New blogging systems that are simpler to use are already below. Why? We obtained money grubbing, okay? WordPress was for bloggers, not venture material monitoring systems with bells as well as whistles and widgets for designs. Yeah. Blog writers are back! Remember them? The story-tellers from 14 years ago are visiting make a massive return. Which reminds me of the moment years ago when I discovered the blog site of some New York gigolo who had problem with his sweetheart, that evidently screamed louder than any of his clients. I romance like that!

4. You know I'm going to claim it so I'll simply being it done and out of the way so we can relocate on. Usability will certainly be also much more essential that ever! Why? Due to the fact that 'customers' that utilize websites are people. People have brains with nerve cells as well as require information. Individuals have credit rating cards as well as PayPal as well as need to get stuff. Internet search engine crawlers have neither.

5. "She's breaking up, Captain" My feeling is that we're ill as well as fed up with really feeling tired the consistent attack of privacy invasion, hacking, spam and all the uglies that turned internet site possession as well as sharing our lives on Facebook a real begin the pants. I anticipate we are likelying to hide. This is a true disaster.

6. You laugh. Believe concerning it. We that possess, make use of, develop or market internet sites resemble the toys in Plaything Story that just intend to be loved. Our intentions are to please our clients, viewers, clients and also close friends with our day to day humanbeingness. We never ever asked for our info to be taken or sold. We definitely never ever permitted to be tracked, traced, snooped on and also tracked by every engine, cookie, robot and remote visitor available. I forecast we will 'surrender' until we feel secure as well as we will not really feel by doing this up until points change with the Net. We will pick that we have fun with, however.

7. "To infinity and beyond." I visualize 2014 as The Year of Buzz and The Year of Mrs. Nesbitt. When we establish new areas where we really feel risk-free or fortify existing ones, we will fly. Online communities are making a significant return for the straightforward factor that people are tribal in nature. SEOChat, Cre8asiteforums and Webmasterworld are growing because there are no ads glued almost everywhere and also disturbances out the gazoo. Blog sites that are simple are going back to an audience that simply intends to read. I anticipate brand-new upright neighborhoods and internet sites with less sound, more compound, and an eager and speedy army of people securing the property from intrusive internet marketing tactics, cyberpunks, and so on. The drunken Buzz Lightyear's among you all will use your lovely aprons, call yourselves Mrs. Nesbitt and also serve up the very same old website crap. Snap from it!

8. That will retire next? I have an intestine feeling concerning a famous Boykin dude who, after building the largest Web marketing company on the planet, with the added sense to consist of usability and conversions style and screening to the hill of services, reveals he is dead, records messages in video backwards, relocates to a private island he loving names 'Apple' and also re-writes the verses to 'Let it Be' while watching the waves on the coastline with his brand-new Google Glasses. Wait. I have him puzzled with Paul, or John. Foolish me.

[taxtheman-blog]

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THE Politics of SILENCE and SOUND.

In 1996, cyber-libertarian John Perry Barlow issued his “Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace.” He told governments. “You have no moral right to rule us, nor do you posses any methods of enforcement that we have true reason for fear”.

CITIZENS OF THE WORLD, cast your mind back to 1980, 1980! I hear you say? Yes I know, I know but stick with me fellow citizens, stick with me.  Now, does the expression “KNEEL BEFORE ZOD!” sound familiar to you?  Okay, well for those who didn’t quite catch the subliminal‘Predictive programming’ messaging, in the 1980 (pop culture) Movie SuperMan. … Allow me to jog your memory.

General Zod  “You will bow down before me, Jor-El! Both you and then one day, your heir!” swears  powered seditionist General Zod, as he and his fellow black-leather-clad insurrectionist are sentenced by Kryptonian scientist Jor El to an eternity in the otherworldly prison called the Phantom Zone. A vindictive Zod and his subordinates Ursa and Non are accidentally freed years later by a nuclear explosion in space.  Arriving on  Earth, which they first believe to be “Planet Houston” after an ill-fated (for the astronauts) encounter with a moon-walking NASA crew, these cold-hearted conquerors from Krypton -with the same powers as Superman-plow over cities and armies and even humble the president of the United States before Superman, whilst canoodling with Louis Lane at his artic Fortress of Solitude during Zod’s siege returns to save the day. Stamps’ General Zod demanded that his subjects kneel and swear eternal allegiance, but even that offered no guarantee that this aspirant deity would not kill them”.

The excerpt you have just read, given (as we have come to learn, more and more each day) of the wide ranging steps ‘similarly’ being imposed by current “cold-hearted”, dictatorial and /or tyrannical creeds of shadow governments, to both curb and standardise our FREEDOM OF SPEECH (at such an alarming rate)  I would argue, could not be more further from the truth.  Most notably of course, was the horrific arrest ( in full view of the world) of Julian Assange.  indeed with the “Kryptonians” dishing out ever more encroaching authoritative commands, one can’t help but pose the question.  ..Are WE (in the 21st century) now really at the point of kneeling before Zod?   ..”Hence it is reasonably understood in the world of fiction writing, that most of what is conveyed largely plays out in reality”.

Equally, another example was Facebook shutting down ( by orders of the US government) of social media accounts such as that of Minister Louis Farrakhan. And other truth tellers (who dared to confront unwarranted corporate and  geopolitical narratives), causing international condemnation from all sides of the truth-telling movement.  In addition, Facebooks’ utter contempt regarding account holders privacy also came into question, including the alleged involvement with Cambridge Analytica, mounting more  cause for concern.  Moreover, Youtube (in cahoot) has began waging its ‘all out assault’ on censoring certain types of channels.  Starting IN PARTICULAR, with pioneers who have come to be known as “The New Voices of Black Media” such as;  ProfBlackTruth( founder), The FURHER and TARIQ GNASHED ( to name but a few).  Unfortunately for them though it doesn’t stop there, because they have ‘quite disgustingly’ now been deemed by the F.B.I and the US GOVERNMENT as, “Black Identity Extremist” ( B.I.E.) in short.  ..As George Orwell quite aptly, (I’m sure you’ll agree) put it  “that in an age of universal deceit, speaking the truth is now considered to be an act of treason”.

