#tapping into the zeitgeist pretty hard here

[unhelpfultarot]

I've managed to spook myself just a little bit, because Tumblr was suddenly all full of stuff about how Good Omens isn't going to have a proper third season, just a single final episode, and I said okay I need to stop scrolling and go shuffle my cards and—

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

I'm gonna need the current animation-twitter-blogosphere-youtube-content-mill to understand something... Or at least, listen for a bit. I'm no expert, but as someone who has watched box office - particularly animation box office - for nearly two decades now, I wanna talk about what's going on with a lot of animated features nowadays in a post-outbreak world that's still actually dealing with COVID-19.

Box office, the way Hollywood measures it, is already archaic beyond belief at this point. Success and the movie's justification for existence being determined by a thing's opening weekend and not the legs, the longevity beyond theaters, etc. etc. It's created this weird culture of deeming things "flops" and also creating this weird obsession with marketing.

And apparently more than one of the YouTube Toon Opinion Industrial Complex content mills are already calling a movie like MIGRATION, which is currently legging it up in a way that Illumination's SING movies did during the holiday frame in their respective release years, a money-loser... Like, pump the brakes, will ya?

I don't care if it's clickbait or whatever, like, c'mon... We're reducing the hard work of animators and filmmakers to how much the movie makes in its first weeks of existence.

The way I see it, we're in an era now where...

Theater trips are goddamn expensive and are kind of a gamble. Over $50-70 for a family to see a movie, with concessions added, and your experience may SUCK. (Take it from me, 8-year movie theater employee and loooong-time moviegoer here who has had plenty a shit experience.) It's a gamble each and every time.

And the same applies to maybe a friend group, or a dating couple, or even older adults looking to watch something.

So, either the movie has to be something audiences are familiar with AND know what they're going to get out of it (i.e. MARIO, certain Marvel movies, etc.), or it's lucky to hit audiences in the right place at the right time (OPPENHEIMER, etc.) and luckily tap into the zeitgeist- if not change the zeitgeist singlehandedly.

Box office alone is a gamble. When you start a movie 4 years before release, how the hell do you know what the world is going to look like by the time the thing is completed?

I'm repeating myself, like a broken mp3, I know I know.

But, that's how I see it... Thus, animated family movies and their usual family audiences are in a unique position at the moment. A pretty solid-looking, more original animated family film from Pixar or DreamWorks or Sony had more chances of opening with $40m than they do now. Say, a movie that's not based on a pre-existing IP or is based on one that was never before adapted into a movie or TV series (think something like THE BAD GUYS).

Of course, you have your MARIOs and SPIDER-VERSEs. Those were guaranteed big openers. Films like ELEMENTAL and MIGRATION weren't so clear-cut. Even TROLLS 3 opened fine-ish, significantly below what TROLLS took in some 7 years ago. PUSS IN BOOTS 2 was hampered by bad weather on the East Coast, yeah, but its opening wasn't going to be anything special either. Legs... Or wings in MIGRATION's case, cat claws in PUSS's case... Make all the difference.

They always have, actually. Animated family features usually relied on strong word-of-mouth if they had some kind of adult appeal. It's something similar to what Walt Disney had once "realized" in the late 1950s. Something to the tune of "If the film really appealed to mom... Then mom takes the whole family... And then tells all her friends, and they go, and everyone goes."

So I feel we're in an era where the success of an animated feature can NOT be determined too early. Remember how ELEMENTAL was written off as a big ol' flop, immediately? And that Pixar was toast? And that they needed to bring the Hawaiian shirt pervert control freak back in order to get a box office hit again?

Weeks later, everyone was singing a different tune. ELEMENTAL was an underdog, it had a "comeback" story. No folks, that's just classic animation legs. People liked the movie after hearing from the few people who saw it... That it was actually worth checking out.

But these films need the legs more than ever before, now. Especially in a competitive marketplace where stuff is coming out every week, and there's always something just as good at home to put on. (Some people are trying to suggest that Netflix's LEO cut into Disney's WISH... Because it's at home, right there, no overpriced snacks or disruptive strangers next to you.)

Luckily, TROLLS 3 and MIGRATION were lower with their budgets. Cost in the sub-$100m regions, weren't required to make half a billion like the $200m-costing ELEMENTAL and WISH were expected to do. Which is kinda unfair to begin with, but I digress. Pixar is sure to blow $175m+ on their future features, and WDAS too, while DreamWorks, Illumination, and Sony try to keep it below $100m. Even if it's through dubious means, like outsourcing and shitty pay.

So, nowadays with animated family movies, it's a waiting game. MIGRATION, as of now, is currently at $77m domestically. That's already 6.4x its opening weekend, a fantastic multiplier for any film. By the time it wraps up, it'll likely make over 8x its opening weekend, landing amongst the biggest multipliers for a post-90s animated feature. That Christmas-to-winter break-to-boredom season slot does wonders, doesn't it? And of course, the movie being liked by those who saw it. WISH could've been a leggy Thanksgiving/Christmas movie - like TANGLED and FROZEN and MOANA were, but audiences clearly weren't digging it much.

Of course, it's not easy to do that, either. Sometimes a thing just won't land. LIGHTYEAR, for example. That's also part of the gamble. More often than not, though, these kinds of movies usually get a good audience grade, MIGRATION's no different... So, it's leggin' it up, winging it.

Which is why we should maybe... Wait a few weeks on these kinds of things? I know these "content creators" have bills to pay and have to crank-crank-crank stuff out, but still-

[microcos-pod]

Micro-Cosmos S1E7 Transcript: Miraculously Misplaced

(“Hello world. This is Chronicling Log One, of Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion.” CONTENT WARNINGS: yelling, peril, brief claustrophobia, mentions of unreality, paranoia, and the fear of going insane.  Transcript begins below break.)

[THEME MUSIC PLAYS]

ANNOUNCER Futuristic Trail Mix Productions presents Micro-Cosmos: A Science Fiction Podcast.

[THEME MUSIC FADES OUT]

*** [sfx: external storm ambiance echoing through the cave, button press]

FELIX Um... hello world. This...This is Chronicling Log One, of Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion. I am the science officer on duty with Omnitarian Establishment Crew, erm... zero three... no, we're um...

Zero-one-three-seven-F. Yes. It says so right here.

You'll have to forgive me. Ordinarily, when I make these recordings, they're for my own notes, or for my scientific peers. I am not used to simply... documenting the goings-on, especially... my goings-on... when confined to a cave.

According to Athena, this is for a chronicling protocol called a Code Drag. It refers to, if memory serves, a distress situation without a contingency that, at present, makes mission objectives impossible to complete. That is to say, we have been "dragged" off course. There is no contingency plan for a cinderburst. Cal says they're too rare to even warrant such a thing, nor is there enough research to determine how one could occur here. If these storms supposed to be characteristic of desert terrain, however, I would say Ophiuchus is hardly a suitable candidate. Not that I can research such a claim when I have no signal to reach any external databases that could be of help. No, that would be too easy.

Instead of that, what I do is I sit inside of a cave, talking to myself, and try to avoid going... slightly mad. If I wasn't there already, of course. I wonder how Athena manages it.

For the sake of my friend, however, I am sucking it up and beginning with these entries. I've been procrastinating for long enough, so, I will see to it that I make this log faithful to its purpose, and as honest as I can manage. I'll start with a caution, though. This cave is dull, even considering what you would expect from a cave, namely: not much. For that reason, I'm afraid I cannot guarantee you anything riveting, my dear listener. Consider yourself to be warned.

So, I hear you ask me: What have I, Doctor Felix Couvillion, been up to, now that myself and my friends have spent about... oh, a day and a half inside a damp, cavernous lair of darkness? You ask me, 'Felix, what are the Tales from the Tunnels? The Stories from the Stones? The Accounts of'... a, a, um... a cave. The cave, which I'm sure I will have memorised every vein of by the time daylight decides to reappear.

In short, I've been working. Making note of the vegetation in here, and how it might help us. I've found a new variant of fruit-bearing vine, actually. Edible. Similar to a terran gooseberry. It will make for a decent snack, once my trail mix finally runs out. A sad day, that will be. Somehow I don't find this discovery as exciting as I should. The Commander, she tries hard to keep our morale afloat, but... you know. It hasn't been long, and somehow, I already feel as though we are... contained. Stuck in some version of a time capsule, and... preserved until the next moment we are meant for is to resume.

[Felix sighs.]

FELIX (CONT'D) There's no wildlife in here, as of yet. No water either. That makes sense, on paper. The fact of the matter is that carbon-based animal life needs water. Including us. In a worst case scenario, our current water supply wouldn't last us. So, I either solve this problem, or we all slowly die of dehydration, sucking the juice out of vine berries as a last ditch attempt to survive. Yeesh. Not a pretty picture, hm?

Which is why I will make my third trek to scout a potable water source this afternoon. If I'm able to find room in my busy schedule Oh! In between my rounds, though, I have found something to pass the time-He stops again. This is... what a chronicling log is for, yes? Cataloguing however our time is spent inside an unavoidable disaster?

Sure it is. Anyways. I have... wait for it... I have rediscovered my love for card tricks! And I can still manage to do them, too. It's like it never left me, in a way. Like riding a bike for the mind. Or, as Morgan once put it, riding a bike for nerds. Here, I'll show you. ...You can’t see me. Dammit. Well, let's try it like this, then. Were you here, dear listener, you would shuffle the deck. You would pick a card, only in your mind. And then, you'd give the deck back to me, and after a series of convoluted detours through what seems like a magical process, the card would end up in your pocket, a place it certainly shouldn't be. Ta da! Okay, okay, a magician shouldn't reveal his tricks, I know. But I can't contain myself, so I'll give you a tidbit. I forced a card on you, at the start. You thought it was your choice. It wasn't. It was, likely, the Ace of Dishes. Good card. I'm fond of it. It's an interesting thing, that trick. According to the logical part of your brain, the card should be in the deck, with the rest of its friends. It’s family, if you will. Your eyes told you it should be there, and so of course, you're expecting it to be there. Or were you? That card, from the second you or I chose it, when you saw it, and we convinced each other that it was special, or different, the, hm... well, the zeitgeist of the situation told you that by the end of the trick... that card wasn't going to be in it's rightful place. It wasn't going to be like all the others. It was going to be... miraculously misplaced. In reality, the misdirection relies on both expectations. It needs the voice of reason, and the voice of the little child inside your brain that really really really wants magic to be real, just so it can stir a whit of joy. In my experience, though, most things in life that are misplaced from where they belong, it's... not a good situation. Take our example. One looks down at the flowers for a moment, giving the storm just enough time to sneak up and tap him on the shoulder, and... Abracadabra. Misdirected... misplaced from mission objectives. This kind of thing... does not bring much joy, does it? That's my insight, anyways. And that's about as much as I can fill a Chronicling Log with, for now. I'm going to check up with the others. Um, Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion, ending Log One.

[sfx: button click]

***

ATHENA ... That's a dog?

MILES Yeah. It's supposed to be! Like... bark?

ALEX Sorry, I... honestly thought it was supposed to be a sock puppet.

MILES Sock puppets don't have ears!

ATHENA ...An ear?

ALEX That's an ear?

ATHENA I mean I figured it was an animal of some kind, but-

MILES I never claimed to be good at shadow puppets, okay?

C41 Clearly.

MILES Cal, you don't have tangible hands, you don't get an opinion.

C41 At least I know that dogs aren't that long.

[sfx: approaching footsteps]

ALEX Yeah, actually, kinda... looks like that little cat thing that bit Felix.

FELIX It was a spray, not a bite. That makes it sound a lot more gross, actually.

[Alex claps her hands.]

ALEX Nice to see the party's finally here!

FELIX Hm? "Party"? That's new.

ALEX Did you bring the deck of cards?

FELIX Of course.

ALEX Then you're the party.

[Felix laughs.]

ALEX (CONT'D) Where've you been?

FELIX Recording my first chronicling log. I figured an update on my perspective was in order.

ATHENA Oh, good, thank you. How'd it go?

FELIX Um... well, I think. A bit meandering, maybe. Not anything special.

ATHENA Honestly, however they end up going is fine. It's just a matter of getting an account from everyone of how they're doing and what's going on. That's all I really have to do, most of the time. You'd be surprised how useful a ramble is when you have it on file. What did you meander about?

FELIX Oh just... you know. Something that I've been brushing up on. Here, I'll show you, actually.

MILES Sure, just share your talents with the class I guess.

C41 This should be interesting.

[sfx: unboxing and shuffling playing cards]

MILES What is this?

FELIX It's a card trick.

MILES A card trick...

FELIX Correct. Can I have a volunteer?

[Athena, Alex and C41 respond positively.]

FELIX (CONT'D) Miles, thank you, so kind of you to volunteer.

MILES My hand was not up.

FELIX Here, shuffle these.

MILES Ugh. Fine.

[sfx: cards shuffling]

FELIX No, don't give them to me! That's against the rules.

MILES Oookay. I'll keep em.

FELIX You're thinking of a particular one, I can tell.

MILES Uh... sure. Six of stars?

FELIX No, no, that's not it. Come on, this one only works if we convince each other that it's going to work. It was a low card, something... special.

MILES Low, and... special? Like an Ace?

FELIX It was an Ace?

MILES Yeah. Yeah, an Ace.

FELIX But not the Ace of Stars? We've got Planets, Comets, Dishes and Stars, but... How about you pick two of those, Officer Abbott?

MILES Dishes and Stars.

FELIX We'll keep the Dishes and the Stars then, and get rid of the other two. But it wasn't Stars, so the Ace of Dishes, then?

MILES Yeah.

FELIX The Ace of Dishes was the first card that came to mind, you're sure?

MILES Yeah.

FELIX Perfect. Athena, could you pick a number for me? It could be anywhere between, er... one to ten.

ATHENA Seven.

FELIX Seven. Very well. Miles, can I have the deck back?

MILES Oh, that's allowed now?

FELIX Of course, don't be silly. Now, I'm going to pull seven cards off the top of this deck that Miles shuffled and, well... we'll see what happens.

[sfx: cards being drawn from the deck]

FELIX (CONT'D) One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Oh... dear, that's not it.

MILES Jack of Comets. Figured it wouldn't-

FELIX Indeed. Wait, Miles, what's that?

MILES What's what?

FELIX In your shirt pocket.

[sfx: an emphatic rustling and card flip.

FELIX This?

MILES The... Ace... of Dishes. Wait.

[Athena applauds.]

[Alex laughs.]

ALEX Hey now, how the hell did you do that?

FELIX Ah, ah. Magicians. Secrets. You know the rules.

ALEX I bet Cal knows.

C41 I have... an idea or two, but I'm not exactly sure, really. Nice job.

FELIX Thank you.

MILES I don't know how you did that. I am going to find out how you did that.

[sfx: lots of movement]

[Indistuguishable frenzied comments from the crew.]

***

[sfx: echoing footsteps, very distant external storm ambiance.]

[sfx: button click.]

FELIX Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion. Recording Chronicling Log... Two, I suppose. Though it hasn't been long.

I had to escape from Miles's endless, somewhat terrifying questions. I fear those will be a common occurrence from this point on.

Anywho. I am currently... well, I don't know exactly where I am. My analog compass says I am southeast of our campsite, which is just outside the entrance to the tunnel system. But, I'm not so sure. You would think this little gadget would be unaffected by the storm, but the cinderbust seems to be acting on all of our other equipment as if it were somehow a geomagnetic storm. This, of course, may mean it is confusing the compass needle as well. 

So I'm not sure I can trust in that bearing. What I do know is, I took a left. So at least I have that to go on.

I did promise the Commander that I wouldn't stray too far from the camp when I'm alone. But I'm not alone. I'm on the hunt for a source of water, and I'm taking you, whoever will listen to this, with me for the journey. So technically, I'm keeping my promise, while getting results. Hopefully. Hopefully getting results. It isn't like I have any real reason to be concerned about my safety. Like I had mentioned, there have been no encounters with wildlife as of yet. Then again, I've been wrong before. It would be just my luck to end up being wrong again. But, I survived Mercutio, ergo, I could likely survive anything. The little devil.

[sfx: flashlight clicks on]

FELIX (CONT'D) Let there be light.

Ah. It appears we've reached a choice to make. Hm. Left... or... right. I'd rather not go in a circle. Right it is.

Left, then right. Left, then right. Left then... right. Okay.

So, anyways. I hadn't had any previous luck taking a right initially, where I first chose to go left. My left. Not... upon return- never mind. I know what I mean. I hadn't gone too far that way, in any case. 

Only today did I figure out the loophole in my promise, and... in terms of balancing my very busy schedule, I figure that it's best not to spend all my time fretting over dehydration. Going prematurely mad is not in my plans.

There are some interesting mineral formations on the ceiling. It may be worth taking a sample to submit on my way back. They're a sort of bluish-white, and they seem to form in hexagonal clusters, about three to four centimetres in length. Quite pretty. Pretty enough to understand the appeal of geology, if only for a moment. No offence to geologists, of course.

No luminescence is visible from the formations. My torch is the only current source of light. I suppose luminescence would have been too much to hope for. It is... rather dark, this way. Miles wouldn't like it. I don't think Miles likes many things, come to think of it. There's a grumpy individual if you ever did see one. But, a decent traveling companion when the mood strikes them-

[sfx: walking stops]

FELIX (CONT'D) Dead end. Hm. I'll make a mental note.

[sfx: footsteps resume]

FELIX (CONT'D) That's annoying. Back the way we came, then.

It might have done me good to bring Cal along. Most of their functions may be, er, rusty, at present, but they still have the sensors for these sort of things. Or perhaps I should have brought the Commander. Navigations, and all. Eh. I'm still not too far. And I have you, don't I, my trusty comms friend?

Even if you're not one for conversation. The brooding type. Strong and silent. I can work with that. And I can be fairly sure that I'm-

[sfx: footsteps stop suddenly]

FELIX (CONT'D) What?

[A long silence.]

[Felix swallows and chuckles nervously.]

FELIX (CONT'D) Well. I... must not have been paying attention as well as I'd thought.

I've just... I've just come up against another dead end. Where I thought... no, where the entrance to this passage should be. Where... where it just... was.

It can't have just... filled behind me. I would have heard the crash.

Right?

Same tunnel. Same... crystals. Perhaps a bit more on the indigo side that I had originally noticed. No more, or, um, less lacking luminescence.

Alright, er... Perhaps I took a turn and passed it. I'll retrace... my steps. What you're looking for is always in the last place you check, right?

[sfx: footsteps]

[Felix breathes shakily.]

[sfx: sound of distant running water fades in]

FELIX (CONT'D) Do you... do you hear that? That sounds like...

[sfx: the water sound recedes, replaced by storm ambiance]

FELIX (CONT'D) Sounds like... wishful thinking.

