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comicsnsuch · 5 years

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Wildstorm Halloween Trilogy of Terror! (1997)

This review is going to be about the Wildstorm Halloween Trilogy of Terror published in 1997 by Image Comics, and just read moments ago by me, in March 2020.

I picked this one up after finding a Sleeper Season One TPB (by Brubaker and Phillips) in my collection and reminiscing about how good Wildstorm was at one point. So I went online, looked up some Wildstorm comics, opened a tab with this one and thought to myself “I’ve been known to enjoy Gen 13 from time to time and this cover looks cool, let’s roll the dice!”

Spoiler Alert! Nothing as cool as the scene depicted on the cover happens in the book, and the Lovecraftian monster lurking behind our heroes never appears.

In case you never knew or forgot, Wildstorm was the branch of Image Comics that Jim Lee was in charge of and responsible for all the titles he created and oversaw like WildC.A.Ts (later just Wildcats), Gen 13, Stormwatch (later the Authority) and Deathblow. Also Wetworks apparently, which was created by Whilce Portacio, another of the original Image Comics founders.

This special has three different stories by three different creative teams. Each story shares a common thread, the villain of each story is a man called Crandall or Camatoz, a “bat god zombie abomination”, that Crandall resurrects in the first story.

The the “bat god zombie abomination”, Camatoz, in case you were wondering

The first story of the trilogy contained in this issue stars Team 7, an elite military strikeforce whose members go on to be major players in the Wildstorm universe including Michael Cray (Deathblow), Cole Cash (Grifter), John Lynch (Gen 13), Alex Fairchild (father of Gen 13’s Caitlin Fairchild), Jackson Dane (Wetworks) etc. This story takes place in the past and sees Team 7 covertly travelling into Mexico to put down a rebel uprising calling itself the Nueva Mayapan. Crandall is working with this group but only to further his own goal, resurrecting the “bat god zombie abomination”, Camatoz. Which he does, but is swiftly defeated by Team 7.

This story was written by Christopher Golden with art by Ed Benes. The story felt a bit disjointed due to the narration, dialogue and art not quite syncing up.

For example Team 7 defeats the “bat god zombie abomination”, Camatoz using explosives to cause a cave in burying the “bat god zombie abomination”, Camatoz, but we never see the explosives planted! The dialogue is on par with a cheesy action movie and the narration is too weighty and self serious causing issues with the tone of the story.

Look at how well drawn that bandoleer of bullets is! Go Benes go!

Like a lot of Image Comics from this era there's no shortage of cool pictures, but they often come at the cost of the story and the more meat and potatoes panels telling important beats of the story.

The middle story in the trilogy stars Gen 13 and takes place in the present, of 1997.

For what it’s worth this is the only story that takes place on Halloween, 1997.

The Gen 13 kids dress up and take part in Halloween festivities while the other stories simply contain horror elements, like vampires and the undead. So those bring the “Terror” element from the title, while this one brings the “Halloween”.

Not to worry, this one also has the “bat god zombie abomination”, Camatoz, everyone’s favorite new character from this issue, for a few panels.

Plus Grunge transmutes himself into blood, so there’s that.

Here’s that

This story opens on John Lynch and Alex Fairchild, both formerly of Team 7 and making appearances in the previous story, scaring some trick or treaters visiting the Gen 13 house. It also provides my favorite panel from this entry:

Kudos Mr. Odagawa!

The Gen 13 kids have received an invite to a nightclub for a Halloween party. Bobby (Burnout) is nice enough to let us know the regulars of this club file their teeth into fangs. I’m sure this outing is going to go fine.

Turns out I was wrong, Caitlin (Fairchild) and Bobby are kidnapped by the club owners and are going to be used as a sacrifice to summon the “bat god zombie abomination”, Camatoz! Crandall is nowhere to be found in this installment. Using their powers (and teamwork) the other members of Gen 13 are able to rescue Fairchild and Burnout. After the kids return home Lynch and Fairchild, Sr, find are shocked to find a flyer for the evening’s festivities that basically spells out the whole event was to try to resurrect “bat god zombie abomination”, Camatoz.

This story flows nicely from the first, letting us know the horror of the “bat god zombie abomination”, Camatoz, is still a problem for the Wildstorm U, but in hindsight other than having Gen 13 in the issue to boost sales, this story adds nothing to the trilogy of terror. Which as you know, years later got me to pick up this issue. Good job Wildstorm marketing team!

Ryan Odagawa handles the art for this chapter and draws it in a J. Scott Campbell light manner. Writer Peter Gutierrez does a good job of aping the style and tone of the regular Gen 13 series, lots of slang that someone probably used on MTV once and a loose Scooby Doo-ish plot that shows off the Gen 13 kids doing trendy things and being moody.

Not bad, but not an essential entry in this trilogy of terror.

The final entry stars Wetworks and is written by Tom Sniegoski and Chris Warner and it’s the best one of the three. It feels like a direct sequel to the first story, with similar elements, making the second entry feel disposable.

This story also takes place in the present of 1997, abandoning the advancement of time element that happened between the last two stories. So no cool Wildstorm of the future story here, unfortunately.

We find the Wetworks team travelling to the arctic to stop Crandall, the dude working with the Nueva Mayapan in the first story, now working with the Vampire Nation (something I imagine readers would be more familiar with if they were reading the Wetworks title at the time) to prevent him from destroying a virus that can kill the undead.

There’s a quick flashback in the opening panels of this story of an ancient viking warrior perishing in battle. This is important because when Dane, from Team 7 again in the first story, fights Crandall he gets knocked into a cave or something and finds this warrior’s axe. The spirit of the warrior possesses Dane and causes his golden symbiote to grow a beard and don a viking helmet.

Does it get any better than this? Don’t let me know if does!

Wetworks takes care of the Vampire Nation and Dane defeats Crandall. No idea what happens to the virus they came to protect or the bat god zombie abomination, Camatoz that was part of the connective tissue for the first two stories because it’s not even mentioned here.

Chris Warner’s artwork was a pleasure to read and his storytelling was the best out of the three artists working on this issue. Yes, some of the dialogue was cheesy action movie, but the fact that the art was so on point helped to elevate this entry above the rest. And to the credit of Tom Sniegoski, he keeps the cool coming giving Warner no shortage of cool stuff to draw and moves the plot along briskly.

So we’ve reached the end. What’s the verdict? “You sure wrote a lot about a twenty plus year old comic.” Well, besides that. Should you seek out your own copy of this book? No, probably not. If you’ve got some money to spare and want to read something that will leave no impact on you, you could do worse. On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the best, 1 being the worst, this is 4.5.

Until next time!

#imagecomics #jimlee #wildCATS #90s nostalgia #wetworks #comics #comicbooks #review #gen13 #halloween #comicart #xmen #batman #comicsnsuch

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juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years

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Running Home | 02: The Road

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Smut (eventually), Friends to Lovers

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: A journey consists of three essential parts, even the one proposed by an estranged childhood suddenly showing up at the door after years of absence. Although, perhaps begging to embark on an adventure is better befitting of the situation.

After all, the two travellers might find the destination they could not find themselves at the end of the road, inherently constantly running in circles.

Not anymore.

It is time to go home.

The Setting Off / The Road / The Destination

Masterlist

Proposals are a type of commandment left up to an individual’s own volition to agree to or decline, though circumstances or the person uttering the potential decision can influence judgement regardless. However, it also depends on the relationship at the time and that in and of itself.

Time.

‘Run away with me.’ Platinum locks are pushed back by a haphazard palm that afterwards grabs onto the doorway just above where a startled head is resting to stay grounded, mind going insane due to the lack of logic in the demandingly spoken request. The long oversized sleeve rolls back to reveal a stunning grey and black-toned tattoo of a snarling wolf that covers the biggest part of the left forearm, an animal that is nothing like the docile personality of the kangaroo that was first associated with the childhood friend.

Then again, everything has changed.

We do not know each other.

Not anymore.

The familiar scent of mint mixed with a fresh cologne fills every sense when the long lost friend leans in, faces a few centimetres apart in the tiny space of which the air gradually becomes tense, heart oddly beating in a blind panic thanks to Chan’s begging whispering nearness. ‘Let’s do it. We’ve always wanted to. Now’s the time.’

‘It isn’t.’ A step backwards breaks the intimate spell, reason breaking through the mirage of wonderful words reminiscent of the rebellious teenage dreams longing to be wildly liberated and build an empire of ink somewhere in the world. It is a harsh truth, but those goals cannot be pursued anymore as the process of growing up has taught an ignorant girl the ways of reality which have led her to become a freelance editor with financial stability after a good while of struggling. The current point is a good place, certain of professional possibilities on the path taken after completing the bachelor in Creative Writing. Why leave behind such an incredible future after working so hard to achieve it?

‘Wha- What do you mean it isn’t? Y/N, while we were apart I did my best to actually create what we thought of together, working shift after shift at crappy jobs to save up for the tattoo studio we would open one day. I finally got the money and found a location, but all that is missing is you. Don’t say you forgot what you promised me, that you don’t remember promising to be my business partner.’

‘The old me promised that, Chan. I also worked hard to get where I am now, went through stress and money-related hardships to live here and have a steady career. Congratulations on making it. I’m genuinely happy for you, but I left our dream behind when I realized it wouldn’t work, at least not for me. I’ve grown up, moved on.’ A shivering sigh worsens the increase of homesickness because everything within has become aware there is no way to cure the mental distress.

College has cost too much in terms of funds and all-nighters to accomplish assignments or study for tests. The multitude of inherently futile interviews had led to too grand an amalgamation of barely manageable stress that could only have been diminished a tad when starting as a freelancer, fortunately landing on the music company’s project after collaborating on a few smaller yet successful projects. The collection of mangas and books on the shelves of a professional are a proud display of the achieved novel ambition to make people read more. Henceforth, there are factors that make giving up the current life impossible despite the craved reunion with Chris.

The offer has to be turned down.

He has to go.

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not, Chan. Really, I’m happy. I get to do things I hadn’t thought possible, work on projects for big companies. See those bookshelves over there? Those are the titles I worked on.’ A convinced digit points at the shelves spread throughout the apartment which support a variety of volumes resulting from all the paid assignments that have carved the road leading here.

Successful and free of former worries about even making it this far.

Only to end up merely as a name in the credits list.

To be skipped.

Like the rest.

A faceless ghost with a name.

‘Y/N,’ the gentle softness in speech tells there is no way to deny the presented lie for the inked wolf sees what lies beneath, as he has always done by reading the mind even when it is not wanted, ‘drop the act and be honest because this pains me to see. You aren’t happy, at all.’

The unconvincing gesture towards the paperbacks falls away, arms stretching forward in longing for a hug from the regained childhood friend and happily wrapping around the waist when a nod gives consent. The heaviness of existence falls away in the warm comforting fabric of the oversized sweater smelling of minty cologne, lashes fluttering shut when the embrace is lovingly answered by a big palm holding the head against the chest. ‘I’m not, haven’t since you were gone.’

A moment of comfortable silence passes before the hush is broken by a confession that has been known all along, confirmed to be so once more as plush lips place a kindhearted kiss on locks that have missed the contact. ‘I feel safe with you.’

‘I’m not letting you go again. I promised to protect you and I will. I’m not gonna leave you behind, never again.’ The shivering suppressed sobs are rubbed away by small digits holding on tighter to dusky clothing, a deep sigh slightly calming a frantic heart. ‘Never again.’

‘Shh, it’s alright.’ Nothing more can be said without breaking out into tears as well, simply hiding away into wordlessness to let the simple phrase speak for itself.

‘Please, Y/N. Please, run away with me. Let’s just grab the bare necessities and vanish, start anew. We can get food and additional supplies along the way. Even if you decide to turn back eventually, at least come with me today. Let’s just go.’

‘I’m not going to turn back.’ The motion of a thumb wiping the tears from pale cheeks is leaned into, molten chocolate irises twinkling in soothed delight before Chris mirrors the gesture on a dry face not yet broken. However, there is something needful in the manner in which the distance is tried to be breached, distinct from how it used to be done in older days in the increased want for intimacy that was formerly solely joked about, only applicable to the situation whereby the friendship would have been of a deeper meaning.

Something that has never been.

‘You promise?’ A suggestive nod almost results in a brush of lips, but shamefully ends in pulling away and ending the closeness that was willingly given into with retracting fingers leaving behind a strangely disconcerting coldness on the skin. ‘Go... Go get your stuff. Or would you- do you want me to... help?’

‘Yeah...’ Although likely not needed, it is a comforting thought, a desire that desperately wants to be fulfilled, to have the platinum-haired boy with the wolf tattoo help with packing what little is needed and already present in this empty home. Henceforth, awkwardly avoiding any type of physical contact in the fairly spacious apartment that stills feels too small to move freely in, a small backpack containing what would be enough for an overnight stay at a friend’s is gathered.

Withal, there is no way to avoid touching at the surprising sight of the sleek motorcycle which will blend seamlessly into the scenery at nightfall parked on the driveway of the apartment complex. Brows furrow as the knot of digits untangles in favour of inspecting the vehicle up close. ‘You have a motorcycle?’

‘Uh, yeah, I do.’ A hand timidly rubs the back of the neck, uncomfortable at yet another paradoxically uncharacteristic element of the returned comrade is brought to the surface touched by Time.

‘Well, I trust you’ll get us where we end up needed safely or I’ll come back to haunt your ghost.’ A smirk successfully undoes the fit of strangeness, bringing back the once familiar affection free of the judgment from outside, the prejudices deeming us a couple.

A concept that seems oddly pleasant as the joking manner is joined when a helmet is handed over. Well, so it seems to be but just as the object is within reach, it is quickly snatched away to be placed on the head with a loving devilish gaze. Knuckles reach up, which results in the annoyingly impactful patting on the top of the thing to ensure it is securely put in place. ‘Or the other way around.’

Annoyed, the knuckles are stilled. ‘Stop that! By the way, you’re the driver. Besides, I refuse to let you haunt me.’

Confidence fades away into worry at the registration of there being solely one helmet, gazing questioning at the apparent motor mouse with an underlying fear for his safety. ‘Shouldn’t you wear it?’

The important inquiry is brushed off with a tender smile on the full lips of slightly tilted platinum locks. ‘Ah, don’t worry. I’ll be careful so you won’t actually get to chance to stalk me forever in ghost form.’

‘Chan...’ Fingers rapidly grip the edge of the oversized sweater already getting on the vehicle, holding the fabric up enough to see the top part of a melting Victorian style pocket watch outlined engraved into pale skin.

Time slipping away.

As it had from us.

‘You’re still as stubborn as ever. It’s fine, Y/N. Come on, get on and we’ll get going.’ The hold on the clothing is made undone by the wearer gently tugging it out of its current grasp, but it is replaced by a new one in the form of once more entangled fingers when the big calloused palm reaching out is taken after patting on the backseat.

Soothingly protective, the thumb rubs over the back of the smallest hand as deep brown irises sparkle with the true intention to protect like before had always been the case. We have had always had each other’s backs. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’

But knowing this had never stirred up the same storm as it does now, the stomach tying into an odd expectant knot while cheeks fortunately hidden by the head protection warm up. Regardless of the curious sensations, arms wrap hesitantly around the waist after clumsily sitting down on the passenger seat, clinging like a koala to Chris’s sturdy buff body.

Sensing the discomfort, the guarding driver checks at every turn to what extent the distress has grown and occasionally slowing down when noticing the enhanced grip on the middle going paired with an anxious whimper. Thus, the road of flashing streets and open highways leading to an unknown destination is embarked upon.

Though there is rapidly a stop on it already that makes all the continuous wishes for a car, a probably whole lot safer option, come to a halt at a grand supermarket in the nearest town. Howbeit relieved at being liberated from the insane traffic, it was honestly expected to be travelling at least until twilight colours the sky in a tropical gradient of mango yellow and papaya orange. Even food shopping can be done later since the cold luxurious apartment was not left without taking a few snacks and bottles of water for along the way. ‘What are we doing here?’