During an interview in April of this year, Pink Floyds frontman and activist Roger Waters, said this; “All you need (to be a journalist) is somebody who has access to a printing press or ’nowadays’ the internet where you give information to your fellow citizens of the world (any information, doesn’t matter what it is).  But the most important information that WE THE CITIZENS OF THE WORLD including Julian Assange need is information about the secret malfeasance and wrong doings of our governments, which are legend.”

On the Albion shores, aka the UK ( the most surveyed country on the Planet) It is understood erroneous plans are being implemented, which are set to roll out a ‘Communist China -the model state for the world’, facial recognition and credit scoring system’ over the coming years. Gosh! ..is the system George Orwell ‘factiously’ outlined in 1984, now a reality?

In my view, there is no doubt that a very strong and clear message ‘by the geopolitical classes’ (which has no place in a democracy) that is being sent here, indeed not only to the ‘very few’ last remaining vestiges of truth tellers being silenced to-date, but more worryingly the message to US ALL,  is that their “black -leather -cladded boots” are now so firmly pressed on our necks, in terms of ( what we can or cannot do, say and /or go) that ostensibly, WE have no other choice than to ‘PUT UP or SHUT UP’!  ..That is of course unless;

“WE THE CITIZENS OF THE WORLD” by choice or consent, “Comply to The LIE”?

“THIS MANUFACTURED BUSINESS? THIS ORCHESTRATED SYSTEM? IS AN ASSAULT ON OUR SENSORS. ASSAULT THE CENSORS!”  

 TAX.THE MAN. ‘ASSAULT THE CENSORS’: THE NEW SINGLE ‘including BONUS REMIX Track ‘SPEECHCRIME’:  Out September 21 available @: http://taxtheman.bandcamp.com

TAX.THE MAN Online

https://taxtheman.tumblr.com

https://instagram.com/iamtaxtheman

https://www.soundcloud.com/tax-the-man - Stream Preview of the new SINGLE - ‘Assault The Censors’  September 14

                                          also Available:  September 21                                 in collaboration with PUBLICPROTECTION                                               NEW! Limited Edition, original, edgy and thought provokingly artistic t-shirts, socks & wall tapestry, designed by TAX.THE MAN @:                                                                  https://teespring.com/stores/publicprotection

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

11 Questions

**RULES ** · Always post the rules · Answer the questions given by the person who tagged you · Write 11 questions of your own · Tag 11 people (or however many you want)

Stole this from @slashyrogue​ because I thought it looked fun X3

1. Favourite fantasy book? Or favourite book if fantasy is not your kind of thing? Oh mannnn... the books of my childhood ^^; I mean... yes? All of them? As a standalone, Beauty by Robin McKinley is one of my favorites and my favorite retelling of Beauty and the Beast.

2. Where do you most want to travel to? In general? A lot of places. There’s a lot of beauty in the world, it would be a precious treasure to see it. Specifically? House on the Rock, Wisconsin. Looks FABULOUS. MUST SEE.

3. A fic or story that impressed you deeply and why? Uhhhhh... fuck me. 

Reaching DEEP into my past Odalisque by Bailey was probably one of the most influential fics of my coming of age. Not the first slash fic I ever read, but one of the best. I learned new words from it! Hell, this fic single-handedly created Faramir/Eomer as my favorite LOTR crackship. And it STUNNINGLY, ABSURDLY WORKS. (Yeah, this is SO OLD, I originally read it on a geocities website. YEAH. Yeah. Let that just... sink in.)

My Fine Feathered Friend by Lixxle is still one of my all time favorite comfort fics in the whole goddamn world. I don’t think I can go more than a year without rereading it. It’s just so pure and good and gives me the warm feels. And, you know, it’s impressive on its own to have a fic who can do that for you perpetually, no matter what happens to you. That’s impressive. (Also presented to you in its original deviantART format. I have stared into the abyss, friends. And the abyss stared back.)

Speaking of fics I will never get over and always return to, The Crane Wife by x! Not only did this fic introduce me to the beauty that is Five/Ainley, it introduced me to The Decemberists, which was life changing, and it has forever embedded in my mind how EXCELLENT a slave trope can be. I mean... this fic changed me. And in my opinion, it is x’s best work, which is no small feat as one of the greatest Best Enemies writers I’ve ever read. (Also also presented in its original livejournal format. I’ve been doing this a LONG fucking time friends. A long. long. fucking time.)

Honorable Mentions: A BloodRed Rose for Legolas (long... long embarrassing story from the bad old days of FF.net when I was about 13. It has since been taken down, I’m sure, for similar embarrassment on the part of the author. Although I distantly remember the title being changed... but no, I am not spending my evening tracking it down, sorry ^^;)

Alis Grave Nil by ombredelarue (even unfinished, it stands as a tremendous work. Before I had Hannibal, I had Doctor Who. And I had Doctor/Master. And I had TenSimms. And, let me tell you, Hannibal is not the first fandom nor will it be the last to ship the actor’s characters from other fandoms. Before I had Spacedogs, I had this. And it’s beautiful.)

The Pull of One Magnet to Another by ellie_hell (I’m no longer in the Sherlock fandom for Every Possible Reason. But, this is a very sweet, very well-written fic that if you ever cared for the character of John and Sherlock, I’d recommend reading. It can’t be any worse than the show at any rate)

4. Favourite show character? I mean... j-just one? You’re... you’re kidding right. You’re kidding.

There’s... Hannibal and Mad Sweeney and Frank Castle and Count Olaf. There’s Garnet and Annie Edison and Jane Eyre and Martha Jones. To name a few.

5. If you could only save one book in the apocalypse, what would it be? I’m gonna play by Fahrenheit 451 rules and assume that EVERYONE gets to pick one book to memorize. And I would take Moby Dick and the reason I would take Moby Dick is because 1) now no one else has to suffer trying to memorize it, 2) if you forget the past, you’re doomed to repeat it and I AIN’T DOING THIS WHITE WHALE BULLSHIT TWICE, and 3) it’s a genuinely good book about the impetuous folly and tragic pride of humanity. And given this is the apocalypse, I feel like humility is a lesson humanity could stand to remember : |

6. If you could change one thing about yourself or the world what would it be? Clean energy. Instantly. If there was one thing I could fix today, overnight, that’s what I would do.

About myself, uhhh... motivation to exercise ^^; Also A Job.