No, I could've sworn. I could have sworn. I'm not mad. I'm not.

FELIX (CONT'D) Don't you look at me like that. You're a bundle of wires and metal. You're not capable of going mad, only getting broken.

I... I wonder which is worse.

[sfx: a draft blowing in from the right side]

FELIX (CONT'D) Well. I... hadn't noticed that before. There's an offshoot path here, in between... I suppose in between dead ends. It must... it would have to lead deeper into the cave. I can't... This doesn't make any sense.

[Felix struggles to look inside the narrow path.]

FELIX (CONT'D) I can't make out anything inside. Very dark, but... But there's a draft. Meaning... it must lead outside. No daylight, however.

Well, of course there's no daylight, Felix. Remember why you're here in the first place.

[sfx: the draft stops unnaturally abruptly]

FELIX (CONT'D) Well, that doesn't make any sense, now does it?

The wind from the passage seems to have... turned off. Just... just like that.

I should just go back the way I came. Yes. That's what I should do.

[sfx: the sound of running water resumes]

FELIX (CONT'D) Wait... is... am I hearing that right...?

Not right now, thank you. I could do without the difficult decision.

Fine. Fine! Fine then, I'll just...

[He struggles further to get inside the path, with a few laboured mutterings.]

[Felix pants.]

[sfx: water droplets hitting the ground.]

FELIX (CONT'D) Yahtzee.

[sfx; unscrewing a thermos, letting water drip inside]

FELIX (CONT'D) I'll have to ensure this is potable, first. Or if I can make it potable. I'm sure it will be fine... Either way this is a good sign for our continued survival.

[sfx: extremely loud shifting of rock]

FELIX (CONT'D) What in the... What was that?

I've got enough of this to test but... The only problem is, I don't know that I could find it again. I... almost certainly don't know where I am.

[sfx: another creaking shift of rock]

[Felix gasps and exclaims.]

FELIX (CONT'D) What... I'm sorry, I just... felt a shift there, it startled me.

There's obviously an explanation for this but... I don't think I'm in any state to continue this trip. I need... I need to get back to camp.

[sfx: footsteps resume]

FELIX (CONT'D) Next time, if I ever come back this way, I'm bringing someone with me.

[sfx: running water fades out]

FELIX (CONT'D) Wait, uh... where... but I had just looked through...

I can't see that passage anymore. Where I got the water. Can you?

Of course you can't. I'm talking to myself. I bet no one will ever even listen to these. It isn't as if you care. You let this happen in the first place, sent us somewhere new without contingencies, and I'll bet you still don't feel responsible.

It's there. You can't see it from this angle, but it's there, you just can't see it in the dark.

[sfx: extremely loud stone creaking and moving]

FELIX (CONT'D) I need to go. I need to... I need to leave.

[sfx: running footsteps]

[Felix pants.]

[sfx: footsteps slow and stop]

FELIX (CONT'D) Left or... right? I swear, this doesn't... what was that goddamn sound?!

No. No, you shouldn't hear this. Am I transmitting, or... is this a recording-

[sfx: comms click]

***

[sfx: comms click]

ATHENA -were just looking for you.

FELIX I know, I know, I lost track of time-

ATHENA Alex was worried sick, we thought we heard you yell-

FELIX Well, that's very kind of her, but I-

ATHENA Felix... are you okay? Did something-

FELIX I'm fine.

ATHENA Okay.

Next time, maybe, take one of us with you. Or at least tell us when you'll be back.

FELIX Sure, sure. In any case, it was a success.

[sfx: unscrewing a thermos]

FELIX (CONT'D) Water. Fresh. Hopefully potable.

ATHENA That's great! That's a relief. Okay. Where did you find it?

FELIX Oh. Heh. Funny you should ask, actually.

ATHENA Oh?

FELIX Yes, I... see I was fine, but along the way I got a little... lost, it wasn't anything to be concerned about, but... I may have a little trouble finding it again.

ATHENA Oh.

FELIX Ah, but, don't worry.

I kept the recorder running.

ATHENA Uh... well, that's good. It definitely makes my job a lot easier.

FELIX Well, yes, and I... wasn't alone.

ATHENA Right.

FELIX And! And, perhaps if I give this a listen, it would help me figure where I got turned around. Nothing a second journey won't fix.

ATHENA Not alone this time.

FELIX Not alone the first time because I personified my comms but... yes I see your point.

ATHENA Well, let's give it a listen, then.

FELIX Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

[sfx: button pressing]

FELIX (CONT'D) It should be my most recent... input, let's see here. Ah. There.

[sfx: button press]

RECORDING FELIX Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion. Recording Chronicling Log... Two, I suppose. Though it hasn't been long.

[sfx: a sudden click, lasting static]

ATHENA Um, Felix?

FELIX ...Yes?

ATHENA Was that the end of the recording?

FELIX No. Definitely not.

ATHENA Then why... did you stop talking?

FELIX I didn't stop talking, I kept it running the whole time, I only turned it off just before I saw you!

ATHENA Something must have happened, then. Can I see it?

FELIX Sure, sure.

ATHENA It doesn't look like a corrupted file, in fact, everything seems to be working fine. Out here, at least.

Maybe the storm messed with your comms too, somehow. Or maybe... maybe there's some good conductors in the stone too, deeper in the cave, that could have thrown off your signal, or...

FELIX Or it could have been my own fault.

ATHENA It happens to the best of us, Felix.

FELIX Well, finding that source again just got infinitely harder, didn't it?

ATHENA Maybe? I don't know. Either way, we have time before that search becomes urgent, and, at least we know it exists. Hopefully we never really have to worry about it at all.

FELIX That doesn't make it any less frustrating, though, does it?

ATHENA Well, technology is wonderful, when it works. I appreciate the fact that you were recording anything for me at all, I know that code protocol can be a pain.

FELIX Well, strange as it sounds, I'm glad these protocols exist. It makes it seem like an effort is being made to keep things sorted, I suppose.

ATHENA Keeping our ducks in a row?

FELIX Precisely.

ATHENA Well, I can only hope. I've never had to run a crew-wide chronicling operation before outside of a drill. I was hoping I would never have to.

FELIX One narrator of this comedy of errors should have been enough?

ATHENA Precisely.

Anyways, do you want to head back to camp now? Everyone will want to know you're alright.

FELIX They were really worried?

ATHENA Of course they were. Alex wants her ducks in a row, too. An odd one out wouldn't be good for us.

FELIX Like an Ace of Dishes.

ATHENA Only, we were pretty sure you weren't in Miles's pocket.

[Both laugh.]

ATHENA (CONT'D) Here.

[sfx: footsteps]

ATHENA (CONT'D) This way.

***

FELIX Chronicling Log of Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion, third part.

It's past evening now, into the night. I think the others have gone to bed. Yet, it appears that I can't sleep. Something about today unnerved me. There is no explanation for my confusion, except my own anxieties, my paranoia, what have you. I know that.

I know that in the same way I know that the walls of a cave don't move around you. Not unless you are very patient, dead, or mad.

In my case, the jury is still out on the latter.

A planet isn't conscious, it isn't sentient, it shouldn't know who I am.

And yet, there's nothing left of that recording to even tell you what I mean. All that's left is how I remember it, and that perturbs me.

Here's the thing: I can tell myself that I lost my way in a dead end simply because I am afraid of what happens when I turn my back. But if I deem that fear a sound rationalization... then I may have something to evaluate. A time of soul-searching, hopefully. In the company of a snack.

ALEX Yikes. Deep. Make sure you have your coffee first.

FELIX Commander! Where did- I'm sorry, I thought you were asleep with the others, did I wake you-

[Alex laughs quietly.]

ALEX Shh, shhh! Athena and Miles are still asleep, I was just... I was... never mind.

[sfx: Alex sits down.]

ALEX (CONT'D) You recording?

FELIX Er, yes. As redundant as it may seem. 

ALEX Redundant?

FELIX Yes. Just between you and me, boss? I doubt anyone will ever listen to these.

ALEX You really think so?

FELIX The good folks back at headquarters tend to overindulge on bureaucracy. Efficiency is prioritised to the detriment of efficiency.

Perhaps the duty will be passed on to an Artificial Intelligence like our friend. I suppose that works just as well.

ALEX There's the silver lining I was waiting for.

FELIX Oh, don't rely on me for that.

ALEX Why not? It's worked so far.

Case and point: that card trick was probably the silver lining of my day. And I still have no idea how you did it.

FELIX Really?

ALEX Really. No clue. Unless Miles was in on it, but I seriously doubt that.

FELIX I can show you.

ALEX Yeah?

[sfx: rustling through a bag, cards rustling, flipping and shuffling]

FELIX Certainly.

Now, the first thing is, Miles didn't pick the Ace of Dishes. I did. And then I convinced them that they did. And convincing Miles Abbott of something is probably the hardest part of any trick, so if you can manage that... this next part is quite easy.

ALEX The next part is the actual trick, you mean.

FELIX The convincing is the trick. If you can't even convince yourself that you can do it, make a card do something miraculous, how are you going to convince the people watching?

ALEX Good point. Teach me.

FELIX Very well. So it looks like this, when we actually do it. Pulling it out of a pocket.

[sfx: card flick]

FELIX (CONT’D) But really, we're just folding the card behind quickly as you flick it off the bottom of the pack, like that, and then... you cup it into your palm when you reach out. It never leaves your hand.

[sfx: the same card flick, but slower]

[sfx: a card sliding]

ALEX Oh. Ohhhhh, okay! Gimme one.

[Felix laughs.]

[sfx: passing Alex a card.]

FELIX Give it a try.

ALEX Okay... so... take it from the bottom of the... deck, and then-

[sfx: a similar card flick, a similar card slide]

ALEX (CONT’D) Like that?

FELIX Yes. Exactly.

ALEX Alright. Alright, okay. So... from here...

[sfx: a quick card flick, a quick card slide]

ALEX Like that?

FELIX Ha! You picked that up quickly, sir.

[sfx: repeated flick and slide of the card performed by Alex]

ALEX I can do more than play Go Fish, Couvillion.

FELIX That's for certain. It's double trouble for the rest of the crew, in any case. Two magicians are better than one, you know.

[sfx: card sounds stop]

ALEX Oh, man. Miles is going to hate this.

***

ANNOUNCER Micro-Cosmos: A Science Fiction Podcast.

This episode, Miraculously Misplaced, was written by Lauren Tucker, edited by Luka Miller, and directed by Jesse Smith and Lauren Tucker. It starred Jesse Smith as the voice of Athena Romero, Jackson Rossman as the voice of Miles Abbott, Luka Miller as the voice of Alex de la Cruz, Kaleb Piper as the voice of Felix Couvillion, and Pippa van Beek-Paterson as the voice of Cal. Original music by Julia Barnes, and sound editing by Tobias Friedman. Be sure to stay tuned to our feed for upcoming episodes from the new backpacking intergalactic adventure from Futuristic Trail Mix Productions. Enjoying the show, and want to give us a boost? You can support us by rating and reviewing us on iTunes, or wherever you get your podcasts, or telling a friend about us. To follow the show and find transcripts, you can find us on Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram as @MicroCosPod. Questions, comments, and concerns can be emailed to us via futuretrailmixpros@gmail.com. Thank you for listening. ***

[qm-vox]

The Far Realms vs. Obyriths: Cosmic Horror in D&D

Shout-out, once again, to Afroakuma, from whom I learned most of the material I’m about to explain and with whom I’ve had many fascinating discussions about this topic.

It’s ya boi Vox, back at it to complain about RPG shit in an educational fashion again. Remember when I did a whole article about (evil) gods in D&D, arguing that they have more potential than to be used like supervillains? We’re gonna do that again, but this time with incorporating cosmic horror elements into your D&D campaign. Some of this advice may also be useful for games similar to D&D but for the sake of my own sanity I’m gonna confine myself to the one system or I’m gonna be here until my kids are in college.

This article will be broken down into three parts: an overview of cosmic horror’s origin and original thesis (in which we travel my favorite magical land, Full And Complete Context), a breakdown of the Far Realms in D&D (including older takes from late 2e & 3.5, how those changed in 4e, and their ambiguous state in 5e) & how you might use them for a cosmic horror campaign, and a breakdown of Obyriths in D&D and how you might use them in your campaign.

No discussion of cosmic horror is complete without some Content Warnings. Right up front: cosmic horror has its roots in extremely racist fiction, and I’m going to be talking about that straight-up. Also included in this article will be body horror, descriptions of mind control and mental corruption, supernaturally-induced madness, violence, and medical horror, among other things. This is a genre that hit the ‘fuck shit up’ button with its face on fuckin’ Zero Day and does that but again every time we successfully write something in it. Additionally, spoilers for some of Lovecraft’s work will be in here, with absolutely no tags and no warnings before they happen. You have been warned; do as thou wilt.

HP Does A Racism - Origins Of Cosmic Horror

Yeah, I’m about to be like that about it.

In the beginning there was Howard Phillips Lovecraft, an absolute garbage fire of a human being whose personal issues are such a knotted mess that I’m half-sure that the concept of the Ouroboros is just the echo of his bullshit reaching backwards through time. Like many authors of his time, Howie Love here was born into significant wealth, and while his education would be cut short (he had some manner of health problem in high school that ended his attempts at schooling) it was pretty high-quality, as it tends to be when you’re rich and white in the late 1800s. When he began writing his most famous body of work, Lovecraft had three attributes which would shape it: EXTREME racism, an incredible love for the works of Edgar Allen Poe, and every fucking phobia ever turned loose on God’s green Earth.

If you want to know more about that first point, try looking up what he named his cat; Lovecraft was so racist that even other racists thought he was too racist. Mother fucker was so racist that he wrote about the dangers of contaminating one’s bloodline with French-Canadians. His racism made it into all of his works in some way, shape, or form; many had themes of miscegenation, plenty included people of color only as deranged cultists of terrible powers, and as we’ll get into later in this segment the very racism that caused him to do these things also made him write the...let’s say ‘villains’ for lack of a better term, of his ongoing body of work as thinly-veiled stand-ins for white people.

No, really.

Lovecraft’s early work included a few short stories in the American Gothic style, the most famous of which is The Rats in the Walls. It’s a fairly classic story as far as those go, but Howie Love would soon abandon American Gothic for the genre he founded and defined: cosmic horror. Keep the racism and phobias in mind going forward, they’re about to become real important.

Howie Love Clowns On Himself - Themes And Thesis Of Cosmic Horror

While Dagon is generally accepted as the ‘first’ cosmic horror story, I prefer The Colour Out Of Space as the definitive example of the original thesis of cosmic horror at its most clean and clear (it’s also the work of Lovecraft’s that has aged the best; I highly suggest it if you haven’t read it yet!). In it, an alien presence - arguably but not necessarily an entity - crash-lands outside the fictional town of Arkham. Our narrator, a surveyor, coldly investigates the horrors that occur after and learns the sorry tale of a family destroyed by this alien presence as it blights their land, corrupts their bodies, and drives them to madness. The presence leaves, but not wholly; a fragment of itself remains behind, alongside the chilling possibility of a repeat performance.

The Colour Out Of Space, and indeed most of Howie Love’s work, was written at a time in the United States and the United Kingdom where human exceptionalism was the norm. Humans were not merely important, but special, chosen, exalted in nature and placed in a universe whose sole purpose was to be the stage for our domination. The Colour Out Of Space proposed a different idea: that we ain’t shit. Not only is humanity not exalted, but humanity is insignificant, existing at the mercy of fate, able to be casually annihilated at any time by forces we do not understand. It was a shocking proposal when it was published, and though the zeitgeist that gave it power has faded (most people realize we ain’t shit these days, can’t imagine how that fucking happened) it still resonates with many people.

The later works that defined the Cthulu Mythos would build on this theme, introducing powerful beings which claim dominion of Earth or of all reality. You’ve probably heard of most of them - Cthulu is the big one, of course, but there’s also Yog-Sothoth (The Dunwich Horror), Azazoth, Catboi Slim (Nyarthalotep), and many more, not all of which were written by Lovecraft himself. These beings are gods, or else so far above humanity that the difference is academic, and this brings us to the second defining theme of cosmic horror that Lovecraft would lay out, that of forbidden knowledge.

Protagonists in Howie Love’s stories have a tendency to lose their minds. Later authors would chalk this up to the idea that witnessing these gods or their works is so inherently horrifying that the mind simply snaps in their presence, or even that these gods are bound up in the concept of madness (this second one is a rather incompetent reading, not that I’m thinking of any PAIZO in particular that just ran with it in their RPG setting), but Howard’s own work doesn’t always bear that out. The protagonist of Call of Cthulu is not driven mad by that being - he is driven towards the brink by the realization that the Cult is still out there (and coming for his life), and that Cthulu will only rise again. Our viewpoint character in At The Mountains Of Madness realizes he has committed unspeakable atrocities on living beings much like himself by mistake, and that if further explorers come to disturb their slumber they will only repeat the same errors and lead to mankind’s annihilation. It’s not just that these ancient powers are terrifying or even that they are alien, but that to comprehend them is to understand that humans are so far beneath them that their attitude towards us cannot be thought of as ‘benevolent or ‘malevolent’, because we are beneath their notice, lesser in comparison than even a bacterium. In such a context, all humans do is consume resources better used by our superiors, and thus our existence is a profanity upon the divine. The only moral action, the stories argue, is self-annihilation; only ignorance permits us to justify our own existence to ourselves.

Sound familiar? Almost like this is the exact argument chucklefuck racists make about the existence of people of color, Jews, and anyone else they happen to not like? Yeah. This is the part where Lovecraft accidentally made himself the villain of his own work. Congratulations Howie, you played yourself. And since his audience was largely fellow white men also hard up on that whole racism thing, this idea of human profanity tapped a deep well of anxiety. I’m not about to argue that racism is over (it isn’t) and that’s why this vision of cosmic horror is less popular; indeed, it’s retained a pretty solid cult (heh) following, in part because the idea of such beings is inherently kinda terrifying. But I’d be remiss not to bring up the fact that this terror has its roots in racism, so...there you have it.

Other authors also built on the Cthulu Mythos, with Lovecraft’s enthusiastic blessing. These days their works tend to be mistakenly attributed to Howie Love himself, but that’s not actually his fault; they were published on their own, under their own authors’ names, and as far as we can tell Howard never tried to take the credit. These other authors had a tendency to substitute the indifferent divinity and corrupted humans of Lovecraft’s work with direct malice; their vision of these god-like beings was one in which they noticed humanity and did harm to it, creating a movement away from Howie Love’s original thesis (”human insignificance will lead to the unimportant and unmarked event of our destruction” & “seeking knowledge can only lead to self-annihilation”) during his life which only picked up momentum after his death. Indeed, most modern attempts at Lovecraftian horror mimic this overt malevolence, often without even lip service to the original thesis. It’s not necessarily an unworkable angle of horror, and it definitely has bones in with its origins; “God is real and He hates you personally” is a terrifying idea! But this movement away from the cold indifference of stories like The Colour Out Of Space definitely contributed to the current climate of...sloppy adaptations, let’s say.