‘You might have everything you need, but I kinda... went to you unprepared.’ The key turns in the engine, the loud noise of the motor quickly tuning out to vanish completely in the ruckus of chatter against a background of moving wheels.

‘You did what?’ Like a gentleman, Chan extends a supporting hand to take while dismounting the vehicle, monitoring every movement to prevent any accidents.

It does not go a smoothly as planned, losing balance regardless of the support point but fortunately getting caught by surprised strong arms. ‘You okay?’ At seeing nothing is the matter after a thorough inspection, tensed shoulders sigh in relief as they relax. ‘I went to you with only a change of clothes, that’s all there is in this big backpack. Moreover, it’s better to do groceries now so we can make some good miles uninterrupted. Who knows where we’ll end up tonight? Wherever it might be, I’d rather have a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush in the least.’

As done many times in the past, strands are fondly ruffled, a cute suppressed giggle betraying the obvious enjoyment of the effect of the irritation the gesture is known to cause. Notwithstanding, as always and strangely more so than before, it is tolerated. Even delighted in, though a blatant display of the whirlwind inside is out of the picture for it best remains hidden among all the other odd sentiments that have come to stir a girl missing her best friend. ‘C’mon, I know you secretly like it when I do this.’

A roll of the eyes denotes the statement, nullifying the teasing confidence in the transformed yet familiar voice of the young tattoo artist. ‘Keep on dreaming, Chris Bang.’

‘You totally like it,’ comes the musing response to the futile verbal counterattack, dark Timberlands easily catching up to the sneakers already on their way to the supermarket.

‘No, I don’t.’ A huff comes from pouted lips, only leading to bubbly laughter from the side that makes the heart melt as it never has before.

‘Yes, you do~’ One hand tucked into the pocket of twilight-shaded ripped jeans, the other comes to rest on the right shoulder and pulls a fellow runaway sturdily against the side.

The gesture is answered by an arm snaking around Chan’s waist, holding on tightly out of the irrational fear of any type of separation occurring that will increase the homesickness again. However, the prominent sarcasm in voice hides the anxious thoughts about a premature end of the reunion. ‘Are you really gonna argue like this? How old are you again?’

‘The same age as you, although you sound awfully like a grandmother.’

‘Oh, grow up.’

‘I have.’ And something indescribable in the glimmer of irises signifies the time for joking is over, the sideways contact breaking off to entwine fingers after speaking in a sombre tone with a downcast gaze. ‘Though at times I wish I hadn’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it complicates things, too. Especially how- no, never mind. It’s not important.’ A solemn shake of platinum locks finishes the complete attempt at elaborating on the broken-off sentence, speech lowering to hopelessness as it repeats the heart-wrenching statement. ‘It’s not important.’

‘You know you can tell me everything, right? What’s up?’ Whatever is deemed superfluous, it does matter to the one who had to let the problems of the past years unconsciously slide. Finally, there is a chance to find a solution again so each issue can be met head-on either together or solely with a little bit of help.

Which is denied by a final close to the subject and a squeeze below. ‘Let’s just get what we need and go, Y/N.’

Not speaking further of the strange behaviour, the pathways lined with food on both sides are navigated while unconsciously switching trolley duty and searching each other when one of the two has wandered to a different section to retrieve supplies for the journey ahead. Of course, as tends to be the natural reaction towards pairs doing their groceries, people throw an inconspicuous glance in our direction while we simply go about while chatting as if there has never been a goodbye. Withal, an uncharacteristic darkness glosses over molten chocolate during the moments a guy without an apparent partner looks in our direction, Chan becoming very touchy by holding hands for no reason, throwing an arm around the shoulders to enhance the intimacy or leaning in as close as possible.

The latter happens again when standing in front of the razor section in the drugstore part of the mega shop and a sudden wonder strikes concerning what brand the tattoo artist uses nowadays.

The looming presence able to provide a question rising behind the back sends shivers down the spine, though it is not an unpleasant sensation and fuels the want to lean against the buff companion, especially at the sound of an amused hum. ‘Gillette.’

‘Huh, what?’

‘Gillette is the brand I use. In fact,’ a bright orange packet reading “Gillette Fusion” is taken from the rack and placed in a small palm, ‘this is the one, in particular, I tend to reach to.’

‘Good to know for when I have to do groceries for us in the future. For us as friends, naturally.’ The last part is hastily added to not cause any confusion about the status of the current renewed relationship, words coming out in a rapid unbroken stream.

A seemingly disagreeing muttering responds to the fast additional comment, thoughts gaining a voice howbeit in an incoherent fashion. All that can be gathered from it in terms of intelligibility is the wistful ‘don’t want to’ in the middle of a sentence. Nonetheless, when seeing the curiously raised eyebrow, the former friendly yet oddly protective composure is regained, nodding in a direction away from the current section of the supermarket at the appearance of a possible rival. ‘I think we have everything. Let’s pay and go.’

‘Chan, you’re acting weird.’ Reluctantly, broad shoulders are followed as they walk away in the direction of the checkout counter with attention turned unwaveringly towards a point somewhere in the distance.

Attention shifts when looking sideways at a tug on the oversized sweater scented with minty cologne which is grabbed in an effort to both halt hasty dark Timberlands and not lose him.

Not again.

Obviously irritated, a response is nothing short of growled, the fierceness of which instills a paralyzing fear into libs growing suddenly stiff. ‘No, I’m not. What are you on about?’

‘Yes, you are. You’re being more affectionate than you’ve ever been, but also more defensive.’ The ice is endeavoured to be knocked off from bones entirely to not lose a sliver of convincing power in the argument about the weird behaviour. In the past contact merely remained at a multitude of hugs and the occasional pat on the head, digits sometimes ruffling hair good-naturedly while proudly grinning.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not acting anything different from normal.’ Yet the suppressed snarl malforming plush lips tells a different story, revealing the truth underneath the concealing futile lie of normalcy.

‘Then why are we walking away just as another guy passes, eh?’ The last remnant of the abyss between us is breached without letting go of the piece of clothing, the tattooed wolf not tugging it out of the grasp as before, but carefully watching every movement with intent.

A hand comes to rest on the hip, compellingly guiding the way to the exit, sight ever onwards. ‘He’s got bad intentions.’

‘The chap over at the bakery, too?’

‘Yes.’

‘And in the fruits aisle?’

‘They were looking at you weirdly. I didn’t like it.’

‘Then what about the dude in the health aisle? Was he a suspicious character as well?’

‘He eyed you a bit too much.’

‘Chan, for God’s sake, I’m a grown-up woman. I can take care of myself.’ Although not a lie, what has really been done is taking care of myself just enough to keep the homesickness at bay, just enough to actually believe to be able to function as a proper independent adult. The blatant truth is that while the surface has been well-tended to, the foundation has been crumbling since the farewell without any hope of being restored as long as there was a distance filled with questions ripping it apart.

‘We’re on this journey together. You and I form a team, a “we”. There’s no “we” with any of those other men, they’re just individuals who can’t be there nor ever will be there for you as I am!’ The strange outburst at a stop in the open passage to the cash registers resembles the experience of a lonesome soul comically ensuring they are fine while being all but that yet never voicing this. Nevertheless, surely there had been someone for him to fill up the gap created by the tear, a beautiful girlfriend to come home to.

Notwithstanding, if that had been the case, then why is there a sense of prolonged yearning in the raging? All there is, after all, is friendship, which is made questionable by the passage of time.

Unoccupied digits place themselves over the heart in a heavily rising and falling chest, the vibrations of an unintended pleased hum reverberating through them. Curious how such a simple form of contact can calm a scarlet frenzy. ‘Tone down. What are you saying? Don’t tell me you’re actually jealous because that’s delusional.’

‘Just forget it.’ Passively aggressively, one hand lets go of the waist to envelop the appeasing digits that are left no choice, holding on to them for the silent remainder of the shopping break as the other pushes the trolley.

Only upon paying and dividing the additional stock of supplies among us does the touch unravel temporarily and once more when the helmet is securely put into place again.

And though hating the ridiculous rigidity that has surfaced out of the blue, automatically Chris’s waist is firmly held onto when the motor is mounted to continue the journey. However, muscles tangibly relax as the key turns in the engine, kind genuinely apologetic eyes glancing over a broad shoulder to meet a gaze traced with annoyance at the scene-making earlier though that fades away into forgiving softness at hearing the vocal crack which is tried to be dismissed casually. ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved. It’s just- we’re finally- I mean, it’s us together on this road and I want to see it through. I want for us to be at the end like how we started it, with the both of us by each other’s side.’

‘You could’ve made that clear another way, you know?’

‘Yeah... Yeah, I know.’ Uncertainty undeniably comes through in the manner in which the handles are rubbed as sight is turned towards the horizon again. ‘I should’ve thought before acting, acted differently. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s alright.’ Cheek pressed to the large dark backpack of the driver filled with provisions, the embrace is tightened. Speech lightens as the burden of failure to please, the fear of having messed up thanks to triggering so strong a reaction in a recently reunited with soul, is lifted and thus makes room for pure joyous contentment. ‘I’m here, still your travel buddy.’

‘You still like me?’

‘I do, Chan. I do still like you.’

‘Glad to hear that.’ Regardless of not looking back, the smile undoubtedly beginning to form on plush lips can nevertheless be envisioned. A calloused palm affectionately brushes over the digits firmly forming a knot below as the strange restraining undertone curiously returns. ‘I’m really happy to hear you say that.’

A chance to respond is nullified by the engine roaring to life, reawakening the instinct to do whatever it takes to survive a new encounter with rampant traffic racing at high speed. Yet, the knowledge of who the guide is and the faith put in him fuels the determination to see it through until the destination is reached.

Until we are like we were before.

Somewhere side by side.

Not footsteps to be washed away by the waves.

But those continuing to walk together.

Never alone.

Never again.

#Stray Kids #SKZ #Stray Kids fanfiction #Stray Kids x Reader #Kpopwonderlandtag #SKZ x Reader #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chris Bang #Chan

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shefanispeculator · 5 years

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The 2019 CMA Award nominations -- announced Wednesday (Aug. 28) morning -- reaffirmed that this is Maren Morris’s year. The singer leads all nominees with six nods.

While Morris’s bounty was certainly not a surprise, there were plenty of other “What the heck?” moments when the names were read.

Below are some notable snubs and surprises.

SNUB: Kane Brown, one of the hottest stars in country music, earned no nominations. We can’t consider this a surprise, because Brown has never received a CMA Award nomination…not even for new artist of the year. For some reason, CMA voters tend to nominate the same group of artists over and over and worthwhile artists like Brown or Chris Young (who’s only previously been nominated for new artist and musical event) get left out.

SURPRISE: After receiving no nominations in any category since 2015, it’s a welcome and deserving surprise to see Blake Shelton nominated for single of the year for “God’s Country,” his strongest song and performance in years. The tune, written by Devin Dawson, Jordan Schmidt and Michael Hardy, is also up for song of the year. The song has reinvigorated Shelton’s career and kicked off a new chapter for the superstar.

SNUB: For the first time since 2012, Luke Bryan missed an entertainer of the year nomination. He’s won twice (in 2015 and 2016) and is one of the few country artists who can fill stadiums. Maybe the fact that his most recent tour stopped mainly at amphitheaters instead of stadiums swayed voters or maybe it was just someone else’s turn.

SURPRISE: Garth Brooks’ nomination for entertainer of the year was no surprise: he’s been nominated 12 times before and won six -- the most of any artist. What is surprising is his nomination for “Dive Bar,” his duet with Blake Shelton, a fun romp that is still climbing the charts. It’s his first nomination in the category (formerly known as vocal event of the year) since 2002 when he and George Jones were nominated for “Beer Run.” He took home the trophy in 1993 for being one of 10 artists who joined Jones on “I Don’t Need Your Rockin’ Chair.”

SNUB: Artists like Jimmie Allen and Russell Dickerson, both of whom broke through in a large way in 2018 and 2019, being left out of the new artist of the year category. Acts can get nominated twice for new artist -- hence Midland being in the category again after being nominated in 2018 (similarly, Kelsea Ballerini, Old Dominion, Lauren Alaina, Brett Young and Luke Combs were all nominated in consecutive years recently). We say you can only be “new” once. Change the rule and open the category up.

SURPRISE: After being passed over for single and song of the year (and apparently not even making it to the final ballot in those categories), “Old Town Road” by Lil Nas X featuring Billy Ray Cyrus did manage to get some love in the musical event of the year category.

SNUB: Just as the Grammys have opened up album, single, record and best new artist of the year to eight nominees, maybe it’s time for the CMA Awards to follow suit because it’s nothing short of criminal that Little Big Town’s “The Daughters” -- one of the strongest statements ever recorded by a country act -- didn’t receive a song of the year nomination. Same with Ashley McBryde’s “Girl Goin’ Nowhere.” Having said that, there’s nothing I would take out of the category that got a nod.

SURPRISE: After being nominated for single of the year in 2018, Dan + Shay’s “Tequila” gets a nod for song of the year this year. How can that be? For song of the year, a tune has to have some chart activity (with no regard to rank) in the eligibility period and since “Tequila” was such a long-lived smash and was still on the charts, it qualified into the 2019 eligibility period (July 1, 2018-June 30, 2019) even though it came out in January 2018.

The 53rd annual CMA Awards air Nov. 13 on ABC.

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thecomicsnexus · 5 years

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UNCANNY X-MEN #139-140 NOVEMBER - DECEMBER 1980 BY CHRIS CLAREMONT, JOHN BYRNE, TERRY AUSTIN AND GLYNIS WEIN

SYNOPSIS (FROM MARVEL DATABASE)

The X-Men participate in a grueling session in the Danger Room. As Angel, Colossus, Storm and Nightcrawler go through their exercises, Professor X and Kitty Pryde witness the spectacle from the room’s monitoring station. Kitty is terrified to see the degree of danger that she may one day have to face. As the session ends, the team regroups and they decide to officially welcome Kitty to the team. When Nightcrawler appears in the room she is instinctively frightened by his appearance and feels bad for acting that way. When the Professor decides it's time that Kitty take up a code name, he suggests the name Ariel. She doesn't like it and chooses Sprite instead. When Nightcrawler inquires why Wolverine changed his costume, he replies that he just felt like it. Wolverine approaches the Professor and asks if he can go up to Canada and straighten out things with the Canadian government. The Professor agrees that this is a good idea and Nightcrawler asks to go along, hoping to meet Aurora again.

Storm and Kitty leave the mansion for the streets of Salem Center. Ororo brings her to a dance studio owned by famed dance instructor, Stevie Hunter. Kitty is excited to begin taking classes, and feels that the physical exercise will help her balance out all of the mental challenges that the school might throw at her.

Later, Wolverine and Nightcrawler arrive in Canada. They meet with Heather McNeil Hudson, wife to Department H's James Hudson, formerly known as Weapon Alpha. Now calling himself Vindicator, James arrives shortly after and prepares to settle affairs with Wolverine. Their past animosity has to be tabled however, as more pressing matters are brought to the forefront.

In Ottawa, Ontario, the capital of Canada, Heather Hudson comes home to find intruders in her home. Grabbing a broom she gets the drop on them, and is surprised to see that it is Wolverine. When she calls Wolverine 'Logan', Nightcrawler asks why Wolverine never told anyone his real name. Wolverine comments that nobody bothered asking. When Logan gets down to business, he asks Heather where James is, and she tells him that he's up in the Hudson Bay area investigating something with Alpha Flight on behalf of Department H.

Up in Hudson Bay, Vindicator returns to the cabin where Alpha Flight has stationed themselves on this mission. With Aurora, Northstar, and Sasquatch on another mission, James only has Shaman and Snowbird with him. As they go over the maps of the area, Shaman's mystical alarms go off and Alpha Flight prepares for an attack. It turns out to be only Wolverine and Nightcrawler who offer their help. Vindicator is happy to see Logan and explains that they are out searching for a family that was attacked by the Wendigo. While the son managed to escape the father was killed, but the mother and her baby child might still be alive in the wilderness. Wolverine recalls his previous encounter with Wendigo and believes that if anyone can stop that beast it's him.

