#socal stick and poke

[tacky-jack-with-a-hat]

Florida canonically writes fanfic and ships other states

so some headcannons...

• He attempted to write fanfic by himself (to mixed results) until Cali told him about a 'speech to text' app which he uses to write down his fanfics.

• he participates in many fandoms but before he found fanfiction, he was only interested in fanart bc he found reading exhausting and difficult.

• He then discovered in the 2010s the read aloud feature on his phone and started listening to fanfics but he didn't start writing fanfics until lockdown when the other states stopped visiting and he started getting bored.

• Subsequently, almost every state has heard him read and write fanfics out loud...

• his least favourite fanfics are the ones Loui dies... he gets really quiet with occasional dramatic outbursts and will spend the next week checking on Loui.

• He canonically is a multishipper, shipping both texcali and texas/Oklahoma but he will do any ship imaginable nevermind how cursed.

• he will read any fanfic from any fandom but he never reads the tags. He tells everyone his favourite tags is smut or vore or "dead dove do not eat"... his favourite tag is actually domestic fluff.

If he finds a fic when California dies he will try to prevent them from leaving the house. Sometimes he'll break the blinker from California's car to prevent Cali from getting himself killed (FM in SoCal)

If any other state dies he goes to see if they're awake. If they're not he'll poke them with a stick until they wake up... Wisconsin is often too drunk to wake up so he panics and shakes him around until he does.

• He participates in kinktober... again he does this out loud.

•Only a few states know about his fanfics and they most choose to ignore it however some start arguing with Florida if they hear their name during October. The argument ends up getting recorded along with the fanfic Florida is writing and he'll publish it anyway.

• this is because Florida never proofreads or spellchecks his work before publishing. He also has no sense of structure and sometimes forget which characters are in the scene or what they're doing. Oh and paragraphs either don't exist or show up randomly. He's also inconsistent with any details about how characters and rooms look.

• his best fanfics are the ones where it's not even a fanfiction but a long vent post made by him or the character he's speaking through.

•His favourite line from this is

"Gov is the rSeason that shampoo has instructons not because he's dumb but because hes boring"

• to demonstrate a few of these headcannons here's a short extract- note it's bad

[xalecjacobs]

MERROCK TASK #9

THE INSPIRATION BEHIND...

Alec Landon Jacobs

—

Playing Next:

Mutt by Blink-182 [x]

Can’t Stop by Red Hot Chili Peppers [x]

40oz to Freedom by sublime [x]

tw: drug abuse, reference to sa allegations

When coming up with Alec, immediately the two things settled were his two loves in life: music and his high school sweetheart. My next question was basically how can I complicate things, as the sucker for a dramatic backstory that I am. In came the idea that the music was what broke the relationship, and therefore Alec’s belief in love, apart.

The perfect set up became that Alec had spent his entire twenties out on the road as a musician, and all of the troubles that came with that. The drugs, the girls, the financial struggle. The next question became, well what kind of music did he play? What’s more angsty sadboi than pop punk? Even more, a pop punk boy who’d made his name in the warped tour scene?

Alec was heavily inspired by all of the band dudes that I grew up with and around. Being a warped tour kid, I grew up to establish relationships with bands of various degrees of fame and plenty of local guys who wanted to be those bands. From the way he speaks to the way he carries himself, Alec through and through is the epitome that scene in the late 90s and early 00s in Southern California. As a 2000s warped tour emo in SoCal myself, it was just perfect. And with the demise of that tour, it became the perfect set up to have Alec returning to Merrock after more than a decade, trying to settle into “regular” life for the first time while already in his thirties. Regular life meant a job. Of course Alec would be that kid who was doing stick-and-pokes on friends since before he could drive and subsequently kept tattoo equipment with him on tour. Tattoo artist it was.

Upon that decision, I worked my way backwards. How did he end up in Merrock in the first place? His parents, was the obvious choice as he was in high school. However, something told me he was heavily influenced being raised by “cool” parents. The easiest way to relate to your parents without finding them desperately out of touch, I feel, is when they are fairly young. In came the idea that Alec had been raised by a single teen mom, someone he was much more a friend with than a son to. It made sense that Alec would be a sort of inspirational story, from growing up in poverty to touring alongside these internationally renowned bands. Even if financially, touring musician wasn’t exactly making him the riches one may expect. In all of this, FC choice was easy. Anyone who’s been in groups with me before knows I’ve used Tyler frequently, brooding mysterious rockstar is something he pulls off well. Plus, he has the voice! I’m still waiting on a new EP, it’s been 10 years..

Love, sex, and relationships are a huge part of Alec’s story. The muse for the entirety of his music career has been his one and only serious relationship that he never quite recovered from. The one regret Alec has in life is letting his dream come in the way of his future with the one person he considers to have ever been truly in love with. This to say, he has never truly allowed himself to fall in love again since. Alec is now known for his long string of hook ups and flings, never one to entertain a single person for too long at the risk of developing feelings.

Another big factor of Alec’s life life, taken directly from Tyler’s, is his sexuality. Tyler publicly came out as bisexual in 2019, at the age of 32. Being as Alec had been with his high school sweetheart until the age of 23, it made sense that he too would have come out publicly closer to 30.

Now the inspiration for unknown destination. The band concept was developed by both myself and a former member of the group, narrowed down to be stylized after one specific band’s discography from 2006-2012. Unfortunately that band has since landed in hot water with the type of allegations that plague the scene, so I now tend to reference bands like state champs instead as having the same sound. Either way, 00s/10s pop punk is all you need to know.

Alec is ultimately your classic case of bad boy with a soft heart. He’s a bit of an ass at times but he’s got a lot of love to give.

[jwowwsboobs]

what kind of tattoos do they have? what are their dream cars? what were their childhoods like? what were their favorite novels? would u say that jack is doomed by the narrative?

what kind of tattoos do they have? 

gale has a black flag tat on her left shoulder n a bunch of random stick n pokes on her left forearm in the early 80s. after abt '87 she stopped maintaining them n in late '88, early '89 got a desert sleeve on her right and left forearms,  something similar to this. the right arm was day and the left was night. she also has a venom welcome to hell tat she got a few years (87 iirc?) after jack passed away on her right shoulder blade and the artery tattoo i mentioned yesterday (anatomical heart pierced by 5 swords in a pentagram shape w an A carved into it) on her left also in 87

ronnie got flowers on her right thigh in 83/84 and the artery tat at the same time as gale! they went together n had a good cry abt it

jack & max never got any but jack did joke about getting a venom welcome to hell tattoo

what are their dream cars? 

they were all kind of basic LOL gale just wanted a baby blue mustang, but she was more into bikes (lovedddd modding her harley esp in the late 80s n into the modern day).

ronnie bought the bands van ('81 ford ecoline), wanted a '68 pink mustang convertible, pink corvette convertible, (probably a 74 or 72) n a bmw. i think she got the z1 even though it was never released in the us (rich bitch moment.)

jack wanted a pontiac firebird so fucking bad it was embarrassing, ideally it would be black probably a 77?

max was not into really into cars but she liked how firebirds looked the best so i guess that would have been hers. 

what were their childhoods like? 

ronnie and gale's were pretty happy! they got along w their parents n were pretty well off. jack n max were not as fortuante tho<\3 everyone but jack grew up in socal

ronnie grew up rich. like mega rich. her "modest childhood home" it was a huge house w a waitstaff ("it was only jim (butler), tom (valet) n cathy (cook) n the cleaning ladies on tuesdays!" thats still a waitstaff fuck off ronnie) n in southern california. like girl🙄. but anyway yeah. rich girl kind of spoiled (definitely spoiled) youngest of 2, had an older brother who lived in the uk in the late 70s early 80s for school or something. maybe it had to do w the family business which idk what it was LMFAO. he would send ronnie metal albums cuz they were both into nwobhm. mother was a socialite, loved to throw lavish parties. ronnies dad adored her, shes a total daddy's girl. she started playing drums when she was 14 when she found her dad's kit (he was a big beatles fan n loved ringo) in the garage attic. ronnie went to public school but wasnt really the best student tho she tried really hard. she had like 3-7 dogs growing up cuz her parents loved dogs and giving strays a good home for however long they stayed.

gales dad was a single parent, worked as a college professor teaching literature. his specialty was american lit, esp black american lit. he collected classical music and jazz records and read books constantly. he often had his professor friends n students over for dinner, to discuss books or political happenings etc etc. he really encouraged gale to pay attention to politics and read everything and listen to everything and ask questions about everything. she took piano lessons from like 6-16, started playing bass around 13/14. she was a huge bookworm as a kid which her dad like. very much encouraged n fostered. gale went to public school. 

max was the 4th child of 6. her dad was an alcoholic n her mom worked as a waitress. she doesnt talk abt her childhood. when she met ronnie she basically moved in w her n ronnies parents adored her cuz she had that california beach blonde, girl next door look coupled w a total kicked puppy sad eyes n they just loved taking in strays. she started playing guitar around 14/15 after being lent a black sabbath tape by an older sibling. not sure which one

jack was born in chula vista n her parents divorced when she was 4. she lived w her mother in the bay area but never stayed in one place for very long. her mom bought her a guitar when she was nine as a birthday present n jack taught herself from listening to songs on the radio. she was often described as a "troubled child" struggling with aggression, focusing in school, reading, and writing. began seriously playing guitar after hearing motorheads debut. was kicked out of her moms home after dropping out of school, moved in with friends. played in a bunch of various punk n heavy metal bands, eventually relocating to LA with the band she was in at the time, before joining artery in the summer of 81. 

what were their favorite novels? 

gale read too many to have a like. real favorite she would just start listing the ones she thought were good or that u would like. she really loved kurt vonneguts and bell hooks work. maybe sister outsider by audre lorde? i know why the caged bird sings? dhalgren? dune? catcher in the rye? i think dhalgren honestly but idk

ronnie's is definitely lord of the rings. like without question its lotr. fucking nerd. she'll say its vogue magazine tho

max...lolita, ariel or maldoror

jack was like. between being functionally illiterate and having (MAYBE?????????) severe dyslexia. she has a lot of trouble reading (recognizes albums by the cover, bands by the vocalist/guitarist) n struggles with writing (near/illegible handwriting, misspelling, difficulty with grammar/syntax) so. she doesnt have a favorite novel. shed call u a nerd for asking that

would u say that jack is doomed by the narrative?

definitely. there is no possible outcome of artery's story where she could have lived. she n max r both doomed by the narrative but jack was the only one who really actually literally died. max … since she didnt like. physical die its not truely being doomed by the narrative but like. she, as both the frontman of artery and as the person she was in artery around tht community… she died. completely. n hasnt been seen since 1986. so maybe she did actually die! ull never know

[the-needle-witch]

slug and snail are friends! tysm to comrade Mina for entrusting me to give you ur first tsttoos, and for driving for two hours to see me!

[nanowrimo]

3 Easy Tips for Creating Strong Characters

We’re halfway through Camp NaNoWriMo! Today, NaNoWriMo  participant Abigail Falanga shares some powerful insight into character building and how those characters inform the structure of your story:

Characters are story.

They reveal unexpected themes, tug in new directions, propel plot-arcs, and create dialogue through opposing positions. They texture scene and setting, making your written world seem real. They draw you in and make you care. The key to creating strong characters is observation.

1. Observe Real People

People-watching is helpful (and fun!)