Not that I’m thinking of any Paizo in particular.

So Should I Use Mythos Content Directly In My D&D Game Or What?

No, because I will cry and tell everyone that you punched my children and kidnapped my girlfriends.

More helpfully, probably not. The presence of other divinities, but especially evil divinities like Erythnul (Greyhawk) or Malar (Forgotten Realms) makes the thematics of cosmic horror pretty fucking weird. If you really wanted to, your best bet is to not use the published system of divinity at all (see the previously-linked article, up at the top of this one) and instead make Lovecraft’s gods the setting’s only gods. That means asking yourself some hard questions about clerics in your game world and possibly divine magic in general - that’s a separate article though - and even then you’re in for a rough row to hoe. D&D’s characters tend to be competent, dynamic, empowered - a far cry from the educated but otherwise fairly helpless protagonists on which cosmic horror tends to trade. Themes of futility in the face of incomprehensible beings don’t really make for good D&D most of the time, not when so much of the system (any edition, it doesn’t matter) is set up to create and reward cunning and heroic struggle. Classic cosmic horror, in the original proposed form, is not a good fit.

Thankfully, we have two solutions to give you what you crave in-house. Let’s start with the one that is somehow both the closer fit and the further fit.

You Have Fucked Up - The Far Realm Overview

Originally introduced in late AD&D 2e, the Far Realm as an idea hit its stride during 3.0/3.5 before getting a major rework as part of 4e’s cosmology, where it became the source of most/all aberrations. We’re gonna go ahead and pretend 4e didn’t happen, not because 4e is bad (and for the love of fuck please don’t start an edition war on my cosmic horror post) but because 4e’s cosmology just doesn’t really fit in with any of the rest. 1e <-> 3.5 is more or less coherent and you can beat 5e into line with a wrench and some harsh language, but 4e...well, anyway.

The Far Realms is outside reality. No, not in another dimension, we know what those are - those are the Planes. It’s outside reality; it is Somewhere Else. “It” is probably even the wrong term, since by definition any place (”place”) that isn’t the multiverse as D&D knows it is the Far Realm. To paraphrase Afroakuma, if the Great Wheel is a Lego brick, the Far Realm is a giant squid; if the Great Wheel is a bowl of Fruit Loops, the Far Realm is the theory that intelligences from Pluto rig the results of major sporting events. The contexts are not compatible. These two things do not go together in any way. Combining the two can only end in sorrow and woe.

So mortals try to combine the two all the time, because we’re dipshits like that.

Every now and again, some truly, monumentally stupid person - usually but not always someone inside reality - breaches the skin that contains reality inside itself, and lets in the essence of Outside. This is a phenomenally bad idea; the immediate result is corruption in both directions as the essence of each form of reality bleeds into the other. Both attempt to ‘scab’ the breach, translating the foreign substances and beings into something more like the reality they have moved to. If a breach happens, there is one of three outcomes. If you are very, very lucky, no being on the other side notices the breach, and you’ve ‘merely’ blighted and corrupted a vast stretch of land, tainting it with something sort of like, but not enough like, Chaos and Evil for millennia to come - maybe even forever. If you’re not lucky, a being on the other side notices the breach and acts to seal it, the ripple of which causes you to not have a nation or continent any more as said corruption absolutely consumes the lands in which you live. And if you are phenomenally unlucky, the being on the other side is just as stupid as you are, and it comes through. The last time that happened the original Gnomish pantheon got murdered. Their homeworld doesn’t exist any more.

There is no ‘good’ outcome. This is the repeated and absolute theme of the Far Realms; whatever your reasons for getting involved with them, whatever you wanted, whatever you were seeking, you don’t get it. Mortals fuck with the Far Realms because our inability to comprehend them leads us to think of them like things we can experience. The scabbed-over beings we meet that are from there (Psuedonatural creatures; see the Alienist prestige class in Tome & Blood and Complete Arcane, as well as the bigger version in the Epic Level Handbook) are Chaotic Evil because that is how reality translates them. They aren’t Chaos, they’re another reality, and their unwilling and unwitting corruption of all around them gets redefined as Chaotic Evil in order to reduce their damage to all of existence to a manageable fucking level. Were you seeking the Far Realms in order to harness power for great change? Get fucked, you can’t control what happens. Were you seeking magical power? Get fucked; the reason people go mad when exposed to the Far Realms isn’t just that the knowledge they gain makes no sense, it’s that the complete lack of context means all of the stuff you killed and stole and lied and cheated for is more or less completely goddamn useless. Trying to escape existence for some reason? One, death is faster, but two, hope you enjoy suffering the entire time you die - and that’s if the breach stays open long enough for you to be able to enjoy death as a concept before you get sealed away in a place where mortality doesn’t meaningfully exist.

You don’t get what you want. This was a bad idea. You fucked up.

5e, the most recent edition of D&D, mainly continues this trend. It has suggestions of the lazier interpretation of Lovecraft’s work tied to the Far Realms, which I heartily suggest you ignore, but some of the other ideas are phenomenal. The Great Old Ones Pact for Warlock has one in particular that I like quite a bit, which suggests that the Warlock-to-be created an unintended connection to a Far Realms intelligence and gained power against both of their wills and possibly without the intelligence in question even noticing. You don’t need to change a lot in 5e’s run to bring out the extant themes of the Far Realms - though admittedly this is greatly assisted by the fact that 5e barely has any Far Realms content to begin with, so there’s not a lot to edit. That also means there’s not a lot to use, so if you want to use Far Realms stuff in 5e you’re gonna have to get ready to spend a lot of time making your own. Which brings us to...

Who The Fuck Funded This Research?!? - Using The Far Realms In Your Game

Considering that all-important theme - “this was a bad idea” - the Far Realms are likely to be antagonistic in nature in your game, even if ‘antagonistic’ isn’t the right term. Published adventures have used Far Realms content as a sort of backdrop (Firestorm Peak comes to mind here) before, and you can easily make Far Realms creatures a more direct problem for your PCs by centering the campaign around a cult or research team attempting to cause a new breach. This could be a great time to engage with player-side themes such as the ethics of magic use, the cost of power, and the burden of responsibility for said power, assuming your group is down for it. Even if they’re not, horrifying monstrosities that by definition have no place in this universe are great to kick in the head(s).

What motivates people to cause a breach? Mainly stupidity, but the special kind of stupidity you only get when someone is highly educated and deeply intelligent. For awhile, in the real world, there was a burst of designers making D20 heartbreakers - successors to D&D 3.5 meant to fix its many catastrophic flaws. Each person thought they had it, the secret to make the system they both loved and hated finally function, and they were all wrong. Causing a breach into the Far Realms is like that. Every sign points to it being a bad idea. Reading the research and spells of the last people who tried it reveals that it’s a bad idea. All of the diaries and primary sources of those who did it and those who stopped them say it’s a bad idea, but that’s okay because I, Wizardhat von Dipshit, am not like those fools. I will be more careful, and the power to reshape the Planes will be mine!

The easiest way to make Far Realms creatures for use in your campaign is to start with an existing monster and fuck it up; rearrange its abilities (adding or emphasizing mental attacks and psychic damage, if you can), alter its physical form, and generally just make that shit wrong and fill its blood with spiders. If you want to get more alien from there or make something original, the best guideline I can offer for you is that aboleths were the result of Far Realms taint in the beginning of this reality (it’s telling that the closest thing reality could translate their progenitor into was a Greater Deity).

No one wants power for its own sake, of course, but what your antagonist actually wants is more or less irrelevant because the important bit is that they had every chance to know better and they’re about to make this bad decision on purpose anyway. This is how the Far Realms brings out cosmic horror themes in a heroic context; power that is beyond both mortal comprehension and control, which has no place in this reality and recoils from us as violently as we recoil from it. Like Lovecraft, whose stories revealed a deep cynicism about knowledge and science, your antagonists will be erudite individuals whose ruinous plans are only possible because of what they have learned and, in turn, chosen to ignore. If nothing is done, unstoppable catastrophe will be unleashed, and with it will come madness and desolation. If only some heroes were on hand, eh?

The disconnect the Far Realms has from classic cosmic horror is also the source of why they fit; they don’t belong here. In Lovecraft’s work, it’s humanity that doesn’t belong - we are a blight upon the rightful property of higher beings. The Far Realms are instead an intrusion, something from Elsewhere which doesn’t want to be here as much as we don’t want it here. That helps those classic cosmic horror themes work much better in this context, but maybe you’re looking for something else, something from here. Do the Planes have cosmic horror from within the shell of Reality?

Yes. Oh yes, they do.

Ancient Evil Survives - Obyrith Overview

In the beginning, there was war.

The primordial War of Law and Chaos is the greatest conflict to have ever rocked the Planes. It was so destructive, so all-encompassing, that it consumed entire Material Plane worlds, reshaped the nature of the Planes themselves, and is still happening, even now. It began in the early days of the Great Wheel and was prosecuted by Chaos, led by the self-styled Queen of Chaos, over a single question: should reality be real? Should effects follow causes, should gravity exist, should fire burn and light reveal, should things age and die, should...

The forces of Law said yes to these questions and fought to establish and maintain an order and logic to reality. Chaos fought for an unbound reality, one in which each individual would be completely free to express their own true essence as tangible changes in the existence around them. The War was never truly won or lost, but the imprisonment of Miska the Wolf-Spider broke the backs of the Chaotic coalition and brought the War to a stalemate of sorts, in a reality which, if not dominated by Law, is definitely Law-leaning. Mortals are familiar with the terrible demons used as footsoldiers by the Abyss, the Tanar’ri, who reign yet in that terrible place. But it was not the Tanar’ri in command of Chaos, and not the Tanar’ri who prosecuted that terrible War. Indeed, the beings we now recognize as demons rose up against their creators, the Obyriths, after the imprisonment of Miska. They overthrew the Obyriths in a great slaughter and replaced them as the dominant exemplars of Chaotic Evil.

The Obyriths are not dead. They plan, and they wait, and they wage war and slaughter upon their wayward slaves in the Abyss. Every last one of them burns to reignite the War and achieve their vision of unbound reality, free of the wretched Law and all too weak to survive without it.

Prisoners Of The Flesh - Obyrith Nature

So what are Obyriths? The easiest answer is that they’re demons - the first demons, in fact, which preceded the more famous Tanar’ri (when you think of demons in D&D chances are you’re thinking of a Tanar’ri), and while this answer is entirely correct it is not the whole story. Tanar’ri are famously Chaotic Evil; they revel in corruption and destruction and are driven to maliciously annihilate or taint all they come across. A demon army marching across the land will stop to personally kick every puppy between point A and point B and they will absolutely mutiny against you if you try to stop them from doing so. What is good and pure must be soiled; what exists must be made to not exist, its foundations shattered, its virtues turned against themselves, its values abandoned. Tanar’ri respect only raw might, and only as long as they think they can’t defeat it.

But Obyriths, their progenitors, are Evil Chaos.

Let’s have some examples. This little guy is a draudnu, a kind of Obyrith made from the bones of chaotic celestials which post-dates the ‘end’ of the War by a pretty significant amount of time. They’re on the weaker side for Obyriths.

(You’ll find this boi in Monster Manual V for 3.5 incidentally.)

Take a nice long look. Really take it in - because that’s not the draudnu. That’s the prison of flesh, the scab, that reality has forced on the draudnu, that the terrible Law has locked it within. The actual draudnu looks like it’s inside me God it’s inside me I can feel it growing and twisting it HURTS get it out, it’s seeping into my blood it’s inside me it’s INSIDE ME -

Let’s have another example. This is a sibriex, recently re-published in Mordenkeinan’s Tome of Foes for 5e with no mention of Obyriths, which is a damn shame. They were instrumental in defining the forms of the common breeds of Tanar’ri.

Fun, right? But again, that’s not a sibriex; the actual form of a sibriex is perfection. Absolute beauty and grace. I am nothing compared to this perfection. I am no one in the face of this perfection. My existence can only profane this perfection. I must serve the Perfect One. I must let it remake me and reshape me, I must appease it, I must make amends for the crime that is my trespass upon the reality made for the Perfect One.

Those two are ‘common’ Obyriths, examples of that race of demons which have peers who are much like themselves, but the Obyriths still have extant Demon Princes. The Queen of Chaos is still alive and nursing her ancient hate. Pale Night’s true form is so profane that reality cannot stand its existence; when she reveals it to you, the multiverse destroys your soul so that knowledge of her truth does not exist. Obox-Ob, murdered by the Queen of Chaos, yet exists as an Aspect of himself - and the Planes live in fear of the rise of the Prince of Vermin, whose truth is agony, rot, and corruption, such that even if you magically remove memory of it from your mind you continue to die from the soul outward.

And Dagon plots within the depths of his palace, sponsoring and advising Demogorgon - the Prince of Demons - and contemplating unimaginable lore of evil. The Demon Prince of Depths looks like this.

This is the form carved on blasphemous altars in the depths of the oceans, where sunlight has never reached. This is the form worshiped by mortals who delight in corruption, destruction, and fear, who dream of a sea where vision is a distant memory and predators hunt by the scent of blood. It is the form sought by those who lust for ancient lore, kept in places far from mortal sight and utilized by an evil older than many gods and mortal races, a form whose mere touch can taint a body of water, mutating & mutilating all within and unleashing their fury, their terror, their slaughter, for ages to come. And it is not Dagon. Dagon’s true form, imprisoned within that flesh, is I’m drowning in the cold dark, I can feel my bones breaking, my eyes are bursting, I’m blind and I’m drowning and I can’t die, my lungs are gone, the water is seeping into my blood I’m drowning and I just want to die make it stop I’m DROWNING.

It’s telling that witnessing Dagon’s true form, his Form of Madness, can give even creatures that breathe water, or which do not breathe at all, crippling hydrophobia.

The true forms of Obyriths are not flesh or matter; they are not, by nature, Material beings the way other Outsiders and mortal things are. Their true forms are that you, personally, are going mad. You, personally, are being assaulted, violated, and infected; you, personally, are being victimized, corrupted, consumed, and betrayed. Imagine if the act of pouring flesh-eating beetles into someone’s eyes had a personality, will, and desires - not the person doing it, the act itself - and that’s an Obyrith. They are evil because what they are is evil, much in the way Erythnul is evil. Unlike their creations, the Tanar’ri, Obyriths aren’t in it to kick every puppy that has ever existed. They want to throw off the yoke of the Law and release their unbound forms. They want an existence of darkness and isolation in which all beings are free to express their true essence to the limit of their might and their will.

They just wanna be themselves.

No matter who has to die.

The Foes Of All Reason - Using Obyriths In Your Campaign

Do you enjoy life’s little conveniences, such as cause-and-effect, linear time, predictable & observable physical laws, not having your body boil away beneath the agonizing will of some random asshole, and the capacity to recognize patterns in nature? Then Obyriths are your enemies. As demons, Obyriths can be summoned and are thus easy to use in the sort of ‘guest star’ role that Tanar’ri are often used in, even if it takes a moon-sized pair of brass balls to decide you can contain one. However, this use - while valid - is not a good way to bring out their cosmic horror themes, and since you decided to read an article about cosmic horror in D&D this far down I’m going to go ahead and assume you’d like to do that.

As one of the Planes’ most ancient and active evils - arguably the most ancient one that hasn’t died or otherwise fucked off - Obyriths are absolutely prime for campaigns that deal with ancient lore, primordial conflict, and unreality. If you like the idea of long-burn plots by masterminds with the patience of aeons, Obyriths are definitely for you. For an example of one such story, check out The Tale of the Whale, written by Afroakuma. The downside to using Obyriths in this way is that if you want to do so in canon settings, you need to be prepared to do some absolute fucking deep dives on the lore, which may require access to books or PDFs as far back as 1e & 2e. If you’re using your own setting this problem is lessened, though at that point you do have to manage to sell the ancient nature of such beings in a way that makes them feel suitably eldritch.

For more...let’s go ahead and say modern for lack of a better word, takes, keep in mind that Obyriths are not Tanar’ri. They do not scheme to overthrow the government of a nation; your pale, fleshly shadow of the Law is nothing to them. The plots of Obyriths upend the Laws which underpin reality itself. Could the great contract that details the alliance between the tribes of Men and Cats be found and perverted, turning each against the other in all reality? Could the insects of this realm be infected with the essence of Obox-Ob so that the Demon Prince of Vermin can feast on mortal souls and effect his own return to power? Could a bridge linking the Deep Ethereal to the Abyss be constructed, permitting the sibriexes and their master, the Prince of the Chrysalis, to shape new slaves from the very essence of raw Potential? Obyriths pervert what is and should be, not just because it suits their end goal of chaos unbound, but because corruption and violation is their very nature. It’s how they think, how they move, what they believe in, love, and value.

Obyriths have a lot to suggest for them when it comes to cosmic horror stories in D&D’s context. They bring out direct themes of madness, terrible truth, malign alien intelligence, and reality-unreality. You can comprehend their motives and even their nature, sort of, but their end goal is completely alien to mortal beings; the reality they want would be completely unrecognizable to the denizens of the current one. They are evil as mortals understand the concept, but not in a way that matches or even relates to their peers, which means they act in surprising and unpredictable ways.

All of this of course damages their ability to fulfill the classic cosmic horror thesis, but there’s something to be said about the idea that an alien intelligence, to be horrifying, needs something humans can attempt to relate to. It certainly makes writing for them easier.

If you’re using Obyriths in 3.5, you’re set to go; look for them in the various Monster Manuals, as well as Fiendish Codex. If you’re attempting to use them in Pathfinder, good decision but you’re gonna have some stat block converting to do. Trying to use them in 5e is gonna be the absolute bitch of a job, and I’m not sure where to even start on those suggestions except to note that the signature trait of Obyriths - the thing that makes them them, mechanically - is a Form of Madness ability, where they reveal their truth to their victims. Forms of Madness are mind-affecting abilities which hit all non-demons near the Obyrith, tainting them in some way. You can see some example ideas above, and the ones from 3.5 in the published books I just mentioned, but here’s hoping I can find an expert on 5th Edition’s mechanics kind enough to lend me a hand here.

I hope this article proved helpful to you! As with all of my work, questions and critique are welcome. Thanks for reading!

[rainydawgradioblog]

Rainy Dawg Radio’s Best of the 2010s!