7. What do you do for inspiration if you’re feeling blocked or low? I get some musics. Musics is good for my mental state, especially new stuff. I find radio stations imperative for this because I don’t know what I’ll get. And even if I hate it, that will give me inspiration, something to think about, a new stimulus.

8. What would be your patronus / dæmon / spirit animal? I always like to think of something perfectly harmless that just wants to make its way in the world. Like a whale or a butterfly or a pangolin. I’m extremely protective of creatures who are uniquely ill-equipped to defend themselves against humans. And the whale is fantastically intelligent and develops strong familial bonds, they are long-lived and sing to each other, they’re just majestic ocean giants who do their best to regulate their home. Or butterflies, who are beautiful at no cost to anyone and are vital to the continued existence of pretty much everything on the planet. Or pangolins, who just want to be left alone to eat bugs at night and otherwise hide in trees. All precious sweethearts who are just doing their best. I’d like to be one of them.

9. What trait to you value in a friend more than any other? Understanding is a pretty good answer, really, I’m gonna steal it.

10. A quote you always loved and want to share? I know a lot of good ones... hard to choose. But there’s nothing wrong with a classic:

“We cannot choose where we will love.” -- Susan Kay

11. What is your favourite thing about yourself (don’t be shy!) Uh, well, today I took a quiz that told me my Homeric epithet is a “great teller of stories” and I’m always touched when people like my stories and tell me I”m a good story-teller. I value the ability to tell a story quite highly and if I managed to meet that qualification some of the time... that’s pretty great c:

Tagging: anyone who wants to do it, seriously, it’s a good time, you should do it and tag me if you do c:

[papermoonloveslucy]

Lucy and the Great Bank Robbery

S3;E5 ~ October 19, 1964

Synopsis

When Lucy rents out Viv's room to two gentlemen visiting for the World's Fair, they turn out to be bank robbers who stash the loot in Viv's mattress.  

Regular Cast

Lucille Ball (Lucy Carmichael), Gale Gordon (Theodore J. Mooney), Vivian Vance (Vivian Bagley), Candy Moore (Chris Carmichael), Jimmy Garrett (Jerry Carmichael) and Ralph Hart (Sherman Bagley)

This is Ralph Hart's first appearance in season 3.  This is the first time the entire regular cast has been together since “Ethel Merman and the Boy Scout Show” (S2;E19).  

Guest Cast

John Williams (Carter Harrison) was born in England in 1903. He is perhaps best known for his role as Chief Inspector Hubbard in Dial M for Murder, a role he played on Broadway, in Alfred Hitchcock's classic 1954 film, and on television in 1958. From 1924 to 1970 he appeared in more than 30 Broadway plays, winning a Tony Award in 1953. This was his only appearance opposite Lucille Ball.  

On "Here's Lucy" Gale Gordon will also play a character named Harrison Carter.

Lloyd Corrigan (Gordon Bentley) was a portly character actor who played bit parts in silent movies before switching his attention to writing and directing. He returned to acting in the 1940s, appearing in two films with Lucille Ball. He first appeared as Mr. Holly in “Lucy Puts Up a TV Antenna” (S1;E9).  He will return for “Lucy the Choirmaster” (S4;E13).    

In the end credits, John Williams is listed as playing Bentley and Lloyd Corrigan as Harrison. When the characters introduce themselves to Lucy, they say the reverse.

Roy Rowan (Radio Announcer) was the off-camera announcer for every episode of “My Favorite Husband”, “I Love Lucy” as well as “The Lucy Show” and “Here’s Lucy.” He was also the voice heard when TV or radio programs were featured on the plot of all three shows. He was first heard announcing the TV football game in “Lucy is a Referee” (S1;E3). His first on-camera appearance was in “Lucy Takes Up Golf” (S2;E17).  

Hazel Pierce (Bank Customer) was Lucille Ball’s camera and lighting stand-in throughout “I Love Lucy.” She also made frequent appearances on the show. Of her many on-camera appearances on “The Lucy Show” only once was she given a character name and credited, in “Lucy Plays Cleopatra” (S1;E1). She was also an uncredited extra in the film Forever Darling (1956).

Uncredited background performers play the police officers, bank staff and customers.  

This episode was written by Bob Schiller and Bob Weiskopf.  Although they departed the series as regular writers in season two, Lucille Ball convinced them to contribute several scripts to season 3.

This episode was filmed on June 4, 1964, before the production went on hiatus for the summer. It was aired out of filming sequence.  

The night this episode first aired, “The Lucy Show” was aired opposite “The Andy Williams Show” on NBC, which featured frequent “Lucy” guest star Tennessee Ernie Ford.

Viv and Lucy discuss Ralph Bagley, Vivian's ex-husband.

The two boarders claim they're in Danfield for the nearby 1964 World's Fair held in New York City.  The New York World’s Fair was held in Flushing Meadow, Queens, opening on April 22, 1964, just three weeks after this episode first aired. It closed on October 17, 1965, although it was not open during the winter months of 1964/65. It was first mentioned in “Lucy and the Scout Trip” (S2;E26). Due to the great influx of tourists to Queens during the Fair, it was not uncommon for residents to rent rooms to visitors. 

August 31, 1964 was Lucy Day at the World’s Fair! Ball was treated to a parade through the fairgrounds, a VIP tour, and an honorary luncheon and performance. 

Chris mentions The Beatles. The day this episode was filmed (June 4, 1964) The Beatles began their first and only world concert tour starting with a performance in Copenhagen. The Beatles were previously mentioned in “Lucy and the Plumber” (S3;E2).  

Bentley calls Harrison the "Bard of the bandits." Only a few months before this, John Williams (Harrison), had played William Shakespeare, 'the bard of Stratford-upon-Avon,' on “The Twilight Zone.” This is the second episode in a row to mention the CBS sci-fi anthology series.

Harrison says he wants to stop robbing banks and rob art galleries instead: “Imagine pilfering a Picasso.”  Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) is regarded as one of the greatest and most influential artists of the 20th century. He is known for co-founding the cubist movement and the invention of constructed sculpture. He was previously mentioned Picasso in “Lucy Builds a Rumpus Room” (S1;E11) and “Lucy Decides To Redecorate” (S2;E8).  

The two boarders also wonder about robbing drive-in banks: “Just toot for the loot and scoot.” The first drive-in bank window dates back to 1928. The post-World War II spurt in automotive sales saw steady growth in drive-up banking.  