I mean taking note of how people act, think, talk, react, even look and smell. Then, recombine details and see what happens. Every detail makes a whole, distinct personality.

Accents and regionalisms tell where a guy is from, about a woman’s friends, about books and music they like. This hints at their taste in food, and sometimes if they’ll go in for a hug. It also sets up certain stereotypes: down-to-business woman from NYC, laid-back dude from SoCal. Then it’s interesting to watch how they meet or defy these expectations.

Quirks and idiosyncrasies are both irritating and lovable, and make up who we are as individuals. So, note those who can never remember a name, or zone out when you’re talking to them, or habits like cracking knuckles.

Sometimes, you even get glimpses of traits or insecurities this way. A friend detailing her party three times may feel you aren’t paying attention to what’s important to her. The girl always checking her phone may have difficulty maintaining eye contact.

Appearance is influenced by peer groups as much as personal taste, but also regional and occupational fashions, pop-culture, and sometimes deliberate artistic choices. A sudden change might indicate a new relationship or job. Also, since appearances are deceptive, note the contradictions between someone’s outside and their story.

Contradictions are the best! If someone looks one way and behaves another, it tells so much about them. That funny guy with a sarcastic comeback for everything might be hiding anger or powerlessness. The older lady who snaps at you in line could be the sweetest grandma in the world, just wanting to get back in time for the birthday party.

People have so many facets! Notice and remember details about strangers you encounter—and those closest to you.

2. Observe Fictional People

Almost as worthwhile: Pay attention to well-written characters in favorite books, movies, and TV.

What do you love about a character? How did the author craft someone as real to you as anyone you know?

A well-loved protagonist such as Sherlock Holmes combines good traits (observational skills, scientific knowledge) with bad habits (up all night, playing loud music).

Secondary characters are just as important. Mrs. Elton in Jane Austen’s Emma is convinced she’s high society and charming, but is so full of herself that she thinks every party is for her.

Humorous or heroic, excellent authors create iconic characters using methods worth emulating: Both Mr. Holmes and Mrs. Elton, for instance, have consistent voices, good intentions, and quirks which you are likely to encounter in the real world.

3. Let Your Characters Shape Your Story

Taking a physical trait here, a contradiction and a turn of speech there, you can blend strong characters. Then comes the part I think of as: “poking them with a stick to see what happens!”

You want to know where they come from, and how did they get here? Appearance shows how they feel, and how they want the world to see them. Inconsistencies show what they want, how they’re trying to get it, and how they’re failing or succeeding.

And before you know it... your main character’s best friend is supportive, but also dealing with depression after a breakup. The kid got a black eye after the classmate he was bullying fought back.

And you have story!

Abigail Falanga is an incorrigible fantasist and inveterate science-fiction writer who believes in using long words freighted with meaning. She lives in New Mexico, alternately inspired and distracted by her family and extremely large black lab mix. A NaNoWriMo winner since 2007 and Camp NaNoWriMo participant since its beginning, Abigail is currently venturing into the thrilling, maddening world of platform-building and publishing.

Top photo by Zhen Hu on Unsplash.

[referenceforyourmother]

The end

Valószínűleg nem kéne most ezzel foglalkoznom, mert más dolgom is lenne így éjfél tájban, de szembe jött E képe instagramon és belesüllyedtem a lefelémenő spirálba, mert megkerestem a tetoválásod, amit stick-n-poke-olt neked, tudod amit cs rajzolt. ÉS megláttam, hogy A kis szívecskéket kommentelt alá, A tudod a stylistod, a munkatársad, akit bemutattál a Dnek a nagy mentorodnak, elvitted vacsorázni, engem meg nem. Tudod A, akiról telebasztad analóggal a tumblröd, aki rajta van a rollokon, amin a lányok, akikkel dugtál, amiket amúgy én túrtam elő, mert miután megmondtad, hogy vannak, de nem voltál hajlandó megosztani őket és mesélni róluk, már kihívásnak éreztem, hogy meg kell találnom. Tudom, hogy nagy része digitálisan van valahol a képeden, amit már sose fogok látni, de a polaroidok és a bélyegképek is elegek voltak. Nem tudom megmagyarázni miért, de olyan rosszul esett, hogy sose kerültem közéjük, se a rollokon, se social medián. Másfél év alatt egyetlen egy taggelt posztot értem meg, messze a távolban a kutyával, amúgy meg csak belógó papucs, kéz, ruha voltam. Nem tudom hol kezdett minden elbaszódni, talán ott, hogy egy nárcisztikus segg vagy, talán a L és B esküvőjén. Halálra izgultam magam, főleg miután a Dürerben úgy jött le, van köztetek/volt köztetek valami, legalábbis a fura viccek a szép barna bőrére és a lapos hasára (meg ugye nem azért házasodtok mert terhes vagy). Kicsit kényelmetlen érintett. Amúgy meg sose igazán beszéltük meg ki is állított ki és miért. Később ugyan összeraktam, hogy A képei voltak, aki M pasija, de ehhez kellett az esküvő és hogy masszívan lecreepeltem őket socal medián az esküvő után, pont mint A, meg E, meg CS róluk és a tigrises tetkód részleteiról is onnan tudok, mert te pár szavas válaszokban kimerültél. Na az esküvő. Szóval ott rájöttem, nincs mitől félni, L és B a világ legcukibb párja együtt, semmi konkurencia és isten igazából tök jófejek voltak, hogy meghívtak. És veled is jól éreztem magam, annak ellenére is, hogy a szertartás alatt leléptél fotózni és a hülyén felöltözött meghívottakról készült kép, rólam egy se, és sose láttam azt a rollt se. Aztán hazafele szépen összevesztünk, mert M meg a csaja nálad dekkoltak Londonból és nem tudtál próbamunkát csinálni, meg ott volt az esküvő is és úgy tűnt vmi negatív spirálba küldött, hogy L már házas. Felajánlottam, hogy gyere hozzánk dolgozni, kicsi a hely, de nem fogunk zavarni, de azt mondat rosszabb lenne összepakolni és kiutazni hozzám, mint M-ékkel szenvedni otthon. Már eljönni is bunkó parasztok módjára jöttünk el, mert nem akartál elköszönni és égett a pofám rendesen, aztán a buszon haza amikor megköszöntem, hogy elvittél és veled lehettem, még be is nyögted mennyire a nyakadba voltam egésze este és milyen kényelmetlen volt. Itt a pszichológusom azt tanácsolta legközelebb ilyen baráti outingok alkalmával hagyjam, hogy te közeledj és ne én legyek aki megfogja a kezed. De már itt le kellett volna lépnem. Hiszen később ez egy pattern lett. Ha nem voltak jelen olyan barátok akiket le kellett nyűgözni, akkor minden tök normális volt, a családoddal és az alattad lévő barátaiddal, mint pl K szintén úgy viselkedtél/közeledtél felém, ahogy nekem természetes egy kapcsolatban, de ha megjelent D, L+B, A+M, Z, akkor mintha egy másik ember lettél volna. Hideg, idegen, aki két székkel arrébb ül, biztos, ami biztos. Sose felejtem el a szülinapod, amit mindeki szerint túlparáztam, de nem tudtam ki Z, csak betoppant a megbeszélt parti helyett és én hülye visszamentem, Carson Coma koncert után, pedig nem kellett volna. Te lökted a szöveged, hogy lenyűgözd Z-t és a csaját, miközben nagyon-nagyon ittas voltál és drogokért kuncsorogtál a csajnál, amelyik oldalad én nem ismertem az előtte lévő fél évben. Nem értettem miért fontos Z-t lenyűgözni, miért kell ennyit inni, mi történik. Levittem a kutyát, mert mindenki baszott a fejére és már akkor le kellett volna vinni amikor elindultam a koncertre. Aztán kérdeztétek min voltam, amiről nem akartam mesélni, mert tudom, hogy neked szar a zene, amit szeretek, de csak elmondtam és K olyan rendes volt, vágta kikről beszélek, mondta neki is mennyire tetszenek, meg hogy milyen piszok fiatalok, és én olyan de olyan hálás voltam, hogy dobott nekem egy szalmaszálat a beszélgetésbe,  amibe épp belefulladtam. L és M is mindig ilyen rendes volt, a szüleid is, és volt, hogy ezek tartották bennem a lelket, hogy nem vagytok teljesen idióta. Ezek után annyit veszekedtünk és borzalmasan hívtuk a másikat és szakítottál is velem, mindenfelé utólagos megbeszélés nélkül. Két hónapig fosul voltam, egyszer írtam, hogy beszéljünk, hogy le tudjam zárni, de semmi, Aztán megjelentél, hogy mindenen dolgozzunk, beleteszed a munkát, jobb lesz. Feltétel nélkül. Mindegy, hogy feliratos-e a ruhám vagy fogni akarom a kezed a felsőbbrangú barátaid előtt. Én hülye, meg hittem neked. Kurva pszichológusom se tudta volna azt monda, hogy több ponton is a nárcisztikus személyiségzavar jeleit mutatod és talán nem lenne a legjobb ötlet, mert nem igazán tudsz változni. Hiányzott a kutya, hiányoztak a nem veszekedős hónapok, a párkapcsolat, te. Egy darabig jó is volt minden, de aztán minden kezdődött az elején. Úgy éreztem, mindig veled vagyok, ne valahogy mindig megkaptam, hogy sose érek rá. Állandóan úgy éreztem, csak adok, energiát, kedvességet, figyelmet és mégis azt kapom, hogy egyiket se adom. Teljesen kiszívódtam mentálisan, ha meg akartam beszélni egy rossz napot, pár szóban lerendezted, hogy hát ezen nem kéne aggódni, de különben se vetítsem rád a rossz napom. Semmi együttérzés, kibeszélés, empátia. Csak ne zsongjak a fejedben. Ha valamit meg akartam beszélni, mert rossz kedvem volt, azonnal az jött, hogy biztos mert te ezt  vagy azt csináltad és nem egyszer kellett ordítanom, hogy ez nem rólad szól, nekem van vmivel problémám és meg akarom veled osztani, mert akkor jobban fogom magam érezni. Ha igazam volt nem volt elismerve, hogy jól tudtam, ha tévedtem az ki volt hangsúlyozva, hogyan fogom a kést, miért akarok én seprűvel kutyaszőrt felszedni, miért akarok papírtörlőt venni a lakásba, hogyan gondolom, hogy a fogasra teszem a dolgaim. Egyszer idegesen kirohantál a konyhába, hogy lebassz, miért vannak a cuccaim a fotelben, de rájöttél azok a te dolgaid és kijöttél ezt elmondani a lebaszás helyett. Ha túl önállóan döntöttem egy helyzetben, egyedül mentem a SUP bázisra, azt mondtam leszarom mikor indulunk, majd ha elindulunk elindulunk (mert addigra 5x változott a program, idő, hely, csomag, közlekedési mód) akkor számon lett rajtam kérve miért teszek úgy mintha együtt se lennénk, és miért nem érdekel jobban a program, miért nem vagyok sokkal boldogabb és hálásabb. Ha szóvá tettem , miért nem lettem bemutatva, miért nem foghatom a kezed vagy ölelhetlek meg a barátaid előtt, akkor én csináltam hirtelen túl nagy problémát a semmiből. Ha szétcseszte a hangulatom, hogy végig panaszkodsz, hogy túl meleg a mozi, túl lassú a kiszolgálás a puban, nincs kedvem velem bkvzni, különben is miért lakom ilyen messze akkor is nyilván, hogyan jövök én ahhoz, hogy ez elvegye a jó kedvem, hiszen ezek csak tény megállapítások voltak. Ha azt meséled, hogy utálsz képzőművészeti kiállításra jönni, de miattam megteszed, az nekem nem esik jól. A zsidó, néger, homofób viccek se csúsznak el nálam, mert amivel viccelődik az ember, annak vhol van alapja.