ALBUMS

Palberta - Bye Bye Berta

Palberta is a band that somehow manages to scratch almost every musical itch I have. Nowhere else have I heard a band successfully hold three part harmonies over squeaky atonal guitar riffs and abstract drum thrashing. Although I wouldn’t categorize them as twee, noise rock, post-punk, indie pop, no-wave, or any other genre name for that matter, they distill everything I love from all these types of music and mush it into something beautifully stinky. In my eyes, their 2017 album Bye Bye Berta stands as the definitive statement of what Palberta’s all about. With 20 tracks clocking in at under half an hour, the album wastes no time on filler. Skronky punk riffs burst apart at the seams and a sweet little lo-fi love song comes out of the wreckage, only to be replaced by an abstract tape sample collage. The band also has an incomparable mastery over lyricism, as evidenced by such classics as Finish My Bread (Finish my finish my finish my bread, finish my finish my finish my bread, etc…) and Trick Ya (HEY! Don’t trick me, I’m gonna trick you! HEY! Don’t trick me, I’m gonna trick you!). Highlights include the endearingly ramshackle and stupid pretty “Honey, Baby” and their cover of “Stayin’ Alive” (Jenny’s eating burgers and everybody’s shakin’ and stayin’ alive!)

- Elliott Hansen

Alex G - DSU

Shit if you know me you know I live for that sad bastard indie music. That’s exactly what DSU does best. Probably my most played record of the 2010s, this album’s lo-fi indie rock overfloweth. The opener, After Ur Gone, is on the noisier side of the album’s spectrum along with the squealing guitar of Axesteel and Icehead (peep the scream vocals in his live performances), while songs like the instrumental Skipper exemplify why Frank Ocean tapped Alex for the Self Control riff on Blonde. The emotional core of the record, Sorry, gets right back to the Elliott Smith comparisons that we know and love: lyrics of trauma, drugs and apologies included. My favorite song is Harvey; it smacks me right in the younger brother emo spot, with “run my hands through his short black hair I say / ‘I love you Harvey I don’t care’”. While not as chaotic as House of Sugar, twangy as Rocket, or psychedelic as Beach Music, this record is Alex G comfort music at its finest.

- Max Bryla

Flying Lotus - Cosmogramma

Picture this: J Dilla, Madlib, and Aphex Twin all come together to create an album with little more than some old Coltrane records and an original Xbox at their disposal. The end result is like a trip through the universe. Yet the album comes from the mind of a single individual, who sits in the cockpit with a mischievous grin on his face: Steven Ellison, known professionally as Flying Lotus. The opening track, ‘Clock Catcher’, feels like Ellison slamming his foot onto the ignition so hard that it snaps out of place, shooting into the heavens at the speed of light before the listener can even strap in. Whirling through the stars, the rest of the album is the journey home from the expanse, often melancholic, often wondrous, always changing. From the punchy, off-kilter rhythms of tracks like ‘Nose Art’ and ‘Computer Face//Pure Being’ to the fat synth melodies of ‘Dance of the Pseudo Nymph’, ‘Recoiled’, and ‘Do The Astral Plane’, Flylo is always striking the listener from a different sonic vantage point. You can tell he’s having the time of his life with each of these songs, wanting to share every bit of it with our eardrums. After countless listens, I’m still finding new things about this album to appreciate. A complete masterpiece of cosmic epiphany fuel.

- Trey Marez

Ott. - Fairchildren

People throw so much music at me. And I remember this album was recommended to me back in high school, and I listened to it for the first time in zero-th period -- I think it was someone who went by the name “phryk” on IRC. And dang, it’s still such a good album! In what sense? It’s so well-mixed; that’s the first part. Secondly, it is just a wonderful listening experience from start to finish. If you need a good album of reggae, dub, electronic, here it is. One thing you shouldn’t do with this album: use it to test out speakers at Goodwill. The bass of this album was so good that I bought home a pair of speakers that turned out to be so bad.

- Koi Nil

Car Seat Headrest - Twin Fantasy

Bandcamp has been known for hosting some of our wildest dreams this decade, and when 2011 lobbed William Toledo’s first rendition of Twin Fantasy down my ears my life changed. Emotions are crushed to death in the back of parking lots, the lo-est of fi’s, and lyrics that trigger far and melancholy memories of the early 2010 zeitgeist swarmed with insecurity and Skype calls. The album is Toledo’s first cohesive piece, finally creating work with developed central themes, dedicating the first concept album of his life to falling in and consequently out of love. The album speaks as a mirror to itself, reflecting Will’s own joy and confusion towards falling conservatively and completely in love, until the sobering downward spiral back into isolation. I was only eleven when I let the album own me completely, and am only nineteen as I hold onto it for dear life. Twin Fantasy was never a perfect album, and Toledo recognized this as he re-released Twin Fantasy (Face to Face) in 2018, reinventing the album’s sound with a much higher fidelity, lyrical updates, and redone instrumentals that turn the original into an overture or prologue to be enjoyed separately for more context. Searing solos, cute doo-wop moments, sentimental lyrics, slap-happy drums, fish wearing business suits, dogs, coming out over Skype, smoking, not smoking, nice shoulders, waitresses, the Bible, the ghost of Mary Shelley’s frankenstein, cursive, they might be giant’s rip offs, not knowing SHIT about girls, stealing alcohol from our grandparents and grandparents, bruised shins, cults, fish, getting the spins, and being really really really sensitive to the sunlight. I’d fight for this album, listening to “Cute Thing” as I get RKO’d. Take the time to enjoy the ride, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. (It technically used to be a gay furry album, but now it’s techincally a straight trans furry album.)

- Cooper Houston

Sabaton - The Last Stand

Sabaton is every history teachers dream band. These Swedish power metallers educate the listener about the history of war by discussing various battles, conflicts, and figures. They do this through anthemic choruses, riffs that make your fist pump, and oddly enough synths that work surprisingly well. Since history interests me and I really like metal, Sabaton was pretty much made for me. This album will always have a soft spot in my heart and evoke fond memories as it was one of the first CDs I picked up after getting my license back in 2016. As I gained more independence and freedom as I approached adulthood, this was my soundtrack. This album lived in my CD player during this time as I listened to it over and over again, never once losing its replayability. Ranging from the American battalion that got lost in the Argonne Forest during WWI to Allied and Axis forces joining together to fight at the end of WWII, this album tells of various historical last stands. While this is certainly isn’t the best metal release of the decade, it’s still an extremely solid album. In this case, the sentimentality plays a larger role than anything. While it may not be found on any “Best Album of the Decade” lists, Sabaton’s The Last Stand will always hold a place in my heart and in my car’s CD player.

- Jack Irwin

CONCERTS

07/20/19: What the Heck? Fest @ Croatian Club, Anacortes, WA

Choosing a single favorite concert from the entire past decade seemed insurmountable until I decided to define it by the overall experience rather than exclusively the music. This past summer, I was lucky enough to be one out of barely over a hundred people at the first What the Heck? Fest in 8 years. The festival took place annually from 2001 to 2011, featuring PNW indie legends, K records icons, and all manner of dorky indie folk kids. WTH laid dormant until this past spring, when Phil Elverum (Mount Eerie) announced its return along with the revival of his long-dead initial moniker, the Microphones. I made the trip up from Seattle alone by train and bus, spent a little while wandering Anacortes (the Business was closed :( ) and made my way to the repurposed church which houses the Unknown and the Croatian Club. I ended up seated a few feet from Calvin Johnson in one direction and Kimya Dawson in another. I felt a little out of place at times, like a stranger in the middle of a 90s indie family reunion, but the atmosphere remained consistently welcoming. D+ opened the show, fronted by Bret Lunsford (formerly of Beat Happening), the founder and main organizer of WTH, and backed by Phil Elverum and Karl Blau, who played their own sets later in the night. K Records mainstays Lois and Mecca Normal were on next, delivering stripped down, socially-driven whisper punk/indie pop. Karl Blau led an outdoor sing-along and covered a Pounding Serfs song, who played the next set (their first in [a lot of?] years) for a total of two renditions of “Slightly Salted,” a song I could have listened to in every set that night. Phil hopped back onstage again alongside Lee Baggett to back Kyle Field from Little Wings, an indie-folk favorite of mine, with rambly half-nonsensical lyrics and plenty of soft strummed warm twangly guitars. Black Belt Eagle Scout delivered (comparatively) heavier sounds, coupling slow, soft sung melodies with fuzzed out shoegaze tones, building tension until the Microphones (Phil backed by Kyle, Karl, Lee and keyboardist Nicholas Krgovich) came out for the final set of the night. They opened with what I interpret as a 25-minute rendition of the then-unreleased Belief, which was later shortened to 7 and a half minutes as the opener to the new Mount Eerie record, Lost Wisdom pt. 2. Phil then played a handful of old Microphones tracks alone, including a version of The Glow pt. 2’s title track with reworked lyrics, as well as its closer, My Warm Blood, excerpts from the final Microphones album (confusingly titled Mount Eerie), and what I believe to be another unreleased song. I left with the most limited merch I’ve ever managed to snag: one of two Ziploc bags of lettuce with “the Microphones” and a small K records logo sharpied on the front. I felt bad eating my merch, but it sustained me through the cold Anacortes night as I wandered to and from poorly lit parks, killing time until my 4AM bus back to Seattle.

- Elliott Hansen

03/09/19: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (Solo) @ Vermillion Gallery, Seattle WA

Was really not sure what to expect from this one going in, but CYHSY’s s/t from 2005 has always been one of my favorite records. I hadn’t ever been to Vermillion in Capitol Hill, but it was hosting CYHSY on a “living room tour”, where Alec Ournsworth (vox, guitar, harmonica[!]) hit tiny spaces around the country. Vermillion sat 40 at most, and I got to check out some cool local art in the space as well. Alec’s trademark voice that (according to p4k) sounds “as if someone were pressing his vocal cords to a fret board and bending them” which is pretty damn accurate. Amongst CYHSY’s greatest hits (In This Home On Ice and Cool Goddess in particular), he also covered Pixies and Tom Waits through lively and exciting banter. Great dude, great music, great venue. My favorite of the 2010’s for sure.

- Max Bryla

11/14/18: Milo @ Vera Project, Seattle, WA

Milo, and the ruby yacht house band are poetic alchemists that constantly dish out hefty servings of succulent syllables with each new release. Kenny Segal who does the beats for a few of Milo’s songs (and other hip hop artists) opened by transporting the crowd into the ethereal realm with a few classics from his album: happy little trees. Once Kenny Segal finished, Milo accompanied by the ruby yacht house band jumped on stage. I was close enough that I could make out Milo’s squirtle tattoo on his bicep and waited for his vivid and veracious vocabulary to leave me in a state of decapitation. Crispy, potato chip like static (a Milo-live signature) was consumed ferociously by the crowd as he hit us with one banger after another. About halfway through the set Milo dropped the mic and went off stage into the back room. The ruby yacht house band was left Milo-less; their beat lingering in the air, festering with each hit of the snare. Milo returned a while later, wielding a pair of tap dancing shoes in one hand and a ukulele in the other. He put on the tap dancing shoes on stage, everyone in the audience screaming with his return. Donned with the tap dancing shoes and positioning his ukulele on his chest; he began to dance. Holy shit he was good too. Strumming the uke and tap dancing away I was utterly mesmerized. My eyes glued to his performance. Suddenly, as if stricken by some divine intervention, Milo seized the ukulele by the neck and smashed it against the ground, splintering into a thousand pieces. After his destructive fit, he picked the microphone back up and whispered into it emotionlessly: “Think about that”. I did. The whole experience was transcendental and instantly triumphed as my greatest concert of the decade. You KNOW I snagged a sliver of uke on my way out.

- Rocky Schaefer

08/07/17: Metallica @ CenturyLink Field, Seattle, WA

While Metallica has had its ups and downs throughout their career, they do one thing well, and that is putting on a damn good live show. Metallica built the best line-up I have ever seen, given the popularity of the bands they chose. With them they took Avenged Sevenfold, who I greatly dislike but are still a huge band, and Gojira, one of the best modern death metal bands on the scene. The sheer size of this concert was absolutely and extremely inspiring as Metallica was able to fill up CenturyLink Field, a venue usually reserved for pop artists who draw in thousands of attendees. The amount of people that attended signaled to me that metal is far from dead. While this tour was in support of their newest album Hardwired to Self Destruct, Metallica made sure to incorporate classics into their setlist including “Seek and Destroy,” “For Whom the Bell Tolls,” and “Battery.” James, Robert, Kirk, and Lars delivered a killer concert will tight playing and outstanding individual performances. Being able to see my music hero, James Hetfield, play live was truly a special experience. The one thing that stood out during the performance were the visuals. Each song had a unique and individual video effect on the large screens behind the band which made each song special and memorable it its own way. While I wasn’t close to the stage by any means, the crowd interaction created a unique experience that made me feel much closer than I really was. This concert wasn’t just a concert, but also a life-changing experience. Seeing the band that truly got me into metal, the thing that I rest my individuality on, is something that defined the decade for me and will live with me forever.

- Jack Irwin

SONGS

“You Are Here” - Yo La Tengo

This one I don't think I can fully explain. By miles, this is my most played song of all time. It is the opener of Yo La Tengo’s 15th album, There’s A Riot Going On. The album, and song, starts with the meditative synth line that builds into a pulsing rhythm over the course of the first minute. The rhythm maintains through the rest of the song, as casual guitar strumming is added and another synth that doesn’t sound all that dissimilar to Jonny Greenwood’s Ondes Martenot. My favorite part of the song, though, are the drum fills of the latter half: they crash and roll like the ocean. With or without the title of the song, the audio conveys a degree of presentness and contentedness that I haven’t been able to find elsewhere quite yet. I’d recommend it.

[purple-spring]

the vocabulary of us

Summary: Sometimes, words won't suffice to describe a love like theirs. Unless, of course, they're in alphabetical order. (Part 1 of 2)

Author’s Note: This is my tribute to the amazing David Leviathan, and his incredible book The Lovers’ Dictionary. The dictionary format that this fic has taken is not mine, and I use it here in homage to Leviathan.

Furthermore, this is a work of fiction. While it is based on a number of real-life events (filming of Riverdale 1.06, the Antelope Valley shoot, Comic-Con, the SH Hawaii trip, among many others), it is purely speculative, and was not intended to upset or offend.

Thank you to @jandjsalmon and @theatreofexpression for your incredible beta work, and to @stark, @gingerheel, @a92vm and @amab1060 for reading over this at different points and your valuable input.

Read under the cut, or on Ao3. 

aperture (noun)

I wanted to capture you on film the moment I first met you.

The lighting, at least from a photographer’s perspective, wasn’t ideal; you were lit by nothing more than the fluorescent gleam of the lights overhead. There was no natural sunlight in that audition room - just an artificial pallor that made all of us look greyish and pale.

Not you, though.

That day, you were radiance and lustre and fire. Beyond the sudden certainty in my gut that I wanted to look at you for an unusually long period of time, there was something about you that day that drew me in. I averted my gaze - I didn’t want to come off as a creep - but every nerve in my body insisted on the contrary. I ignored them. Reluctantly.

What was it, though, that pulled me under? Perhaps it was your steely conviction, or your absolute, unflinching belief in yourself, both so evident in the way that you kept your head down, your eyes fixed on your script. Whatever it was, it was palpable - glaringly apparent to anyone who saw you (ask Cami. She was there. She knew it, too).

I didn’t photograph you that day. But maybe it’s for the best.

There are some things that are better captured by the unfiltered, evanescent lens of memory.

…

banter (noun)

Should I have been surprised at the rapid accumulation of teasing remarks between us? My underlying, deliberate flirtation and your coy return?

One time, I threw out a joke - a half-insult, really - that would’ve thwarted a lesser being. To see if you would take it. To see how far I could push you.

I wasn’t prepared. You smiled, drew yourself up like a pistol, then roasted me so magnificently that my friends gasped, and couldn’t stop laughing for ages.

I fell so fucking hard for you that night.

…

confirm (verb)

When I sensed the turning of the tide, I FaceTimed Dylan. He was puttering around his apartment, occasionally turning towards his phone, which was propped up on the kitchen benchtop. I asked him when he’d be back in LA.

“Two weeks, if the meeting with the William Vale contractors goes well, otherwise I’ll have to stick around here and push the trip back,” he said. “Why?”

“I want you to meet her.” I cleared my throat. “Lili, I mean.”

At the mention of your name - a name he had heard many a time over the last few months - he turned right around. I stared back at him, hoping that the implication was obvious enough that I didn’t need to elucidate why I wanted him to meet you . My once-mirror image, his hair golden as mine used to be, fixed his eyes on me and nodded sagely.

“Alright.”

That day on the beach, you couldn’t have been more perfect if you tried. You cooed over photos of Magnus. You asked him about the brewery. Your interest didn’t even waver as he segued into an impromptu lecture on how to use squash blossoms to infuse mead. You both discovered an affinity for laughing at my expense, which I didn’t mind (at least not from you; he just likes being a dick).

When you left, he and I hung back at the beach in companionable silence, staring at the horizon while finishing off our beers. He spoke up first.

“So… did you need, I don’t know, my blessing or something?”

I shrugged. “I just wanted to know what you thought of her.”

“You want my honest opinion?”

I sat up. “Yeah. I do.”

He polished off the rest of his drink, then looked at me, his face absolutely deadpan. “Cole, I’m sorry. She’s way too good for you.”

I laughed my head off. “Fuck off, dude.”

“Love you, too, baby bro.”

...

draft (noun)

In my mind, I wrote and rewrote what I was going to say to you. It needed to be heartfelt, but not too sentimental. Articulate, but not overly verbose (as I often tend to be).

It haunted me, the thought of this hypothetical speech.

...

envelope (verb)

It would all prove futile.

I wanted to enrapture you with my words.

Instead, I wrapped you up in my arms.

…

found (verb)

Had I been lost before that moment? Because as I slipped in behind your sleeping form and you tensed for a brief, fearful moment before melting achingly into mine, I felt as though I existed only in the places where our bodies touched, and all the rest of me was smoke.

We fell asleep together on the couch. Actually, that’s a lie - you fell asleep while I grinned stupidly at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. I felt like I was discovering someone new that night. Not you: I was already learning you like most things I’ve learned in my life - passionately, persistently, obsessively.

I was discovering myself. Like a man seeing his reflection in the mirror after months in the wilderness, I was startled by the person I’d become.

He was happy. At peace. And he was falling in love.

...

green (noun)

When I was in college, I took a class on art theory and criticism at Gallatin, where we did a whole two weeks on colour symbolism. Red is passion, anger, lust, love. White is purity, innocence, perfection. Etc, etc. You get the point.

Now, as for green.

“The etymology of green is simple,” my professor - the artist Meleto Mokosi - said as he paced around the lecture room stage. “It comes from the Old English word grene, which has the same root as the words grass, and more significantly, grow. This explains many of our symbolic associations with the colour: nature, energy, freshness and growth.”