Wolverine sends Nightcrawler out to their jeep to get their gear. As the sun sets, Nightcrawler's thoughts think about how Jean Grey had died in battle and curses the fates for being so cruel. Hearing something coming up behind him fast, Nightcrawler turns and is horrified to find that the Wendigo has come up behind him.

Angel flies around Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Having only recently returned to the X-Men, he is still adjusting to the team’s most recent members. He converses briefly with Colossus, as the latter pulls a rotting tree stump out of the ground. Professor X summons Angel and asks him his opinion on the X-Men. Angel does not hide his feelings concerning Wolverine. He thinks that he is a dangerous psychopath with "freaky claws". Professor X reminds Angel that the purpose of the school is to cater to all mutants – no matter how rough they may appear on the outside.

In Salem Center, Storm endures an uncomfortable encounter with an amorous pimp before stopping at Stevie Hunter’s dance studio to pick up Kitty Pryde. She is surprised to see how closely Kitty and Stevie have become in so short a time, and shamefully admits to herself that she is growing jealous. Kitty phases into the passenger side of the car, and Storm scolds her for such a showy display of her powers in public. Kitty assures her that she checked to make sure no one was watching before she attempted her stunt.

Meanwhile in Northern Canada, the Wendigo charges at Nightcrawler, forcing the X-man to retreat farther into the woods. The surrounding environment is too congested for Nightcrawler to risk blindly teleporting, so he avoids Wendigo's grasp by acrobatically flipping through the trees. The monster manages to latch onto him however and begins squeezing the life from his body. Nightcrawler has no choice but to teleport blind, and he transports himself several yards directly into the air and then teleports again safely to the ground. The Wendigo catches up to him however, and throws him hard against the side of a wood cabin.

Inside the cabin, Vindicator, Wolverine, Shaman and Snowbird are discussing their strategy on how to deal with the Wendigo. Wolverine hears the sound of Nightcrawler's body slamming against the side of the building and rushes outside. He finds Nightcrawler's unconscious form, and the Wendigo brandishing a pick-up truck as if it were a baseball bat. Vindicator flies outward from behind Wolverine and begins firing his laser blasts at the Wendigo, but the Wendigo easily bats him away. Wendigo throws the pick-up truck which explodes creating a fire. He then takes off deeper into the woods.

Shaman uses powder from his medicine pouch to put out the flames while Snowbird and Wolverine begin chasing the Wendigo. They eventually track the monster back to its lair where he has camper Eileen Parnall and her infant son trapped inside of a cave. He tells Snowbird to regroup with the others while he tackles the creature directly. Like his namesake, Wolverine dives on top of the Wendigo and begins voraciously slashing at him with his claws. The Wendigo has supernatural strength however, and is able to continue fighting despite his injuries. He grabs Wolverine and begins smashing him against the side of a tree. Suddenly Nightcrawler arrives and attacks the monster from behind, distracting it long enough to give Wolverine a chance to catch his breath.

Snowbird returns with Vindicator, and realizes that only brute savagery can possibly stop this menace. She transforms into an actual wolverine and launches herself at the monster. She succeeds in bringing the Wendigo down, but the violent passions of her animal form have consumed her and she is now completely feral. Wolverine softly approaches her, and coaxes her down until she is tame enough to revert to her normal humanoid form.

Shaman uses his magic to counteract the curse of the Wendigo. He cures the creature's condition, transforming him back into the human, Georges Baptiste. Vindicator is faced with a difficult decision. As a duly licensed agent of the Canadian government, he is forced to place Baptiste under arrest.

When Vindicator returns to Parliament, the Prime Minister informs him that the Ministry of Defense no longer maintains the budget to continue funding Department H. He tells him that he will allow him to keep his security status, but as of this moment, Alpha Flight is officially disbanded.

Epilogue: In a maximum security prison in Demming, New Mexico, the evil mutant known as the Blob escapes from his prison cell. He refers to a mysterious contact who has invited him to join a new Brotherhood of Evil Mutants.

JOHN BYRNE LEAVES

John Byrne is a very complicated person (as most artists are). He and Claremont had a great run on X-Men, but sometimes there would be some problems between the two.

This was apparently, the last drop:

As a comic book legend by Brian Cronin goes (the original link is no longer working):

Behind the scenes, though, producing such legendary stories wasn't always easy. Shortly after taking over as artist, Byrne also began co-plotting the Uncanny X-Men stories with Claremont, and greatly influenced the book and its many characters. (Happy that Wolverine is such an integral part of the X-Men even today? Thank John Byrne.) The collaboration was fruitful, but not without struggles and disagreements over the direction of the book. One aspect of the partnership in particular seems to have really gotten to Byrne, though: He had a hand in determining the book's plot, but scripting duties were Claremont's alone, and he didn't write the book's dialogue or captions until after Byrne had penciled it (this is a variation of the "Marvel Method" made famous by the likes of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby in the 1960s), giving him essentially the final say in how characters and situations were presented.

This would've been fine if it weren't for the fact that Claremont's final scripts sometimes portrayed characters in ways Byrne hadn't intended, and it was one such instance of the words being at odds with the art that finally drove Byrne off the book. Take a look at these two pages from Uncanny X-Men #140 (December, 1980) and see if you can spot the disparity.

Byrne made the removal of the stump look very easy for Colossus, but Claremont gave the character dialogue that made it sound very difficult. It's a relatively minor difference, really, but for Byrne it was the latest in a number of such incidents, and he decided it would be the last, as he describes (via the excellent JohnByrneDraws Tumblr):

"Every issue there would be what I called my 'ARGH!!' moment, when I came across something Chris had written that went against what I had drawn, or what we had plotted. The cumulative effect was numbing to say the least. Here I went 'ARGH!' on the very first page," Byrne said. "Can you tell why?

"Specifically, it was the way I had drawn Colossus easily ripping that stump out of the ground, replete with flying clumps of earth and speed lines versus the way Chris scripted it. I saw that page, printed, and just threw up my hands. 'Can’t do this any more!'

"I called Weezi (then the editor of Uncanny ) the same day, to resign."

The remaining three issues of Uncanny X-Men (including the legendary "Days of Future Past") that Byrne had worked on were published after his resignation. Byrne spent the rest of the 1980s doing landmark work on titles like Fantastic Four and the post-Crisis on Infinite Earths reboot of Superman, The Man of Steel. Claremont and Byrne re-teamed for a brief run on DC's JLA in the late 1990s, and both are living legends in the comic-book world.

REVIEW

Byrne really loved Wolverine, but there was no way for him to join Alpha Fight at the time (Byrne eventually did an Alpha Flight comic, and he created Puck to replace Wolverine on the team). John Byrne being Canadian, going to him for Canadian heroes was an obvious choice.

Not much else happens in these issues as the fight with Wendigo takes pretty much all the space. Strange considering we have a new member in the team (Kitty is shown in both issues, but very little development happens with her).

Wolverine also changes costumes in this story for no reason.

I give this story a score of 8

#chris claremont #terry austin #marvel comics #comics #review #1980 #x-men #uncanny x-men #bronze age #alpha flight #canada #john byrne #danny crespi #nightcrawler #kitty pryde

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

Say You Won’t Let Go Part 5 (Biadore) - Fucking Awful

A/N: No fan fare, no excuses. Just an apologetic author who finally got her hands on a computer.

For those joining this party now – here’s the link to the first installments:

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Welcome to the post-All Stars landslide, kids. Let’s cry together.

Say you won’t let go.

October 2015. Danny was locked in the guestroom of his mom’s house in Azusa, writing. He had only a few days left of recording in the studio, so he needed to focus on finishing up the last few songs of the new album before he ran out of time and money.

The album – he and the producers decided it would be called After Party – was coming along really well. His team was pleased that it had plenty of upbeat and synth-y tracks that they hoped might get him into radio play, and Danny was already storyboarding the lead single music video.

And as for those moodier, melancholy tracks Danny was hoping to write earlier in the summer – those came in spades after “The Incident.”

Danny used “The Incident” as mental shorthand for Roy’s housewarming party; calling it something neutral took away its power over him…and kept him from having to decide whether it was his own breakup or Roy’s hookup that upset him the most. As soon as he got home that night, he wrote the lyrics for “I Can’t Love You” on the first takeout napkin he could find. He spent the next few days perfecting the melody to fit his words – the opposite of his usual work pattern – and had the track laid down within the week. “I.C.U.” came next, after waking up in a cold sweat from a dream where he was chasing some kind of glowing light in a sea of darkness. He got that one done just a few weeks later.

Then he broke for All Stars. Literally, broke. Danny didn’t last 3 days back at Drag Race, but that was going to be common knowledge eventually. He went in as a confident artist healing from a breakup and the less-than-year-old death of his father, and he came out a shaken chiona with fresh wounds where all his Band-Aids had been.

Luckily this gave him yet another treasure trove of sadness and disappointment, from which he pulled out two more real gut-wrenchers like “Save Your Breath.” Danny wanted some really dark stuff on this album, and Life sure as hell gave him something to write about. Music was therapy, just as it always had been.

Music also gave Danny an excuse to hide. That was why he was holed up in Azusa, going nowhere but the studio and the house, because he was working on the album – definitely not because he didn’t know how to deal with his friends after The Incident and his All Stars freak out. Danny hadn’t seen anyone but Bonnie and her boyfriend in weeks, and he’d only spoken to Chris over the phone.

Isolation agreed with him. He working on the chorus of one of his bubblier tracks when his phone vibrated. In the zone and unwilling to be distracted, he ignored it. But, much like that crazy bitch from Fatal Attraction, the iPhone would not be ignored, Dan. Periodic vibes became constant buzzing, moving from short text alerts to the long drone of disregarded calls. After a sold 20 minutes of all out iPhone assault, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck?!” Danny yelled into his phone, picking it up without checking the caller. “Is the Goddamn universe ending?” He had been off in his own creative world, and resented whoever was pulling him back into the real one.

After a long second of silence, a hoarse but recognizable voice spoke. “See, where was this type of anger and hate 2 years ago? Damn, you could’ve at least given me some real competition with that shit.”

Danny froze. Roy.

“Uh, I…Wha…I…” Danny stuttered, hard. He didn’t have a comeback, partially because he was coming down from his moment of rage and partially because he was so surprised to hear that voice.

“That’s more like it. Confused and adorable. How’s my pussyfart doing? Why haven’t you called me? How have you been?“

Confused was right. Why is Roy calling? Danny told him he’d be gone for 10 weeks to do All Stars, but it had barely been 5.

And Roy sounded weird. There was this thing he did with his voice when he was straining to be nice - it got quiet and soft, like he was speaking to a baby bird, and it sounded almost an octave higher. Normally it made Danny laugh, because it sounded so ridiculous in comparison to Roy’s normal voice and reminded him that Roy never understood how warm and comforting he could be without even trying. But in this moment it was unsettling, because he didn’t know why Roy was speaking to him like that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. You just surprised me, why are you calling me ri – ” Danny realized it all at once. His fucking mom called Roy and told him what happened at All Stars, that was the only possible explanation. Confusion turned into anger and embarrassment. “Did my fucking mother call you and tell you about All Stars? Oh my God, I am not a child anymore. Jesus Christ, she called you and told you I – ”

“Whoa there, calm your tits kid. She didn’t tell me anything more than you’re back home in Azusa a little earlier than expected, and that she’s worried about you holing yourself up in the studio.”

Danny had set the phone down and was rubbing his face. “Fuuuuuck.”

After a few seconds of silence and a deep breath, he picked the phone back up. “Oh my fucking God, I’m sorry she called you. I am so mort - no, I am fine. I am so totally fine. I don’t know what the hell the woman formerly known as my mother was thinking, but seriously everything is ok. Great. It’s fucking spectacular.”

Danny knew the sarcasm in his voice wasn’t thick enough to cover up how exactly not-at-all-ok he actually was, but he thought he could trust Roy enough to just drop it until he chose to elaborate. He was right.

“Clearly, you sound so balanced and even-keeled right now.” Roy was returning the thick sarcasm in kind. “Look, your mama loves you and knows I’m the only motherfucker around here who can pull you outta whatever fucked up funk you’ve gotten yourself into after being sent home.”

Danny tried to interrupt. Sent home? He must be confused. “No, Roy I -”

But Roy cut him off at the pass. “Just shush and listen to your elders for a second. Cocooning yourself off in your own little sorrow…cocoon, fuck I can’t think of another word…anyway that isn’t going to do you any good. Let’s get out and do something, I’m coming to pick you up in an hour or however long it takes me to drive from Hollywood to ass-fuck Azusa. Just do what I say and for the love of God take a shower before you’re back out in public.”

And with a click, the call ended.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Roy didn’t know how he went home. He thought he got kicked off early and that’s why he was sad. Not because he pussied out within 48 hours and left after crying to Michelle and RuPaul on national television. Not because he couldn’t handle harsh criticism from That’s So Raven. Not because he was so emotionally shattered over other events and wasn’t able to focus on a stupid TV competition. And not because he was too scared to fail so he quit instead.

All things I will now have the pleasure of explaining to Bianca fucking Del Rio. To say Danny wasn’t looking forward to that part was about the understatement of his lifetime. But at least I get to see Roy. And that thought made it all ok again.

So Danny sighed, stood up, and shuffled upstairs to shower - shouting and cursing at Bonnie with every other step, and smiling in between.

…

Roy showed about an hour later, around 4 in the afternoon. He came to the door and hugged Bonnie - Bonnie the traitor, as a still slightly angry Danny thought of her - before grabbing Danny out from behind her and pulling him into a hug.

The hug seemed to defy all rules of space and time. It was bone-crushing at the same time as it was soft and warm. It gave Danny goosebumps and made his chest tense up, but it also sent waves of relaxation down his spine and made his head buzz like it was full of fireflies. It went on forever, but was over way too soon.

“Hey kiddo, how ya doin?” Roy said quietly to Danny as he slowly disengaged from the embrace, gently stroking Danny up and down his back while he did so.

Danny let silence hang, and then it hung for too long. When he realized the pause was getting dramatic, he nearly screeched his next words.

“Better now that mommy called a clown to cheer me up.” He was trying desperately to make a joke. The situation was becoming far to sincere and intimate and confusing for his brain to process, and he was just trying to find an eject button. “What, no balloons or giant shoes? I at least expected a piñata.”

“Oh god, you know I hate when you do that fucking chola voice.” Roy rolled his eyes, the spell of the moment broken. “C'mon you little brat, let’s go.” He bounded down the steps of the house and headed for his car.

“Careful, grandpa, you’ll break a hip! I don’t think Obamacare covers clown-related injuries on anyone over sixty!” Danny yelled after him, gathering the rest of his things from behind the door and trying to shoot a glance at his mom that simultaneously said Thank you and I hate you so much right now.

Roy was already in the car and backing out of the driveway when Danny turned around. “If you aren’t in this car in 30 seconds I’m leaving Delano. You better run - run like you’re chasin’ some of Detox’s trade.”

Danny sauntered slowly over to the car, swaying his hips just a little when he noticed Roy focusing a lot of attention on his body. He held his middle finger up all the while.

…

Roy drove Danny all the way back into LA. They spent the over-an-hour-long car ride catching up on all their quick-and-easy stuff: families, gigs, albums and tours, who of their friends had hooked up with who. It only veered into uncomfortable territory once - when Roy brought up the Handsome Blonde Man who haunted Danny’s dreams. Apparently he was named Tom and also now Roy’s boyfriend. Danny changed subjects as soon as the familiar aching feeling in his chest made his stomach hurt, sharply pivoting to talk about some ridiculous fight he and Chris had over Miley Cyrus. He made sure to fully dodge the other conversation bullet - All Stars - for the full drive.

They ended up at a record store in Silver Lake. Two stories of floor-to-ceiling vinyl, used and new, from beat up old soul 45’s to limited edition Bowie box sets to brand new Chance the Rapper albums.