Próbállak utálni emiatt a sok szarság miatt, de amúgy nem igazán megy. Szétbaszódtam érzelmileg, lelkileg, de nem szándékosan akartad ezt. Ilyen ember vagy, és ez rám ilyen hatással van. Ez vigasztal. Nem a nyomorúságom okozott neked örömöt, egyszerűen nem értesz és ilyen hatással vagy rám. Minden szorongásom felerősíted, elbizonytalanítasz és ettől megőrülök és kimerülök. Nagyon örülök, hogy most én szakítottam veled, még ha 2x is kellett és utána még megpróbáltam újra beszélni. Olyan volt ez a kapcsolat a végén, mint valami drogfüggőség, high és low, magasan fenn és mélyen lenn, és hirtelen ezt elvenni hatalmas depresszióval járt.

Azóta tolom ezerrel a triptofánt, orbáncfűt, rendszeresebben mozgok, igyekszem jobban aludni és próbálok figyelni arra is mit eszem. Lassan, de biztos jobban vagyok minden nappal, már nem keresem a mankót, amit az nyújtott, hogy kapcsolatban vagyok, hogy ott a kiskutya, akivel mindig el tudok menni kikapcsolni. Lesz majd még kiskutyám, lesz majd még jó szex az életemben, lesz majd egy olyan kapcsolat, ahol empátiában is részesülök.

Itt jönne a bullshit arról, hogy neked is a legjobbakat! Mondjuk ez így van, minden jót neked, de ha egyvalamit megtanultam veled, az az, hogy van, hogy önzőnek kell lenni. Ez most az én szakítás történetem, és nem annyira érdekel mi lesz veled. Én felállok ebből, megküzdök vele és próbálom mindenben a legjobbat megtalálni, még ha sokszor nagyon nehéz is.

[braindamageforbeginners]

Day 36, Radiation 24, Serum Infusion 5 (sort of)

I realize that I tend to be discursive and verbose (in writing, anyway, I’m a surprisingly quiet person in real life); HOWEVER, dear reader, if the potential walls of text seem intimidating, let me just say, I cover a helluva lot of ground in this one. Benchmarks shall be reached; insights had; exhilarating heights and terrifying lows reached. Or, yesterday marked an important date, I had some critical insights to surviving deadly diseases (

So; yesterday marked the final initial serum infusion (I know that sounds like I’m a demented time traveler; hang with me). The “initial” treatment period for GBM - usually agreed as the “critical” treatment period - is a six-week course of 42 days of chemotherapy, 30 radiation doses (you get weekends off), and, in my case, five injections of Abraham Erskine’s Special Sauce. This is followed by a 20-30 day vacation - of sorts, followed by a year of on-again-off-again chemo (and, in my case, added bacon bits to Dr. Erskine’s elixer). That’s if everything goes well. If the radiotherapy (which is the very best that every single physician I consulted with recommended) isn’t as effective as predicted/hoped; you can start planning on what requests you’ll make for Tom Petty and Whitney Houston. I mean, there are some things they can do to forestall the disease, manage symptoms, etc. but that’s pretty the cancellation notice on a TV series you were watching. Again, I am amazingly horrified, upset, and angry that my life expectancy and potential is dependent upon which artificial rogue proton hit which carbon ring in an alien invader in my brain. And I’m going to be getting sentenced (as it were), in a month, and a helluva lot will be due to random chance. And healthy people would see this whole thing that the end is in sight, and thus begins a new stage of life (here’s a teachable moment, healthy folks; if you have a friend with a progressive disease, the stages are that they get worse until they die; new stage of life is that they get to skip some stages). So, yeah, after a year of awful news, it feels rather less that the parole board is convening, and much more that the Roulette Wheel is spinning. And I suppose the secret to doing this thing with grace and courage (which, again, I have no intention of doing; I was born a miserable misanthrope) is figuring out how to maximize those spins before the cashier collects. But, that is still a full month off, there are still positive (and negative) possibilities in play, and we shall leave the dark Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come for the rest of the post in favor of me (I suppose I’d be the Ghost of Christmas That one Time Dad Accidentally Misplaced and Mislabeled Everyone’s Gifts, So the Day Ended in a Really Stupid Series of Arguments)(I mean, I love the Christmas Carol, but I think we can all agree that I’m much more in  the vein of idiotic-yet-funny family history stories we use to scare Grandma into silence)(Again, ladies, I am single).

So, we start events bright and early yesterday with me getting my blood drawn. Which always sucks, but I have learned a few tricks over the years (holding the phlebotomist’s family hostage in case they have to stab you more than three times isn’t as effective as you’d think). I have really hard-to-find veins; they’re small, you can’t see them, and they clench up and hide well after a bad attempt. But, I now have the patter down to a fine art, and most decent nurses and phlebotomists can do it by the second try (the record number of attempts, for anyone keeping score, was an MRI tech in NoCal - this was back in the days when techs were allowed to inject dyes into patients on their own; the rules have since changed). The vampire tech in question got me on the first time, and, then installing the IV, accidentally spritzed me with my own life essence. In all fairness, I’ve suffered worse the last time I spilled a drink, in terms of liquid exposure. And, because it’s me, it’s not even the first or second time I’ve been drenched in my own blood - it might be the third or fourth time, I’d have go back and tally them up (and, although “drench” is far too strong a verb in this instance, it wasn’t strong enough to capture the previous occasions)(I desperately wish I was making this up). Now, this wasn’t terribly painful, or, as it turns out, even very inconvenient - thankfully, there’s some mega-methanol fabric cleaner on hand (I don’t know why this surprised me; I’ve had a semi-permanent place in the hospital system since before I could vote)  - which is fortunate, because the constabulary takes a dim view of grown men with blood stains on their crotches (that wasn’t some sort of design on my part, it was just a weird - albeit amusing - outcome of the angles and pressures involved. Anyway, after securing the IV in place, and making me presentable for a court appearance, the Vampire Tech (and this isn’t a slam on her, or anything; it’s just that the job of drawing blood and installing IVs is done by - according to my count - nurses, phlebotomists, technicians, nurses in training, training phlebotomist technicians - you get the idea; there’s 45 possible job titles for the person sticking me with an 18 gage needle)(crucial tidbit for future patients; 20-22 gage needles are about the smallest they’ll use on an adult, and, if you have a documented history of hard-to-find veins, you might want to consider asking for one of those) apologized to me for the mishap; I reciprocated, and she mentioned that she’d used a slightly smaller needle than she thought and moved a little faster, based on my description. She then mentioned - and I do hope you are sitting - that I have really, really big veins, they’re just a bit hard to find.

THE BETRAYAL. ALL IS LIES. You have to understand, folks, I’ve been told that I have small, hard-to-find, hard-to-poke veins, and, all this time, I have mid-grade kitchen pipes. I have to believe - because I’ve had my blood drawn more often than Lance Armstrong in the last sixteen years - that someone would’ve mentioned that my veins are fine, they’re just invisible and not where you expect them, and I forgot. That would be bad, and upsetting, but I would’ve liked to have thought that someone would’ve noticed and mentioned it a second or third time. Of course, I also did down two liters of water a half-hour before the blood draw, so it’s possible my venous system is more aggressively reactionary than Southern politics (drinking a lot of water right before a blood draw a well-known, very effective way to make the phlebotomist’s job easier), and this poor woman underestimated.

So, fast-forward 1400 years to me, in the chemo seat (which is supposed to be comfortable, but it’s amazing how unpleasant impersonal barcaloungers are when you have a tube in your arm, and you daren’t jiggle it lest you get billed for someone’s dry-cleaning bill), getting grilled by Research Coordinator, about assorted side-effects (that’s what they’re testing me for, remember), and he mentions that I’ve already reached the maximum recommended dose and tolerated it well, so I’m probably at my maximal side effects, super-soldier wise. Which makes me feel good, because, even though my arm and shoulder hurt like a sumbitch the next day and I have vague flu-like symptoms, if this is as bad as it gets, experimental drug-wise, it’s pretty tolerable (I mean, depending on how things shake-out, if this is a bimonthly, standard dose, I’ll ask them about some sort of stronger pain-killer or something, because this is extremely unpleasant, but, if this is the price of another decade or two, it’s doable)(even with horrible, horrible Gatorade). Which made me feel all Captain American-y for a brief moment and shine a bit of hope on the darkness. Research Coordinator also mentioned that, even though you only get one radiation treatment per lifetime, if I beat this thing the first time and it comes back, he and the Warlocks are already working on potential treatment plans, trials, and virgin sacrifices to keep me alive. Folks, I’m going to use some strong language here, but, I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, this is why, if you have a serious illness, do not fuck around with the folks at the local health-mart; go directly to the best. I’m still scared as hell that the radiation won’t take hold and/or this tumor will kill me, but I do feel like, if I can beat this one, I might have something like a normal life expectancy. That might just be the bargaining part stage of grief, though, and it does kind of require me to survive the next several months, which is far from guaranteed. to say the least. HOWEVER, Research Coordinator did assure me that, win, lose, or draw, I’d be getting a few weeks off from Gatorade (I’ll discuss this in further detail later, because it’s not exactly what it sounds like). My major complaint about that interaction is that they skimped on the budget and didn’t get Stanley Tucci to do the interview.

I also had a fascinating conversation with a chemo nurse who was double checking assorted side-effects, prescriptions, patient history, what-have-you. The following conversation has been condensed and slightly edited. NURSE: So, no nausea or vomiting? SELF: Not yet. NURSE: And you’re still on zofran? SELF: Uh, yeah, although i was queasy after the second infusion, so Research Coordinator suggested I double the dosage. But that’s in all the history, and it’s factored in to all of my prescriptions and stuff, as far as I can tell. NURSE (suspiciously): And you’ve never skipped a dose or cut back? SELF: Ma’am, it makes physically bearable and keeps me from puking. Why would I feel the need to experiment with that? NURSE: Oh, you’d be surprised. SELF: Look, if I get all my dreams and die at age 90 in excellent health; I want to be buried with a full bottle of zofran in case I need it.

Eventually, I did get to make it to another part of Socal, because Mother Dearest and the dog decided to visit me. Again, I’m going to be vague in an attempt to preserve some sort of anonymity (if not on my part, at least my dog’s); but we were able to coordinate this because I found a pet-friendly hotel in a part of town half-way between home and the hospital - as opposed to the really nice, but really expensive resort town. I’m now ready to call it quits with the resort area - it was quieter, friendlier, cheaper, and more personal. There’s less to do there, but people actually talked to me (or they talked to my dog, which I think is close enough). Everyone I talked to at this neighborhood was friendly - like, the meanest response of the night is from me, when a baker came out from behind the counter to hug my dog and I kind of winced, because that doesn’t seem very hygienic. But the croissants were amazing (like, worth dog-germ-risk to a technically-immunocompromised person amazing). And I got to celebrate the serum-sorta-completion-almost date the way American Jesus intended: with steak tartare, near-raw burgers, (it could be laden with tuberculosis, but, screw it, I got zofran, I’m not gonna puke), and double-helpings of beer (and, to those of you who don’t know me, few people like microbrew more than I do). It was a delightsomeful, memorable evening. I’m sure she meant it as a compliment, but Mother Dearest expressed far more wit in a single observation than the entire Trump administration: “You’ve become a much more interesting diner since you gave up that heart-health thing.”