He clicked on his laptop and an image of an Egyptian painting filled the large screen behind him. “The Ancient Egyptians, however, were onto this long before Old English even existed as a language. To them, green symbolised more than growth. Its hues painted the face of one of their chief gods, Osiris, the god of the underworld. It represented vigour and health, but more importantly, it represented regeneration. Rebirth.”

How apt. That the fervent green of your eyes was all I saw before I leaned in to close the distance between our lips for the very first time.

I was reborn in that kiss.

…

historical (adjective)

It didn’t occur to either of us to mark the date. We only realised this months later. You were frantic. We need a date, Cole. And I understood that - the need to commemorate, to pay tribute.

But history is more than a timeline, is it not? And it’s more than just facts and people and places. It’s about feel. It’s about zeitgeist. It’s about what the senses recall.

I don’t need a date to remind me of the scent of your skin, the soft pillow of your mouth, the gentle pull of your teeth on my bottom lip, your hands on my chest, your wrists still caught in my grip.

The memory of you transcends chronology.

…

inarticulate (adjective)

Sometimes it’s a look - an upward, innocent glance or a slight, playful glint in your eyes. Other times, it’s the maddening curve of your waist, or the shape you take as you turn off the light and move slowly towards the edge of my bed, your smile palpable even in the hushed darkness.

It’s in those times when you render me - yes, even me - speechless.

...

juxtaposed (verb)

We were driving somewhere. I had one hand on the steering wheel, another on your knee.

“So you went to school to escape acting, and I escaped from school into acting.” Your eyes sparkled as you drew that contrast between us.

I turned to smile at that. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“We were going in two completely opposite directions, essentially.”

“Yep.”

Silence. Then: “Huh.” You let out a rush of breath. “That’s crazy.”

I stole a quick glance at you. “What is?

“Just… that somehow, in the briefest window of time, we met in the middle.”

...

keepsake (noun)

You thought you’d lost it - your white shirt, from the first night you stayed over.

I kept it for a while. I wanted to preserve the memory of its removal.

…

ladder (noun)

A kiss triggered it - the deluge of questions that we had managed to ward off in the haze of each other.

Our first onscreen kiss as Betty and Jughead was supposed to be simple and straightforward. We’d both made light of it in the lead-up to filming. After all, we’d kissed plenty by that point. What’s another one, right?

But on the day, I stood at the bottom of that ladder while Steven, our director, talked me through what he wanted. Slowly, it was becoming anything but straightforward.

“Jughead’s putting himself in a vulnerable place,” he said. “Yes, he summons up the courage to kiss this girl he’s been rapidly developing feelings for, but down here, your character’s still in a place of nervousness and anxiety because he has no idea how the hell this is gonna turn out. It’s a big move for him. The ladder has nine steps on it, but really, the emotional equivalent of what he’s going through spans the distance of a thousand miles.”

I nodded in agreement. The wheels in my head were already turning, anticipating his direction.

“It’s a pivotal scene, and Jughead is driving it. He’s acting out of his own agency, exercising initiative over one of the only areas in his life in which he can have power - his feelings. So I guess what I need from you as an actor is to access that same vulnerability. To tap into your own emotional memory. Is there a place in your life where that vulnerability exists? I want you to go there. Safely, of course.”

So I did. There were plenty of moments in my life in which I’d felt vulnerable, but none of them felt particularly safe to delve into unless I had some sort of epic therapeutic debrief afterwards.

Then I thought of you, and how you made me feel reckless and exposed and exuberant all at the same time. And then it hit me.

I was about to kiss this girl that I was falling in love with in front of a crew of twenty people.

My head started reeling.

Does this scare her as much as it scares me - all the noise that surrounds us?

What if the noise overtakes us?

What if it becomes too much?

What if we crumble under the pressure?

If I wasn’t feeling exposed before, I sure as fuck was feeling it now.

Suddenly the nine rungs leading up to Betty’s room stretched out to infinity, and the journey there felt like a quantum leap.

...

metaphor (noun)

I kind of botched the kiss. You thought I’d forgotten my cue, saying your line (“What?”) twice - the second time, more forcefully - because I probably looked as lost and worried as I felt. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Britta flipping through the script, unsure of what to do or whether it was supposed to play out the way that it did.

But your lips were my ballast in the storm, and as I went in for that kiss, I felt the chaos in my mind subsiding, my vision narrowing to only you. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that we were surrounded by twenty people, with three cameras pointed in our direction, because the only thing that carried weight in that moment was me and you.

I always think of our process for filming that scene as a metaphor for us. Or at least for how I feel about you. We’re constantly surrounded by so much noise, but you are my touchstone for clarity.

In the contented silences of our drives home, I remember this: that you are the quiet in the clamour, the stillness that steadies me.

…

north (noun)

“If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?”

You gave me a lazy smile from where you were lying down, near the foot of your bed. “I’d be right here. With you.”

I rolled my eyes and chortled at that. “Obviously. Besides here.”

You sat up, the sheets bunched around your body. With your hair all messed up and the sunlight hitting you just right, you looked ethereal. “Wait, don’t answer just yet,” I said, grabbing my camera off the nightstand. “Hold that pose for me.”

You kept your eyes forward, away from the lens, already accustomed to the way I worked. “Honestly, how many photos have you taken of me, Cole?”

I snapped a couple. “Not enough.” I put the camera down and crawled over to you. “Okay. Back to the question.”

You chewed thoughtfully on your lower lip. “I’d have to say… Antelope Valley. I’ve never been.”

I scoffed. “Really? That’s like an hour from here, Lils. You could’ve picked, I don’t know, Hawaii or something.”

“Well, Hawaii is such a dream. That’s on my ‘someday’ list.” (I took note of that.) But I like my fantasies accessible.” I smiled and opened my mouth to make a crack about accessible fantasies, but you clamped it shut with your hand. “And please, have a little self-respect, Cole: the joke’s too easy. Don’t even bother going there.”

(Have I ever told you that I love it when you call me out on my shit?)

“Alright then,” I said, taking your hand and kissing your open palm. “Why Antelope Valley? Why would you want to go there?”

“You’ll laugh.”

I shrugged. “Try me.”

“Alright. It’s a little self-indulgent, but… you know the poppy fields up there?” I nodded. “I want to go there, dress up like a fairy princess, and walk amongst the flowers and have my photo taken.”

I smiled. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Your face scrunched up in embarrassment. “Is that... lame? That’s lame, right? Like, total Manic Pixie Dream Girl bullshit.”

“No, it’s actually…” The first word that came to mind was ‘adorable’. Which was woefully inadequate. I felt as though I had to resort to some insanely specific German word, one that meant “an overwhelming desire to fulfill the dreams of a lover, fuelled by intense feelings of warmth and affection.”

Because even then, mere months into our story, I knew that I wanted to indulge every whim and wish of yours. That I would do anything in my power to make you happy.

“You there?” You waved your hand in front of my face.

I turned to you. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

“What?”

“It’s about an hour’s drive up north from here, and you’ll probably have to change there, but I guess you can always—”

You launched into me so quickly that our teeth knocked together, and I’m pretty sure I bit you by accident.

We laughed about it afterwards. Right before you went on to research every fast food outlet and candy store on the route to the valley. Right before I promised myself that I would do this more often - take adventures with you.

…

obsess (verb)

I traced the soft muscles on your back with my hand, the black dress you wore on the day accentuating it perfectly. Unfairly.

“Get in the car,” I whispered.

In the backseat, I followed that same path with my lips - the one my fingers had made - inhaling the scent of the valley and of your skin.

Creating an addiction from which I could never recover.

…

proprietorial (adjective)  

There are unspoken protocols in archaeology about what to do once you’ve found something incredibly valuable. The first priority is obviously protection, and archaeologists take this seriously; some use code words when talking about the found artifact (like “buttons” for gold, or “lemons” for silver) to avoid the constant threat of public theft, while others employ guards around the clock to preserve the excavation site. The more valuable the artifact, the more serious and intensive the protection.

It might be the archaeologist lying dormant in me, but I guarded the secret of us with a fierce protectiveness. Like a treasure goblin clutching its horde, I held on to the intimate knowledge of our relationship, reluctant to impart it to anyone else beyond my family and closest friends.

Because unlike so much of my life that is co-owned by my brother, or has been co-opted by the public, this thing that we had was wholly and completely mine. Or rather, ours. And I wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

There’s something sexy in that. In the secrecy. In what is hidden.

In looking at you from across the room, and knowing that no matter how beautiful you looked in that moment, you were still more transcendent in my arms that morning.

…

quell (verb)

“Tsk, tsk. Be careful, dude.” Mad appeared at my side, a cocktail in her hand. The Comic-Con shindig was our last media obligation for the weekend, and it was pleasing to see her there - one of mine and Debby’s friends from LA, and now one of yours, too.

I gave her a look. “‘Careful’? Of what?”

She shook her head and laughed. “Seriously? You have no idea what you look like right now?”

“Well, I am wearing a nifty red suit--”

“I think technically, that colour’s called oxblood.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll stick to red.” Mad rolled her eyes at me. “Besides my nifty RED suit, I haven’t the faintest idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

She leaned in. “Look I’ve known about it for ages now, so I’m not particularly surprised, but when you’re making those desperate bedroom eyes at Lili...” I scoffed dismissively. She ignored me and went on. “When you’re doing that, you’re pretty much broadcasting your relationship to the whole room. Actually, scratch that - to this whole fucking town. ”

I wanted to brush that off, but she may have had a point.

Comic-Con had been fun, but difficult. Both of us knew that we were under scrutiny, and had zero interest in responding to any rumour or speculation that had nothing to do with the show itself.

Even then, with that in the back of our minds, we just barely managed to suppress ourselves from enacting the normalcy of our relationship. Every time I was in your vicinity, I had to pull myself together, because after months of retaining the memory of your skin, I could barely trust myself not to touch you.

So instead, I sought you out in every interview, every crowded room. It didn’t matter where you stood or sat, whether you were close by or seated far away from me: I always found you, and somehow willed you to look my way. I didn’t really need much more than that - just the assurance that you were there was enough.

The party, however, felt different. As my eyes settled on you - as they were now trained to do - my gaze was drawn to others that had you in their sights. Particularly one - a brash industry type who none too subtly shifted course and crossed over to you and Cami.

Usually, I’m a fairly chilled out boyfriend, but it was the end of an insanely busy week, and I was exhausted and in no mood to look at other guys gawking at you. Or, in this case, brazenly chatting you up.

I put my beer down on a table next to me, my body steely with resolve.

Mad read my mind and nudged me sharply with her elbow. “Hey. Friendly reminder that it’s an Entertainment Weekly party.” The implication was clear: the place was swarming with reporters. Technically off-duty, but obviously still tuned in to any whiff of gossip. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Sure,” I said, shrugging off my blazer. “Fuck it. Tell them we were canoodling.”

I could still hear Mad’s bark of laughter as I walked through the crowd, blazer in hand, driven by purpose. Your back was turned; Camila had to tap your arm to get your attention.

You raised an eyebrow at me as you turned around. “Cole?”

I needed an excuse. Anything. “Are you cold?”

“Cold? Um, I guess...?”

I stepped forward and reached around to drape my jacket over your shoulders - a signal, clear as day, for anyone who cared enough to read into it, including this poor, irrelevant fuckboi who had stupidly attempted to launch a flirtatious offensive your way. As he slunk away, I stayed where I stood, inches away from you, uncaring as to who saw us standing that way, that close.

In your eyes mingled incredulity, confusion and delight. What are you doing? Do you know where we are? “Um. Are you okay?”

Was I? All I knew was that I was with you. And I’d been wanting to do just this one thing all night. Because I was tired of the pretence, and I needed my girl.

I leaned in and kissed you, right there in the middle of that crowded room. You went rigid with panic before melting against me, your lips soft and trusting and pliant in mine.

“I’m fine,” I whispered against your mouth. “Never better.”

…

recurring (verb)

Yours or mine?

At the beginning of every weekend, you asked that on the drive home, your overnight bag sitting in the back of my car.

Yours or mine?

I didn’t mind either. My PS4 was at my place, but at least your washing machine actually worked.

(Okay, so mine just hadn’t been used.)

Yours or mine?

From a Friday ritual, it became a nightly one. Until nights turned into consecutive mornings. You’d go home to get more clothes. Eventually, you bought a toothbrush and left it on my bathroom sink.

One day, you leaned over and whispered at the end of a long day at work, I’m tired.

Let’s go home.

...

surprise (noun)

I gave you a sleepy, lingering kiss goodbye before I left for my weekend shoot in LA. Making sure you were still asleep, I adjusted the folded printout of our Hawaii flight itinerary, propping it up on the nightstand, with a Post-it note stuck on top.

“You and me. New Year’s.”

I wish I was there. I wish I’d recorded it somehow, heard the screams that triggered the complaints to building management. As it turns out, all I received was this, a text message in all caps:

“YOU SNEAKY FUCKER I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH.”

...

trick or treat (noun)

“So this washes off, right?”

“For the fiftieth time, Cole, yes.”

You were carefully drawing my skull teeth lines over the thick white base you’d applied to my face. I poked at your stomach. You looked up, close to the edge of your patience. I’d been doing that to you the entire time.

“Yes?”

“Nothing, I just…” I tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re really good at this, you know? I love that.”

I watched as your hard, focused expression softened into appreciation. “Thank you, babe.”

“Also, we can still kiss with this on, right?”

You frowned. “It’ll smudge.”

“But how much are we talking, though? Like full-on smearing, or just a small streak here and there? Because if it’s just a streak, do you think—”

“Cole!”

“No kissing. Got it.”

I shut my mouth, clasped my hands neatly on my lap, the very picture of perfect behaviour. You giggled at the sight.

“Alright, you big baby. Just one more before I have to shade the black in.”

Like a kid being told that he could finally eat all his Halloween candy, I didn’t need to be told twice.

...

uneventful (adjective)

But, in all honesty, so much of who we are dwells in the mundane.

In passing out together on the couch after a long day at work. In the gaps of silence as we trawl through Instagram before settling in for the night. In the text messages compiling the grocery shopping list for the week. In the exasperation as I trip over one of your heels in the dark. In seeing your face dotted with pimple cream. In the arguments over whose turn it was to pick the driving playlist.

Between monotony with you and thrills with anyone else, I’d pick being boring with you. Every single time.  

…

validate (verb)

I rubbed my eyes in frustration and looked at the kitchen clock. 2 am. Fuck. I had an early call time, too.

“Cole?” You came out of the room, bleary-eyed and wrapped in the duvet that you’d dragged off the bed. “You’re still awake.”

“I am.” I swivelled around in my chair to face you. “Everything I’ve taken sucks. It sucks, Lili. I’m sitting here trying to edit my photos, and I’m dying of cringe.”

“Oh, come on. You’re only saying that because it’s two in the morning and you’re your own worst critic. Here, move over.” I shifted a little in my seat as you sat on my lap, duvet and all.

You scrolled through the photos on my laptop. “Okay. Look at this one. See the way you’ve framed Sam here? In the rips of the white plastic?”

“It’s super pretentious, right?”

“No! God, what is wrong with you? It’s stunning. And see how he stands in the landscape, beyond the confines of the plastic? That’s like, a gorgeous metaphor for his process as an artist, how he’s broken free from the mold, how he’s his own man now.”

I sat there silently.

“Oh, and this one? The way you’ve tilted the horizon, and captured the sweep of his trenchcoat, the top hat in his hand? The lines in this are so bold and--”

“Brash?” I grinned at you.

You rolled your eyes. “I was gonna say ‘striking’, but sure, you can go with that.” I hugged you close to me. “Your work is amazing, Cole. Don’t you ever doubt yourself.”

“Thank you.” I kissed your shoulder. “How do you know so much about photography, anyway?”

You gave me a cute little shrug. “I learned from the best.”

…

whipped (adjective)

See: COLE SPROUSE.

...

xenophile (noun)

I thought I was the nerd. But I wasn’t the one who loaned James Michener’s Hawaii from the library and took it out to read on the plane.

It was adorable. But also, it made me want to take you everywhere. To spark your curiosity, to ignite your discoveries, to stoke the wonder.

If there was anyone who could be by your side as you found that the world was your oyster, please, let it always be me.

...

yes (unclassified)

We’re light years away from the fact, but in my idle moments, I imagine it. I imagine how I’d do it - where, and when, and even who might be there.

Maybe our friends. My brother. Your family. Definitely a photographer. In my more delirious flights of fancy, a specially trained pug.

And you. Obviously you. Your hair caught up in the breeze, your eyes widening in surprise before crumpling in the weight of the moment.

Saying yes.

…

zenith (noun)

We stood at the summit, the warm air punctuated by pockets of sea breeze. So many people think of the beach when they think of Hawaii, but - as we found out ourselves - its lush, verdant mountains are just as amazing and sublime.

I held your hand in mine as we looked out over the gorge and at the sea beyond it, the vivid cerulean of the deep bleeding into the viridity of the shallows. There was no-one else around, just us. I pulled you in, holding you in my embrace, relishing being alone with you.

I thought of the year that had passed, and my mind wandered to where I was when midnight struck over to 2017 - running down to the lobby of the William Vale while my brother and our friends waited outside the room we had locked ourselves out of, eating the remains of a pizza off the floor. You and I had tried to call each other to wish each other a happy new year, but in the tangle of signals and the confusion of the room situation, we didn’t make it, settling for a text message instead.

Thinking of the marked contrasts between then and now, a thought began to formulate in my mind - that this was it. That I had hit the proverbial jackpot of fate. Standing there, on the peak of a mountain in Hawaii, holding you in my arms, I had the very best that life had to offer.

But then you tugged at my sleeve and excitedly pointed out a pod of dolphins swimming in the waves, and there and then, I realised that my earlier assumption was wrong. Or at least it wasn’t entirely right. There were surprises around every corner. New heights to be scaled, new adventures to pursue. All of them with you.

“Oh my god, did you see that?” you asked.

I did, Lili. And I saw you. And realised the truth.

Our best still lies ahead of us.

[bastardtravel]

August 11, 2018. Manchester, New Hampshire.

After seven hours on the road, pausing only to explore an Old Ones cult site, storm a terrible castle, and eat distressingly dry corned beef at a Greek diner that still advertised one of their menu items as “Michael Jackson’s favorite grinder”, we were in dire need of respite.

Establishing a forward operating base was our first priority. For my part, I can sleep anywhere. My bonfire days in the Frozen North frequently necessitated pitching a $10 K-Mart tent over gravel, then drinking bottom-shelf whiskey until you didn’t realize you were sleeping in a puddle of rainwater and broken glass. That’s not a knack you lose. It’s like riding a bike. The Girl was always more discerning, and became doubly so after our experience in Phoenix with the inept criminal front halfway house hotel. We agreed that she can veto any of the lodgings I book. Sometimes, late at night, I’ll hold a flashlight under my chin and tell her spoOoOoky stories about hostels in Ireland.