“Do you actually come here?” Danny asked quizzically as he dug excitedly through a bin marked “Hole.” In all the years he’d known Roy, he’d never known him to be into vintage records. Clothes definitely, books maybe - but Danny had never seen so much as a framed album cover in Roy’s apartment.

Roy was a few rows over, casually flipping through the Musicals section. “Of course, I’m here all the time. It’s not that far from my house, and they have a really, uh, great selection, and there’s good coffee nearby, and over there they’ve got books…”

Danny scoffed. “You’re such a bad liar.” Roy had just done all of his lying “tells” - rambling in a weird cadence, going into unnecessary detail, and not making eye contact.

“What?” Roy kept his eyes on the Rogers and Hammerstein. “I am not, you don’t know everything about me, Daniel. I could be here every fucking week buying records for my…” He trailed off.

“For what? Tell me what you play these on, Mr. DJ.” Danny put a hand on his hip and stared challengingly at Roy.

This was fun, he loved catching Roy in a mistake. Their natural relationship dynamic always made him feel like he was at a disadvantage - as if Roy was smart and he was dumb, Roy was successful and he was a fuck up - so Danny seized on any opportunity to reassure him that they were equal. Especially since he knew he was about to tip his own scales back towards ‘fuck up’ whenever Roy decided to finally ask about All Stars.

“My record player, it’s a…um…it’s…oh fuck it.” Roy stopped pretending to look at through the showtunes stacks and rolled his eyes at Danny. “No, I’ve literally never been here before. I asked Raja for a good place to go for music today and this is what I got. Not bad though, huh?”

Danny was surprised by how quickly Roy gave up. Usually there was at least some kind of fun back-and-forth fighting over who was right, or trying to cover up what they didn’t know, or just full on teasing.

“Why? You always listen to everything on those ugly ass Beats headphones anyway, what would you want with a record?”

There were only a few seconds of awkward silence, but Danny would’ve sworn it was a solid minute.

“I wanted to bring you somewhere to take your mind of things, and I know you love record stores.” Roy looked at Danny with that same sincerity from the hug on the front porch. “I figured you could use the distraction.”

And once again, it made Danny’s heart beat wild. Not because Roy was looking at him with genuine care and compassion. No, of course not.

And not because Roy was willing to sacrifice his very limited time off to do something he knew only Danny would enjoy, and that wasn’t something people did normal friends.

Nope, definitely not. It was certainly because Danny was just afraid to tell him about All Stars, that he wasn’t kicked off but instead made the decision to walk away…

“Oh.” That was all Danny could muster.

They spent about 45 more minutes wandering the shop before the owner came out from behind the poster-littered cash wrap and told them both he’d be closing down for the night. Danny bought a new Lana Del Rey album and a beat-up bootleg of a Nine Inch Nails concert from the late 90’s. He was surprised when Roy followed behind to buy a book on Stevie Nicks’ impact on fashion - leave it to him to find a book about clothes in a warehouse full of music.

Danny was starving, and it was far enough past sunset that he didn’t feel like a senior citizen for suggesting dinner. Roy knew of a good Mexican place with strong margaritas a few doors down, and they headed over.

Two hours later, tacos were came and went, margaritas were inhaled like water, shots were knocked back at machine-gun pace, and Danny had officially exhausted all his small talk options. Oh, and also he was drunk. As fuck. In sum, officially out of ways to avoid talking about the elefante in the room.

“So Daniel Noriega.” Roy was slurring his words just a bit, but he was at least two notches less drunk than Danny.

It’s that fucking New Orleans thing, Danny thought to himself. Roy is like a fucking steel tank. He may as well be sober.

(He wasn’t.)

“It’s time to ‘fess up. What’d you wear to piss off Michelle so much that she shoved her fist up Ru’s ass and made him send you home?” Even when tipsy Roy knew how to be hateful. Shit, maybe even more so when he’d been drinking.

“Well, you cunt, it was actually that dress youuuuu -” Danny waved another shot of tequila under Roy’s nose as he gestured towards him “- gave me for the show. Did you and your precious new boyfriend just want to sabotage me?”

Roy grabbed the dangling shot from Danny’s hand and slammed it back. “No way, not possible. That dress was fucking beautiful, it was black and sexy and it sparkled, bitch.” Roy tried unsuccessfully to tongue pop, a sure sign he was getting more drunk by the second; only drunk Roy dug unironically into the Laganja-isms.

“Yeah, well, Michelle thought otherwise. She told me I had hogbody again.”

“What? That shady whore, I swear I -” Roy tried to interject but Danny talked over him, cutting off whatever tirade against Michelle he was about to launch.

“But it didn’t matter, it wasn’t about the dress. Not really, at least. It was about me. How I didn’t care. How I didn’t try, I don’t try, I never try.”

As he spoke, Danny began to feel an unfamiliar emotion in this story: anger. When he’d recounted it to Bonnie, and every time he’d gone through it in his own head, he’d only ever felt embarrassed and sad. But now he felt a fire in his stomach - no doubt fueled by tequila, but still.

“Who the fuck did she think she was, talking to me like that? I’m the fan-fucking-favorite of all time. Of any Drag Race season. EVER. And she thinks she can tell me I don’t care and I don’t try? And that goddamn Raven…”

Danny steamrolled over Roy whenever he tried to respond or ask a question. “Raven was there?”

There was no derailing him, though. The floodgates had been opened, and the weeks of anger Danny had been repressing now flooded out like blood through the halls of The Shining hotel.

“Michelle just made it ok for Raven Simon - Simone - Salmon - ugh, however you say her name. She fucking tore me to shreds for no fucking reason. What has she done since her Disney Channel show like a million years ago? Talk about a joke, someone who doesn’t do anything. Where the hell does she come off saying I’m a bad singer or that I’m fat or that I’m lazy and untalented…”

“She said what now?”

Danny was basically talking to himself at this point. “Screw both of them. They’re idiot fucking people with idiot fucking opinions.” He knew he didn’t mean it all - he loved Michelle like a father - but he just needed to say it.

“Well that’s a constructive, adult response to the situation.”

“Whatever, I’m glad I quit. I’m better than all that anyway.” Danny said it so confidently he almost believed himself.

The moment of drunk, anger-high reassurance was gone as soon as it came.

“You did what?” Roy looked at Danny in disbelief.

Danny was so surprised by Roy’s surprise - and so drunk from the tequila - that he didn’t think to sugar coat anything.

“I quit. They were cunts to me on the first day, so on the second day I quit.”

Uncomfortable silence crashed the party once again. Roy was just staring at him, his eyes slightly squinting and his focus darting around. It was like he was trying to compute whatever Danny had just said, and it went on unbearably long.

“I stood up for myself, Roy.” He couldn’t take the quiet stare, so he broke eye contact and directed his words at the empty shot glass he was idly spinning. Danny knew this made him look like a nervous little boy.

“It was the only thing I could’ve done. If you’d been there, you’d have told me to do the same thing.”

Roy’s expression didn’t change, but he looked away now, too. His eyes searched for the waiter, who he waved at aggressively. “Hi, excuse me. Hello!”

“Roy, I know I should’ve told –”

But Roy wasn’t listening. The waiter had arrived. “Can we get the check please? Actually, just take my card.” He fumbled for his wallet, yanked out his Amex, and threw it on the table. “Faster you bring that back, the bigger the tip.”

He then proceeded to pull out his phone and start dialing, continuing to ignore all Danny’s attempts to speak. It was freaky when Roy got like this, slipped into tunnel vision and disregarded everything around him. Danny knew it was his way of keeping his emotions in check. A Roy this focused was a Roy trying to keep cool.

“Look, I –”

“Justin? Hey, sorry if I woke you up.” Roy ignored Danny and spoke to the voice on the other end of the call. “No, no I’m fine. I need a favor - can you come get my car from El Coyote and drive it home? I’m here with Danny and I’m too drunk to drive. I figured if you’re not out you could…Ok great, thanks. It’s in the valet, I’ll tell them you’re coming. We’re jumping in an Uber. You’re the best, Thunderfuck.”

The waiter came back and Roy signed for the bill. True to his word, he left a 50% tip.

“Come on, Danny. We’re leaving.” Roy acknowledged his presence for the first time in maybe 10 minutes, but still wouldn’t make eye contact. “Uber is outside, I can’t take you home so you’ll stay at my place. Tell Bonnie.”

“Um, I’m not a child going to a sleepover.” Given the childishly defiant way in which he was speaking, and the childishly ashamed way he’d just been sitting, Danny recognized his own deep hypocrisy. “You don’t get to order me around and –”

Roy stood up from the table and finally looked at Danny. “I don’t want to fight with you right now. Can we please just go?”

The exasperation in Roy’s voice was apparent, and it caught him off guard. Frustration, condescension, even anger - those would’ve made sense. But somehow he just looked sad and tired.

“Okay, sure.” Roy walked towards the exit, and Danny stood to follow.

…

The silent car ride gave Danny just enough time to spiral. Both he and Roy were staring out their windows, probably making the Uber driver think they had just gotten into a huge fight. Danny almost wished they had - at least Roy would be talking to him if they were fighting, and yelling at each other must be better than not speaking at all.

Instead, the absence of words led him down a rabbit hole of thought. Roy has never been this quiet, not with me. Is he that angry? Did I let him down that badly? He must’ve known I couldn’t get far without him, that I’d disappoint him in the end. Him, my mom, my fucking fans…

It was a particularly dark rabbit hole, and one he’d become deeply acquainted with since he left All Stars. He knew every nook of self-doubt, every cranny of anger, every pothole of depression. By the time the car pulled up to Roy’s place, Danny was approaching the final circle of his own personal hell.

Roy had been in his own head enough that he didn’t notice. Danny trailed behind him from the car to the elevator to the hallway, tears welling up all the while.

Inside the apartment, Roy threw his keys on the table and walked straight towards his kitchen. He wasn’t watching Danny as he poured two giant glasses of water, but he began talking immediately.

“I’m trying to think of what to say here, Danny, but I’m just at a fucking loss. You left? You fucking left?” He still wasn’t yelling, but there was a tinge of annoyance in his tone that wasn’t there before.

“You’re so special, so talented and amazing. You couldn’t just believe that enough to tough it out and win? You know you would’ve won if you had just –”

The speech was cut off by Danny’s own sob. One heave, two heaves, and then a waterfall of breathes, apologies and shudders tumbling out while he leaned on the door for support. The combination of too much tequila, chased with a mixer of his own and Roy’s disappointment, was too much for Danny to handle.

That caught Roy’s attention; he dropped his Brita and nearly jumped over the kitchen counter, sliding his hands around Danny’s waist just as he was about to collapse under the weight of his own crying.

“Oh, hey. Babe, shh.” Roy guided them over to the couch. “I didn’t mean to make you…I just don’t understand what happened. Help me understand what happened.” He was trying to talk to Danny, who was too busy trying to catch a deep breath between hiccuping and not inhaling tears.

“I - I’m so sorry - I let you down - and I’m - such a - shit - to everybody - I -” Danny got out 15 words before another wave of sobs. He and Roy had settled into a somewhat comfortable position on the couch - Roy seated, Danny resting his head on his left pec and soaking his shirt in the same spot. He took a few minutes to gather some words.

The steady beating of Roy’s heart under the weight of his head, matched with Roy’s in-rhythm stroking of his hair, eventually calmed him enough to speak again.

“Roy, I know I made a mistake. What they said, it just -”

“What did they say to you? Dan, you have to tell me.” Roy was trying to sound calm, but in a sharp tone that Danny could tell was holding back anger.

“I can’t, and you’ll see it eventually anyway. You’re going to think it’s so stupid, I just couldn’t take their shit after everything that happened this summer. I walked in there and I was ready to fall apart from the beginning. I had just had my fucking heart ripped out of my chest, and - ”

“Oh, babe. I thought you were okay with the breakup? You told us you were fine after he -”

Danny scoffed. That’s not what I meant, idiot. Obviously I mean you.

“No, I - it wasn’t that. I guess not. I just, I couldn’t handle knowing that I was going to end up disappointing everyone.” Danny could feel the tequila making him real ramble-y and real honest, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“The way Ru and Michelle were looking at me on that stage, like I had fallen from a pedestal or something. And Michelle, when we talked it was just, like, pity. I don’t know, it just like broke my brain to see how I failed them.” He paused to wipe his runny nose.

“And thinking about how I would let down my mom and my fans and you - I mean, letting down other people is one thing but when you know you can’t live up to the expectations of the person you’re in lo -”

Even in his most hammered of hammered states, Danny would’ve cut himself off before he finished saying the words “in love with.” But before he could self-censor, he was silenced by the violent change in Roy’s heartbeat. Just as he began the phrase, the pounding on the warm chest beneath him went from the rhythm of soft jazz to the thump of an Afrojack track.

“What?”

Danny didn’t respond, he didn’t know what to say. He was mesmerized by the heartbeat, afraid to speak in case the words he wanted to desperately to hide would come spilling out. This was not the time for this conversation - not while Roy had a boyfriend, while Danny was lying in his arms blubbering like a baby, while they were both drunk, while he wouldn’t get the response he so desperately wanted.

But Roy wouldn’t abide the silence. “Dan, what were you going to -” Roy’s voice cracked, something it never did. And for some reason that made Danny cry all over again, all the way to sleep.

As he drifted off, tears rolling down his face, he would’ve sworn he felt some falling on the top of his head like rain drops.

He would’ve been right - they were Roy’s.

…

Danny woke up around 4:30. He was still nestled up in Roy, but they’d fallen into a more laying down than sitting up situation. The right side of his face was damp, as was the bit of Roy’s chest he’d taken up as a pillow for the last five hours. He was safely wrapped in Roy’s arms, one of which wrapped around his waist while the other laid atop the long black hair he’d been stroking.

Danny gave himself just a few deep breaths to enjoy the moment - the warmth, the safety, the peace - before his eyes snapped open and his head began to throb. It throbbed from salty shots and margaritas, from embarrassment, and from the memory that Roy had a fucking boyfriend.

Knowing Roy was a heavy sleeper, Danny slowly slipped himself out of the dare-he-call-it-spooning position and stood up from the couch. He saw Roy adjust slightly at the loss of an extra body, also losing the dopey smile that was plastered on his sleeping face.

Watching this, Danny’s stomach started to turn - and not just the normal hangover nausea. He was getting the same stomach pangs he felt when his dad passed, the same ones he felt when he lost Season 6 - a pain he’d come to associate with losing something he didn’t have in the first place.

Danny knew he had to get out of the apartment. He grabbed his phone - still in his pocket and alive, thank God - and called for an Uber. He knocked back both the glasses of water left on the counter before scribbling a note on Roy’s whiteboard:

Sorry I had to leave, needed to get home for mom stuff. Don’t tell anyone what we talked about or you owe me the contract violation money, bitch. Love you x 10000.

Danny spent the hour long ride back to Azusa writing out the lyrics to “4 a.m.”

#adore delano #bianca del rio #biadore #say you won't let go #fucking awful #rpdr fanfiction #submission #sywlg #canon compliant

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tabletopontap · 5 years

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Top 30 to Look Forward to at GenCon 2019 (#21-30)

Here’s the continuation of the Top 30 with a look at #21-30, the end of the list.

Dungeon Academy - Have I mentioned lately how much I like games that play under an hour? This looks like a roll & write game published by Matagot and created by Julian Allain. It’s for 1-6 players and takes 20 min. to play. In the game, you roll dice and draw lines to chart your path from start to the dungeon, defeating monsters along the way. It looks like a fun implementation of a dungeon crawl.

City of the Big Shoulders - Published by Parallel Games and designed by Raymond Chandler III, this is a heavier game that supports 2-4 players and takes 2-3 hours to play. In this game, players work to build up the city of Chicago. It’s apparently a marriage of an 18xx style (ie. HEAVY) game of stock manipulation with the easy rules of a Euro-style game. Throughout the course of the game, players will run companies, trade stock shares, and produce/sell goods in order to become rich capitalists of industry.