And I sort-of slept. Maybe. A few hours. I will say this about the horrible super-soldier serum; it does produce the most amazingly life-like dreams I’ve ever experienced. Yes, I know they’re not technically hallucinations, but, you people didn’t attend the Super Bowl last night. Admittedly, that’s s a really weird, specific, helluva strange object for my focus (I give less thought to the NFL than I do to alfalfa profit margins)(not that either takes up much brain space). It felt like I was there, just like the last hyper-realistic post-injection dream. Which was weird and cool, and, certainly one of the more intriguing side-effects. Which led to a nastier, far-too-frequent side-effect; my arm feeling like it was trying to disattach itself from my frame. Fortunately, after last time, I knew exactly what to; go directly to Tylenol and Gatorade, which made things tolerable. Or as tolerable as Gatorade-based mornings can be. It did occur to me that, if I can’t be Captain America, maybe my right arm can grow and mutate and turn into some sort of really cool/scary demon-hand, like Hellboy. Which would enable me to punch through the flimsy walls of this universe to Hell itself, so that I could track down the inventor of Gatorade, and give him a well-earned thrashing (I know I’m an agnostic, but one thing I am absolutely theologically certain of; the creator of Gatorade is in Hell).

And, as I was musing - like you do, when you’re waiting for superpowers - I recalled the nurse saying that people just experiment and go off zofran (again, kids, if Santa Claus ever brings you zofran, you write a thank-you note immediately). This kind of coincided with another  revelation, and I do apologize if it’ll take some time to connect the two, because they make a very important point for everyone planning on surviving cancer. I was packing up the dog’s stuff (specifically, his bowl and bag of food), and thought I’d just pour the leftover food into the bag on the porch/parking-lot area - food’s gonna spill, after all; if it happens out there, some lucky squirrel can deal with it. Mom immediately stopped me so that she could do the exact same thing in the sink area. Depositing dog food all over the sink, and turning a two-minute task into a five-minute cleaning job; without any apparent gain apart from cleaning kibble out of the sink. Now, because it’s Mother Dearest, I’m sure I’ll get some note about how I’m wrong and efficiency and cleanliness are overrated. What occurred to me is that it was a minor case of someone exercising some form of agency merely because they could.

And I get that; I really do. I organize my bookshelves, keep a highly regimented gym schedule, etc. And it suddenly occurred to me, based on this thought (and the chemo nurse’s statement that people stop taking zofran just because), there has to be a chunk of the populace that goes off doctor’s orders or refuses care or whatever for a variety of reasons. That’s all old news; I was an EMT, I’ve seen stupid shit you couldn’t even begin to believe. BUT, the heartening part of it - for me, anyway - is that I have, since Day 1 (since before then, actually), religiously followed doctor’s orders and suggestions (for the most part; I still shave, eat raw foods, and train in the gym; but I’ve never missed an appointment, prescription, dosage, or medical exam, and I’ve never lied to my physicians when questioned). Now, I realize that I have a dangerous disease that isn’t well-understood or have a terribly predictable outcome; but, it is worth noting that, every time I tell some medical professional I’ve lived with this disease (or chronic brain tumors, anyway) for 16 years, I get the exact same reaction as if I’d told them I went to school with Archimedes. I am, apparently, in the world of cancer, patients, nigh-vampire-unkillable. Which is pretty cool and makes me feel good,  but, for everyone who wants to learn that secret, well, it’s pretty simple.

You want to go to the very best doctors. You want to figure out the best treatment plan for you; the one that offers the most chance of success. HOWEVER, once you have those things; you follow the rules and stick to the treatment plan like your life depends on it, because it does. I have no idea whether this is going to work, or what my life expectancy will be, but I am near-certain that if I decided to screw around with things, I will have a very grim future.

In figuring out an appropriate ending metaphor for all of this - and the importance of sticking to the medical plan in a world filled with changing variables and crises - I hit upon China Mieville’s book, “Kraken.” It’s an odd urban fantasy that prominently features a cult that worships giant squid as deities (it’s not the dumbest religion I’ve ever heard of). However, there is a minor plot point about the cult’s version of chess - “Kraken Chess,” which is just like our chess, except it features a piece called the Kraken (because of course it does). The Kraken piece is the most powerful piece on the board, because it can - like the queen - move any number of squares in any direction; however, the Kraken piece can also not move at all. It just forfeits a turn.

Folks, as you navigate a dangerous disease, there will be many, many periods where you don’t see any real results, there is no end in sight (or, as the case may be, the visible ends tend to look scary). I will work tirelessly to figure out some sort of coping strategy for all that - believe me, a large part of my life is centered on that, right now. All I can say is, don’t exert agency when none is needed, especially if that comes in the form of skipping your zofran. Sometimes, you must be the kraken; silent, beaked, still, and waiting for the opportunity to kill Sam Worthington.

I mean, uh, take your meds, follow the doctor’s directions, and don’t miss your appointments.

At the moment, I’m back home, waiting for my next appointment (it’s in a few hours);everything’s as close to normal as it can be. I’ve finished up all my administrative health lackey duties, so all bills that can be paid, prescriptions that can be renewed, appointments that can be made, etc. have been scheduled, and I can’t do anything for a few hours. Which is almost a relaxing feeling. I might go sit in the yard with a book and try and get in touch with my inner squid. Sometimes that’s the best you can do.

Folks, I do apologize if that was a bit lengthy and choppy; I had to write it exceedingly fast because I took a day off and there was a lot to attend to while I wrote. So, sorry if it’s a little disjarring; I can do better than that, I just didn’t have the time (and parts of it were written while I was still a little loopy from Captain America serum). The good news - sort of - is that there’s still a lot of things on the cutting-room floor that I’ll be revisiting in short-order. You’d best believe I’m going to revisit that kraken metaphor very soon, I have dark plans for the importance of vomiting on people (sort of), and why we, as a species, might be okay in the end.

[gendryw4ters-blog]

Gonna send this in now; don't worry about responding for a while, it's almost time for me to go to bed and you have fun things to do! Lieb: As anyone can tell you, Lieb doesn’t give a shit. Not about how much his clothes cost, if he went to college, the type of beer he drinks, and who he loves. Which means of course he’s punk, through and through. This comes through from old-school punk, like the Ramones, and through more modern groups like Palma Violets, Arctic Monkeys, and (1/?)

FIDLAR, his choice of pre-gaming music. He’s the cultural heir to the Beastie Boys and Nirvana and he’s proud of it. Jamie T’s songs feel like they fit that particular sentiment, with the chorus of “Sticks n Stones” REALLY summing up Lieb: “When there’s no one left to fight/Boys like him don’t shine so bright/Soon as I see the dust settle/He’s out on the town tryin’ to find trouble”.Wavves and FIDLAR (two of my favorite bands) bring in the SoCal element to Lieb. I feel like even though in (2/?)

canon he’s so damn proud of being from there, in a modern AU, he’d constantly be trying to distance himself from the general hippie reputation in favor for the grittiness of NorCal or even claiming New York (“Well, Web’s from there, and I lived with him before we came out here, so really, I am a New Yorker. And the Ramones would’ve loved me, so fuck off.”). Toye: Much like how Ron and Lip are Joy Division and New Order, the Joes are the Ramones and the Clash or the Damned: same genre, same (3/?)

circles, still different enough to be their own. Joe definitely is more in touch with his emotions outside of pissed off than Lieb, and he doesn’t really care as much about his reputation as long as he’s not publicly considered weak or soft, which leads into what I (lovingly) refer to as “1980s emo”. As with Oasis vs. Blur, the Smiths vs. the Cure is a huge debate (I’m firmly with the Cure on this one), but as long as there are songs he can mope around to, Joe doesn’t care. He does fit more (4/?

into 90s and 2000s alt in terms of his reactions and how he conducts himself, so I think Tame Impala, Pixies, and The Strokes fit him well in that area. They rep his outer reputation to people. But he’s a softie and as much as he denies it, he’s the guy who lays in bed and listens to mostly sad or apathetic music for a few days after a break up, then gets mad and makes himself get over it. Also, for some reason, this tattoo metaphor for the Joes (Lieb is stick-and-pokes done by a friend (5/6)

with some shitty alcohol and not quite legally and Joe is one of those old schools at an obscure but critically acclaimed parlor) popped in my head??? Do with it what you will. So that’s my thoughts, and I think I’m going to take a bit of a break w/the mixes. Would you like me to send in one or non-music things or something else? (6/6)

LIEB:

firstly; you’re absolutely right. lieb doesn’t give a shit about ANY of that- like he isn’t a very materialistic person at all, more concerned with collecting experience than he is with collecting actual things (aside from records, which i think perhaps he’d have a lot of- it ties in with the Web/Brooklyn Baby thing too because he’d be in awe of Web’s record collection and all of his rare finds and he genuinely does think Web is cooler than him because of that) (okay maybe not QUITE cooler than him but, yknow, close ahah). 

i actually have a whole document i did one night on why jamie t and joseph liebgott are the same person (which in retrospect would have been better as a powerpoint presentation tbh), but yeah, i think sticks and stones sums him up particularly well in that respect. it’s not even that he’s necessarily always seeking to fight, just that there is nothing else to do but fight. the kids i work with have a grand total of zero things to do at lunchtimes so they just fight for fun, which i think is something that comes with lieb quite a lot- and, presumably, jamie t. both of them have grown a lot though, and i think that becomes evident through music moreso than anything else. take sticks and stones and compare it to trouble, is what i think i mean?? idk im rambling here definitely but!! i hope you get what i mean kind of haha

ALSO i love FIDLAR and im always shook when i meet other people who do too so like!! that’s fucking awesome. and also that’s an interesting take on lieb actually! i wanted to include things to do with california because i knew his home state kind of played a big part in shaping his identity, but im afraid i was less aware of the north/south divide in terms of culturey things so!! learning that was cool, and yeah i could absolutely see him as claiming new yorker status on behalf of web omg!

TOYE:

fuck fuck i’m laughing so hard ok so I did my analyses of the Joes last night, and we have pretty much the same things to say about the Joy-Toye. I didn’t go into relationships b/w other mixes but wow, ok, 95% of it is what I had. I can still send it in, but it’s basically the same thing

first of all it’s both hilarious and wonderful that we reached the same conclusion on toye omg- like, we must obviously be doing something right if we’ve BOTH reached the same point of conclusion right?? right?? ahah

i dont really know what else to say on the matter of toye since youve worded it so brilliantly in your ask, like oh gosh, the image of him lying around after a heartbreak listening to mopey music is just like- agh i wanna give him a hug and tell him everythings going to be fine

ALSO THE TATTOO METAPHOR IS REALLY COOL AND I LIKE THAT A LOT

im tempted to write something but! i dont know what but i just, gosh its a great metaphor and great imagery too!! thank you for this!!

and also!! you do whatever you like rae honestly! im always around to chat or discuss music or the shows or anything you wanna!! you’re super cool and thank you so much for these mix things because i really appreciate them a lot!!

much love! and i hope that all is well!!