She insisted on the airport Super 8. I was hoping to stay in a quaint deep woods motel called “Unsmiling Jed’s Sleepaway”, attached to sister business “Unsmiling Jed’s Discount Plastic Surgery Silo and Chili Kitchen”.

If I can’t protect it, I don’t deserve to have it. That goes double for life.

A friendly foreign woman checked us in at the Super 8, then proceeded into utter bafflement when I asked for a first aid kid. I chewed myself up pretty good climbing Bancroft’s Castle, and I’d spent the last half hour bleeding into an oily dog blanket to avoid ruining my upholstery. I’m pretty sure that’s how plagues start.

There were no band-aids here, or antiseptics, or possibly medicine as a concept. There was a three gallon tub of hand sanitizer. I thanked her for the offer but gently declined.

We went up to the third floor. The hallways were lined with people sitting on the carpet outside their rooms, shouting and smoking cigarettes. The room itself was clean and the air conditioning worked. All my boxes were checked. The bathroom reeked of weed, which some would interpret as a bonus. I scrubbed my wounds raw in the sink, tucked away the precious cargo of wine and peaches, and set out to investigate downtown Manchester.

Streetlight technology has not yet made its way to Manchester, so we spent twenty minutes missing exits in ocean-floor darkness. It looked worryingly like Wilkes-Barre, which is not where one would choose to vacation, were one sane.

Downtown erupted from nowhere like graphic pop-in on a video game running at its lowest resolution. One second you’re in leatherface country, with nothing breaking the abyssal darkness but the occasional half-broken Jiffy Lube sign. The next, you’re on vibrant neon market strip, replete with hipsters and the homeless.

We knew we had hit downtown proper when we passed by the “craft grilled cheese bistro”.

only programmers will understand!!!! like and reblog if u get it

Since I am an adult man, grilled cheese cannot be dinner. Both “gastropubs” we tried, despite their bitchin Greek mythology names, offered generic terrible burgers and a draft list that consisted of Coors Light.

“I’m so hungry,” the Girl told me. “I’m gonna die.”

“We all will,” I assured her. “Soon.”

Yelp claimed there was a brewery five blocks away. We walked off the only lit street, into absolute, encompassing blackness. It would’ve been spooky if I didn’t always kind of hope some Putty Patrol mook would lunge at me from the dark while I’m far away from home, having told no one where I’m going and left no paper trail.

There were no incidents. No one was murdered in self-defense. No one knows what we did last summer. The Stark Brewing Company was in the basement of a grim looking office complex, and it was vacant save for two other wanderers.

We sat at the bar and ordered a flight and an imperial stout. I was pushing for finding an actual restaurant, but the Girl ordered “Penne with vodka sauce”, which was not the right color, flavor, or texture to be anything but penne bolognese. The Girl didn’t seem to mind. I ate a pulled pork sandwich.

The beers were warm, but I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what the beers were, so long as they were beers. And not Coors Light. The brewery themed all of their beers off of dogs, for some reason, which I believe to be the ideal business model. According to the bartenders, the brewery had been open for 25 years, but hadn’t yet received their big boom. I was outraged. The beers were excellent, and would probably be even better if they weren’t room temperature, and the taps were not only named for specific dogs, but also provided pictures.

To say nothing of the bathroom, which was covered in sharpie beer lore.

The bartender and waitresses swore a lot more than you would normally expect in this context. The Girl maintains they were swearing at us. I disagreed.

“They were swearing <i>with</i> us,” I mansplained.

“We weren’t swearing,” she countered.

“But if we HAD been.”

As I’ve grown larger and more sinuous, I’ve tried to cut back on how often I cuss at strangers. Cultural relativism is the understanding that not everyone grew up among the coalcrackers, and good-natured oaths like “how the hell are you” or using the fuck-word as a conversational placeholder, while subjectively soothing, can set off fight-or-flight in the small, soft, and bourgeoisie.

I try to maintain direct proportionality between my barbarism and my well-heeledness. Neither the wait staff nor the other two customers shared my bond, and the middle-aged guy on my right proceeded to tell me how his hometown of Denver, Colorado is the greatest fuckin’ city in America, next to maybe Southern California. Which is not a city.

We talked about our homes and travels for a while, then I got my pulled pork sandwich and they left. The sandwich was slightly warmer than the beer, which beat the alternative.

An armada of children came into the bar.

“Oh, shit,” the woman tending bar said. They were visibly teenagers, and on the wrong side of it. They had that gangly awkwardness you get around fourteen or fifteen, and if they were trying to play it off, they were woefully bad at it. There were also nearly twenty of them. It looked like a field trip.

People in their twenties don’t travel in packs of more than six. It’s hard to transport a throng, unless you have a party bus, and why do you have a party bus when you’re twenty-eight? You’re twenty-eight and party buses have always been sad. Get a job. Also, it’s hard to get that many adults to agree on something.

It can be done. You can say, “Hey, adults, you want to do some drugs?” And in a sufficiently sized crowd, you’ll manage to pull twenty or so who will follow you to your house or whatever. This is called an “afterparty”. It doesn’t go to bars at 9pm.

Have you felt out the social zeitgeist recently? Look at a random handful of current memes and it’ll be pretty clear that most adults consider socialization to be a required burden, like paying emotional taxes. “Going out” is the price of living in a civilized society. You’re not going to scare up twenty people, then put them in a party bus, then take them to an abandoned bar half a mile outside of where the actual nightlife is.

“Hey, we’re just about to close,” the bartender said.

A reedy blonde in a top that seemed to consist mostly of straps screeched, “But your WEBSITE said you were open til ONE!”

Screeched.

The bar fell silent. Well, more silent. The Girl and I traded looks, her horror for my delight.

“Uhhhhhh,” the bartender said, but with excellent elocution, as though that were the word she had deliberately chosen. “Okay.”

They sat the itinerant mall food court in an enormous corner table, whereupon they requested shots.

The waitress who had sworn at/with us the least came back to the bar and said, “You guys said you were from Pennsylvania, right?”

We nodded.

“Can I see one of your licenses quick?”

She compared mine against the obviously fake ID one of the tweens had given her. After a moment she said, “Yeah, you can see, the font is different. And the picture looks like it’s photoshopped.”

“Yeah, no one’s license picture ever looks this good,” the Girl said, studying the fake ID.

“Except mine,” I added. They ignored me. I didn’t take it personally.

The waitresses disappeared into the back. Five minutes later, the only dude working at the place was gendered into being the bad cop. He sulked over to the teens.

“You guys gotta leave,” he said. “We know your ID’s fake. We’re not trying to get fined. You gotta go.”

For maximum accuracy, imagine this said in Toby’s voice from the Office. Shamefaced, the flash mob of children dispersed.

We paid for our room temperature beers and left the poor, foul-mouthed brewery to close at 9:30 on a Friday. The Girl and I accidentally stalked the battalion of teens through the street, but only because we were all moving back toward the only lights in the city, not unlike moths. They turned a corner and vanished, presumably to find an arcade or laser tag or some sort of large carousel.

The Girl and I followed the sounds of some obnoxious bros announcing, “It’s like a fahkin sketchy ally, dewd”.

It was, in fact, the least sketchy alley I’d ever been in. Cat Alley was the best lit venue in all of New Hampshire. It was clean and well-maintained, and it was covered less in graffiti and more in an outdoor art gallery dedicated to cats.

There were more, but they didn’t all warrant a picture.

Portland Pie Co loomed from the endless darkness like a beacon in the night, hearkening back to those days lost in Maine during the Great Lobster Drought of 2017. We split a bourbon barrel ale which did me in. It was bedtime.

On the way back, toward the end of the main drag, a man made of pure light rode by blasting EZ-Listenin from his Tron bicycle, also made of pure light.

I can’t prove he wasn’t Jesus.

Heartened, we returned to the hotel, where no one was smoking or yelling in the hallway anymore. Excellent.

Next stop, Portsmouth.

Love,

The Bastard

Into the Abyss August 11, 2018. Manchester, New Hampshire. After seven hours on the road, pausing only to explore an Old Ones cult site, storm a terrible castle, and eat distressingly dry corned beef at a Greek diner that still advertised one of their menu items as "Michael Jackson's favorite grinder", we were in dire need of respite.

[lettersfromleslie]

Terrain Vague / Twists and U-Turns / Weird Decade Comin Yer Way

Ello ello ello been a while as usual, I’m sure you’ve all been just wringing your hands and tearing your hair out, wondering when I’d get around to it. Losing sleep. Missing work. Shuffling through dead woods in rags, grunting and mumbling, hairy legs, teeth... Fuck... You held up your end... And here I was just wallowing away in idleness... Laying in drink... Neglecting my Blog... The Blog, damnit, what about the Blog, the holy Blog... Alas.. Forgive? If you can? Bless, bless. How’s the life. You know. Eh? Hello. Hello.

Writing this as a kinda declaration of intent, just to kinda put myself on the hook here, & to announce to all five of you or whoever’s out there that I’m working on my Next Thing. Yes sir. Three or four songs deep into the writing process, seven or eight left to go. It’s early stages yet but I’m feeling good about things and whenever I turn the tap on stuff comes out, so it feels like all I gotta do now is push meself to keep it running. I gotta admit most of 2019 was pretty dry creatively, consumed with a lot of Personal Shit, playing house, goofing around and exploring and living life. I did fill up a lot of dollar store cassettes with a lot of meandering synthy crap, got some fun skills out of it… Got better at my instruments, got better at recording and producing, and got my mitts on some gear… But if I’m honest with myself I reckon most of it was sorta up in the clouds, you know, riding the brain train. Fun, but without the release of action it leaves ye feeling a bit grotesque and insubstantial, like eating a lot of candy floss on an empty stomach....

Here, but check this out. “Terrain Vague”: a term coined by Spanish architect Ignasi de Solà-Morales, to describe the ragged abandoned places in cities that serve no purpose, snubbed by developers, crumbling away behind clapboard or chain-link fences. Or as he puts it in a more general way, “An empty, abandoned space in which a series of occurrences have taken place.” Now, I don’t know about you, but for whatever reason I’ve always loved these places, loved having them around, feel a sorta mystical thrill exploring them. Mr. de Solà-Morales reckons that my good feeling comes from the freedom these places represent, exemption from the pressures of usefulness or productivity (web of the pandemoniac spider), and that for this reason arty types such as myself like to “… seek refuge in the margins of the city precisely when the city offers them an abusive identity, a crushing homogeneity, a ‘freedom’ under control. The enthusiasm for these vacant spaces - expectant, imprecise, fluctuating - transposed to the urban key, reflects our strangeness in front of the world, in front of our city, before ourselves.”

Oh, I like, I like, I like! He knows me heart! Before this phrase came along you can bet I’d already been embracing the strange and the imprecise, I’d been been rejecting them abusive identities, humming along in sympathy with things that exist outside of time, you know, on my bike... Damn good to hear someone else say it! And what a nice name he picked. I happened on the phrase “terrain vague” in a totally unrelated way, too, total fluke, reading William Burroughs’s Cities of the Red Night, which came out before senor de Solà-Morales ever came up with any of this stuff... Anyway, Burroughs dropped that phrase at some point and it seemed really charged and, oh, vibey, ya know... So I googled it quick, “terrain vague”, figuring it must be from a poem of Rimbaud’s or Verlaine’s or whatever … Well, anyway, when I googled the phrase, this wholly unexpected meaning came up and - ooh! There it was, that wonderful rush when you see a thing put into words that you’ve often felt but never expressed. Because terrain vague is my fucking zone. The whole summer I’d frittered away in riding my crappy fluorescent green $50 single speed bike (I love it, I love it so much) around East New York, the Rockaways, Broad Channel, Crown Heights, Jamaica, Ozone Park, the Hole, not even sure what I was enjoying so much bout it, and here was the connecting theme - terrain vague! Yessir! That’s the thing I was feeding on without knowing the name, chasing the dragon of lost-in-time oblivion-bliss. I’ve talked about it on here too, that happy ghost feeling, and I’ve often talked about the idea of living outside of the machine, free of the spider… That’s it! Damn good to see someone give a name and a value to that feeling, the anonymous freedom and heightened reality in these places left behind by activity and productivity. So I’ve been excited to explore this forgotten happy-ghostly side of existence through my music. It seems there’s plenty to work from. The house we wound up living in out here seems to kinda straddle the divide between the homey Brooklyn vibe and terrain vague. Like in Stalker. Playing house on the cusp of the zone. I like to think of it that way, anyway. We’re at the top of a great tall hill, surrounded by crumbling railway infrastructure, a giant 19th-century graveyard, dead ends, stray cats and raccoons, hawks, cop helicopters, used car lots - even a monastery, as if the nuns know where to find the closest spot to heaven (look up the “thin places” of Celtic mythology). 

So yeah, the location fits. So I reckon the album will be called Terrain Vague and I’m hard pressed thinking of anything that’ll change my mind on it. I just gotta write the songs to go with it... Subliminal, blurred, imprecise, spooky... Hazy and faded ambience overlaid with murmurs like a tape that’s been recorded over too often. Maybe it’s a sign of the times that I’m looking where I’m looking, too tired of the negative mirror of the zeitgeist - but I’m not going to analyse it too deep. Above are some pics I snapped on film, badly, trying to catch that haze. I’ll get the hang of it. Ariel’s better with the analog stuff. Anyway, life goes on. I got piles of material I’m sitting on, boys and girls. Hit me up and I’ll sneak ye a peak. Only cost ye yer souuulll, chilluns.

[happymetalgirl]

Bad Wolves - N.A.T.I.O.N.

Since breaking through into mainstream metal/rock’s zeitgeist with their cover of The Cranberries’ “Zombie”, Bad Wolves have taken the opportunity to follow as closely in the footsteps of Five Finger Death Punch as possible in an effort to hoist themselves up alongside that band as one of this era’s most recognized named and most streamed acts, despite the baggage that comes with it. And on their debut album last year, they came through with a bunch of passable, but entirely forgettable alternative rock and alternative metal songs clearly intended to land on as many Sirius XM stations and Spotify playlists as possible. For its few bursts of momentary intrigue and even all-in heaviness, the album always buckled to its greater priority of lowest common denominator accessibility and ultimately came out predictable and utterly boring as a result.

Low as my expectations were for the band’s sophomore effort this year and as much as it takes pretty much exactly the same approach at the same goal, N.A.T.I.O.N. is a slight improvement upon its predecessor, but that’s not saying much. Again, the band are aiming for wide appeal rather than deep resonance, so N.A.T.I.O.N. once again finds them running the gamut of radio-ready styles of alternative rock and metal and metalcore, from sappy ballads to a few genuinely intense bangers, and stale middle-ground filler in between. While such diversity in style is something that plenty of bands have succeeded in spades with, Bad Wolves are not showing themselves to be capable of accomplishing that kind of album, at least not with this goal of fast-tracking themselves to a co-headline tour with Ivan Moody and company in mind. For one, the songs on this album are so incredibly unimaginative the lighter they get, with the ballads sounding almost aware of their own shallow sentimentality and the more modest rock tunes sounding like blatant phone-ins that even Nickelback would be kind of embarrassed of. It sounds very grumpy-heavier-than-thou metalhead of me, but the band really show their highest creativity when the guitars and drums are free to break out of the decades-old formulas constructing the majority of the songs on here and go for some lively djent/hardcore-influenced punch. And that’s the other thing, the formulas the band are plugging into aren’t even new or fresh in any way; the band are essentially writing Shinedown and Nickelback songs that didn’t get the chance to be released as bonus tracks in 2007 or 2008. While there’s not anything inherently wrong about revisiting an older style, Bad Wolves are doing little more than repeating the tired motions that ran their course during that period. Secondly, the band’s trying to make the album varied and “dynamic” with ballads woven into starkly and confusingly contrasting rockers gives the album as a whole an incredibly awkward flow from start to finish, like it didn’t even matter to the band what order the songs went in because they were all just written as fodder for some curated streaming playlists anyway.

The album kicks off on a muscular note with with djenty blast beats of “I’ll Be There”, with some rumbly bass and some slick metalcore riffage, the choruses being filled with some transparent Killswitch Engage melody imitation. That being said, it’s a pretty decent straightforward melodic metalcore banger with some much-needed drum-syncopated 8-string flair giving it most of its muscularity. “No Messiah” is little more than a continuation of the band’s pre-established formula and the start of the Nickelback impersonation with its Kroeger-esque taste for melody. It’s pretty predictable and representative of an era of rock whose peak has been about a decade past, and the song doesn’t make much of a case for its return, as most of its appeal comes from the gritty guitar tone and well-timed drum accents carrying the song that are more representative of modern metalcore than the overmilked Shinedown-alt-rock dragging the song down. The under-three-minute “Learn to Walk Again”, despite its butt-metal verses, is a more concise and much more tasteful example during its soaring choruses of this modernization of last decade’s melodic alternative metal. It sounds like something Benjamin Burley might have written back in 2010.

The uncannily Nickelback-esque alt butt rock of “Killing Me Slowly”, though, immediately kills any momentum the album was beginning to build up to, Jesus Christ it’s such a basic, unoriginal song, and it doesn’t get much better when the band slow things down on the subsequent surfacy saccharine alt metal balladry of “Better off This Way”. And this is where the album’s flow is its most noticeably disjointed. The djenty hardcore elements return on the rap-flowed “Foe or Friend”, and it’s a truly punchy, punishing metallic hardcore cut that shows that the band is clearly in tune with that genre’s current evolution/revival through acts like Code Orange, Vein, Knocked Loose, Jesus Piece, etc. It’s songs like these that show that this band is capable of making a consistently creative and aggressive album that plays to their instrumental strengths rather than trying to do their best impression of Five Finger Death Punch or their cohorts in the alt metal field from ten years ago. And hardcore songs like this make absolutely no sense sandwiched between corny, phone-in ballads like “Better This Way” and the acoustic/clapping cheese of the subsequent understating of the substance-abuse ballad, “Sober”.

And then of course we get “Back in the Days”, which sounds like a slightly better version of a Nickelback-type hard rock track, and at this point on the album the band is really just retreading their footsteps and walking in circles plugging into the formulas they’ve already plugged up into on the album, and the album’s flow continues to make no sense with the Killswitch Engage-esque old-school NWOAHM melodic metalcore on “The Consumerist”, which is a pretty standard and traditionalist representation of that genre’s older form, so one of the better tracks here. The subsequent “Heaven so Heartless” makes stylistic sense for once after the preceding track with a moodier take on the heavy alternative metal style of “The Consumerist”, similar to how Breaking Benjamin at their best gave heartfelt alternative metal extra catharsis via some welcome metalcore edge. The song “Crying Game” that follows, though, is another formulaic alt metal power ballad that offers as little novelty to discuss as the previous tracks in the same vein.