This is the fourth time we have seen Viv’s bedroom and each time the layout has changed. In this episode, the bed has been moved across the room. In all four episodes, however, Viv has the same headboard. Before the remodeling in “Lucy Decides to Redecorate” (S2;E8), the painting above the dresser was on the living room wall.

Viv's lumpy mattress was previously the subject of “Lucy and Her Electric Mattress” (S1;E12).  

Lucy thinks the cash in the mattress belongs to Viv, calling her Mrs. J.P. Morgan. John Pierpont Morgan (1837–1913) was an American financier and banker who dominated corporate finance and industrial consolidation in late 19th and early 20th century.

Reading The Danfield Tribune, Viv notes that Oscar the butcher has a special on rump roast.  This is the third butcher to be mentioned on the series.  The first was Ernie (Joe Mell) in “Together for Christmas” (S1;E13). The second was Mr. Krause (Tom G. Linder) in “Lucy and the Plumber” (S3;E2).  

Viv says the all those henna rinses have finally pickled Lucy's brain. Henna Rinse was the dye that Lucille Ball (and Lucy Ricardo) used to keep her hair its distinctive orange color. Bear in mind that TV viewers still had not seen Lucy's red hair because CBS had yet to air “The Lucy Show” in color!  

The robbers stole $8,500 dollars from the bank's safe. The radio announcer (Roy Rowan) says the theft would not normally have been reported until Monday, but Mr. Mooney showed up at his desk, forgetting that it was Saturday. This neatly closes a loophole in the plot and earns a laugh from the studio audience.  

Of course, Lucy immediately assumes Viv stole the cash.  Lucy compare her to Ma Barker. Kate Barker (1873– 1935) was the mother of several criminals who ran the Barker gang. She traveled with her sons during their criminal careers. FBI director J. Edgar Hoover described her as "the most vicious, dangerous and resourceful criminal brain of the last decade." Her legend was kept alive by the 1960 feature film Ma Barker's Killer Brood starring “I Love Lucy” veterans Lurene Tuttle (“The Club Election” ILL S2;E19), Tristram Coffin (Harry Munson) and Paul Dubov (“The Handcuffs” ILL S2;E6). Ma Barker was parodied as Ma Parker in a 1970 episode of “Here's Lucy” starring Carole Cook as the maternal criminal.  

Viv asks Lucy to “stop acting like a mystery guest” and explain her accusations. 'Mystery guests' were participants in the CBS TV quiz show “What's My Line” (1950 to 1967). Lucille Ball appeared on the show numerous times.  

Callbacks!

When Lucy hides the loot under her baggy sweater and stretch pants, her look is similar to when Lucy Ricardo tried to smuggle raw eggs under her clothes in “Lucy Does the Tango” (ILL S6;E20).  

Blooper Alerts!

Beauty Sleep!  At the start of the episode Viv says that she is not wearing any makeup, but it's obvious that Vivian Vance is wearing both eye makeup and lipstick.

Name That Tune! At least on the official 3rd Season DVD, the music heard on Jerry's portable radio is definitely not The Beatles. Sometimes licenses for music expire and producers must replace the original soundtrack with a royalty-free version. Whether that is the case here remains unclear.

Seeing Double! The bank seems to have two adjacent bulletin boards, each with the exact same notices posted on them.

Stray Props! When Lucy's grocery bags break (as well as the robbers' shopping bags), a couple of items are left underfoot in front of the teller window.  

Crash Prevention! When Lucy is turning the mattress in Viv's room, she nearly knocks over the lamp on the bedside table. Lucille Ball takes a moment to steady it before continuing.

Door is Ajar! When the thieves return from the World’s Fair, they leave the front door open. This may have been intentional to facilitate the easy entrance of Mr. Mooney and the policemen.  

“Lucy and the Great Bank Robbery” rates 4 Paper Hearts out of 5 

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: Andrew Offutt, The Broken Sword, Walt Simonson, Siege of Malta, Lovecraft Lunch Bags

Authors (The Silver Key): Andrew J. Offutt was a complex, deeply flawed man. A resident of rural Kentucky, Offutt was a husband and a father who supported his family with a successful insurance business, a job which he did not love and ultimately abandoned to make the bold leap into full-time writing. He was at one time a promising science fiction writer. He also subjected his children to emotional neglect, held baseless grudges against various personages, lacked a full emotional maturity and cohesive personality, and held a life-long obsession with pornography.

New Release (DMR Books): Next week will see the release of the 20th title from DMR Books. After publishing numerous excellent authors past and present, for the first time I’ll get to release a collection of my own writings! Necromancy in Nilztiria contains thirteen stories of adventure and wonder with a touch of gallows humor. A few of the tales have appeared before in other publications, but most will see print here for the first time (including “A Twisted Branch of Yggdrasil,” which was supposed to be included in the ill-fated Flashing Swords #6).

Fiction (Dark Herald): It was written in 1954, you can tell it was written in 1954 because it couldn’t be written today. This is a work of high tragedy that is strongly influenced by the Norse sagas.  If you like Game Thrones but would prefer that it be written by a non-sadist that can actually fit a story that should only take two hundred pages, into two hundred pages.  This is the book for you.

  RPG (Kairos): A speculative element is what sets the genres of science fiction, fantasy, and horror apart from literary fiction. There’s no element more speculative than magic, and it’s become a common term of art to speak of an SFF universe’s “magic system”. By reader request, here is my philosophy of magic in genre fiction–with advice on how to handle magic in your secondary world.

    Lovecraft (Tentaculii): So, kiddies, it’s back to school on Tuesday 1st September. Here are a few suggestions for last-minute rush-orders for school stuff, to arrive Monday. All available now on eBay… The H.P. Lovecraft shoulder bag for all your stuff, robust in black and blood red…

History (Compagnia san Michele blog): A common misconception is that the siege of Malta of 1565 was a one-on-one battle between an army of Hospitaller Knights against an all-Turkish invasion force. The opposing forces, in reality, were composed of troops hailing from a number of locations. In this write-up we will look at some foreign forces assisting the Order of St John in the defence of Malta. According to contemporary sources such as the diary of Francisco Balbi di Correggio, who served as a harquebusier during the siege, and from later historiography such as the work of Giacomo Bosio, the total defending force comprised of approximately the following:

Art & Philosophy (Chrislans Down): Over at Amatopia, Alexander Hellene discusses nihilism, primarily in art. It’s a good post, worth reading. There’s one segment of it that I want to discuss, though, because I think that it somewhat misses the bigger picture. There are two ways in which this misses the bigger picture.