[stars-that-shine-at-night]

Mark Tuan x Reader: What I Want to Share with You

A/n: It’s the battle all Californians have, SoCal vs NorCal. Frankly I am a Bay Area girl myself. But please I am not looking to have a fight with a person from SoCal over which side is better. i am just doing this because I thought it would be cute. As well as I know the Bay Area I will not be talking about everything, there is just too much to do there.

“Bold Text” is dialogue in Cantonese or Taishanese

The early summer sun rays peeked through as they poked at Mark’s cheeks, as well as someone else... You diligently poked at Mark’s porcelain cheeks until his eyelids cracked open, revealing his dark eyes. Groaning, Mark brought his hands to his face, after you removed your own, and rubbed the sleep away from his eyes.

“Good morning beautiful.” Mark said, while sitting up to meet your figure; placing a chaste kiss on his lips, you muttered a quiet ‘good morning’ too. You met Mark in Korea, while you were a composer, working with idols and songwriters to bring music to lyrics, and Mark was an idol. With the both of you being from California and knowing English, you and Mark quickly got to know each other. However, Mark was from sunny LA, while you were from cold San Francisco. Northern California and Southern California were very different sides, sometimes it was hard that both sides were the same state in America.

You grabbed Mark’s arm, one hand on his forearm and the other on his bicep, and you pulled him out of bed. “Time to get up and go. I have many places to show you and I have so little time.” You said, as you stumbled out of bed and started pushing Mark towards the bathroom. With a quick breakfast, you and Mark were out the door. 

“What should we do first?” you asked excitedly, behind the driver’s wheel. You’ve always wanted to show the one you loved where you grew up and now you have that opportunity with Mark. 

“What about Chinatown?” Mark asked with a smirk. “I want to make sure LA’s Chinatown is still better.” Taking one hand off the wheel, you brought it to you chest, “I am super offended sir, of course San Francisco’s Chinatown is better.” You said sticking your tongue out at him. “It is not only bigger, but we have a fortune cookie factory.” You said with a matter of factually tone. 

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but do you have a temple.” Mark fired backed, only to receive a “Touche”, from you. 

“We do have Golden Gate Bakery though!” you added, having Mark lean his head back into his head rest, and groaning in defeat. “You got me beat there.” You did a little fist pump in your seat from your victory.  

You pulled into Portsmouth Square Garage Plaza, and circled around until you found a spot to park your car. You grabbed Mark’s and walked with all the way up to the actual plaza. “I welcome you to San Francisco Chinatown.” You said. Mark took in a site of beautiful park where a sharp breeze and classic Chinese opera filled the air. People of all ages also occupied the park, young children would run around and play on the play structures, and older people gathered around a small table and played mahjong. There were even men wearing Tang suits . 

“Let’s go to the fist stop I had in mind.” You pulled Mark away from the square and into the busy side walks that San Francisco. “And where is that?” Mark asked as he tried to take in the colorful sites. Every small store was bursting to the seams with various types of merchandise, and at the top of each store was its own colorful sign.

You stopped in front of one of the many hole in the wall restaurants that lined down its street. The restaurant had a large window with the words “New Golden Daisy” printed in red, from the window roasted meats,and fried foods were show cased, as men would cut the meat, and women cooked the food that was to be served.  

“I know you’re hungry, after I fed you some shitty instant oatmeal that wasn’t even filling.” You turned to face Mark, but he was too busy looking at the menu deciding on what he wanted. You were in fact right about him being hungry, maybe you knew him too well. Smiling at Mark, you turned to walk up to the lady who was the cashier. 

“Hello Auntie, how have you been?” You greeted the older lady. “Well if it isn’t the (y/n), I haven’t seen you in forever beautiful girl.” The lady smiled at. You have known the cashier of New Golden Daisy since you were little, her husband was one of the butchers who worked there as well. 

“It was been a long time huh?” You turned to look at Mark, and remembered why you were here. You waved Mark over and he obeyed.  “This place known for its fried drumsticks.” You informed and he just nodded.

“Auntie, can I have two pounds of the drumsticks please?” You ordered, the lady nodded and rang up the order. You paid the correct amount of money and the lady went to the back and boxed up the order. The lady returned with two boxes of chicken, and handed them to you. You thanked the lady, and walked out of the restaurant with your hand intertwined with Mark’s.

“Alright let’s try this.” You pulled out one of the to-go boxes and popped the lid pen. Inside was exactly a pound of warm, fried, golden chicken. Mark  pulled out one of the small drumsticks and took a bite out of the tender meat. He looked at as his eye widened from the taste. 

“Wow, this is so good. (y/n) you’ve been holding out on me.” A fit of giggles erupted from your lips as you watched him eat some more of the chicken. “Come on, let’s keep walking. You can still eat as we move.” You weaved in between the people of the streets trying to get to your next destination, but you weren’t really paying attention if Mark was following. When you noticed Mark’s presence was no longer with you, you whipped your head around to spot him, but of course there were so many people and he blended it well. Running your hand through your hair, you frantically started to look for him. Thinking about how could you have left him, he has never been to this part of California, and his Cantonese could only get him so far. 

“Mark?” You yelled out for him into the people. You checked your phone to see if he had called you, nothing. You raised your phone to your ear hoping that Mark would pick up. You ran all the way down Stockton to where it met Jackson Street. Looking left and right you saw Mark, standing by the church that sat on that street. Running up to Mark you enclosed him into a hug, “you scared me,” Mark could only smile down at you, “don’t you know you almost gave me a heart attack?!” You hit him in his chest lightly. “I knew you would be able to find me, even if you lost me.” You held on to his with a more firm grip this time. “I promise I’ll hold on to you better.” 

“I like the sound of that.” Mark teased, sending color all the way up to your cheeks. You walked side by side with Mark through the bustling streets, you walked down Jackson Street and turned into Grant Ave. You checked to  see if your favorite bakery was busy. Looking at the small line, you ran for the store pulling Mark along. Mark couldn’t help, but smile at how excited you were. He knew how important this place was to you. 

During his trainee days he and you would talk about your different childhoods in California when you guys were home sick. It really helped him feel better in foreign country where he could talk to someone who knew and understood the same language as he did. Even though SoCal and NorCal were different, both sides had its similarities, and Mark could sense home in your stories.

You stood in the line for Golden Gate Bakery with Mark, since it was fairly early in the day the line wasn’t as long yet. Standing next to Mark you got an idea. “Hey Mark, let’s take a selfie.” You said pulling out your phone, holding it up so you can get Mark in the frame  with you. “Smile,” you said, snapping a picture with you and Mark together, as he held up a finger heart. 

“Wow, I look so great.” You said, sticking your tongue out at Mark, who just gave you a disgusted look. “I’m kidding, you look great too.” When the two of you reached the door, both you and Mark looked in the display cases, on what the bakery was selling that day. 

“You order.” You said. Mark looked at you with wide eyes. “What? (y/n) I can’t.” 

“Of course you can. I’m sure Jackson and I have taught enough to at least order. I believe in you Mark.” Mark licked his dry lips. “Fine, but you owe me big time.” 

“E-excuse me.” He called over one of the ladies sitting at the counter. “C-can I get baked two barbecue pork buns and two egg tarts.” He ordered nervously, you could only smile as you watched him talk. You and Jackson have been teaching Mark Cantonese little by little. The lady only smiled and nodded, as she pulled out a pink pastry box and placed the freshly baked food inside. She turned around and pulled pink ribbon from one of the many spools that as behind her and expertly tied the box tight. She handed the box to another lady who was standing by the cash register. She instantly recognized you, and smiled a sweet smile at you. She has been working at the bakery ever since you were young, and had fond memories watching you grow, and seeing how much you have changed every time you have steeped into the bakery.

“Have you been well (y/n)?” She asked as you handed her the money. “Yeah, thank you for asking. How have you been auntie?” You replied, placing the currency into the lady’s wrinkling palm. 

“It’s always the same around here....busy.” She looked over at Mark who was standing behind you. “Did you finally bring a boy back home? Your mom would be so happy.” The lady giggled, she was like very other Chinese lady you knew, always thrilled that you brought a boy. It can be a bit annoying, but you knew she meant well, she wanted the best for you.  A fit of giggles erupted from you lips also. “Yeah auntie, this is my boyfriend, Mark. He only knows a little Cantonese. I met him at work.” 

“Oh wow.” the lady looked Mark up and down, “he’s such a handsome boy.” Mark blushed at the older lady’s comment, “handsome boy” was one of the first words you taught Mark, he could only listen to part of you conversation. 

“Enjoy your food.” The lady said as she placed the pink box into a plastic for the both of you. Mark nodded and said, “Thank you.”

You walked out of the small bakery with Mark. “So I’m about done in Chinatown, are you good?”

“Wait, I wanna see the fortune cookie factory.” Mark whined, as he started pulling towards Pacific Ave.

“Mark...” he turned too look at you, as you pointed the other way. “Fortune cookie factory is that way.” Mark mentally face palmed himself. Of course you were the one who knew your way around Chinatown, he was the one who got lost earlier. 

“R-right...” Mark looked down and bit his bottom lip as you guided him towards the factory. You walked south on Grant Ave. onto Jackson street, going east until you hit an alleyway. You turned down into the skinny alleyway and reached another hole in that wall location. Mark could smell the cookies baking as he got closer. Inside was a small factory where only a few worker were sitting at their stations doing various jobs. Mark felt the sticky heat of the fires rest on his skin as he watched cookies pop off the conveyor belts. You let Mark watch the workers as you bought a bag of misshaped cookies. You walked over to him and offered the bag. “They sell the rejected shapes for a cheaper price, but it is still delicious.” You said, popping a cookie into you mouth. Mark also nibbled on a cookie as he continued to watch the workers.

“Wow, these are good.” Mark said looking up at you. “Well this factory never fails, been around here forever.” Mark looked up on the walls to see the pictures of worker who have came and left, and workers who have been working in the factory for a long time. After Mark's interest in the factory was gone, the both of you walked back to you car. 

“Okay, where to next?” Mark smile, asking you.

“How about something to drink?” you suggested as you pulled out of the parking lot. You started to drive towards the outer Richmond district, but being in San Francisco you were bound to his some traffic. Not as heavy as LA, but there was still some. However, you weren’t really worried, you had Mark with you. 

“Where are your CD’s?” Mark asked as the two of you were sitting in traffic. “It;s in the middle compartment.” You answered. Mark started rummaging through the small space, until something caught his eye. “Hey what is this?” He asked holding up bts’s The Most beautiful Moment in Life album. “Can’t you read Mark? It’s a bts album.” you teased. You knew exactly where this conversation was going to go. 

“And what about Got7? You even have Twice and 157.” Mark had his hand to his chest feigning pain. “Keep looking I should have Flight Log: Departure in there.” You said. Mark finally pulled out the album. “And what about Turbulence?” Mark asked. 

“No, I don’t have that one.” You confessed. “How dare you not have our newest album. I am offended (y/n)!” Mark yelled, you knew he wasn’t actually, and he wasn’t; he just wanted to give you crap.

“Man, who knew you were such a drama queen.” You chuckled. “Keep looking I should MAD, Got Love, and MAD: Winter Edition.” You said pointing into the compartment. Mark finally fished out the three albums and looked at them. “Can you you put in MAD: Winter Edition?” You asked and Mark obeyed, sliding in the CD. Music started playing from your speakers as you Mark began to sing along. 