The album closes with the bookending melodic metalcore of “LA Song” as if to try to end on a heavier note to give the illusion that the album is more packed with true intensity than it really is. The cleanly sung choruses don’t really contribute anything of value to the song, and the song once again just shows that this band needs to set its strings-men and its drummer free to run wild if they want to make anything worth more than a yawn through.

I feel like my vocal appreciation and praise for what Motionless in White are doing to revive several older styles by aesthetically and stylistically shape-shifting to put a more updated spin on those older sounds with their stamp on it should be enough to prove that I’m not just some pouty Scrooge that hates anything mainstream. Motionless in White are very much a prime example of how to approach making mainstream heavy music while maintaining creative integrity and not just letting a label pimp whatever your talents are to their financial ambitions, and I think they deserve every bit of success that Bad Wolves and their obvious adopted older brothers have had. I have said on here every time I criticize a cheap, creatively bankrupt, radio-pandering project that I enjoy myself plenty of accessible, mainstream rock and metal, and even some pop music if it feels genuine to me and I can vibe with it. I like what bands like Linkin Park, Breaking Benjamin, and even Shinedown did last decade with their very accessible sounds, and I still enjoy plenty of those bands’ songs and even full albums to this day. But those bands did wear their styles out or morph their sounds or their entire aesthetics into more wide-appealing forms that ultimately noticeably cheapened their art for the short-term gain of (or last-ditch push for) greater mainstream success. And those are the formulas Bad Wolves are tapping into on this album and their last, and it’s kind of a sad picture of the state of rock radio/playlists that that is what’s apparently the path to quick success on the charts.

N.A.T.I.O.N. is just like any wide-reaching, low-satiating, “something for everyone” modern rock/metal album that tries to shotgun a whole bunch of non-complimentary styles at the open ears of rock and metal radio, some cheesy ballads to play on the way to a date at a NASCAR race and some typical rockers with just enough adrenaline to get some of the crowd there moving (but not too much to alienate people who never listen to this kind of music outside sporting events), and a few genuine hardcore bangers to try to convince people actually interested in heavy music that Bad Wolves really do have some street cred and aren’t just another industry puppet meant to replicate Five Finger Death Punch’s lucrative business model.

A little something for everyone that leaves everyone still hungry/10

[nothingbutaspaceman-writings]

Bipolar [lyrics to the 2016 EP]

by popular demand....

maybe I’ll post the lyrics to the uncompleted actual final track one day.

deserteclipse.bandcamp.com/

I yearn to recall simpler times When suicidal thoughts were comforting An occasional hobby

When I found Shakespeare’s tragedies funny And superfluous his comedies “I cried to dream again”

Saccharin’s no honey Marie shared her cake Comfort Eagle and pretty ribbons of pink upon guillotines

It’s the artificiality It’s a fissure to me A trap sending monsters to their grave

Sacrificing sanity’s a must

Sumaria or bust!

“But you’re healthy, you’re writing, You’re in a band, The one you love, you have their hand You don’t have it bad!”

Everything is relative Eloquence and artistry are semantics Brain and mind appreciate diversity Their feuds devastate the body (Hypersomnia is so tiring)

If being happy wasn’t dependent on chemistry, My blood polarity would be blasphemy (Nothing promises pleasure) Records/stories are spun every night Framing means nothing I’m just biding my time

Tommy, You warned me Gold medals in the rain

Tommy, They left me Autodidact in pain

Tommy, I forced me My legs hurt from dancing

—-

Tipitty tip tapping Tapping tapping Tap tap tapping Tipping Tapping Because if I don’t, The bees, they will escape!

I feel them in the, in the, in the pockets of my joints Knuckles pop, poppity-pip-pop to extend their prison-stay-stay-stay Stay Stay STAY! STAY!

The keys clickity-clack, clickity-clack (Moo! Ha) making words and words and words and words and words…….. Moo! HA! WORDS! HA!

(NOBODY CARES)

My foot’s a’movin’ And feet’s a’groovin’ Up and down and down and up and up and all around Because if I don’t, The worms will crawl into my eyes The ankle-breaking heel-gyrating toe-spanking do-si-doing Keeps them a’shakin’ Below my clanking knees

I’m crying Please. I can’t stop writing My soul is overfilling my body And leaking From under my tongue and tear ducts

(NOBODY CARES)

It hurts So badly (I just want to sleep.) I can’t even catch my breath I’m going to start hyperventilating It hurts So badly (NOBODY CARES) My soul is leaking Spilling onto the floor And I just cleaned! (I think my teeth are bleeding From smiling much too hard) Please, forgive me (You can’t argue with chemistry In this box, I am suffocating)

(NOBODY CARES)

I slept most of days away this week And now I can’t find time to blink

I hate sleeping I hate waking

There’s no in between There’s always thinking

Pour me a drink, please Give me paresthesia

Everything tastes like coffee You can’t argue with chemistry (NOBODY CARES)

My sleepless identity Is my disordered personality I am my pathology My sickness defines me

—–

Passion: noun A powerful, compelling emotion or feeling usually associated with love or hate; Also an enthusiastically consuming fondness for an object, act, habit, etc. Its origins lie in ancient Greek and Latin, as well as Middle English from words meaning “to suffer, submit, or endure”

I trust you. Here’s a confession, Please know I don’t trust easy, but as long as I do, I’ll keep confessing Oh, I’ll keep confessing:

I was four when I first considered suicide I wanted to jump into a deep pool though I couldn’t swim Some would call this feeling of wanting to jump “vertigo” I don’t have a word/phrase for it Most times, I think “missed opportunity” At the moment I had no concept of afterlife or oblivion I hardly understood “drowning” But it sounded right Still does in hindsight

Assimilation into what gives life Knowing escape is impossible Knowing escape is incomprehensible There’s probably a word for that

But I guess… I just don’t… I don’t know it yet

—–

Cognitive dissonance is my constant, isn’t it?

Intentionally unintelligible Screen fed Scream dead

I want to be heard Not just heard

Fuck, fucking fuck Rewrite More blood Learn to fucking write More blood Fuck fucking fuck Rewriiiiiite

Ignite the cathartic hemoptysis Lowly fucking plagiarist There’s not enough blood Rewrite Fucking fuck Learn to fucking write What the fuck is wrong with you?

Try try again There’s not enough blood Rewrite

Do it again, get it right Fuck You’re better than this

Needs more blood Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite Needs more blood More blood, more blood, more blood Needs more blood Fuck!

—–

This apathetic anxiety is conflicting within me My suicidal ideation is misplaced reciprocation With its Psychomotor agitation conflating insomnia-fueled deliberations Thoughts and veins in a race; pumping red cells and neurons as I Pace, pace Pace, pace I don’t care, but know I should I would care, but know I can’t

Nihilists have the righter idea And the solipsistic to an extent: Life has no inherent value Conscripted shepherds are buried at sea

I’m drifting from shoreline

Fear and boredom cannot cohabitate I’m so numb… Existential spacial awareness fleeting I’m so numb… Gnawing nails, spitting blood Luring sharks in the flood I’m so numb…

Tying cement shoes as I slip into seabed Inhaling a wife worth of salt, Lot’s Lungs filling like the Exodus plague Entrenched by an excessive weight That snaps my necklace Experiment intended to fail Though if I had kicked myself beyond the pale… Who is gonna argue with the results?

Since when was my end something you could contend? Who are you to tell me how I feel?!

I’m aware of my mistakes Don’t remind me! I’m aware of my mistakes They taught me knotting I’m aware of my mistakes They haunt me, pushing Don’t remind me

A forsaken toxic desert, sandstorming a dry drowning

The sharks are… (they’re just fish) The sharks are… Surrounding The sharks are… (they’re just fish) The sharks are… Devouring The sharks are… (they’re just fish) The sharks are… Expounding

Somewhere beyond this sea My angel stands on golden sands Beyond stars, beyond the moon My heart will lead me there soon Happy, I’ll be And never again… Never again… Will I go sailing

-----

BONUS TRACK

Factories of plastic produce society's static Routine after routine, spick and span The children are laughing with eyes and ears shut Schools and parents pass doctrines of Grow The Hell Up No time to play, no time to lose Week after week, plights and plans Sell your soul, make a quick buck American dream? You’re shit out of luck No honor for a military losing their lives Being fodder for an American Reich Money is king with no change to back it up Plutocracy thrives off the worst of us Silence is key in this gilded age Reject the dissenters Sound Drowns Sound Bounds Hear them come a-marching Beating a drum of rotten rawhide Look at the puppets, see how they dance, They look like little people with little pairs of pants Watch them speak, watch them pray, gaze at The scrambling when they haven't been told what to say Isn't it cute, isn't it neat? Isn't it such a fucking treat?! Isn’t it fun, isn’t it rad? How could something publicized be any bad?! A house divided surely cannot stand They cite century old manuscripts To justify their intolerance Slavers seeking asylum Unbeknownst to industrialization History is catalog of predictable ironies Morality is but a fleeting zeitgeist Occupy the cities, blood up to our knees Tear down these walls, chop down cherry trees Taking back what was stolen We smile as Big Brother’s watching Violence begets violence Reciprocated gouging leave us blind Real men fight real fights, They don’t piss themselves over petty gun rights The second revolution won’t be fought with arms Come and keep your comrade warm Power to the people but people are yet to be found Power-hungry steeples point to abstract nouns Power-outlets breed disinformation Plug in your eyes, unplug your mind Unpopular opinion is on the rise Feed them your lies, dispose of our lives [Unpublished opinion will be your demise] The Binary State The only thing we love is our right to hate One on one You against us Tyrant or patriot? Only prying eyes judge Become the narrative of complacency Bow to your corporate masters Alone, we are nothing Together, we’re a swarm “If a plant cannot live according to its nature, it dies; and so a man”

[aurimeanswind]

7 Years—Sunday Chats (7/2/17)

A new month, a new opportunity to do something cool. Let’s chat.

Irrational Passions Turns 7 Years Old

So uh, hey, the first episode of the podcast I host was recorded seven years ago today. That’s pretty nuts, huh?

At this point, it’s really starting to feel like more of my life has been in the “Irrational Passions era” than hasn’t. To be fair, I started this show when I was 17, and I’m 24 now. That’s all of my adult life that I’ve lived thus far, and it’s weird to think of my life without the podcast in it every week. Without that two to four hour sit down and conversation, cultivating in hours of editing and self-taught audio tricks. It’s just... wild.

When I think of how much Scott and Evan, the two founding cohosts, have grown and changed since the beginning of the show, my heart wells up with pride. Even looking at Tony, Joe, Nabeshin or Greg, how all of them grew, became better hosts and commentators as the show has evolved, I can’t help but be proud. It’s hard for me to notice my own growth, but seeing it in all of them, seeing how well they described how games make them feel, the different aspects they like out of them, it’s head over heels better than day one.

In seven years my perspective on life has changed so much too. Having this rigid schedule in my life for so long has been massively helpful to my life, to its structure, to making me more responsible. Though we don’t have a big following, we do have a small one, and knowing that they anticipate and even (for some reason) look forward to the show every week fills me with joy. From Friday nights to then Saturday nights, Irrational Passions Podcast has been the highlight of my week, every week, for seven years now.

I’m happy to say I make a thing that I think is worth listening. Sure, it’s too long, sure we’re not the most tuned into the industry, not all of us, and we’re on different levels as far as genres, playing every game that releases, and popular opinion. But we have a good time, we have some good laughs, and I’m happy with the thing we put out there.

Thank you all so much for listening to this show. It’s helped my life in ways I could never convey with words.

But the biggest thank you goes to the seven incredible people who have come on this journey with me: Scott, Evan, Joseph, Tony, Nabeshin, Greg B., and Danny. I love you all so goddamn much. You’ve made me a better person, a better games critic, and a better friend. And it’s all thanks to this big dumb show we do every week.

Now... Onto the next challenge.

What I’ve Been Working On

Once more I’m sad to say that I haven’t made anything worthwhile in quite a minute now. I’ve just recently found a kernel of an idea that I’m pretty excited about, and I’ll see if exploring it more turns it into a substantial piece. Right now I feel I’ve written a lot of hot garbage as of late, And I don’t know if the doing it every day is working against me or not now, but I’m still out here doing it.

The current piece I am chipping away at is Zelda-centric, talking about games that emulate Zelda. We’ll see where it goes in the coming days, and I’m thinking I’ll try and publish this one if it shapes up to be something worth it. Right now, I’m not sure it is, but we’ll have to wait and see.

What’s on Tap

Overwatch

The BIG game I’ve been playing recently is Overwatch again

YO OVERWATCH IS SO GOOD

I forgot how good it is but hey: it’s real good.

Orisa is probably my new favorite tank. Using her shield to slowly push the front line forward is awesome, and I’ve had a ton of success just laying down covering fire with her massive chain gun.

Mercy is still my main, and healing has just never felt so goddamn good.

I think I’m very bad at Overwatch now, which sucks. I used to be ranked Gold in competitive and now I’m near dropping down to Bronze. So...

Alundra

I finished Alundra again!

Holy shit this game is like 30 hours long?? It’s crazy

The final dungeon of this game is masterful. I kind of wish I could boot it up and play it again, that’s how good it is. Bravo.

This is a lost gem, and you shouldn’t sleep on it. It’s on the PSone Classics on PS3, and if you have the chance, you should play it.

Questions

As always, you can get your question in Sunday Chats too, just reply to my tweet sent out on Sunday afternoons with the #SundayChats with a question, and you’re in!

As always, thank you all so much for the questions. Nothing but love you all. <3

A tough question, for sure. I think for me, the best sandwich is definitely the hotdog...

Kidding. But really, the Philly Cheesesteak is universally my go-to. I’m a big fan of the hot sandwich, and IMHO the Philly is the best. Though, I think recently, I’ve been swayed in the direction of the Chicken California. For those not in the know, it is essentially a Philly, but with chicken and Ranch instead of steak and mayonnaise. It’s fucking good. And disgusting.

But in my life, the best sandwich I’ve had is probably The Raven from Chaps, a local place to Baltimore. It’s part pit beef, part corned beef, part turkey, all roasted over a pit, with two slices of American cheese, and it’s perfect. I eat the thing, no sauce, no condiments, just pure, because it’s so juicy and delicious it doesn’t matter.

Here is an attached photo for evidence:

Hrm. .. This is a very hard question. I’d probably say: hey, it’s gonna be a long journey. You’re not gonna get where you want to get for quite a while, but enjoy the time and the friends you have on that climb up, because I’d bet you’ll look back at the end of it all and wish you savored it a bit more in the moment.

As for with video games: find the thing that pulls you into a game, the one specific aspect, and pull back. That’s where you’ll find the part you really, really remember. That’s the part that’s gonna stick with you. Also probably finish Persona 4 Golden in 2012 so you can actually give it GOTY.

Probably a wand? Like, it’s cheesy and cheap, but yeah man, I wish I had a dope wand.

But really, it would either come down to the invisibility cloak, not for sneaking, but for the sheer cool factor, or a magic broomstick. Maybe with the latter I could finally conquer my fear of heights. Man the way Harry describes flying in those books makes me feel like I am missing something in life.

God no. I mean, I wanted it too. I really had big dreams. But when those initial download numbers came in, I knew it wouldn’t happen. I mean it was yours and years and years before it really got to what it is now. Like, it wasn’t until four-ish years in that it really hit its stride, I think. But there was a lot of fun experimenting in the middle there. And I learned a lot about myself, and what I like and don’t like.

There was a time where I genuinely thought no one would ever listen or care about what I think in games. And I kind of still feel that way. But I still do it every week. It’s just too much fun.

Absolutely. It’s totally something I struggle with to this day. I struggled with it a lot in 2016. When I really started getting into the Easy Allies specifically, they really taught me that you can be critical and still carry that genuine hype with you as well. That you can respect others opinions and still carry that genuine jazz with you everywhere you go. 

I was much more in the GiantBomb camp before then, which is the more cynical camp, which is no unfair criticism of them, I think there still needs to be that, and I think I still hit those heights myself, but I have also found a much better balance of love/hype and cynical/critical nature within myself. I play both sides, and I get some rightful shit for not taking a hard stance on things. The truth is, I do have hard stances on things, but I keep them either to myself or for the people I value enough to share them with, and I think that’s where I’m comfortable with right now. Obviously those harder opinions come out in my writings and videos, but in podcast or more casual form, I’ve found its much more fun to play fast and loose and remember to have a good time, than to get caught up in the critical zeitgeist. 

So Finding Teddy 2 is one you should try. It’s got a different name on PS4, it’s The Teddy Chronicles I believe, but it’s a cool Zelda 2-like game that I definitely recommend. You should still play Resogun because Resogun is STILL great. Nex Machina is super rad, even if I haven’t played the full release version yet. Keep an eye out for Matterfall too, I hear that’s real solid from one Trevor Starkey.

And hey: don’t sleep on Until Dawn. It’s really great. I’d throw out some JRPGs there too, try Tales of Berseria or Kingdom Hearts. No time like the present, ya feel me?

Spider-Man is right there at the top. Bummed I won’t be able to see it this coming weekend, but I’m sure I’ll catch it next week. Outside of that, Planet of the Apes and that’s it? I’m not super in tune with the movies coming out, but holy crow am I stoked for Thor 3. Fuck. Yes. Chris. Hemsworth.

All the love dude. I’d say this: you’re still the one on the path, and you’re the one doing the work. Keep killing it Quin.

Um, one, you gave it to Mr. Pokorny in the first place. Plus I forgot that he had it when we split up at the airport. I would still have it if it wasn’t for that.

Regardless, I think Roger is the one who owes you a spinner, not me my dude.

Yes, keep bringing up this horribly embarrassing story. I haven’t, I should issue a formal apology to the Alamo Drafthouse.

Thank you dude, I’m incredibly grateful for the years you’ve been out there with me Trevor. 

I hadn’t even heard of Baby Driver until this week, so no I haven’t seen it. It’s the same group that did Shaun of the Dead right? That’s a promising collective. Maybe I’ll check it out.

Currently my plans are to work all day. Get that sweet-sweet Time and a Half.

So one, I know you definitely haven’t been on the IP train since launch, but I appreciate the sentiment. Two, all of the episodes last four hours, so TRICK QUESTION! HAH HA! GOT YOU!

But really I can’t pick a favorite episode. There are definitely standouts: having Greg Miller on, having Dennis Dyack on, interviewing John Romero, even though I kind of embarrassed myself there. Episode 200 is a personal favorite because we all kind of talk about where we want to go in the future, and we have a very real intimate moment there toward the end. It’s rad.