Fiction (Amatopia): The Fall of Hyperion may as well be titled Hyperion: Part Two, as it picks up right where the first book in Dan Simmons’s Hyperion Cantos abruptly ends. Yet The Fall of Hyperion doesn’t merely pick up the story, it runs with it into wild, exciting directions before delivering a deeply satisfying conclusion that actually resolves mysteries while creating a few new ones to propel the narrative into the final two books of the series.

Pulp Science Fiction (Pulp.Net): Ray Cummings (1887-1957) is one of the “founding fathers” of pulp science fiction who unfortunately never got out of the “pulp getto.” During his career he wrote some 750 works, most for the pulps, and mostly science fiction. I was surprised to learn he had written quite a bit outside of sf. His most well-known work is Girl in the Golden Atom. This was his first original professional sale as the short story “Girl in the Golden Atom” in All-Story Weekly in 1919.

Science Fiction (Porpor Books): ‘Cestus Dei’ (283 pp) was published by Tor Books in June 1983. The cover art is by Kevin Eugene Johnson. This novel first was published, in greatly shortened form, as a hardback book titled ‘The Strayed Sheep of Charun’, issued by Doubleday / The Science Fiction Book Club in 1977. ‘Charon’ was John Maddox Roberts’s (b. 1947) first published novel. Roberts went on to be a prolific sci-fi and fantasy author during the 80s, 90s, and 2000s, writing novels for the Dragonlance and Conan franchises, as well as for his own ‘SPQR’, ‘Stormlands’, ‘Cingulum’, and ‘Island Worlds’ properties.

History (Western Fictioneers): Happy National Rum Day! This Sunday (August 16) is National Rum Day. I felt inspired to write an article about my personal favorite form of alcohol – along with some other libations your character would have been exposed to in the Old West. The first North American distillery began making rum in present-day Staten Island, New York (or New Amsterdam) in 1664. The earliest spirits distilled in the colonies were rum, gin, and brandies.

Comic Books (Diversions of the Groovy Kind): Walt Simonson’s birthday was this past Wednesday. If you ever wondered how much Ol’ Groove loves the handiwork of Walter Simonson, just check out any of the 66 (this will make 67) posts he’s featured in here on DotGK! There’s a reason the Marvel Bullpen nick-named him “Wondrous”! Here’s a huge pile of spectacular Simonson masterworks for you to ooh and ah over–then go check out all those other posts to give it all some context–and yourself added joy! Happy 74th, Mr. Simonson! Groove City loves you tons!

Edgar Rice Burroughs (DMR Books): The two defining works of ERB’s career, A Princess of Mars (1912) followed shortly after by Tarzan of the Apes, hit the pulp readership of All-Story Magazine like a bombshell. Nobody had ever read anything quite like those novels. Movies and hardcovers soon followed. For the mass market impact, the movies were more important. However, the hardcovers allowed young, aspiring writers who never had a chance to read the original pulp appearances–authors like Robert E. Howard, C.L. Moore and Fritz Leiber–to devour the early Burroughs classics.

  Alt History (According to Quinn): One of the causes for the decline and fall of the (Western) Roman Empire is the revival of the old enemy Persia under the vigorous Sassanid dynasty. This gave Rome a major military threat to the east at the same time the Germanic tribes were growing larger and more organized and the weaknesses of the Roman imperial system (namely how the armies could make emperors in the provinces) were becoming apparent.

Pulp & Comic Books (Mens Pulp Mags): Lately, I’ve been on a Mike Shayne kick. My reading and watching involving that famed Miami-based Private investigator has led to a series of posts on this blog, starting one about the first appearance of a Mike Shayne story in a men’s adventure magazine, “The Naked Frame” in BLUEBOOK, February 1953. I blame my Shayne trip on my new friend Bill “Mad Pulp Bastard” Cunnigham and my old friend, novelist, editor and retromedia maven Paul Bishop.

RPG (Monsters and Manuals): Dickheads bring sexual content into a gaming session. This is one of the fairly large number of things that traditional conservatives and woke types can merrily agree on: don’t bring up the issue of sex unless you are really sure it’s appropriate. And never bring up the issue of rape at all, because: why are you doing that other than to either be deliberately edgy, or be a creep?

Dickheads hog the limelight. If you feel like you are talking too much, you probably are. If you don’t, you still probably are.

Fiction (Chrislans Down): Over on Twitter, Benjamin Kit Sun Cheah wrote a very interesting thread on Wuxia (Chinese heroes) and the meaning of this genre. He kindly gave me permission to quote it in full here since that’s much easier to read than a Twitter thread if you’re not used to Twitter.

Fiction (Paperback Warrior): Using a combination of the names Ian Fleming (James Bond) and Alistair MacLean (Where Eagles Dare), author Marvin Albert (1924-1996) conceived the pseudonym of Ian MacAlister in the early 1970s. The prolific author of crime-fiction, tie-in novels, and westerns authored many books under his own name as well as the names of Al Conroy and Nick Quarry. Conveniently, at the height of the 1970s high-adventure market, Albert used the MacAlister pseudonym to write four genre novels.

Paranormal and Fiction (Tellers of Weird Tales): Six months ago, before the world fell apart, I wrote about the evolution of the flying saucer from nineteenth-century airship to twentieth-century flying disk. Now I write again. It seems to me that the conceit of the nineteenth century was both progressive and romantic. The conceit was that Science, this new and exciting force, could be and would be used to solve previously intractable human problems. Airships were a symbol of this kind of thinking, the belief being that airships, because of their great power, would render war impossible to wage.

Crime Fiction (Pulp Serenade): I initially reviewed Ed Gorman and Martin H. Greenberg’s By Hook or By Crook, and 30 More of the Best Crime and Mystery Stories of the Year (2010, Tyrus Books) when it was new, and when we could count on new anthologies from its editors every year to highlight a fine array of stories from writers new and old, our favorite writers of today and tomorrow. How I miss those times. Cancer robbed readers of both of them, Greenberg first, in 2011, and Gorman in 2016.