“IIIIiiiiiiIIIII LLLllloooooOOvvvvVVEEe YYoooUUUU~” Both you and Mark screeched at the top your lungs, giggling at how ugly the both of sounded. After belting out another horribly sung lyric, Mark already lost it. He was laughing so hard tears were coming from his eyes. 

“Man, for someone who writes he music we sing to, you sing horribly.” Mark said gasping

“Hey, I sing better than Bambam.” You shot back “No, Bambam’s singing puts yours to shame (y/n).” You couldn’t help, but snicker at Mark’s comment. You knew the Thai boy’s singing was way better than your was. When Mark's big rap came along in the song he started rapping. Towards the end you looked at you. “Eottae?” but he had to finish it up by delivering the line with an extra tone, and giving you a look. 

“Aaaawww, so cute,” You pouted “...and extra!! I’m going to puke!” You said, bursting out laughing, as he your shoulder. 

“Ow! Don’t hit the driver!” You said jokingly. “Hey I was cute, and I put in all that extra effort just for you.” Mark pouted. The rest of the car ride was the both of you singing to each Got7 song horrendously off key, just for the giggles. You pulled into the Outer Richmond and drove all the way down Balboa, to a boba shop.

“Alright let’s ggggggoooo.” You said, getting out of the car. You waited with Mark with your drinks. The two sat down together in the shop with your drinks, and the both of you talked. You guys talked about pretty much anything, and that’s the beauty of being with Mark. The two of you could talk about anything together, and a lot of your conversations were one on one with him. It was more intimate, close, and Mark would talk a lot more sense there was no one else, but you. He could only focus on you, no distractions. 

While Mark was chatting away you just stared into his eyes. You always got lost in him; him just being good looking was a plus. You liked how smart he was, and secretly caring. Mark was a puzzle and you wanted to get lost in trying to figure him, there were so many sides of him, and you wanted to see every one. 

Mark noticed you looked a little spaced out, and he knew you were, when he stopped talking for thirty seconds. 

“(y/n), hello are you in there?” He waved his hand in front of your face, until your eyes fluttered closed and opened again. “Oh sorry, what were you saying again?” you asked taking a sip from your drink again. “You were staring.” Mark said. “Oh yeah, sorry I got distracted at how handsome you were.” You fiddled with a lock of hair. Mark smiled “I didn’t know you were so cheesy (y/n).” Blood crawled up into your veins, and Mark could see the color in your cheeks.Mark reached over and started pinching your cheeks “I didn’t know you could be so cute.” You swatted his hands. “Stop you’re making us look like those cringey couples we see all the time in dramas.” You could here Mark’s cute high pitched laugh ring after your comment. 

After you two were done with your drink, you and Mark got back into your car. Before you turned the key into the ignition, Mark reached over and slid his hand till’ where his palm was resting on the back of your head. He pulled the top half your body towards him, and leaned in to meet your lips half. His lips were soft and fragrant; you could smell the tea from his drink as you kissed him. When he finally pulled away, he stared you in the eye.

“Thank you for taking me out here. I’m happy you wanted to share a part of your childhood with me.” He whispered. You could only blink; he did it again, Mark Tuan took your breath away. You kissed Mark one more time, inhaling his scent as you kissed. “I’m glad you have fun,” You said, pulling away, and starting the car. “I’m actually having a lot of fun in NorCal actually.” Mark admitted. “So does that mean the north is better than the south?” You asked. “No way.” Mark replied sharply. “Well, I had to try.” You shrugged. 

You pulled out of the parking lot and drove all the way down to the end of Balboa to Ocean Beach. You parked the car and took off your shoes and socks. “Let’s go beach running, longest one who can last in the cold water doesn’t have to buy dinner tonight.” You said, looking at Mark. “You’re on.” He said while he was taking off his own shoes. You and Mark ran out of your car and into the cold beach towards the water. stood where water would come and hit the shore with Mark. The first time the chilling water crashed into your feet, you hear Mark’s high pitched shrieks. Mark pulled his head into his shoulders as he shivered from the harsh water. “It’s so cold!” he screamed, he wasn’t use to water this cold, and cold wind blowing at him. 

After the third time the waves crashed into your feet Mark ran out of the water. “I can’t anymore, I’m out. I’ll pay for dinner!” Mark screamed, and you cackled at him. “The LA boy can’t take a cold beach?” you teased, Mark turned and looked at you. He stomped over to you and hoisted you into the air while you screamed. “What was that?” Mark asked in a teasing tone, as he walked into the water. “I swear I’ll drop you (y/n).” You screamed into the air and held on to Mark. “Mark Tuan if you drop me in the water I am leaving your ass here.” You screeched. Mark swung your body around where he could plant you onto the ground. Once you were firmly on the ground you lightly shoved Mark.

“I will kill you Mark Tuan.” You said. “No you won’t, you love me too much.” Mark stuck his tongue out at you. “Yah!” you screamed as you chased after Mark on the wet sand. Mark turned around while he was running and caught you in a hug, squeezing you tight.

“NorCal may not be as great as SoCal, but I love it.” you looked up at Mark. “This...this where my girlfriend grew up.” 

You kissed Mark on the lips once more. “God, you’re so cheesy.” 

“So,” Mark started, “where to next?”

[twilightfaze]

Official Update for the First Time in Months

Hi Pangaeans! I'm still around and the game is far from being dead I doubt people watch my weekly stream (partly because I almost never advertise it), so let me get everyone caught up. THE WEBSITE Due to a hectic personal work/school schedule, I haven't been able to update weekly as I'd like, like I used to. Things are finally slowing down and I'll be able to do it starting with this week. There's still a lot of things I want to fix on the site and am even considering a webhost change to Wix.com. Weebly has been very good to me and I may stick it out, but I want to find a site I can directly distribute my Demos for free on. Doing it from my Dropbox doesn't feel very professional. I've been poking my head in now and again, but I haven't been able to actually DO anything, which is aggravating, let me tell you! THE VIDEO SERIES My editor, my sister, can't do my videos anymore. She's pursuing a contest which is to fulfill her own dreams and ambitions and it would be cruel of me to take that time away from her. For now, I'm sticking to just Twitch for live-streaming, but I've been saving my videos. Gonna look into doing YouTube live streaming too to get some content up there, of course. My streams are on Twitch every Saturday at 6PM, Pacific Time. Live in a different Time Zone and don't know the right time? Here's a handy Time Zone Calculator with my Time Zone already loaded. Just put yours in and you're set: https://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/converter.html?iso=20180717T010000&p1=3807 As for video editing, I have my own software called Lightworks, but haven't had the chance to really fiddle with it yet. Once I get the down-time again, I'll look into doing that. VERSION 0.5 DEMO It's still in the works. The script is done and the maps are done, but the mechanics are far from done. This shouldn't take me too long, but I'm in crunch time with school. I'm not kidding: tomorrow is my mid-term and next week is my final. Because of that, I've had no time to actually work on re-writing all the mechanics and fixing the screw-ups that are already there. After Wednesday, though, I should have it much easier. I'm not gonna post any forecast release dates since every time I do it blows up in my face. All I can say for sure is I don't have too much left to do, so version 0.5 of the Demo shouldn't take much longer to complete. Keep in mind that after losing all my data from the emergency transfer, I'm literally rebuilding the Demo, which took me 2 years to do. The fact I'm almost done should say a lot about my experience in game-building solo. THE FUTURE AFTER VERSION 0.5 Once I know version 0.5 is stable, all the bugs worked out, and is open for distribution, I'm taking a break from version building for a while, unless something forces me to do so. I've been so focused on it I haven't had time to do the script for the rest of the game. I lost all my notes too, so I have to play everything by ear. So because of that, I'll be writing out the rest of the script for at least Part 1 of The Legend of Pangaea. By that, I also mean I'll be doing maps for cities and dungeons so I can have something visually to work with. Most likely everything I first build will be recreated until I'm satisfied. I also got my hands on a powerful tool called Spriter that will let me do animations more smoothly, instead of the clunky framing I have now. It won't be reflected in version 0.5, but after that who knows? I've been wanting to get my hands on something to make attacks look more like how I want them to. I'll definitely be fiddling with this for a while. With luck, I can make some unique battle sprites for Zero and the party too! That's also something I've been wanting to do. Regardless, once the map and script for Part 1 of the story is done, I'll go back to make version updates for my Demo and work on the game alongside it. WHY I'VE BEEN AWAY As I mentioned earlier, school has been eating a LOT of my free time. I'm not kidding: Despite working 8 hours on my real job, I have to dedicate another 6-8 for my classes every day. I haven't had a weekend off form school since June began. I've also been away to SoCal to visit my niece for her 7th birthday and approve her mom's new boyfriend. Which I do. I also finally moved away from my laptop and am back on a fixed and upgraded desktop computer, which I rebuilt personally. It's not fully upgraded. It needs a new CPU chip and cooler, but the one I have now is plenty good until I can afford it. I got some new responsibilities from my job too so my workload has been heavier. You'd think after reading all this I'd consider quitting making the game, huh? Nope! I'm still plenty interested in seeing this through. It's just the curse of being the one-man-army of The Legend of Pangaea. So, sorry for not frequenting the site as often as I should have, but never fear! The game is not dead and is still being worked on actively, just slower than I would have liked. Thanks to everyone still supporting the game and the website! Fee free to e-mail me at twilightfaze@ymail.com and don't be afraid to come hang out at my stream: https://www.twitch.tv/twilight_faze The stream very rarely goes past 30 minutes and I'd like to be able to create a proper hang-out for fans and other gamers. See you Saturday!

[itsworn]

Mooneyes Xmas Party 2017: An Epic Going-Away Bash

In its January 2018 issue, Hot Rod Deluxe announced that Irwindale Event Center—the home of a dragstrip inaugurated in 2001—would cease operation in early 2018. Another track bites the dust. Southern California has indeed lost several of them over the last couple of decades, including Carlsbad and L.A. County Raceway in Palmdale. Thankfully, our friends at Mooneyes, led by Shige Suganuma and Chico Kodama, managed to squeeze in a final major show at Irwindale a couple of weeks before Christmas: the aptly called Mooneyes Xmas Party.

It seems that enthusiasts felt the urge to visit, one last time, the beloved venue, turning out in droves at the gates as early as 3 a.m. Ultimately, more than 1,500 vehicles and 15,000 visitors joined the organized mayhem to enjoy a busy schedule of activities. Mooneyes’ extravaganza is a great way to sample SoCal’s custom car culture, as it mixes a most eclectic array of cool rides: hot rods, kustoms, lowriders, vans, muscle cars, air-cooled VWs, and more ape-hanger-equipped motorcycles than we’ve seen in a long time. It looks like some bikers chose to attend the Mooneyes show rather than the Chopperfest that was scheduled for the same weekend, but canceled due to the terrible fires dangerously close to the event’s venue in Ventura.

The Xmas Party also offered a huge vendor area, which enabled the crowd to buy new car parts, artwork, vintage clothing, and even haircuts. Mooneyes had an impressive booth, of course, to promote its diverse product line, some going as far back as the company’s early days when Dean Moon opened shop in 1962. The same part of the vendor area was home to the stage used by several invited bands and, later, by the always popular Pinup Contest.