Black Angel - Designed by Sébastien Dujardin, Xavier Georges, and Alain Orban and published by Pearl Games, this game for 1-4 players takes 1-2 hours to play. This is probably one of the biggest games to watch at the convention. This game is apparently a reimplementation of the popular board game, Troyes, but with a space theme. Honestly, that description should be reason enough for me to NOT be interested. However, I can’t help but be drawn into the theme. The game is described as existing in a post-apocalyptic world. Like in the Disney animated film, Wall-E, Earth’s resources have been depleted and humanity’s only hope is to board the ship, Black Angel, and seek life elsewhere. Different factions fight over who gets to control the ship and dictate the use of resources. The game has an interesting premise--exciting enough to pull me in, despite my hesitancy about gameplay mechanisms. I’ve played Troyes before, and I didn’t like the gameplay.

Undo: Blood in the Gutter - Designed by Michael Palm and Lukas Zach and published by Pegasus Spiele, this game supports 2-6 players in 45-90 min. I’m very excited about this one! It’s a cooperative game that involves storytelling and a murder mystery! Jump back in time to stop someone’s death, Quantum Leap style. From reading about this game, I get the impression that it’s a cross between Unlock! (escape room in a box) and Time Stories (escape room in a box before the Unlock! and Exit series came out, but with a sort of clunky time-loop, replay the same scenario over and over game mechanism instead of pure exploration). If the story is strong, then I think this game will be successful in adding a new twist to the popular escape-room-in-a-box genre.

Quirky Circuits- Designed by Nikki Valens and published by Plaid Hat Games, this quick playing game takes 15-30 min. for 2-4 players. The art on the box cover is irresistibly cute! Hats off to the artist, Danalyn Reyes. I should really be giving more kudos to board game artists, but this one in particular caught my eye because of the cute animals and robots. This is a cooperative game, my favorite type! Players simultaneously select programmable actions to set the course of their quirky robot in hopes it will complete its task before its battery runs out. I guess they should’ve invested in some Energizer batteries for that robot. The designer, Nikki Valens, is known for formerly working at Fantasy Flight Games on big projects like Mansions of Madness 2nd ed, Arkham Horror, Eldritch Horror, and Legacy of Dragonholt. While I would love to see another storytelling game from Nikki, this game piques my interest. Plaid Hat Games is well known for publishing games set in the zombie apocalypse, Dead of Winter, as well as the Evolution series of games. Considering the pedigree of both the designer and publisher, I expect great things.

Century Golem: Eastern Mountains- I didn’t think Plan B Games would actually create and publish this golem-themed sequel to Century: Golem edition (aka the golem version of Emerson Matsuuchi’s smash hit, Century: Spice Road). I’M SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS!!! They said they weren’t going to do it, and I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. The artists for this one are Atha Kanaani and Chris Quilliams; Chris was also one of the artists of the original Century: Golem game. The art makes all the difference of this easy to play, easy to like goods conversion game. I might have to shell out extra money for the playmat, too. I just can’t get over how great the art is in this game! It’s also an easy game to teach to people who are new to boardgaming.

Wingspan - New designer Elizabeth Hargrave has created one of the most talked about games this year, which is surprising to me, given that this is a game about birds. Yes, you heard that right, this game is for the birds! Wingspan supports 1-5 players and takes 40-70 min. to play. Published by Stonemaier games, the game probably had some built-in trust that the game would be good. Stonemaier has been known to publish fun games with quality components. I can’t decide if it’s the tiny eggs that look like candy or the birdhouse that dispenses the dice that makes this game eye-catching. I like that this game has card drafting. I’m eager to play this one, myself!

Colors of Paris - Another newbie designer, Nicolas De Oliveira, has created this game about creating great works of art. The publisher is Super Meeple, and the game supports 2-4 players in 45-60 min. This game appears to feature a rondel mechanism. I think I’m generally pulled in by games about art, even though I fear Fresco might just be the best of them all. We’ll have to see what Colors of Paris brings to the table.

Crusaders: Thy Will Be Done - Created by Seth Jaffee and published by Tasty Minstrel Games, this game supports 2-4 players and plays in 40-60 min. This game uses both rondel and mancala mechanisms. As is to be expected from Tasty Minstrel, the wooden tokens are custom shaped pieces that look like knights, castles, and other buildings. There are also variable player powers in this game, which I’m not always a fan of because I think some player powers are more intuitive to employ than others, making gameplay feel uneven. At least, that has been my experience with variable powers in other games; it’s THE reason my gaming partner doesn’t like The Voyages of Marco Polo, and to this day I regret playing with the suggested player powers for a first game (she got whatever power is prescribed for third place, and the first player’s power was overwhelmingly strong). I’m intrigued to find out how the mancala and rondel interact with each other in this game.

Cartographers: A Roll Player Tale - Produced by Thunderworks and designed by Jordy Adan, this is yet another roll & write game that takes 30-45 min. and supports 1+ players. Like any good roll & write, the player count is really only limited by the number of papers/pencils you have. This game takes place in the Roll Player universe. Instead of rolling up the stats of a player character, this time you’re a map maker charting out distant lands for the queen.

That's a wrap on my Top 30 from GenCon. Stay tuned for my upcoming list on Essen Spiel, the biggest boardgaming convention in the world! This year’s Essen Spiel is from Oct. 24th-27th, so I need to get my preview list together quickly.

#boardgames #GenCon

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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To his neighbors, the alleged Pittsburgh gunman was quiet and unassuming. “There was nothing about him, not even a bumper sticker on his car,” Chris Hall, who lived in his neighborhood, told the New York Times.

But online, the man suspected of killing 11 people and wounding six others in a shooting at a Pittsburgh synagogue on Saturday, appears to have given ample warning that he might commit violence.

In his postings on Gab, a social network that has become a home for anti-Semitism and racism, he repeatedly posted threatening language about Jewish people and HIAS National Refugee Shabbat, a refugee aid group formerly known as the Hebrew Immigration Aid Society. Perhaps most notably, he posted on the site on Saturday morning, “HIAS likes to bring invaders in that kill our people. I can’t sit by and watch my people get slaughtered. Screw your optics, I’m going in.”

Cesar Sayoc, meanwhile, the man arrested on Friday in connection with bombs mailed to CNN and several critics of President Donald Trump, appears to have threatened Democrats on Twitter and Facebook. “Hug your loved son,Niece,wife family real close everytime U walk out your home,” said one tweet sent to former Vice President Joe Biden, apparently by Sayoc. It included an image of Biden’s home with a target superimposed on it.

Sayoc and the alleged Pittsburgh gunman are far from the first to leave behind a trail of online threats and hate before turning to actual or attempted violence. In 2014, one shooter said in a YouTube video that women would be punished for not being attracted to him, before killing six people and wounding 13 in Isla Vista, California. Another man maintained a blog detailing his anger toward women for months before killing three women at a gym outside Pittsburgh in 2009.

These men share more than their apparent online histories of bigotry. All were part of communities, online or off, that seemed to reinforce their views. That’s why online hatred and harassment is so serious. It’s not just that an individual person’s online posts can be warning signs of future violence. It’s also that hateful posts, even by those who never commit crimes, create an environment where those crimes are encouraged, accepted, and even celebrated.

Posts apparently by Robert Bowers, the alleged Pittsburgh assailant, reveal a history of anti-Semitism, and a web of influences. On Gab, someone by the name of Robert Bowers posted a variety of anti-Semitic slurs and statements, including “jews are the children of satan,” according to the Associated Press. The same user criticized President Trump for being insufficiently anti-Jewish, and bragged about his gun collection, calling it his “glock family” and saying one gun in particular had an “amazing trigger.”

As Vox’s Jane Coaston notes, Gab was started as a “free speech” alternative to Twitter, and allows forms of hate speech that are banned on more mainstream social networks. Because of this, it’s become a gathering place — and recruitment forum — for neo-Nazi groups. One post from a group called Atomwaffen Division features swastikas, racial slurs, and the invitation, “Join your local Nazis.”

The synagogue shooting suspect also acted out of a specific kind of anti-Semitism, as Vox’s Dara Lind points out: “blaming Jews in America for bringing in an invasion of nonwhite immigrants who would slaughter the white race.” This particular kind of bigotry has been fueled by Trump’s claims that his political opponents are at fault for the caravan of migrants approaching the US, and by anti-Semitic conspiracy theorists on Gab and other social networks, who have cast the caravan as a Jewish “invasion.”

Most of the people posting this theory online have never committed anti-Semitic violence, but they helped create the conditions under which something like the Pittsburgh shooting could occur.

Twitter and Facebook accounts connected to Sayoc, meanwhile, contain threats against Biden and former Attorney General Eric Holder, both of whom received pipe bombs. CNN analyst Phil Mudd also received a Twitter threat apparently from Sayoc. Political analyst Rochelle Ritchie reported a threat apparently from Sayoc to Twitter in the days before the shooting, but Twitter did not take action.

Sayoc was apparently a devotee of a variety of conspiracy theories, many of which have spread on Twitter. As Vox’s German Lopez points out, he often posted criticisms of liberal billionaire George Soros, a common target of anti-Semitic fear-mongering on Twitter and elsewhere. Trump has fanned the flames of this fear-mongering, retweeting a claim earlier this year that Soros was a “nazi who turned in his fellow Jews.”

The two men suspected of acts of terrorism in recent days were far from alone in leaving what appear to be online trails pointing to future violent behavior.

“Tomorrow is the day of retribution,” the shooter from Isla Vista, California, said in his last YouTube video, according to the New York Times. “For the last eight years of my life, ever since I hit puberty, I’ve been forced to endure an existence of loneliness, rejection and unfulfilled desires. Girls gave their affection and sex and love to other men but never to me.”

“I do not know why you girls aren’t attracted to me,” he added. “But I will punish you all for it.”

This man also identified as an “incel” (short for “involuntary celibate”) and posted on forums populated by men with similar frustrations. The 22-year-old, who took his own life after killing others, became something of a hero to other “incels,” as Vox’s Zack Beauchamp has noted. A man who killed 10 people by driving a van down a Toronto street in April identified himself on Facebook as part of the “Incel Rebellion.” Also on Facebook, he praised the Isla, Vista shooter, calling him the “Supreme Gentleman,” a nickname the California man had chosen for himself.

The man who shot and killed three women at a Pittsburgh gym, meanwhile, wrote on his personal website in 2008, “I dress good, am clean-shaven, bathe, touch of cologne – yet 30 million women rejected me – over an 18 or 25-year period.”

“A man needs a woman for confidence,” he added. “He gets a boost on the job, career, with other men, and everywhere else when he knows inside he has someone to spend the night with and who is also a friend. This type of life I see is a closed world with me specifically and totally excluded.”

He also had ties to the pickup artist community, having purchased the book How to Date Young Women: For Men Over 35, and appearing in a video of one of author R. Don Steele’s lectures. Pickup artistry, more in vogue in the early 2000s than it is now, sometimes treated women as less human than men, as “targets” to be coerced or fooled into sex. It’s not murder, of course, but this was the climate of misogyny in which he planned his crime.

Each of these men may have seemed like a loner — but in fact, each was part of a group of people with similarly toxic views directed at Jewish people, women, or people of color. And we need to understand crimes like the Pittsburgh shooting and the pipe bombs mailed to Democrats within their larger context of on- and offline hate.

That means holding platforms accountable for the behavior they allow. In the wake of the pipe bombings, Twitter has apologized for not taking Ritchie’s report more seriously. “We are investigating what happened and will continue to work to improve how we handle concerns raised by anyone on Twitter,” the account @TwitterSafety tweeted last week.

But in response to a request for specifics from The Verge, the company merely pointed to blog posts from earlier in the year. “This is a familiar story from Twitter,” the Verge’s Andrew Liptak writes: “apologizing for reacting after the fact after it becomes clear that someone violated the site’s terms.”

Gab, meanwhile, is being more defiant. “Gab.com is under attack,” read a message posted by the company on Monday. “We have been smeared by the mainstream media for defending free expression and individual liberty for all people and for working with law enforcement to ensure that justice is served for the horrible atrocity committed in Pittsburgh.”

Investigating and prosecuting online threats can be tricky because perpetrators can conceal their identities and locations, and because when someone in one part of the country threatens someone in another, it’s not always clear which law enforcement agency should take the case.

But there’s evidence that law enforcement, even at the federal level, isn’t doing all it can: The Department of Justice prosecutes only a small minority of cases of online threats and stalking, Joshua Eaton reported at ThinkProgress last year. A bill that would provide resources to help the FBI, DOJ, and local authorities fight such crimes, introduced by Rep. Katherine Clark (D-MA), has been stuck in committee since last July.

While law enforcement can prosecute threats and stalking, other hate speech isn’t illegal. But that doesn’t mean companies like Twitter have to allow it on their platforms. As journalist Stacy-Marie Ishmael pointed out on Twitter over the weekend, women, and especially black women, who experience disproportionate harassment online, have been warning of the seriousness of this harassment for years. Their warnings have mostly fallen on deaf ears.

Taking online hate seriously would require platforms like Twitter to make fighting threats and bigotry a core part of their mission, not an afterthought. As Kate Klonick wrote at Vox in 2016, “Twitter needs to view fighting abuse as an essential feature.”

It also means law enforcement, government, and ordinary users need to be aware of the ways in which online communities can fuel offline hate. Men like the alleged Pittsburgh shooter and Sayoc have been posting about their violent intentions for years now, and getting support and affirmation for doing so. It’s long past time to start paying attention.

Original Source -> How mass shooters practice their hate online

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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nailtravels · 6 years

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The gypsy girl said it herself, the cards looked good. But what did that really mean? And good for whom? There was lots going on here. Were we now putting our faith entirely in the hands of the unknown, like buffalo teeth and painted chicken’s feet? When you believe in things you don’t understand, then you suffer superstition. Methinks this does not bode well.

Mercury was supposedly in retrograde, whatever the great Gravy Crockett that meant. And this was somehow supposed to translate into everything coming up wine and roses? With hindsight being twenty-twenty, the lens of wisdom would surely suggest nades. F’sho, no. Who could know that the red haired gypsy girl’s words would herald both delicious ecstasy and unimaginable peril? Such is the way here in the proverbial pocket of things. Welcome to the Mother Land. This is the briar patch and you, little mister, have enlisted in the Army of Northern Virginia. Don’t worry. We won’t have you hiking through the brambles. This is Thomas Jackson country and The Low-Brow Summer Tour 2018 has come to a close with the nailtravels team mounting a guerrilla offensive on Lockn’ Festival. Mission accomplished, it’s Lockn’ 2018: The Lowest Brow.

Ambassadors extraordinaire, Lockn’ 2018

Lockn’ Festival, formerly known as Interlocken Music Festival, is an annual four-day music festival held at Oak Ridge Farm in Arrington, Virginia. It is a headier-than-thou, jam-band, wavy gravy, funk heavy camping/music experience in the gentle hills of southern Virginia. It gets it’s name from the rotating stage that showcases performers as the end of one act overlaps the beginning of the next. Bands like Lettuce and Umphrie’s Magee played to and with each other as the musical transition took place to the seamless delight of thousands.

Past artists include Gov’y Mule, String Cheese, moe, John Fogerty, Greensky Bluegrass, The Avett Brothers, Ween, Phish, Twiddle, My Morning Jacket, John Butler, Chris Robinson Brotherhood, Little Feat, Robert Plant, Jefferson Airplane, Carlos Santana, Tom Petty, The Wood Brothers, Willie Nelson, Hot Tuna, Zac Brown, Jimmy Cliff, Col. Bruce Hampton and who cares? That’s plenty.

Main stage, LOCKN’ Sat. night: photo by Jessica Brightsen.

For once, Baitbucket felt reasonably healthy. The yellow foam had stopped seeping from the corner of his right eye and his back felt strangely quiet. The knees and ankles were holding together and, barring an unforeseen incident, he might be able to run the gauntlet. A gauntlet to be sure. infinity Downs Farm is a gigantic property littered with rvs, tents and ez-ups. Laid out over miles of hippies and clay trails, every exploratory adventure covers several square miles of travel. And that doesn’t include the multiple unexpected detours that seem to be popping up all the time. Jubba jubba.