Manga (Karavansara): Hiroaki Samura’s dark fantasy Blade of the Immortal was the last manga that I bought regularly before I decided it was too expensive a hobby, and I did not like the local fandom anyway. The fact that the Italian publisher of the series went belly up halfway through the comic’s run was also part of my decision to let it go, and with it let go of the whole hobby for a decade or two.

RPG (Skulls in the Stars): Operation Seventh Seal (1985), by Evan Robinson. Let’s look at an adventure from another TSR roleplaying game, Top Secret! Top Secret was introduced in 1980 as a contemporary espionage roleplaying game, designed by Merle M. Rasmussen and published by TSR. Looking back on playing Top Secret as a teen, I’m struck at how strange it is: it is effectively “spy D&D,” with a group of 4ish spies accomplishing missions. But can you imagine anything less practical than doing espionage as a *group*?

Sensor Sweep: Andrew Offutt, The Broken Sword, Walt Simonson, Siege of Malta, Lovecraft Lunch Bags published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

[frankterranella]

The ecstasy and the agony of life on the internet

One of the joys of the quarantine has been discovering the daily YouTube videos from veteran bassist Lee Sklar. Lee has been an L.A.-based musician for the last 50 years or so. He has worked constantly in all those years, and has appeared on thousands of songs recorded by people like James Taylor, Phil Collins, Jackson Browne, Hall and Oates, Toto and many, many others.

But Lee has been much more than a talented studio musician. He went out on tour with all these great musical stars. In fact, he has spent most of his life on the road. Recently, when he suddenly found himself with time on his hands due to the quarantine, friends told him to write his memoirs. After all, he was “in the room” when so many hit songs were recorded, and all that musical history should be documented. But the idea of sitting and writing was not appealing to him. So he came up with a better idea.

Lee sat down in front of his phone, turned on the camera, and started talking about his career. And then he did what he does best; he started playing his bass to recordings of songs he had played on. So here he was decades later, recreating the bass lines he had put down on songs like “Shower the People,” “Somebody’s Baby” and “Another Day in Paradise.” But more importantly, he was providing all the background stories about the creation of these and other great recordings. And that was the biggest surprise about someone who has spent his entire life in the background — Lee turned out to be a fabulous story teller.

I looked forward to watching his “show” every day and soon found out why all these great musicians have continued to hire him for the last half century. In one culturally appropriated word — he’s a mensch. Lee Sklar is a 73-year-old peace and love hippie who has maintained his liberal values when many others have sold out. He also hasn’t shaved his beard, so today he still looks like he could play bass for ZZ Top. In fact, he tells stories of children thinking he’s Santa Claus. And Lee, being the sweetheart he is, never disappoints them, but plays along with a twinkle in his eye at their parents.

So that’s why it is particularly galling to me that this incredible human being was banned from Facebook this week. What did he do wrong? He asked a question. He wondered aloud what sort of personal tragedy had befallen Mitch McConnell in his life to make him act as mean-spirited as he does. Sure that’s a passive-aggressive question like “how long have you been beating your wife” but does that merit social media banishment?

This idea that Facebook and other social media have to be safe places where never is heard a discouraging word is just misguided political correctness in my opinion. Liberals used to embrace the philosophy of John Stuart Mill enshrined in the First Amendment that speech should be protected and never be banned. They used to believe that the marketplace of ideas should be trusted to sort out the wheat from the chaff. But in the past quarter century or so, we have come to the idea that any public speech that just might offend someone, or even make them feel “uncomfortable,” must be banned. This is simply totalitarian in my mind.

I think that if Mark Zuckerberg wants Facebook to be a true virtual public meeting place, it must mirror the real world where occasionally you may hear something disagreeable. And I just don’t understand what the problem is. If you really don’t want to read what someone is saying on Facebook, it is easy to simply block or “unfriend” them. What’s more, it’s total hypocrisy to ban people like Lee Sklar and then allow Donald Trump to continue to spew hateful speech every day.

I guess we can blame Facebook’s attempt to protect us from anything upsetting on the rise of parents who feel it is their job to protect their children from anything that might upset them. The problem is that their children have now grown up and expect this protection from the world to be the norm. They expect “trigger warnings” at universities. They demand “safe spaces.”

Unfortunately, the world is not, and never will be, a safe place. So if we put our children in a safe space bubble, we are doing them a disservice. They will never learn to deal with the real world. It is only by forcing them to develop a filter that can distinguish truth from fiction that they can be healthy and intelligent citizens. If our society does not allow us to publicly call out evil deeds and evil doers, we are doomed.

Just as we combat illness by the antibodies that are created when we encounter a disease, so too we need to encounter evil and hear it discussed in order to develop minds that can tell the difference between people like Mitch McConnell and Lee Sklar. Facebook, and all other social media, do their users a disservice by engaging in censorship and depriving people of the chance to make their own evaluations.

Fortunately, his problems on Facebook have not stopped Lee Sklar from putting out his daily videos on YouTube. Well, that’s not entirely true. It seems YouTube has occasionally taken down videos of Lee playing bass to recordings he worked on. Why? They claim that his playing recordings of these songs written by others is copyright infringement. That’s completely unfounded as Sklar’s videos should be considered fair use as educational and commentary, but that’s a story for another day. It seems no good deed goes unpunished on the internet.

[dubsism]

Today’s Movie: Dog Day Afternoon

Year of Release: 1975

Stars: Al Pacino, John Cazale (#25 on my list of favorite actors), Penelope Allen

Director: Sidney Lumet

This movie is on my list of essential films.

NOTE: This installment of Sports Analogies Hidden In Classic Movies is not being done as part of a blog-a-thon.  Instead, this is a monthly event hosted by MovieRob called Genre Grandeur.  The way it works is every month MovieRob chooses a film blogger to pick a topic and a movie to write about, then also picks a movie for MovieRob to review.  At the end of the month, MovieRob posts the reviews of all the participants.

For June of 2020, the honor of being the “guest picker” went to  Paul of Silver Screen Classics. The topic is “New York Films of the 70’s.” Not only does my choice fit the theme, but it also takes place on Halloween.