The Mooneyes Xmas Party is more than a static show. Some folks came to watch—and participate in—the Run-Whatcha-Brung drag races, which once again combined a vast range of cars and a handful of bikes. The A/FX sideshow, led in part by gasser guru Dale Snoke, proved entertaining as usual with plenty of wild wheelies.

With the demise of Irwindale Event Center, Shige and Chico are now on a hunt for a new venue. We’ll keep you posted.

Oh yes, it got crowded. In fact, we don’t remember such a turnout at Irwindale since Mooneyes adopted the site in 2006. The awning on the right covered Mooneyes’ booth, while bands played on the left. (They included Dynotones, Hot Rod Trio, Gamblers Mark, Colony Boys, and Delta Bombers.)

With unseasonably warm temperatures in the 80s, visitors came by the thousands to see great rides in the vein of Robert Rojas’ trick ’31 Ford roadster (left). The venue quickly filled with spectators’ cars as well. By mid-morning, the less fortunate had to find a spot outside Irwindale Speedway—some miles away.

Longtime journalist Pat Ganahl (who’s now retired and very happy about it) has been the owner of the Ike Iacono dragster since 1988, though he completed its restoration much later, with help from various heroes of the hobby such as Pete Eastwood. The attractive six-cylinder racer graced the cover of HOT ROD in January 1959 and ran 150 mph on 50 percent nitro. Many will recognize the yellow rail sitting behind it. That’s Mooneyes’ replica of the dragster campaigned by the company circa 1963.

In the foreground, you can admire the GMC six that propels the Iacono dragster, equipped with a 12-port Wayne head and Hilborn injection. The vehicle shares the space with Billy Crewl’s Model A on ’32 rails, an accurate tribute to Jack Calori’s iconic roadster. Built in the 1940s, Calori’s roadster ran 128 mph at the lakes in 1947. One of the most distinctive details of the car remains the set of exhaust pipes sticking up on each side.

The success of the event should be attributed in part to the numerous car clubs onsite. The Gearheads displayed a handful of excellent hot rods, such as Rick Tokiyeda’s ’25 Model T (left), flanked by a trio of ’28-’29 Model As driven by Carlos Marin, Kirk Munday, and Bryan Bailay. The Gearheads are based in the city of Glendale, a hotbed of rodding activities since the 1930s. Think SCTA’s Sidewinders and Stokers clubs.

Dubbed “The Dirty Farm Truck,” Jeff Martin’s pickup has a unique appearance, courtesy of a heavy channel job, suicide-mounted I-beam, and unusual choice of wheels. It first sat on 16-inch rims, later replaced with tall 21-inch wires, plus skinny rubber front and aft.

If you had $26,500 burning a hole in your pocket, you could have purchased this frame-off-built ’30 Model A, which hints at the 1960s gasser scene and occasionally ran at Irwindale. Interesting features include a 383ci stroker, 700R overdrive trans, Moon tank fitted in front of the grille, and bobbed rear fenders, although you cannot see them in this photo due to the XXL-sized slicks!

What a great-looking hot rod! Chopped top, Deuce grille, no hood, triple 97 carbs: It’s all there. Peter Rodriguez drove from nearby Azusa in his ’30 Ford, which made some waves in the Suede Palace at the 2017 Grand National Roadster Show. He belongs to the Throttle Kings, a club that co-promotes the annual Rhythm Collision music festival and car show in Riverside, California. v

Built by Sinister Hot Rods in Lewisburg, Ohio, this ’33 Ford coupe (with 1934 grille) belonging to Conrad Garcia relies on a stout 283ci motor with a nice, lopey cam and a four-barrel Holley. The ’33 roadster behind it, formerly owned by Lynn Pew of Pews Place, is the property of Ray Dunham, a gearhead known for his good taste in cars (’39 Lincoln Zephyr, supercharged ’36 Ford, and so on).

The staging lanes remained busy all day long, with more than 130 participants enjoying the eighth-mile. They drove a wide range of vehicles as exemplified by this picture, with domestics representing the bulk of the entries. In the foreground sits Ryan Brown’s ’55 Chevy looking excellent with its gasser attributes: lack of front bumper, nose-high attitude, headers poking through the fenderwells.

Here is a cool lady. North Hollywood’s Kendra Fleharty wanted a hot rod and eventually bought the body of a ’29 Ford roadster about a decade ago, thanks to a tip from friend and Burbank Choppers Car Club member Aaron Kahan. Kendra built most of the channeled jalopy herself in her garage, installing a Cad engine and a windshield from an old wooden boat. Jimmy White at Circle City Hot Rods built the headers and a handful of other components.

The Don Waldron collection focuses heavily on original gassers. He purchased the Silly Willy four-door sedan six years ago as a bare shell and eventually managed to trace its racing history all the way back to 1959. In 2013, Don installed a rolling chassis from another Willys and a 409ci motor. He sold the gasser to Mark Sladovich in 2015.

Yep, that’s the back of the driveshaft resting on the asphalt. No luck indeed for Galpin Auto Sports/Steve Carpenter’s entry, a ’57 Ford equipped with a 502-horse Ford 302ci bored over to 331ci. The car has all the elements of a genuine gasser, from the Moon tank in front to the straight axle from a 1950s Ford truck. Its finish is better than most, including the Pearl White diamond pattern upholstery.

“What can be better than racing your buddy?” asked Dale Snoke when we showed him this picture. Dale competed with his well-known ’64 Comet, seen burning rubber against the green ’62 Dodge Dart, which he co-owns with U.K. resident Brian Gibson. (“When he occasionally comes to the States, he hops in and races it.”) For the occasion, Dale elected to let his friend Nick Magaña play with the genuine 1960s So-Cal Super Stock entry. v

Todd Hoffman’s ’64 Plymouth Savoy named Sayonara competes with American Nostalgia West Drag Racing, a group devoted to 1960s vintage A/FX and Super Stock racers. (“Our cars are larger, heavier, and have huge American motors compared to their modern-day counterparts,” explains their website.) Powered by a 528ci Max Wedge motor, the coupe leaves many in the dust with its 6.00 e.t.’s at 112 mph over the eighth-mile.

Arizona’s Glenn Gibbons returned to the Xmas Party with his popular ’64 Pontiac LeMans. He based his “Pouncin’ Poncho” contender on a hulk found in a salvage yard. Notice the rear wheel opening moved toward the door, in true A/FX fashion. Motivation comes from a 455ci Olds V8, punched to 462 ci and topped with Hilborn injection. Like most class entries, the Pontiac performed some fantastic wheelies to the delight of the crowd.

Nicknamed “The Fat Lady” by the A/FX gang due to its sheer size, Ernie “The Attorney” Algorri’s ’67 Ford Fairlane makes it down the track thanks to a 440ci Windsor-based small-block, which delivers 1,000 hp. Ernie has been racing his steel-wheeled beauty for years, managing a personal best of 9.15 at a blistering 150 mph, mighty impressive for a heavy car occasionally street-driven.

Chuck Hoffman and Cliff Lozis teamed up to build this very red ’69 Mustang, with Chuck typically handling driving duties. They juggle with different powerplants, but when they drop in their 460ci V8, the wheel-standing A/FX crosses the quarter-mile finish line in 9.70 seconds.

Car Craft magazine teamed up with several established names from the custom world to build a nasty Street Machine with a cool 1960s vibe, using a ’71 Dodge Demon. They based their exercise on an unfinished Pro Street project car, purchased dirt cheap on Craigslist. Among the shops involved: Circle City Hot Rods (fabrication), The Harpoon (paint scheme and patterns), and Grant Petersen of Born Free (welding). The twin-turbo Hemi coupe runs deep in the 9s over the quarter.

We remember seeing the Victor Cacho ’50 Merc at the 2013 Grand National Roadster Show, an elegant build by Cacho Customs by all accounts. Look closely and you might notice the discreet flames over that PPG Sunburst Orange. The lake pipes pretty much rest on the ground once the Firestone airbags are deflated.

Originally a Business Coupe model, Jesse Loera’s Pearl Copper–colored ’50 Ford received a heavily chopped sedan roof, along with other traditional lead sled alterations: frenched front and rear lights, smoothed bumpers, and a ’49 grille. Under the shell modified by Los Diablos hides a Ford 302ci V8 hooked to an AOD trans, in addition to an Air Ride suspension kit.

Founded in 1996, the Rumblers have become a prominent hot rod and custom car club, as demonstrated by this clean ’54 Chevy. Robert Miret has been the driving force behind the group; you might know his name if you listen to punk music and the band Agnostic Front in particular. The Rumblers have chapters across the United States and Europe as well.

We couldn’t find the owner of this ’55 Cadillac convertible but feel compelled to show it to you. It looks excellent sitting low to the ground on airbags. The vintage trailer happens to be severely lowered, too!

Mooneyes’ Xmas Party gathered an impressive troupe of lowriders based on pre-’55 GM products, aka “bombs.” Here, Lorenzo Dominguez’s ’49 Chevy truck keeps company with Gerry Orozco’s topless ’39 Pontiac, which he purchased from the original owner. The rare convertible runs a 222ci inline-six. Gerry belongs to the Bridgetown Oldies Car club.

We dig the appearance of this ’54 Chevy truck, looking bone-stock until the owner lays it on the asphalt thanks to an airbag setup hidden in a box above the rear axle. Under the hood lurks a Chevy 235ci motor. Nothing wrong with this inline-six, being the engine of choice on early production Corvettes, with slightly different specs. Note the contrast between the nicely painted truck and the other Chevy pickup (and ’38 five-window Ford) parked next to it.

When Studebaker introduced its new truck in the late 1940s, characterized by its round shapes, who would have thought it would continue inspiring customizers 70 years later? The design of the model did not evolve drastically during the following decade, though the ’55-’60 version (aka E-series) seems to be a favorite within our scene. Here is a tasteful ’59 hauler.

The lowrider scene encompasses an eclectic assortment of vehicles, with 1970s and 1980s barges playing a key role. Even HRM devoted pages to the subject, as far back as the April 1974 issue, featuring the Imperials Car Club. Check out this arresting lineup, dominated by cars running wire wheels, with a few sets of Cragar five-spokes thrown in for good measure.