Bobby

New friends.

Dead & Co. LOCKN’ 2018: photo by Kevin Crowley

Johnny and Bobby, LOCKN” 2018

The fam. LOCKN’ 2018

Dead & Co. with Branford Marsalis, LOCKN’ 2018: photo by Neal Hart

Sugarplum and Huckleberry get hitched at Church, LOCKN’ 2018.

Argentina, John and Sugarplum, LOCKN” 2018: photo by Liz Riddick

Scott and Joe solving the mysteries of the universe, LOCKN’ 2018.

And another thing, LOCKN’ 2018

Jaime and Argentina, LOCKN’ 2018

So pretty, LOCKN’ 2018

Lockn’ 2018 Breakdown:

Wednesday: Welcome to the Leaning Tower of the Yoga Machine. Broken beads, broken backs, cool nights and warm days are the order. For festival fun, it doesn’t get any better. It’s way too early to be having this much fun and besides, the cards wouldn’t lie. Please be sure to check your gluten at the flap. The yurt was set up in High Field RV with three recreational vehicles, three tents, three awnings, two ez-ups. It’s true, the Huckleberries and the Baitbuckets of the world can come together and let PBR and Natty Light fans play together as one single neck of color. It’s a fact, some people should not be in charge of putting up the yurt. Namaste.

Thursday: By Thursday evening, cat head mushroom chocolates had turned many of the festivarians into silly puddles of unraveled string. There were even reports of dead people. Go figure. Imagine live Lettuce into Umphrey’s into Lettuce with the funk and back into Umphrey’s. Some of the Umphrey’s show was, as usual, hard to wrap the head around. Kind of like Chinese math. In the words of Lord Buckley, “They stomped on the terra.” Joe Russo’s Almost Dead closed out the night with a set that included an Easy Wind and Row Jimmy. Thank you Sarah and Steve for the late night fellowship at the Jerry Garcia Forest. It’s better when we camp together.

Late night on the mountain, the light fog blurred the edges of the rising moon. By Sunday Funday, it would be full and the patients would surely be running the asylum.

Friday: Umphrey’s Mcgee did what they do again, and along with Jason Bonham and Derek Trucks, they shredded the Zeppelin cover, “Whole Lotta Love”. After a complete afternoon of funk it would be up to WSMFP and the Spreadnecks to deliver the big punch Friday night and, as always, they were up for the challenge. Clayopheus III the Destroyer showed up toward the end of their set and things would never be the same. Late night on the way to the Jerry Garcia Forest heralded the arrival of a new, bright green planet in our own solar system. Imagine the surprise.

JRAD Friday Midnight Setlist

Tell Me, Momma Viola Lee Blues St. Stephen The Eleven St. Stephen reprise Ophelia Atlantic City Viola Lee Blues jam China Cat Sunflower I Know You Rider Feel Like a Stranger Shakedown Street

The Friday night party ended up at the Jerry Garcia Forest for a night of Jerry bluegrass and dancing in the street. Baitbucket couldn’t yet locate the Michiganders, so he found his way back to J’s Dablature Experiment for late night cordials and low-temperature silliness. He was last seen, walking around in small circles looking for his campsite until the wee hours of the early morning. Worm hole Watusi of the first order, to be sure.

Saturday (SNUCKN’): The Lowest Brow–Stonewall’s festival experience had found the perfect rhythm. He’d ingested a virtual cornucopia of unknown chemicalia into his blood stream and his head was all right. He’d lined himself with such a bouquet of uppers and downers, just to let them fight it out, leaving him somewhere close to level. The Mafioso had come bearing enough gifts, like Shawsville strawberry moonshine and recreational bath salts, to weaken a large pack animal, and throughout the tents and shade canopies that lined the festival fields, candy was being tossed around like Mardi Gras Tuesday. It was around four in the afternoon and the day had left him careless and fancy free. He was heading in to see Pigeons Playing PIng Pong thinking about E A Sy. For a gangster, he loved that band and never missed a chance to see them. It would be cooler if he was here packing a vat of his crotch whiskey. Not a single care in the world. Walking through the security checkpoint, he broke the fourth rule of adult caution and forgot about the container of contraband in the lower pocket of his cargo shorts. Oopsie…Upon detection, Stonewall made a confused mumbling sound and turned to walk away in a reserved and patient manner. In retrospect, he might should have hauled some serious ass, but he liked to think that the days of barefootly climbing chain link fences were behind him. For some reason that can’t be explained here, the security volunteer alerted the legitimate gestapo and they lit out in pursuit of the unsuspecting perp, faster than a West Texas jackrabbit. What was happening? In one nanosecond, he was back in the clutches of the pigs and they were already predictably obstinate. Things had turned due south and this was certainly not one of those “good choices” that Sunshine had suggested, in some other place and some other time. As he strode away from the security guard he removed the small vial from his pocket and began dumping out it’s contents into the Virginia brush, until a police officer donned in a black golf shirt, rudely snatched it from his hands. He pushed into Stonewall’s face and shouted, “Why did you try and dump it out?” “I figured if I dropped the whole thing it would be conspicuous,” forgetting, yet again, that honesty is never the best policy when dealing with law dogs of any kind.` With the click of the handcuffs, he accepted the fact that this was definitely on and he had finally managed to reach the lowest brow. Having penned the term, Darth Waffle would be pleased. Things were finally getting colorful. He was tossed into a cop golf cart and taken to a cop single wide modular home where his fate lay in the hands of cops on computer monitors. Visions of Spring Reunion began flashing in his mind’s eye. Never tie a pit bull to a wheel barrow.

Seated in the well-lit room next to a gaggle of child cops, the next immediate goal was to hold it together and not appear too faded. Apparently, it can be a crime. Who can imagine how his outward appearance physically looked under a careful and prolonged examination by these trained Nazis? In a well-lit room, it seemed like a real long shot. If these Virginia puerco even suspected what drugs he’d ingested, he’d be on his way to the hospital for a good old fashioned stomach pumpin’. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what he’d taken during the first half of this day, which seemed so far away. The walkabout had lasted most of the morning, visiting the headiest folk around the site and ingesting God only knows what. Here in the mid-afternoon, his innards could only be characterized as a chemical toilet. Mission accomplished yo.

As the interrogation lingered, his mouth began to fill up with what he imagined creosote would taste like and the sweat, once again, began to foam and burble. There was still the business card of acid in his wallet and a couple ten strips already cut. Hopefully he wasn’t sweating so much as to render it useless. When the pigs looked closer, and they surely would, they’d find it and ship him off to Red Onion State Prison for the rest of his days. Finally, the silly dream of freedom would be, once and for all, put down like a rabid cur. As he spoke with the local magistrate via skype, things continued to get increasingly foggy. There were so many questions. The whole thing seemed to be going to hell as he began to turn into warm mush right in front of the magistrate. “Did you get a DUI in Colorado?” “Nope. Detained but no charges.” Complete lies. “Are you sick?, Do you have any needles in your pocket?” Stonewall replied, “Not sick and no idea what’s in my pocket.” The next few minutes blurred into each other and accurate reporting was impossible. The magistrate switched off and he asked the young cop a questions. “Can you please let me know when this process has moved upstairs, past your influence, so I’ll know when to stop worrying?” “We’re going to need to go to your campsite and go through your tent to check it for contraband,” they mused. Stonewall’s face hardened as he considered the idea of sheriffs loaded up in golf carts assaulting the camp site of his new friends. “That’s gonna have to be a no,” he finally said. “It would not be classy to pull up, in front of the campsite, with a bunch of unshaven gestapo. Besides, I don’t even know what’s in the tent.”

“Why are you saying that you don’t know what’s in the tent?” “It’s not my tent. Those thugs are from North Carolina. Who knows what kind of contraband they’re hauling around. Just leave me out of it.” For some reason, this seemed to placate the law dogs and they forgot about raiding the campsite. All good news, but they weren’t handing over the keys to the city just yet. A cop sat next to him, while they waited for the magistrate’s decision and struck up a little small talk. “Thanks for being cool about everything. We appreciate your cooperation. We had another guy come through here and shit everywhere. The walls. The chair you’re sitting in. Everything. He sprayed his filth all over the place before we got him out of here.” Stonewall considered the raw nature of man and the unfiltered savagery that might reveal itself as the cold gates of the underground begin to seal itself. The possibilities were endless. Stonewall looked over at the cop, “I have to admit, I considered it. If you knew you were going to jail, it might be a pretty funny way to go out.” The cop smiled, “Plenty of people think that. It’s not funny.”

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” Good news from the magistrate. This was just one spun hippy and these nice folks had bigger fish to fry. There would be free air to breathe for one more day. Park employees, however, were waiting with scissors in hand. “If you are found on the property you will be arrested” the supervisor grumbled. He was given one more free golf cart ride, past the cars and tents, by the front gate and all the way to the Thomas Nelson Highway. It was a dark time but it was better than jail. This whole trip was had cost a pretty penny and now he was going to spend Saturday night in a local saloon. Weak.

Heading west on highway 29, he walked against the traffic on the gravel shoulder and considered his options. He could continue this way until he found a gas station. That would supply him with enough cigarettes and beer to make it to a hotel or a bar. He still had his phone and wallet, even if the rest of his paltry possessions were still at the yoga machine. It would all be fine. He would find a hole in the wall bar and drink scotch until he felt better. Then, he would take his first shower in days and sleep in a freezing hotel room. Not too bad for a plan B.

The whole idea made him absolutely sick.

He knew the people he was leaving behind and the fun they were going to be having together. He was reminding of Thatcher at Spring Reunion and how the family suffered after Live Oak law dogs took him away in chains. The party goes on, but profoundly suffers for the lost soldier. He would also be spending somewhere in the neighborhood of two-thousand dollars before this exercise was finally concluded, and that was worthy of a most serious effort.

Maybe there was another idea.

As he walked toward the interstate, he surveyed the layout of the surrounding fields and thicket. It was dense forest patches separated by farm fields and a few houses. For about a mile, he studied the lay of the land and began to consider the possibility of sneaking back into the festival without a bracelet. It would be straight out of Vinny’s book. Or Scotteesha. Or even Thatcher. Heckfire, this was out of Thomas Jackson’s book. Just down the street from Danville and Apomattox, welcome to the Army of Norther Virginia. Wearing flip flops, he was going to hump four square miles through country forest and sneak back in like a damn hippy. Cheyenne was right. He was the wook his parents had always warned him about. He turned off the road into the treeline, ate a five strip of acid and headed south. He would stay in the shade until he was off the main road, then all he had to do was follow the music, all the way home. For the moment, things were looking up,

As he hiked through the Virginia underbrush, sunset brought out the woodland critters. Deer and owls joined him in his hunt for the back door. Day turned to night and he took his time through the brush. He figured being impatient would lead to injury or cause him to be discovered traipsing through the brambles. Flip flops seemed like a silly way to navigate the streams and fields, but at least he wasn’t barefoot. The briars and thorny vines clung to his arms and legs as he lumbered through the dense thicket. The moon was going to be a waxing gibbous, which would surely assist with navigation and each time he drifted too far south, the sing-song voice of Susan Tedeschi guiding him back through the Virginia woods. The distant rumble of such tunes as Statesboro Blues, Alabama, by Neil Young and Mahjoun with Brandford Marsalis, kept him on the right trail. Behind Tye River Elementary School, back into the brush and then to cross Diggs Mountain Road. He was guided by the Aretha Franklin cover, “I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Loved You)”, “Bound For Glory” with Ivan Neville, “A Song For You” by Leon Russell. into “Little Martha” and “Whipping Post”. Thanks for the breadcrumbs, lady. After walking for a couple of hours, he came across some tents in the woods. This would be Forest Tent Camping, which happened to be directly across the street from High Field RV and his campsite. Things were beginning to look up. It was time to change the shirt and hat and sit down for a cold brew. The party would just be getting started.

He wasn’t entirely ready to give up on the music. He came to this festival to see Dead & Co. and that still needed to happen. Stonewall poked around the VIP area and behind the stage, looking for a chink in the armor, some place he could slip in. He spied an opening in the fence and started up a conversation with the nearby security guard. The guard lamented over the piece of broken wooden fence. “These hippies try to sneak in here, legs all slashed up and with no bracelet. They even broke my fence.”

Stonewall’s brain lit up with a new idea. “It’s real interesting that you should say that, because that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. I need you to let me get through that opening in the fence.”

He asked, “Do you have a bracelet?”

“Nope. They cut it off when they threw me out. But it would be real cool to get back in and rejoin my people before Dead & Co. kick off.”

The security guard began looking over his shoulder at the other gates and leaned in. “There’s folks working inside that fence and if they see you, they’re going to say something, so here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll take you by the shirt like you’re in trouble. We’ll walk right by everyone and when we get out of sight, I”ll lose you.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Dead & Co.: Back into venue just in time for Oteil’s birthday. Both the rail and field were thick with the best vibe ever. Something about the good ol’ Grateful Dead. They just make everything so much fun. It was a night for adventurous lurking. The first set brought out a Ramble On Rose-Alabama Getaway-Cassidy. The second set blew up an, Oteil-led Fire On the Mountain into a celebratory China Cat Sunflower. Two hours earlier he’d been alone, hiking through the back field of Ol’ Virginny, now he was sitting on a blanket, surrounded by the most beautiful people ever. Colorful.

Highlight of the festival: Saturday night’s midnight set included Lettuce with Eric Krasno Celebrating JGB, joined by Bob Weir, John Mayer and Oteil Burbridge in a set that tore up the mountain and set the beat for the rest of the night.

Finders Keepers I Second That Emotion Stop That Train (Oteil Sings) After Midnight ( John in for the jj cale spectacular) Sugaree (let Bobby sing) Tangled Up In Blue (that makes sense) That’s What Love Will Make You Do (it’s too serious to be funny) How Sweet It Is to Be Loved by You (the alpha and the omega) Cats Under the Stars (second one of the weekend) They Love Each Other (holy moly)

Lettuce called it a celebration of the Jerry Garcia Band after it was all said and done, a celebration is exactly what it felt like.

Dead & Co. Another Saturday Night, LOCKN’ 2018: photo by Karley Bear

Sunday Spunday: All hail a festival that uses it’s Sunday for a good cause. Bloody Mary brunch was served at Chris’ Opium Den near the Jerry Garcia Forest. Thank you SolarWolf and LunarWolf for the most seriously fun time ever. Thank you El Capitano for physically removing all the love governors. You’re headier than thy? The party got riled up when Cheyenne began lopping off her dreadlocks to trade for hugs. Fortunately, she was sedated before she could do too much damage. God willin’ and the Creek don’t rise. Check out the new Google map application that allows you to easily search for “tweakers near me”. Congratulations to Sugarplum and Huckleberry for getting hitched at Keller Williams and Grateful Gospel during Eyes of the World. These folks met at the same show, at the same spot three years earlier. It certainly is the dismal tides when Cook County trash can come down south and pilfer our own belles. It has been a proven formula for the ages, church is a great place to meet girls. Go Cubs.

Dead & Co.: And things were going so well for Stonewall. Left by Clayopheus, his recently acquired Staff bracelet was no more than a tattered chicken bone of a thing, held on by other bracelets and falling off every few steps. It was so frayed and torn, it looked as if he’d eaten if off of his wrist. Even the beer girl noticed when he wasn’t wearing one, and beyond the recognition, said nothing. All in all, he was back into the venue, this time enjoying the entire Tedesci-Trucks show into the night’s Dead. Then it happened… “I take a little powder, take a little salt, put it in my shotgun, I go walkin’ out…” Oh lordy, not this. The first set smattering Grateful ettoufee spun into a Mr. Charlie→Tennessee Jed→Althea that tripped every breaker on the mountain. The second set showed an Eyes of the World and Morning Dew with Branford Marsalis that left tears staining the front of tie dyes everywhere. Wolly bully. Mr. Charlie told me so.

Sugarplum and Huckleberry, Sunday at Tedesci-Trucks Band, LOCKN’ 2018.