The Story:

On a hot August afternoon in the “dog days” of summer, three first-time stick-up men attempt to knock over a Brooklyn bank.  Sonny (played by Al Pacino), Sal (played by John Cazale), and Stevie (played by Gary Springer) enter the First Brooklyn Savings Bank.  But the plan quickly hurtles off the rails when Stevie flees before the three even enter the bank.  Things get even worse when after they are past the point of no return (they’ve already produced their weapons and declared this to be a robbery), Sonny discovers they have arrived after the daily cash pickup.  In other words, they are risking at least 25 years in prison and/or getting into a shoot-out with the police for slightly more than $1,000.

Trying to salvage their now-obviously poorly-planned operation, Sonny  grabs the bank’s traveler’s checks (Who remembers those?) and burns the register, but the smoke from the burning garbage arouses suspicion outside which results in the bank being surrounded by the police.  Sonny and Sal panic and take the bank employees as hostages.

Now that the stand-off is set, Detective Sergeant Eugene Moretti (played by Charles Durning) calls the bank, at which point Sonny tells him he is willing to kill the hostages.  Sal assures Sonny that he is ready to kill if necessary, not knowing the Sonny really doesn’t want to kill anybody.  The proof of that is when a security guard suffers an asthma attack and Sonny releases him as a bargaining chip. Eventually, Moretti convinces Sonny to step outside, which he does.

While using the head teller as a shield, Sonny begins a dialogue with Moretti.  But a large crowd has gathered around the bank, and this stand-off is being broadcast on live television. In what may be the signature scene of the movie, Sonny launches into a chant of “Attica! Attica!”; a reference to the infamous 1971 riot in the state prison in Attica, New York. The crowd cheers for Sonny.

Now it’s time to get out of the bank.  Sonny demands a vehicle so he can drive to the airport with Sal to board a jet out of the country. Other demands include pizza delivery for the hostages, and that his estranged wife Angie (played by Susan Peretz) be brought to the bank.  But in the plot twist to end all plot twists, Sonny’s new partner shows up at the bank.  Since I already have to use a “spoiler” at the end, I’m not going to divulge a) the identity of Sonny’s partner and b) the motive for the robbery which is revealed. Doing so would destroy the first-time viewer’s discovery of why this is not just another “heist” film.

As darkness falls, command of the police response is now in the hands of FBI Agent Sheldon (played by James Broderick). He cuts the power to the bank and refuses to give in to any more of Sonny’s demands.  Sheldon does allow a doctor to enter the bank after the manager Mulvaney (played by Solly Boyar) goes into diabetic shock.  The fact Sonny requested the doctor is yet more proof that Sonny doesn’t want to harm the hostages.

Knowing the Sonny is reluctant to harm anybody, Sheldon convinces Sonny’s partner to talk to him on the phone in an attempt to get Sonny to surrender.  This fails, but it is revealed that Sonny’s partner has been at Bellevue Hospital undergoing psychiatric evaluation after a suicide attempt brought on by being abused by Sonny. In an act of atonement, Sonny offers to include his partner in the escape plan, but the offer is rejected. This necessitates Sonny telling the police that his partner had nothing to do with the robbery.

Meanwhile, Sonny allows let the seriously ill Mulvaney leave, but he will not abandon his employees.  In a last ditch attempt to talk sonny out, the FBI enlist the aid of his mother. Again, this fails, and now Sonny realizes the end is coming. As such, he writes out a will leaving money from his life insurance to Angie and his partner.

The previously requested limousine arrives; the plan is now to use the limousine to take Sonny, Sal, and the hostages to Kennedy Airport, but the catch is the car has to be driven by an FBI agent.  Sonny selects Agent Murphy (played by Lance Henriksen) to drive as Sonny inspects the car for hidden weapons or booby traps. Murphy gets behind the wheel, and Sonny sits next to him in the front seat. Sheldon and Sal are in the back.  Sal has a gun held on Murphy, who repeatedly asks Sal to point his gun at the roof so he won’t accidentally shoot him.

As they wait for the escape aircraft to taxi into position, Murphy again asks Sal to aim his gun away.  Sal does, but the minute that happens, Sheldon grabs Sonny’s weapon and Murphy produces a pistol hidden in an armrest and shoots Sal point-blank in the head, killing him instantly.  Sonny is immediately taken into custody, the hostages are freed, and the film ends with the fates of Sonny, his partner, and Angie revealed in subtitles as Sonny watches Sal’s body being taken from the car on a stretcher.

The Hidden Sports Analogy:

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If you’ve seen “Godfather II,” you knew what was going to happen to Fredo Corleone well before he did. His fate was sealed the minuted Michael Corleone said to one of his henchmen “nothing happens to him as long as my mother is alive.” Once you saw Mama Corleone in her casket, you knew Fredo wasn’t far behind. If you were like me, you were yelling to Fredo through the screen “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON’T GET IN THE BOAT!”

I felt the same way about “Sal” in “Dog Day Afternoon.” You just knew he was going to be the guy to pay the price after doing a lot of somebody’a “dirty work.” Sal did the “heavy lifting” for Sonny, even after it became somewhat obvious he didn’t know what the real motive for the robbery was, and what was his reward? He got his brains blown out.

The sports world has plenty of “Sal”-type guys; guys who show up every day, do the “dirty work,” and get nothing for it. The first time I noticed that phenomenon was when the Minnesota Twins won the World Series in 1987. That was a huge part of my own best personal year in sports. But was also the year I discovered the sports version of “Sal.”

To understand this, you have to know the Minnesota Twins spent the majority of the 1970’s and 80’s as one the worst teams in baseball. As a kid in Southern California, I came to be a fan of the Twins as they were essentially a “farm team” for my hometown California Angels.

Calvin Griffith was the owner of the Twins at the time, and he could pinch a penny so hard he could make Abe Lincoln fart. That meant he was usually willing to sell/trade players at bargain basement prices so he didn’t have to pay them. One of his frequent trading partners was the Angels’ owner…none other than Gene “The Singing Cowboy” Autry.

That’s how Autry’s Angels won the American League West division three times between 1979-1986; with players from the “Griffith Express” such as Lyman Bostock, “Disco” Dan Ford, Rob Wilfong, Geoff Zahn, Dave Goltz, and Hall of Famer Rod Carew. Meanwhile, the Twins were growing their own prospects down on the farm.