The post Mooneyes Xmas Party 2017: An Epic Going-Away Bash appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/mooneyes-xmas-party-2017-epic-going-away-bash/ via IFTTT

[antiquexbeast]

once upon some basics

in response to ( this thing ) that i’m being yelled at about ( ???? )

because despite how obviously parody the video is, i’m sitting here realizing that i gotta explain why this isn’t “offensive” and “problematic” and is honestly more poking fun at weho stereotypes that, tbh, anyone who lives there has seen first hand.

for reference, i’m about three decades old, i’ve been too gay and ho to exist for most of my life, and weho has been where most of my existence has been when i’m not looking for bones and wearing as much lace and black as humanly physically possible in SoCal. all of the places in this video are places i frequently visit and party at.

lemme break this down:

lez be honest ( belle ):

-- is probably a closet gay -- might not even realize they’re gay -- legit doesn’t give a shit and just is out here to have fun and chillin -- trying their best an doin p well -- accidentally offensive  -- kinda weird, is probably a nerd and into weird things, but you know she’s solid af -- you expected her to be a garbage ally, but is actually the coolest person you’ve ever met. -- is aggressively active about human rights and will either march with you or march for you -- is straight up oblivious ngl but she not a nancy so that’s gucci -- you crushed on her at least once because she’s good and got good hair don’t fuccin lie

gogo babies ( half naked dudes ): -- can only be found at The Club -- very greasy? sweaty? either way they glisten like greek gods under dancefloor neon lights are they even real? you literally only see them at The Club -- always naked except for thong undies -- and sneakers, for some reason??? -- are men of little words, but always seem to say enough to make you thirsty af athletic af, can bend in ways no normal gayboi can deal with ( that’s why we out here ) the more money you throw at them the sexier they get this is a fact about bards and gaybabies

thirsty clientele ( every single time you’re at the club ): -- ALWAYS creepin on gogo babies and... well.. literally anyone lbr -- will wait till you’ve had 7 shots of tequila then creep up on your ass from behind -- constant boner? or is it hands? either way it’s nopecity non-consensual and it’s time to flag down security -- they phase into the wall until you look at them and break their disguise and then you’re fuck’d -- honestly nothing about these guys are good they may as well be dementors -- can only be defeated by, literally, any charismatic gay who sees you in trouble and comes to your aid -- #there’s always a gay to protect you thankgod 

shady gays ( dressed in black, shadin tf outta you on the street ): -- relentlessly savage af do not approach without a spine or being dead inside already -- regina george? guuuuurl don’t even play she ain’t even close to this -- will be precious to your face but knives at first base -- can automatically sense if you have knock off designer shit without even looking at it -- better not be wearin last summer’s jimmy choo’s or vera wang ‘cause you bout to be dragged -- will judge you on your love for betsey johnson, but seems to never be seen in public not wearing basic nu goth black ( ugh seriously? that’s soooo forever 21 ) -- vogue is basically their religion -- lady gaga may as well be their fashion inspiration, despite how impractical it is to wear 60% of runway designs -- will cry about anything, especially after drinking two wine coolers

adam and steve ( explanatory gays ) -- you watched Another Gay Movie and Will & Grace and now you get to meet this irl but x20 -- perfect skin and make up like how????? -- you haven’t seen anyone voguing since like 30 years ago but here it is -- rainbow paraphernalia, constantly, somehow -- the pose game here is rivaling JoJo, like you legit cannot compete you can’t even roll for dexterity here -- the actual personification of a unicorn, which is literally just a horse. because horses are extra af already so just glue a stick on they foreheads -- are always bottom. like don’t even suggest being top it’s not gonna happen -- drama... constantly... just.... nah

momma ( ru-paul. literally ) -- that is literally goddamn rupaul -- constantly busy and has zero time for normal conversations -- it’s like you forget ru is gay af and is close to LA and it makes sense to run into them here -- constantly ic lbr -- still manages to be that NPC that gives out real good advice -- is also that NPC you don’t expect to run into, like ever, so you better be ready for a wild adventure -- is your fuckin mom. not even drag mom, they’re you’re mom and is full of mom advice -- still problematic, but also still full of good mom shit

the queens ( of the stone age ) -- don’t even try they’re make up game is stronger than your lift game -- “this man looks better in a dress than i do” and that’s literally how it is just accept it -- are always chaotic fabulous -- will either be chill or problematic there’s no in between -- CONSTANTLY GOSSIPY -- drama? may have originated with them saying some shit while they were too drunk and forgot to not be a decent person -- might say accidentally transphobic shit, but depending on their alignment may actually correct their behavior

lost fitizen ( no homo-bro ) -- #loststraightboy, but lbr he already knows why he’s out here -- constantly nervous and suspicious -- can’t play it cool even if he tried -- is desperately trying to be as macho as possible, but you’ve caught him staring real hard at the gogo babies on more than one occasion -- may masquerade as the token straight garbage at the gay club tryin to feel up on ladies havin fun, but then gets real smooth when you cut in -- is a stoner? is drunk? you’re legit not sure he looks wildly startled, maybe he needs a nap or a snack ( #you #youarethesnack ) -- will offer to be your “work out buddy”............ you’re old enough to know what that shit means -- will either be a toxic fuckboi or your future respectful life partner there is no in between

haterade ( misc religious protestors ) -- srsl wtf r you don’t even go here -- will either be yelling aggressive random bible shit @ you or standing quietly looking dead inside because they’d rather be anywhere else but surrounded by naked gay men -- are literally everywhere, even at anime conventions like wtf -- maybe they need a fuckin nap or a nice salad? -- constantly contradicting their own dialogue when approached and questioned about their “beliefs” -- it’s literally the same people every year you wonder if they have lives or family

woke gaybabies ( literally every other normal gay ) -- blends in like spies or secret agents -- you can go years of your life without knowing they’re anything other than straight -- honestly just came out here to have fun, get some drinks, and cut loose for a night -- is probably your designated driver and suggests that you walk to the ihop a block away to get to food after you’re too drunk to function -- will ( reluctantly ) take care of your stupid drunk gay ass when you’ve had too much -- may be middle aged, but also has a fleeting hope they’ll find a nice person to talk to at the bar -- prefers OK Cupid to Tinder because the thirst difference between the two is too real -- has normal interests, is easily relatable, but are basically unicorns because their impossible to spot in the crowds of extras

the last lesbian alive ( is butch af ) -- in a sea of testosterone, you see a glimmer of estrogen somehow -- has she worn anything other than lumberjack print or doc martens? who honestly knows?? -- is probably more aggressive than your chihuahua do not engage her in a bar fight you will fuckin lose -- buzz cut, heavy set and is very passionate about fur babies and marching for human rights -- is straight up pissed off about the lack of women in weho to chill with like jfc? -- S&M. hands down. you better have the day off from work the next day cause you aint walkin straight the next mornin -- is basically a unicorn, lbr when was the last time you saw a fresh real lesbian in sausage fest weho -- will either be batshit or wholesome and good, there IS no in between gurlfrond -- will build you a house, but unlike your dad stuck in his shitty marriage, will actually fuckin do it, and it will be everything you ever hoped it would be

[braindamageforbeginners]

And now, a Special Guest Appearance on the Importance of Following Doctor’s Instructions and Healthy Lifestyle

Well, the hangover wasn’t too bad today, despite going to bed miserable. Not too much muscle pain/fatigue - that all happened last night, I think - enough to make me grab unhealthy amounts of Tylenol (The flip side is, the next NSAID I take will be the very first one I take today)(excuse me, head’s a little sore). The downside is that my leftside is off - noticeably less dexterous than usual (Dad was asking about this the other day, I told him I get a little wobbly and much clumsier than usual; he pointed out that since we weren’t exactly talented athletes to begin with, the effect might just amplify what other people would be able to shrug off). This could be a side effect of radiation (which, remember, usually isn’t permanent, but can show up from any point from here to eternity), it could be a side-effect of the experimental serum; it could be a side-effect of my left arm getting the improper sized BP cuff a few times yesterday (my right arm, like my nuclear bald patches, tends to get angry when people poke at it). Left leg’s wobbly on-and-off these days, based on how tired I am. And I am exhausted; that’s not only a very, very common chemo side-effect, it happens when you’re a good chemo patient that wakes up every couple of hours to chug more water and/or pee)(yes, that’s the best, easiest chemo treatment Research Coordinator and the Warlocks recommended). And it’s clear to me that I was definitely experiencing “chemo brain” last night (hopefully I’m not any more). To me, that manifests as a sort of mental haze that makes it hard to take initiative, concentrate, or do all the things humans have to do in society. But I did eventually crawl out of bed (that was unpleasant), get some coffee in the system, and take a walk along the beach (I was feeling a little too unsteady for the gym)

So, in keeping with the general theme, “Judge no man fortunate until he is dead” I need to introduce my grandmother these chronicles. All my other grandparents are dead (even my step-mother’s parents who acted as surrogate grandparents, Great Kraken Bless ‘em), so you don’t have worry about getting confused about which one I’m talking about; she’s Dad’s mother. I don’t think that’s particularly important, but it might save questions/clarification later. Now, just three months ago, while in the car with Dad and Grandma,we had a medical bitch-off. Grandma is 90 and recovering from a broken pelvis. Dad is 69 and has Stage III kidney cancer. And I have Stage IV brain cancer at 33. If you were a gambling man (and that’s all I am these days, it’s just that the stakes are my continued existence), and had to place a bet on which of us would live to see the next presidential election, the smart money would be on Grandmama. Well, she came down with a nasty infection over the weekend and had to be hospitalized. Now, to all my family members who may be reading this with surprise, don’t worry, everything appears back to normal-ish as of this morning (although it’s like playing medical telephone). However, Grandma seems to think she’s a member of the Medici family and it’s the 14th century, and she’d just as soon no one found out, ever. Meanwhile, people I’d lost contact with post-college are aware of my situation (an I appreciate it). Which brings up a teachable moment. I’ve frequently said that pride isn’t important until you can eat it; in the modern medical industry, pride might be fatal. Again, I had a former employer contact me offering to introduce me to research oncologists looking into GBM treatment - you give up those sorts of opportunities/help when you hide your disease in the name of pride.

The other interesting point in all of this is grandma’s general health, which doesn’t seem to be good, from an outside observer (she never lets anyone else into the doctor’s rooms with her; I insist that someone - I’ll pay a taxi driver if I can’t find volunteers, because I am deathly afraid my doctors will casually mention some possible treatment or complication, and I’ll miss it). To be fair, she’s mentally still all there (although annoying and combative), but she looks like I feel, 12-hours post-infusion. On the other hand, she has lived to be 90, which certainly qualifies her more to discuss health and human longevity than the guy who’s going to be lucky to get 10 more years.

However, after realizing I’d been living an extremely healthy lifestyle during my break, I decided to double down on everything (I think I discussed that in a previous blog post). Which means lots of fruits and vegetables, not too much sugar or fat, cutting back on coffee and beer (those were painful, I’ll admit; however, the key phrase is “cutting back,” not “cutting out”), lots of physical activity, and lots of sleep (I believe I have a sleep-debt of 120 hours). Yes, I’ll take two orders of chemo (which I sort of am doing). Pass the pills, the barbells, crank Clash’s “Straight to Hell” (it’s on the chemo playlist). And I have brain cancer (again, you’re not “cured” until you hit the five-year mark). I should be in demonstrably, objectively worse physical and mental shape than Grandma (mentally she might be far better off than I am, it’s hard to tell these things without a neurocognitive assessment). However, because she doesn’t follow doctor’s orders reliably, and isn’t careful about what she puts in her body (again, I recognize the hypocrisy in that statement coming from a man hell-bent on putting lots and lots of dangerous poisons into his body)(that’s what chemo is), she’s literally in the doctor’s office while I’m walking off chemo (again, family members, that was the follow-up to the infection, and everything looks good at the moment)(also, totally honest moment - I did get a cane, not because I needed it too much,but my leg hasn’t been reliable enough for me to attempt a lengthy hike through the beaches and beach-side parking lots of SoCal). The point being, if your doctor tells you you’re too fat, or you need to cut bacon out of your diet, or you need antibiotics, stick to it (again, don’t be passive, and get a second or third opinion, but, just as you wouldn’t walk into the Apple Store and question their judgement if they told you to do XYZ, you have to understand that you’re paying these people for their expertise, and maybe listening to them is healthy). And maybe a healthy lifestyle - not even something fad-based like weight watchers or Gwynyth Paltrow; I’m taking my cues from  Jack LaLanne and Muscle Beach - is healthy. Of course, I have absolutely no authority to say that, and it’s still very early in the game.