Bob, John and Oteil join Lettuce and Eric Krasno for the JGB tribute Sat. night, LOCKN’ 2018.

Be sure to check out Roadtripmojo for more LOCKN’ gibberish and follow their social media channels on Facebook and Instagram.

Headed back to South Florida, for days the toenails would still be dyed with Virginia red clay. Charlotte storms postponed our flight and the guitar was destroyed by baggage carriers. That’s three guitars since Hulaween. This lifestyle is getting expensive.

“Does this mean I can use your ticket for Floydfest?”

Visit the Lockn’ website and follow their social media channels on Facebook and Instagram.

For our first Lockn’, it really had a little of everything you look for in a festival. Deer, dead people, research-grade narcotics, moonshine and spilled wine. Everyone brought their best effort and after it was all said and done, very little was left on the vine. Old friends came together with new ones and alliances were formed that would last a lifetime. We are on the lookout for Brian at Live Oak and his Mr. Clinkies. October is one of the best times for festivals at the Spirit of Suwannee Music Park in North Florida. Get ready for Suwannee Roots Revival and Hulaween coming up fast. See you under the Thunder Chicken.

LOCKN’ 2018: The Lowest Brow The gypsy girl said it herself, the cards looked good. But what did that really mean? And good for whom?

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jesusvasser · 7 years

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2017 Los Angeles Auto Show Hits, Misses, & Revelations

LOS ANGELES, California—This year’s Automobility/L.A. Auto Show was much like the last couple of years, only more so. Which is to say that on paper, there were a number of significant reveals, led by Fiat Chrysler’s very important and very profitable JL Jeep Wrangler.

Still, at the end of the day, the 2017 L.A. Auto Show left us, at best, whelmed. Perhaps it’s because more and more, the auto show plays second-fiddle to the advanced technology that is the centerpiece of Automobility, which wraps discussion of autonomy and electric-powered vehicles around reveals of the shiny new cars and trucks.

If you attend the public Los Angeles Auto Show, December 1 to 10, you might see things a bit differently. Here’s what we saw this year…

HIT: JL Jeep Wrangler

It’s lighter by 200 pounds, it’s more easily convertible, and it is extremely Jeep. The all-new two-door and four-door 2018 Jeep Wrangler JL models will please the marque’s faithful and entice four-wheeling neophytes. The four-door has a power top that removes very quickly and easily, there’s an optional open-air pass-through in the middle of each front door, and the windshield folds down for the full open-air experience.

—Kara Snow

I’m no off-road outdoorsy type, but the latest iteration of this American classic makes me want to convert. As typical for Jeep, there are so many surprise-and-delight features that I can’t guarantee my introductory news story of the debut is comprehensive. Hardcore fans will love the new Wrangler’s interior spec plate, recalling the original Willys MB’s dash plate, the fold-down windshield and the door hinges stamped with the tool number needed to remove them. The masses who bought the first-generation Wrangler Unlimited will want to trade in for easy-to-lower tops and subtle refinement that doesn’t at all diminish its hard-core image.

—Todd Lassa

MISS: JL Jeep Wrangler pricing

Although Jeep promised to give us prices for the new JL models at the show, they weren’t ready to reveal just yet. Naturally, we’re fearing a big increase.

—K.S.

HIT: BMW i8 Roadster

There wasn’t a whole lot that BMW could do to make its i8 PHEV GT coupe cooler, but converting it into a roadster by ripping out the vestigial rear seats and dispensing with the fixed roof is a great way to do it.

—Kirill Ougarov

HIT: Porsche 718 Boxster/Cayman GTS

Its 2.5-liter turbo H-4 makes 365 hp, and top speed is 180 mph.

—Robert Cumberford

HIT: 2019 Lincoln Nautilus

The name may be a bit too dramatic for a fancy Ford Edge, but not only does the arrival of the 2019 Lincoln Nautilus signal the end of the brand’s confusing MK_ naming scheme (it’s the artist formerly known as the MKX, in case you’re one of the five people out there that could keep track), the midsize crossover wears the best interpretation of Lincoln’s current design language to date, suffering none of the proportional indignities of the Continental, Navigator, and MKC.

—K.O.

MISS: 2019 Lincoln MKC

The looks for the facelifted 2019 Lincoln MKC are a bit wonky, but that’s not the miss here. The miss is the missed opportunity to do away with the MKC name, as was done with the Nautilus, née MKX. This likely means that the Ford Edge-based compact crossover will be the last Lincoln to get a proper name.

—K.O.

MISS: Volvo XC40

I just can’t warm up to the new compact Volvo SUV. It looks short, stubby, and inelegant compared with the longer, nicely proportioned XC90, which I think is still the best SUV in its class. Though the interior is appropriately premium and well-designed, with excellent fit and finish, from the outside, the Volvo looks no more upscale than the Nissan Kicks.

—T.L.

REVELATION: Subscription is the new lease

This week at the L.A. show, Volvo announced its new “Care By Volvo” plan, a “subscription” program that it is rolling out nationwide on its consumer Web site volvocars.com/us, starting with its new XC40 compact crossover. The concept is simple, you choose either a Momentum or R-Design trim XC40 that you can configure, and everything else is covered: insurance, maintenance, payment, down payment, etc., and they deliver the car to you—no dealer required. The term starts at 24 months, but you can switch cars in as little as 12 months if you like. Mileage is capped at 15,000 a year. All for $600 a month to start. There is some fine print, namely around insurance (Liberty Mutual is the partner) and it’s fun to hear Volvo Cars global CEO, Hakan Samuelsson, and newly minted Volvo Car USA CEO, Anders Gustafsson, use the word “lease” a couple of times as they did in describing the program to me.

—Mike Floyd

HIT: Reds a.k.a CHTC Redspace

Chris Bangle is thinking inside the box for a change. Reds is one of the most refreshing concepts to emerge in a long time. It’s not made for Americans and most folks will hate it, but I love its childish, Toontown looks and the idea of a car that’s designed from the inside out—definitely next level stuff. A woman at the show told Bangle it was beautiful and he was taken back—he doesn’t think it is but appreciated the comment. Beauty is obviously in the eye of the beholder.

—Ed Tahaney

MISS: CHTC Redspace

It lacks charm, beauty, grace… most of the attributes we tend to seek in cars, but the Redspace city vehicle is the most interesting device in the L.A. Auto Show, apparently all about maximizing interior volume to enhance comfort while its occupants are stuck in traffic, which is estimated to be about 90-percent of the time the thing is in operation, at least in such target-market cities as Beijing. Chris Bangle’s return to car design shows us why he should have foregone the opportunity. Dreadful object. Not a car, a street fixture. Most massive A-pillar ever.

—R.C.

REVELATION: CHTC Redspace is an appliance

It looks like a huge, rolling coffee grinder. That’s not necessarily a criticism; I love coffee.

—T.L.

HIT: Volkswagen I.D. Crozz EV Crossover Concept

Volkswagen’s autonomous I.D. concept looks like a cloud with wheels. And although it’s just a concept, it’s easy to believe a ride in this all-electric vehicle would be as silent as a fluffy altocumulus. Big points for the airy, spacious interior (although it’s 6 inches shorter than the Golf) with futuristic seats, a panoramic full-glass roof, and a steering wheel that folds forward into the dash when the driver isn’t needed. Look for it in 2020.

—K.S.

HIT: Jaguar’s show stand

Jaguar pointed its upcoming i-Pace electric SUV and related spec series electric racer, parked in parallel, straight at the Tesla Model 3 on its stand across the aisle. The Jaguar i-Pace is scheduled to go on sale late next year. Wonder, which EV will reach full production first.

—T.L.

MISS: 2018 Chrysler 300

Seems to have lost all the charm it once possessed. Too bad. This nth reskin of an ancient Mercedes chassis was costly.

—R.C.

REVELATION: The Multilink from Infiniti’s Variable Compression Engine

On the surface, Infiniti’s sculpted QX50 has been received as a design hit. But beneath the crossover’s wavy sheetmetal is a deeper story: the world’s first series production variable compression ratio engine. Christian Meunier, Infiniti’s VP Global Marketing and Sales, shared his thoughts with Automobile on the 2.0-liter VC-Turbo engine’s unique bits, which he compared to “parts of a Swiss watch” while flashing an elegant Jaeger-LeCoutre Reverso on his wrist. Case in point: the palm-sized multilink component, which serves as the lynchpin for altering piston clearance and varying the compression ratio from 8:1 to 14:1. “The manufacturing tolerance on it is greater than anything we’ve ever done,” he explains. “It’s one thing to produce it, and another to mass produce it.” While the QX50 on display drew the attention of onloookers, this small hunk of steel tells the arguably more intriguing story of the 20-year struggle to bring a variable compression ratio engine to market.

—Basem Wasef

HIT: Kia lineup

Kia is a surprise to me. Stinger is quite good looking, and Kia’s number-one rating in initial quality is excellent. Obviously European stylists have made a major contribution to the current status of the make.

—R.C.

MISS: Toyota FT-AC concept

I really wanted to like it and make it a “hit.” But I find it an overdrawn take on the new Subaru Crosstrek. Toyota’s Jack Hollis describes it as a crossover, though it has torque-vectoring all-wheel-drive with front and rear lockers. It’s a tweener, size-wise, bigger than a RAV4, but not quite a mid-size vehicle. One of its best features is a built-in rear-bumper bike rack that can accommodate just one bike, though it isn’t any different from this SUV-concept trope we’ve seen at auto shows for years. Plus, the rack is probably three-times the weight of the Specialized mountain bike attached to it. Meanwhile, there are huge, 20-inch tires mostly filling large Crosstrek-style black plastic overfenders, though these overfenders extend out from the bodywork, which doesn’t seem very aerodynamic. While Toyota hints the FT-AC is headed for production, the concept doesn’t have an interior. Toyota’s TJ Cruiser at October’s Tokyo Motor Show came with an innovative interior, and though bigger, boxier and more minivan-like, that concept was one of my hits.

—T.L.

REVELATION: Land Rover’s 1 Percenter Drafting

The likes of Bentley, Rolls-Royce, and Lamborghini are making it a lot less lonely at the top of the SUV pyramid, but you needn’t shed a tear for O.G. luxury offroad manufacturer Land Rover. “You wouldn’t have bought a Range Rover for more than £90,000 ten years ago; now, we sell quite a lot of £160,000, £170,000 Range Rovers,” Jaguar Land Rover Special Vehicles Operations boss John Edwards told Automobile. “Customers are coming to us and spending another £30,000 on top of that bespoking them. We’ll do probably 250 bespoke cars this year.” Can we expect a new Super SUV from Land Rover to play with the (even bigger) boys? Edwards was mum on future product, but emphasized that competition has made business better than ever. “People always used to tell me, particularly when Bentley was going to be introducing an SUV, ‘You must be really nervous, this is terrible news.’ I’d say, ‘This is fantastic news because it’s going to grow the market; I’m very respectful of Bentley but what they’ve done is expanded the marketplace and provided us with an opportunity. Our business has benefitted massively from that marketplace growing. It is crowded and becoming more crowded, but it’s becoming stronger.”

—B.W.

HIT: Sonders electric three-wheeler

This is probably another pipe dream, but it’s really well styled, very professional, has a believable layout (unlike tandem two-seaters) and could work. But the $10,000 price? That’s a pipe dream.

—R.C.

MISS: Ampere 1 three-wheel electric sports car

A very crude prototype that should never have been presented in public. “With a range of up to 100 miles.” Yeah, sure.

—R.C.

HIT: Mercedes-Benz CLS-Class

With their overwrought side surfacing, the first- and second-generation Mercedes CLS-Classes looked especially awkward where the rear haunches met the rakish four-door “coupe” profile. The new CLS, like the E-Class on which is based, has a much cleaner profile, resolving the issue. And now there’s room for three, not two, in the back seat.

—T.L.

HIT: 2019 Subaru Ascent

The last time Subaru tried to make a three-row SUV, things didn’t work out too well—but the less said about the bygone Tribeca, the better. The automaker did a good job of scaling up its current design language for the Ascent, which looks like a meatier Outback. Now, Subaru owners with growing families will no longer be forced to look elsewhere, so Subaru’s absurd streak of increasing sales for 71 months in a row is nearly certain to continue.

—K.O.

Hit? More like a home run for Subaru.

—E.T.

REVELATION – Mercedes-Benz’s (Inscrutable) 48 Volt Inline-6 Engine

Mercedes-Benz’s arc-shaped CLS has long been considered the sleeker (and less functional) cousin to the workaday E-Class. But the CLS 450 unveiled at the L.A. Auto Show packs a secret weapon that should appeal to anyone with an appreciation for mechanical elegance: Daimler’s latest, greatest, 48-volt-equipped inline-6 powerplant. I was smitten by the mild hybrid engine’s smooth power and imperceptible start/stop action during our first drive of a Europe-only S-Class. Using an integrated starter/generator, the powerplant produces a baseline of 362 hp and 369 lb-ft, adding another 21 hp and 184 lb-ft when electric assistance (aka, EQ Boost) kicks in. But how will Benz pull in non-techy, design focused consumers towards the advanced powertrain? I posed the question to Dietmar Exler, Mercedes-Benz USA’s president and CEO, who answered, “We have to find a way to communicate what the technology really does. When you ask a non-gearhead ‘What’s a Hemi engine?’ I’ll bet you 90 percent of consumers don’t know about hemispheric combustion chambers. But they all know it means more power.” Until Mercedes comes up with a one-word answer to that marketing conundrum, I’ll say this: driving is believing.

—B.W.

HIT: Ram pickup and Chevrolet Silverado High Country backup cameras

If you’ve ever towed a trailer or had a payload in the back of your truck that necessitated leaving the tailgate down, you know how that ordinary backup cameras can be useless. That’s why it was good to see on display with Ram and Chevrolet some well-developed trailering camera systems. The Silverado High Country on the show floor featured a standard three-camera trailering system by EchoMaster. Cameras on each side mirror activate with the turn signals and display on the infotainment screen. There’s also a wireless backup camera to place on the back of your trailer. Options include a front camera kit, a second wireless camera, and a third brakelight camera kit.

—K.S.

HIT: Bollinger Motors B 1

Stupidly primitive as is its styling, it’s full of interesting ideas on storage in an electric 4X4. And like the original Land Rover, it should be easy to repair.

—R.C.

REVELATION: Reports of the death of the conventional car are greatly exaggerated

For the last few years, the Los Angeles auto show had largely focused on green cars, with some self-driving car chatter thrown in for good measure. That went out the window this year despite increasing proclamations about the looming deaths of the internal combustion engine and the human-driven automobile. Instead, we were treated to hot convertibles, brawny sedans, and gas-chugging SUVs, none of which have any plans on driving themselves. Maybe we should focus on improving driver training after all.

—K.O.

HIT: JL Jeep Wrangler press kit

For at least 20 years, Chrysler/DaimlerChrysler/Chrysler Group/Fiat Chrysler has created the best traditional press kits, even as everyone else migrated to thumb drives, then to special websites. A thick booklet describing all the myriad features of the new Jeep Wrangler comes in a wood-and-brass box, with a brass-colored thumb drive and a Jeep grille-theme mini-speaker. You can probably find them offered up on eBay, but not from me. I’m keeping mine.

—T.L.

REVELATION: Mitsubishi Mirage hatch is cute

…but not too impressive on fuel mileage.

—R.C.

HIT: Dodge Durango SRT

Dodge agrees with those of us who believe SUVs can be slow, boring blah-mobiles. Just because you need a seven-seater doesn’t mean you don’t want a little power. That’s why they stuck a 6.4-liter Hemi V-8 in the new Durango SRT with 475 horsepower, 470 lb-ft of torque and—get this—a 0-60-mph time of 4.4 seconds. Pile all of your friends into the luxe interior of this beast and show them that bigger is indeed better. But where is our Durango Demon?

—K.S.

REVELATION: Car magazines can’t wait to write the first-drive headline, “Nissan Kicks Ass”

There. We’ve done it already.