Trading established players for prospects is a time-honored tradition in baseball. Prospects are the “seed corn” for nay major-league club trying to flesh out it’s roster, and the Minnesota Twins were doing just that with all the prospects they received in their plethora of deals with Autry and his Angels. By the early 1980’s, the Twins were beginning to reap what they had sown in the minor-leagues. In 1982, while the Twins were on their way to a 100-loss season, one of their rookies made the cover of Sports Illustrated. Kent Hrbek was literally the “hometown hero” having been born and raised in the Twin Cities area.

Hrbek finished second to baseball legend Cal Ripken, Jr. for the 1981 American League Rookie of the Year voting, but finished ahead of future Hall of Famer Wade Boggs.  Hrbek became a fixture at first base for 14 seasons.

By 1984, the Minnesota Twins found themselves a s surprising contender for the division title, but just like a young racehorse that hasn’t yet learned how to run, they ran out of gas at the end, finishing tied for second-place three games behind the Kansas City Royals. But the really important thing that happened for the Twins that year came on May 8th. This marked the major league debut of Kirby Puckett. That night against the California Angels, Puckett notched four hits in five at-bats and scored a run. I remember not believing what I was seeing in this guy; I thought there was no way he could stay in the big leagues.

So many times, new players get a “honeymoon;” the time between they arrive in the “bigs” and when major-league pitchers them him out.  In other words, new guys can rip through the league in their first go-round, but the second time around proves a bit tougher once pitchers get “the book” on them.

Who was the fastest guy to reach 2,500 major league hits? You’re looking at him.

Simply put, Kirby Puckett just didn’t look the part of a major-league center fielder.  Most guys who cover the largest expanse of a baseball outfield are long, lean guys who run like a gazelle.  Puckett was a short, stocky guy who ran like a penguin with a pulled hamstring.  On top of that, he had the worst plate discipline I’d ever seen. He swung at the worst pitches…he took his cuts at balls in the dirt, balls nearly over his head; in short he looked terrible.  I was convinced that his early success would end with a bus ticket back to the minor-leagues.  But the more major-league pitchers tried to confound him, the more Puckett hit.

At the end of 1984, Puckett had notched a batting average of .296 and ranked fourth in the American League in singles. In 1985, Puckett convinced me how wrong I was when he hit .288 and finished fourth in the league in hits, third in triples, second in plate appearances, and first in at-bats. In 1987, Puckett ascended to one of the highest days on the Dubsism Liturgical Calendar:

The Feast of Kirbius Maximus – August 29th – Reflection of “The Weekend in Milwaukee” In two games against the Brewers, Kirby Puckett went 10 for 11 with 6 RBI and robbed future Hall of Famer Robin Yount of a game-tying home run. The Twins never relinquished their lead in the AL West on their way to a World Series Championship. This marks the day I accepted Kirby Puckett as my lord and personal savior.

From 1984 to 1995, Puckett was consistently among the leaders in the American League in offensive categories like games played, at bats, singles, doubles, and total bases. With the glove, he was always among the tops in put-outs, assists, and fielding percentage for center fielders.  In other words, Puckett was one of the greatest to ever play the game.

But the “star” power of Kent Hrbek and Kirby over-shadowed another key component of rising Minnesota Twins of the mid-1980s. Another product of the “Griffith Express,” right fielder Tom Brunansky was originally drafted by the California Angels in the 1st round of the 1978 draft. He made his major league debut with the Angels in 1981.  Brunansky looked to be head back to the minors for the 1982 season as the Angels had just signed free-agent and future Hall of Famer Reggie Jackson. But in yet another swap Calvin Griffith and Gene Autry, Brunansky was sent to Minnesota in exchange for pitcher Doug Corbett and second baseman Rob Wilfong.

Brunansky made an immediate impact with the Twins batting .272 with 51 extra-base hits. He had his first 30 home run season for the Twins in 1984 and was named to the American League All-Star in 1985. But it was that championship season of 1987 when Brunansky came into his own as a force in the Twins line-up.  On the way to the Minnesota Twins capturing the World Series title, Tom Brunansky contributed a .259 batting average along with 32 home runs.  It was arguably his greatest season as Twin.

It was also his last.

April 22, 1988…the day the Minnesota Twins sent Tom Brunansky to go fishing.  After becoming a pillar of the defending World Champions, Brunansky was rewarded by being shipped off to the St. Louis Cardinals.

The problem was simple.  In 1987. the Minnesota Twins had three guys who hit 30+ home runs – Hrbek (34), Brunansky (32), and third basemen Gary Gaetti (31).  They also had arguably the best player in the game at the time in Kirby Puckett.  On other end, the pitching staff features an emerging star Frank “Sweet Music” Viola, a future Hall of Famer and soon-to-be free agent Berft Blyleven, and a big-time Jeff Reardon.  The problem was money.

Griffith and Pohlad. Long arms when signaling #1.  Shortest arms ever when reaching for a dinner tab.

Even though the notorious penny-pincher Calvin Griffith has sold the Minnesota Twins in 1984, the new owner wasn’t any of a spend-thrift.  Carl Pohlad was the owner of U.S. Bank when he bought the team, and like Griffith, he got rich by tossing nickels away like they were manhole covers. The term of the day was “small-market team;” the idea being that teams in smaller cities like Minneapolis, Milwaukee, and Kansas City (to name a few) couldn’t complete with those in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles.

How truthful that was is still open for debate; lots of “small-market” have won in the “Mega-money” era. Conversely, lots of team have spent huge coin to be terrible. What’s inarguable is that it was a “green-light” for some owners to be “Scrooge McDuck”-level cheap.

The bottom line is as the old proverb goes, money is not only the root of all evil, it’s at the core of every player personnel decision in all major-league sports. It all came down to this. Brunansky may have been part of the Twins’ family, and he may have done a lot of the “heavy lifting” for that team’s run to the 1987 world Series, but when it came time for somebody to take a bullet, he still got sent to go fishing.

The Moral of The Story:

Whether you’re a bank robber or right fielder, get your money when you can. And…FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON’T GET IN THE BOAT!

BONUS: This isn’t the only sports analogy hidden in a classic movie about the Minnesota Twins. 

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Sports Analogies Hidden In Classic Movies – Volume 82: “Dog Day Afternoon” Today's Movie: Dog Day Afternoon Year of Release: 1975 Stars: Al Pacino, John Cazale (#25 on my list of favorite actors…