—T.L.

The post 2017 Los Angeles Auto Show Hits, Misses, & Revelations appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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jonathanbelloblog · 7 years

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2017 Los Angeles Auto Show Hits, Misses, & Revelations

If you attend the public Los Angeles Auto Show, December 1 to 10, you might see things a bit differently. Here’s what we saw this year…

HIT: JL Jeep Wrangler

—Kara Snow

—Todd Lassa

MISS: JL Jeep Wrangler pricing

Although Jeep promised to give us prices for the new JL models at the show, they weren’t ready to reveal just yet. Naturally, we’re fearing a big increase.

—K.S.

HIT: BMW i8 Roadster

—Kirill Ougarov

HIT: Porsche 718 Boxster/Cayman GTS

Its 2.5-liter turbo H-4 makes 365 hp, and top speed is 180 mph.

—Robert Cumberford

HIT: 2019 Lincoln Nautilus

—K.O.

MISS: 2019 Lincoln MKC

—K.O.

MISS: Volvo XC40

—T.L.

REVELATION: Subscription is the new lease

—Mike Floyd

HIT: Reds a.k.a CHTC Redspace

—Ed Tahaney

MISS: CHTC Redspace

—R.C.

REVELATION: CHTC Redspace is an appliance

It looks like a huge, rolling coffee grinder. That’s not necessarily a criticism; I love coffee.

—T.L.

HIT: Volkswagen I.D. Crozz EV Crossover Concept

—K.S.

HIT: Jaguar’s show stand

—T.L.

MISS: 2018 Chrysler 300

Seems to have lost all the charm it once possessed. Too bad. This nth reskin of an ancient Mercedes chassis was costly.

—R.C.

REVELATION: The Multilink from Infiniti’s Variable Compression Engine

—Basem Wasef

HIT: Kia lineup

—R.C.

MISS: Toyota FT-AC concept

—T.L.

REVELATION: Land Rover’s 1 Percenter Drafting

—B.W.

HIT: Sonders electric three-wheeler

—R.C.

MISS: Ampere 1 three-wheel electric sports car

A very crude prototype that should never have been presented in public. “With a range of up to 100 miles.” Yeah, sure.

—R.C.

HIT: Mercedes-Benz CLS-Class

—T.L.

HIT: 2019 Subaru Ascent

—K.O.

Hit? More like a home run for Subaru.

—E.T.

REVELATION – Mercedes-Benz’s (Inscrutable) 48 Volt Inline-6 Engine

—B.W.

HIT: Ram pickup and Chevrolet Silverado High Country backup cameras

—K.S.

HIT: Bollinger Motors B 1

Stupidly primitive as is its styling, it’s full of interesting ideas on storage in an electric 4X4. And like the original Land Rover, it should be easy to repair.

—R.C.

REVELATION: Reports of the death of the conventional car are greatly exaggerated

—K.O.

HIT: JL Jeep Wrangler press kit

—T.L.

REVELATION: Mitsubishi Mirage hatch is cute

…but not too impressive on fuel mileage.

—R.C.

HIT: Dodge Durango SRT

—K.S.

REVELATION: Car magazines can’t wait to write the first-drive headline, “Nissan Kicks Ass”

There. We’ve done it already.

—T.L.

The post 2017 Los Angeles Auto Show Hits, Misses, & Revelations appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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eddiejpoplar · 7 years

Text

2017 Los Angeles Auto Show Hits, Misses, & Revelations

If you attend the public Los Angeles Auto Show, December 1 to 10, you might see things a bit differently. Here’s what we saw this year…

HIT: JL Jeep Wrangler

—Kara Snow

—Todd Lassa

MISS: JL Jeep Wrangler pricing

Although Jeep promised to give us prices for the new JL models at the show, they weren’t ready to reveal just yet. Naturally, we’re fearing a big increase.

—K.S.

HIT: BMW i8 Roadster

—Kirill Ougarov

HIT: Porsche 718 Boxster/Cayman GTS

Its 2.5-liter turbo H-4 makes 365 hp, and top speed is 180 mph.

—Robert Cumberford

HIT: 2019 Lincoln Nautilus

—K.O.

MISS: 2019 Lincoln MKC

—K.O.

MISS: Volvo XC40

—T.L.

REVELATION: Subscription is the new lease

—Mike Floyd

HIT: Reds a.k.a CHTC Redspace

—Ed Tahaney

MISS: CHTC Redspace

—R.C.

REVELATION: CHTC Redspace is an appliance

It looks like a huge, rolling coffee grinder. That’s not necessarily a criticism; I love coffee.

—T.L.

HIT: Volkswagen I.D. Crozz EV Crossover Concept

—K.S.

HIT: Jaguar’s show stand

—T.L.

MISS: 2018 Chrysler 300

Seems to have lost all the charm it once possessed. Too bad. This nth reskin of an ancient Mercedes chassis was costly.

—R.C.

REVELATION: The Multilink from Infiniti’s Variable Compression Engine

—Basem Wasef

HIT: Kia lineup

—R.C.

MISS: Toyota FT-AC concept

—T.L.

REVELATION: Land Rover’s 1 Percenter Drafting

—B.W.

HIT: Sonders electric three-wheeler

—R.C.

MISS: Ampere 1 three-wheel electric sports car

A very crude prototype that should never have been presented in public. “With a range of up to 100 miles.” Yeah, sure.

—R.C.

HIT: Mercedes-Benz CLS-Class

—T.L.

HIT: 2019 Subaru Ascent

—K.O.

Hit? More like a home run for Subaru.

—E.T.

REVELATION – Mercedes-Benz’s (Inscrutable) 48 Volt Inline-6 Engine

—B.W.

HIT: Ram pickup and Chevrolet Silverado High Country backup cameras

—K.S.

HIT: Bollinger Motors B 1

Stupidly primitive as is its styling, it’s full of interesting ideas on storage in an electric 4X4. And like the original Land Rover, it should be easy to repair.

—R.C.

REVELATION: Reports of the death of the conventional car are greatly exaggerated

—K.O.

HIT: JL Jeep Wrangler press kit

—T.L.

REVELATION: Mitsubishi Mirage hatch is cute

…but not too impressive on fuel mileage.

—R.C.

HIT: Dodge Durango SRT

—K.S.

REVELATION: Car magazines can’t wait to write the first-drive headline, “Nissan Kicks Ass”

There. We’ve done it already.

—T.L.

The post 2017 Los Angeles Auto Show Hits, Misses, & Revelations appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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travels-with-chris · 7 years

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Antwerp Buying our ten journey train pass for €77 we boarded the train for Gent although this time it was to be a changeover stop on our way to our final destination (for today) Antwerp, the second biggest city in Belgium. Arriving into Antwerp station to the sound of Swiss horns being played we were slightly concerned we had fallen a sleep and missed our stop let alone several countries. Having gathered maps for pretty much everywhere in Belgium already from the tourist office in Brugge, there was no real need to go into one, but we did, and we came away empty handed. Plus we have the app to make our life easier. Also would like to mention, that we heard that the station was impressive and it certainly lived up to that, very grand and very lavished. Unlike our next stop which was the diamond district. Antwerp is known for its diamonds, in fact they account for 70% of the worlds traded diamonds. There were security cameras on each shop and barriers at both ends of the district but it was not screaming bling to us. The local bakers just around the corner seemed to be attracting more hype and of course we had the money to cover a drink and a snack, more so than diamonds. Another place that seems to be appearing more often lately is the begijnhof area and if you can remember from before what it is, pat on the back for you. If not than it’s a residential area that was dedicated to ladies who where either religious or had been made widowed. It started off as a square but due to high demand it started to sprawl out into little side alleys. Now it would be foolish of me not to mention the name Rubens when talking about Antwerp, one of the most famous artists was born and lived here and for the price of €8.00 you could visit his house. With the view from the outside it was enough for us to see. Bourla theatre was a must see on the list, being the only municipal theatre in Europe still with the original stage machinery. From the outside it looked very grand with statues around the facade. The Farmers Tower again is pretty much like any skyscraper and if you were to put it in Rotterdam it would be poked and laughed at, but apparently it is one of Europe’s first skyscraper, I think Germany would argue that point with you, picture taken for the scrapbook and we were on our way. Now just around the corner you would have thought you’ve been transported to Rome as St Carolus Borromeus Church would not have looked out of place there and even Richard let out a little sound of excitement as he turned the corner and saw it. It was known for its Ruben paintings on the ceiling, but unfortunately they were all destroyed in a fire in 1718. Now if that view was not exciting enough you were now into winner row as you turned the corner again, not only with the sight of the Cathedral of Our Lady most impressive but with a pricey entrance fee, but in the surrounding square you also had the show stopper (one that Marry Berry would be proud of) the city hall too and this building from the fifteen hundreds also makes it on the exclusive (word used loosely) list of UNESCO heritage sites. Chris even had to tell Richard to calm down or risk fainting with excitement. Here you also can find bar upon bar full of tasty beers, wine and delicious looking food. We decided to forgo the previously mentioned items and instead we continued our journey to the old Butchers Hall, and yes you guessed it, formerly a place where butchers could display their produce now a museum. The whole experience of Antwerp was so pleasurable and such a great place to explore it was a shame to be getting towards the end of our list of places to visit. With the Het Steen an old medieval fortress along the river it was the icing on the cherry bakewell, but the cherry on the top and for one of the best views of the city you have to take St.Anna pedestrian tunnel or should I say bike tunnel. It was a different experience taking the old wooden escalators down to the tunnel and then walking through the tunnel from one side of the river to the next. The only issue was the number of bikes that would wiz past and even some a bit too close, so they give you a knock and in return they received a few choice words shouted at them, aren’t they lucky! On the other side though you can get a great view of pretty much everything you have seen close up all in one go and we happily spent an hour here, sat on a bench in the sun watching the world pass us by, and even a ship that had sunk and was rescued was towed past. It was a great end to what was a perfect day. The only thing we had to do now was the return journey back to our base in the campsite, which took just over 2 hours and we enjoyed a nice cup of tea and chocolate to top the day off back in the motorhome.

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nofomoartworld · 7 years

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Art F City: Christening a Film Festival’s New Old Home With John Waters

I’m looking up at Divine’s face, projected to nearly the size of a house, cackling maniacally as she hurls a dead fish at a sauntering catsuit-clad Edith Massey. I’ve watched this scene more times than I can count, but for the first time in my life, hundreds of other people are laughing along too. That’s part of the magic of cinema as a collective experience—if John Waters is “The Pope of Trash”, his sermon of degeneracy deserves its own basilica.

And finally, Baltimore filmmakers have just that. Waters himself was there to inaugurate The Maryland Film Festival’s new permanent home in the old Parkway Theater, a palatial ruin preserved (in its own state of degeneracy, appropriately) with a light-handed renovation. The theater opened its doors for regular screenings the night of May 12th with Waters’ 1974 masterpiece Female Trouble. Film historian Chris Holmlund (who literally wrote the book on Female Trouble) introduced the director and the cult classic, praising it as “A high point in low taste… this is Waters’ Citizen Kane.”

And while the film is truly glorious in its outrageousness (many attribute Van Smith’s costumes and makeup as one of the major influences of punk fashion) it was, for me, not the evening’s main attraction. Just being inside the theater itself was revelatory. The Parkway had been shuttered for decades—it had last been used as an arthouse theater in 1978, the heydey of the Dreamlanders, and its lobby was home to a Korean grocery store in the 1980s—looming over my old neighborhood like a grand mausoleum. It’s restoration hasn’t been without controversy, but the upside of that has been discussion of under-known histories being dusted off. The Parkway opened in 1915, at a time when cinema was relatively new art form. The main theater’s idiosyncrasies are evidence to that inexperience—the dimensions of the stage and peculiar seating arrangements such as private balconies to the side are more suited to live theater. In the 1990s, the short-lived organization Heritage Shadows of a Silver Screen unsuccessfully attempted to reopen The Parkway as a center dedicated to African-American filmmaking. Apparently Harry Belafonte’s handprints graced the sidewalk outside as a result of that endeavor, until they were destroyed in a failed restoration attempt during the building’s latest renovation. Despite living just blocks away from the Parkway since the age of 17, I hadn’t known any of this until recently.

Via the Maryland Film Festival’s Facebook page.

And, of course, I had my own mixed feelings about the project—despite being an avid fan of the Maryland Film Festival. The Stavros Niarchos Foundation Parkway Film Center (as the theater is officially, but not colloquially, known) comprises more than just the old theater itself. Its footprint extends to several buildings on the corner of Charles Street, all of which were city-owned and awarded to the MFF. Including among these was a formerly beloved late-night takeout spot that was, according to rumor, shuttered by the city in a previous sketchy failed gentrification scheme involving an upscale steakhouse. That building has been demolished, replaced by a mostly-windowless silver cube clad in those types of metal panels that make even the best-rendered architectural plans look cheap when realized. Next door, an old brick building I had always thought would make great live/work lofts has been gutted to house (what looks to be exclusively) a staircase and elevator shaft for the theater. It felt like a waste of historic architecture considering eminent domain was involved in assembling the parcels (to be fair, well before the MFF was) and the other side of the Parkway faces nothing but a McDonald’s parking lot. God forbid the city should ever seize that!

These losses wouldn’t sting so hard were they not the latest (albeit least nefarious) in a local trend I like to call “institutional creep”. In a poor city with well-endowed universities, hospitals, and other institutions, all-too-many historic traces of vernacular city life are often swept away by the powerful to create student centers, parking garages, prayer gardens (!?), or even entire new neighborhood-displacing districts. The tragedy of The Parkway’s immediate environs, for example, is that the dream of becoming an “arts district” will never be realized to its full potential. Property owners land bank buildings in the hopes a nearby institution or city redevelopment initiative will pay a premium to assemble large lots. In the meantime, buildings rot beyond the point of reasonable repair while artists must look elsewhere for affordable real estate—despite all the tax incentives supposedly designed to have kept us there.

So Parkway or not, that brick building was never likely to end up as affordable lofts. Obviously I don’t resent The Maryland Film Festival for these larger problems—I’m glad they’re the ones benefiting from late capitalism’s strange cycles of waste. At heart, the organization feels like an artist-run initiative that will now be able to weather the gentrification wave in stride (it had previously operated out of another nearby art house cinema and various other, more precarious venues in its vicinity). Their mission statement is “Film for Everyone”, and that shows. Numerous out-of-town directors have told me the MFF is their favorite annual event precisely because it’s affordable and accessible to normal people—not just industry insiders. At their new home, they’ll continue to bring local, international, overlooked, limited release, or vintage films to the public for a cheaper admission than most suburban multiplexes. Now, all year round.

And stepping into the space (tastefully restored by Ziger/Snead architects), that questionable exterior cladding (seriously, it looks like a Borg cube on a budget) can be forgiven. The architects opted to only restore what had to be replaced (the lobby’s ceiling, for example). Everything else is either unapologetically new or left in its state of glorious decay. Personally, I appreciate this approach to theater restoration more than the nostalgic style popularized by the late architect Hugh Hardy. If the guiding motivation behind that approach was to make Broadway theater-goers forget that the gilded cinema palaces of 42nd Street spent much of the 20th century screening cheap porn, the spirit here is one of not forgetting the area’s recent past. In a city with near-perpetual, seemingly deliberate spatial amnesia with regards to the post-war built environment, that’s refreshing. Without the “blight” of the past 50-something years, there likely never would have been a space for culture like Female Trouble to flourish (Dawn Davenport’s stylized home was a set built illegally in a condemned apartment). My only qualm with the interiors is an abrasive blue carpet in the main theater. That’s easily overlooked when the lights go down.

Even the hypercube has its logic. The bottom floor is generously transparent to the busy corner, housing a bar/coffee shop. Above, two smaller black-box theaters each seat 85 for films that might not draw a large enough audience to fill the cavernous historic venue. What wonders will these hold? If this month’s calendar is any indication, treats far less mundane than 3 a.m. chicken box and lake trout. And hell, anything christened by John Waters is A-OK in my book.

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