There have been too many great moments. Also, I usually forget most of what just happened as soon as I publish the episode live.

So that’s it. No checklist this week because I’ve mostly locked myself up in my room alone this week in a pretty deep low of depression. But I’m doing okay now, I’m out there trying to watch stuff now.

Thank you all for reading, as always, I can’t say thank you enough. Seven years of podcasting is totally crazy and I’m completely floored by the amount of support we’ve gained at IP recently. I love all you listeners so much. You make this thing I’d probably do anyway 10 times as fun, and I very much appreciate you for it.

But that’s all I’ve got. I’ve been up for like, 27 hours or something, so i’m probably gonna go play Overwatch for another six. But hey, while you’re out there in the ether, do me a favor?

Keep it real.

[lindyhunt]

The Best Things FASHION Editors Bought, Read and Watched in 2018

Come December, there’s nothing quite like looking back at a year gone by and reflecting on the various things that brought us joy. Here, FASHION editors share the favourite things they bought, read and watched in 2018.

Noreen Flanagan, Editor-in-Chief

The Best Thing I Bought This Year A pair of “Spectator-ish” two-toned shoes at a little shop I like to go to in Milan, called Marco. These shoes attract more attention than a golden retriever puppy when I’m out on the street. They even charmed Manfred Mugler when I interviewed him in Montreal in the fall for an upcoming feature. I walked in the room and he got up and started tap dancing in front of me after declaring he loved my shoes.

The Best Thing I Watched This Year I had to chance to catch Network on Broadway starring Bryan Cranston and former FASHION cover star Tatiana Maslany. In this age of #fakenews who doesn’t love to be in a theatre and be asked to yell out: “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!”

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All the news that's fit to print 📰 #NetworkBway

A post shared by NETWORK Broadway (@networkbway) on Dec 16, 2018 at 7:52am PST

The Best Thing I Read This Year I just finished reading Educated by Tara Westover. Like The Glass Castle—another fave—this memoir is a compelling and ultimately inspiring story about survival and re-invention. But more than that, it’s a testament to the power of knowledge and the importance of seeking out the truth.

Benjamin Reyes, Video Editor

The best thing I bought this year It’s hard to tell if I’ve become complacent or if Netflix’s good movie selection is getting more diminutive every year, but I was looking for a change. That’s when I discovered (a.k.a was Facebook-ad-targeted by…) a new streaming service called Mubi, which is a catalog of 30 foreign/indie/ciritically-acclaimed films constantly on rotation. While not every film is a hit, it’s been a great way to open myself up to new cinematic experiences.

The best thing I watched this year I’m a sucker for coming-of-age films so Jonah Hill’s directorial debut, Mid90s, definitely makes my list this year. In the counter-nostalgic vein of The 400 Blows or Dazed and Confused, it focuses less on story and more on causality, while giving precedence to world-building and atmosphere.

The best thing I read this year National Geographic’s “Planet or Plastic?” issue was one of the most impactful things I’ve read concerning our plastic consumption. The scientific articles are accompanied by hauntingly beautiful photographs, including collages made from plastics found in dead animals.

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Hey! I'm @zooeydeschanel and on behalf of @farmproject, I'll be guest curating the @natgeo Instagram feed throughout the day to help launch #PlanetorPlastic—National Geographic’s multiyear effort to raise awareness about the global plastic waste that gets into the world’s oceans. Learn what you can do to reduce your own single-use plastics and take your pledge at natgeo.com/plasticpledge (link in bio). Doing so will not only benefit the thousands of marine animals that become entangled in or suffocated by plastics each year but will also contribute to the overall health of the planet’s marine ecosystems and all who rely upon them. Check the feed throughout the day to see more of the amazing pictures I’m posting.

A post shared by National Geographic (@natgeo) on May 17, 2018 at 5:00am PDT

Pahull Bains, Associate Editor

The Best Thing I Bought This Year I’d been wanting to add a Céline handbag to my collection for ages but it was only this year, after it was announced that the brand’s feminist creative director, Phoebe Philo, would be replaced by Hedi Slimane, that I decided to dip into my savings and nab a Philo-era bag for myself. I went with the classic ‘Belt’ bag in grey, and every time I swing it over my shoulder I feel like I’m carrying a piece of fashion history with me.

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CÉLINE & 24 SÈVRES // Belt bag • Delivery sneakers • Belted dress • link in bio

A post shared by 24 Sèvres • 24sevres.com (@24sevres) on Mar 15, 2018 at 9:15am PDT

The Best Thing I Watched This Year It’s a two-way tie for me between the independent film Mouthpiece and Nanette, a comedy special on Netflix.

Every year at TIFF, I watch dozens and dozens of films, up to five in a single day. Which means, by the end of the 10-day festival, it’s hard to keep track of which ones I loved or enjoyed the most. Despite that, there are always a few that stand out, usually the ones that deeply moved or intrigued me. This year, one of those films was Mouthpiece. Based on a play by two Toronto female playwrights, and directed by legendary Canadian filmmaker Patricia Rozema, the film focuses on a young woman in the days following the death of her mother, as she grapples with the fresh wounds of grief and also begins to reflect on the complex lineage of feminism she inherited from her mother. It’s a powerful, thought-provoking and deeply emotional film that stays with you long after you walk out of the theatre.

I am very late on the Nanette train, because this comedy special by Hannah Gadsby arrived at Netflix over the summer to massive acclaim and I only watched it, like, last week. After months of every single person in my social circle, not to mention all the culture critics I follow online, raving about it, I flicked it on thinking it would never live up to my expectations. But WOAH. By the end of Gadsby’s one-hour set, which was filmed live at the Sydney Opera House last year, I was in tears. Unlike any comedy set I’ve watched before—heck, unlike anything I’ve watched before—Nanette is a searing indictment of toxic masculinity, homophobia, and the self-deprecating practice of stand-up comedy itself. It’s funny, it’s clever, but it’s also heartbreaking in its honesty, and I genuinely think you will walk away a better human being for having watched it.

The Best Thing I Read This Year This year has been quite the rollercoaster for women. The Harvey Weinstein exposé last October set off a chain reaction, ushering us into a new year and a whole new world. A world in which women were DONE—done playing nice, done staying quiet, done following the rules of a misogynist system. Yep, women were angry. And Rebecca Traister, writer-at-large for New York magazine, captured the angry, righteous energy of the zeitgeist and distilled into a potent book. Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women’s Anger traces not just how women’s anger is ridiculed—because it means we’re overemotional, unstable, and oh you know, hysterical—but also the ways it has shaped history, powered revolutions, incited change. The book’s release was fortuitous—a week after the Kavanaugh hearings, when women’s anger had reached boiling point—but its message is poignant and timeless.

Greg Hudson, Features Editor

The Best Thing I Bought This Year I know I spent my money on stuff other than rent, food, and energy drinks. And yet, I’m having some trouble coming up with one purchase that could rule all of my other purchases. I guess I’ll mention the Rolex Submariner I bought this fall. I got it for a steal of a deal, too. Only $60, when a Submariner usually goes for about $12,000. You just need to know where to shop. Like for instance, a random junk shop on Canal Street in New York City. And so long as you aren’t that familiar with real Rolexes, this one looks pretty good! (It feels like it’s made out of tin though.)

The Best Thing I Watched This Year You know when you hear a song, and you fall hard and fast, and so you listen to it on repeat for a week, until you’ve memorized every lyric and internalized every chord progression? That’s how I am when I find a TV show or movie that speaks to me. This year, I can’t count how many times I re-watched The Good Place and John Mulaney’s Kid Gorgeous stand up special on Netflix. It’s a little annoying, even to myself, that I can’t talk for more than three sentences without quoting one or both. But at least the quotes are forking hilarious.

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Hi, we're broken! #TheGoodPlace

A post shared by The Good Place (@nbcthegoodplace) on Nov 5, 2018 at 8:00am PST

The Best thing I Read This Year

As soon as I was done reading Motherhood by Sheila Heti, I wanted each of my sisters to read it. Heti’s novel (of sorts) is like having a conversation with a funny, brilliant thinker about the pressures women face and put on themselves. So naturally, I wanted to know what my four funny, brilliant sisters thought of it. Also, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Hungover: The Morning After and One Man’s Quest for a Cure by Shaughnessy Bishop-Stall. Yes, he’s a friend. But as a friend I saw how challenging that book was to write, and I want everyone to see how sharp, wise, well-researched and fun the end product is.

Meghan McKenna, Associate Editor

The Best Thing I Bought This Year Nespresso pods. After 22 years of avoiding mocha chip ice-cream, tiramisu and Tim Horton’s Iced Caps, I — once a proud non-coffee drinker — was gifted a very fancy Nespresso machine. At the beginning of 2018, it was collecting dust on my counter top. In early spring, I decided on a whim to give double espressos a try. My reaction: WOW, why didn’t anyone tell me what I was missing out on?! I HAVE SO MUCH ENERGY NOW!!! And I’ve been starting my days with one ever since.

The Best Thing I Watched This Year I wanted to choose A Star is Born, but my colleagues told me that was too predictable. So then, I thought I’d choose another song-filled performance that moved me to uncontrollable tears in 2018: the Broadway musical Come From Away. But technically, that came out in 2016, so it doesn’t work either. So in this same spirit, I’m going with Mary Poppins Returns. I haven’t seen it yet, but I already know it’s going to be my favourite feel-good film of the year.

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You’re on the brink of an adventure! #MaryPoppinsReturns is now playing in theatres.

A post shared by Mary Poppins Returns (@marypoppinsreturns) on Dec 20, 2018 at 9:48am PST

The Best Thing I Read This Year We Are Never Meeting In Real Life by Samantha Irby. It’s a collection of essays, which means it is the kind of book I could keep in a miscellaneous tote bag and come back to various points throughout the year. The first essay is a faux application to be on The Bachelor, and in another, she recounts a romantic road trip to Nashville where she scatters her estranged father’s ashes. All of this to say, Irby is wildly funny and wholly unabashed, and for these reasons, you should already be following her across social platforms at @bitchesgottaeat and @wordscience.

Lesa Hannah, Beauty Director

The Best Thing I Bought This Year Thinx period underwear and a Keepcup for coffee to go. Both enabled me to put less garbage out into the world.

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Who loves Hi-Waist? 🤩 With two tampons worth of periof-proof protection plus shmexy mesh, there's never been a better time to Netflix and chill on your period 💆‍♀️

A post shared by THINX (@shethinx) on Dec 10, 2018 at 5:50am PST

The Best Thing I Watched This Year A Quiet Place: I’m not a horror movie watcher per se, but I randomly chose this on a flight and was curled in a ball from the moment it started. I didn’t finish it by the time the flight ended, so as soon as I checked into my hotel, I downloaded it because I HAD to finish.

RBG: The inspiring, ass-kicking life story of Ruth Bader Ginsberg should be required viewing for all. If you don’t walk out of this wanting to assume plank position then something is wrong with you.

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Attention #RBG fans! #RBGMovie is now available on iTunes! Link in bio.

A post shared by RBG (@rbgmovie) on Aug 3, 2018 at 8:18am PDT

The Assassination of Gianni Versace: Though I had to stomach Ricky Martin and Penelope Cruz’s weak performances, Darren Criss had me riveted as serial killer and scam artist Andrew Cunanan. Bonus points for the scene of him dancing to Devo’s “Whip It” in a red leather jumpsuit at an ’80s house party.

GLOW: Aside from the weird way it handled the AIDS plotline, season 2 was just as hilarious as the first. The inclusion of a Harvey Weinstein-esque incident was a reminder that this shit has been going on forever and thankfully Marc Maron’s Sam does the right thing and stands up for his gorgeous lady of wrestling. Also Annabella Sciorra’s ’80s look was nothing short of glorious.

The Handmaid’s Tale: Another show that was so consistently gut wrenching, it kept me curled in a ball. Elisabeth Moss was an absolute baller this season. And the scene where Moira successfully crosses the border and wipes away the dust on a license plate to have it reveal “Ontario” never made me more proud to be Canadian.

***Honourable mention With astoundingly terrible poofy hair and a smattering of rosacea on his cheeks, Matt Damon’s portrayal of Brett Kavanaugh during his testimony in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee on Saturday Night Live was the balm I needed after an emotionally exhausting two weeks. It was an amazing send up of Kavanaugh’s OTT white male privilege outrage slash absurdly choked up description of his beloved calendars.

[giancarlonicoli]

As they say in Hollywood, it took brothers Mark and Jay Duplass a decade working in the film industry to become an overnight success.

"My brother and I struggled for 10 years making bad pieces of art until we hit that first $3 movie that got into Sundance [Film Festival]," Mark Duplass tells CNBC Make It.

That seven-minute short film, "This is John," shows a man coming home and struggling to record the perfect voicemail message. It's remarkably painful to watch. Mark is the sole actor in the film, and his brother, Jay, is the director. Released in 2003, the film cost the brothers $3 (for the mini digital videotape on which it was shot) to produce.

Also, an example of the $3 short film here. This was our 1st one at Sundance:

Yet it launched the careers of the Duplass brothers, who have gone on to direct 10 feature films, create (write, produce and direct — in various combinations) multiple television shows and produce more than 40 movies, as well as act, Mark tells CNBC Make It.

"This is John" "was the worst-looking and worst-sounding film ever to play at the festival," Mark said in a 2012 piece he penned for Newsweek. "There was a dead pixel in the middle of it. It looked like a home movie, but it won pretty much all the awards that year, and it signed us to our big [talent] agencies and got us our first major script deal."

      Photo by Jason LaVeris Jay and Mark Duplass

A few highlights of the Duplass brothers' career since then: Younger brother Mark, 41, has appeared in "The Mindy Project" (on Fox and then Hulu), and older brother Jay, 45, was on the Amazon Prime show "Transparent." The HBO series "Togetherness," which the brothers co-directed and in which Mark starred, ran for two seasons before being cancelled in 2016. The brothers wrote comedy feature film "Jeff, Who Lives at Home," which was released in 2012 by Paramount Vantage (a now defunct division of Paramount). And in February, Netflix announced it had acquired worldwide rights to four upcoming movies from the Duplass brothers.

JEFF, WHO LIVES AT HOME is one of the things I'm most proud that @jayduplass & I made together. And I hear it's streaming on Amazon @PrimeVideo for free if you wanna check it out.

If "This is John" excelling at Sundance was an inflection point in the Duplasses' careers, it followed a less auspicious milestone — the brothers had just badly fumbled what they thought was their best shot at producing a feature film.

"The low point for me and Jay was very clear," Mark tells CNBC Make It. The brothers were in their 20s, living in Austin, Texas, at the time, he says. "We were struggling as artists, running an editing business that was making a little bit of money, but not too much — working as freelance editors to keep ourselves afloat, as well." The video editing business, which the Duplass brothers had started in 1996, charged $5 an hour to cut movies, according to a 2015 Wired profile.

transparent tweet

Then, the brothers got a decently large commission to shoot a documentary for a local start-up. They hired a director of photography and a camera operator, according to Wired, and set to work on the film "Vince Del Rio."

"We took $70,000 — everything we had made — and we put it into making a feature film," Mark tells CNBC Make It. "And it was terrible. It was unsalvageable.

"And so that was really the hardest thing," Mark says. "Because it's hard enough thinking, 'I can't get the money to make my movie,' but then thinking, 'I got the money to make my movie, and I'm not good enough' was really bad."

"Vince Del Rio" was about the struggles of a runner from South Texas. "In hindsight, it was a rip-off of Rocky," Mark wrote in Newsweek.

The problem, the brothers determined, was that they were not being themselves. "One day as we were sitting on our dilapidated couch, watching 'Fargo,' and wondering why we couldn’t be as cool as the Coen brothers," Mark wrote in Newsweek, referring to the Oscar-winning 1997 film by Joel and Ethan Coen, "[we] realized something — we were trying to be like other filmmakers. We were completely denying our own instincts. And we realized we’re actually kind of funny people at parties and in conversations. Why did we try to make an overly serious sports movie that we knew nothing about?"

So the Duplass brothers went back to their roots. They dropped the highly produced and expensive production style they had spent their savings on with "Vince Del Rio" and returned to a comfortable do-it-yourself aesthetic they had developed making movies about everyday topics growing up in the New Orleans suburbs in the 1980s. The result was Sundance darling "This is John."

It's #NationalSiblingDay - backyard party-time!

Stud. Muffins. #TBT

"We broke down our whole system of filmmaking. We picked up our parents' video camera, and Jay held it, and I acted in it, like we did when we were 8 and 12 years old," Mark tells CNBC Make It. "And we filmed a 20-minute take of the story of a guy trying to perfect the personal greeting of his answering machine and having a nervous breakdown, which was funny and tragic and all the things from our life. And it cost $3. And that was our first movie that got to Sundance."

The agony of a man trying repeatedly to record a greeting on his voicemail in "This is John" was similar to frustration the Duplass brothers were feeling when they made the short film, Mark says. "Here we were with our lives in hilarious desperation, and there was going to be no lighting crew, no sound guy, no nothing. It’s going to look and sound like shit, but we were going to make a movie," Mark wrote in Newsweek.

The experience taught the Duplass brothers that authenticity is more important than fancy gear. "We still make movies with that ethic: You need to learn who you are. And the most important thing in the whole world is your story and your performance. You can spend a ton of money, and what you will end up with if you’re not careful is an extremely well-polished turd," Mark wrote in Newsweek.

And that success came just in time — otherwise the brothers might have given up on filmmaking.

"I think at that low point, we were very close to quitting," Mark tells CNBC Make It. "And I think if we hadn't had success quite soon after — with that $3 short film going to Sundance, getting an agent, and from there we were just on the run — I think it is a good chance that we might have quit or done something else, gone back to graduate school and tried to figure out how to teach or something like that."

To this day, Duplass Brothers Productions, the Los Angeles-based production company the Duplasses founded, has created a niche of producing, writing, directing and acting with a very specific "quirky and empathetic approach to storytelling," as it is described in the 2018 release from Netflix announcing their four-movie partnership. It's earned them a reputation as pioneers of "mumblecore," a kind of modern, low-budget film production that revolves around dialogue (as opposed to plot) and is centered on the relationships of people in their 20s and 30s.

I love this guy's head.

Duplass Brothers Productions declined to share specific revenues with CNBC Make It. But big box office isn't the Duplass brothers' brand of success. (For context, the first movie the brothers produced with a studio — "Cyrus" by Fox Searchlight in 2010 — cost $7 million to make and brought in $7.4 million in ticket sales, according to Wired. By comparison, "The Twilight Saga: Eclipse," released the same year, had a $68 million budget and grossed over $300 million domestically, according to Box Office Mojo.) The Duplasses even turned down an offer from Marvel Studios, the cinematic superhero giant that is home to the likes of "Iron Man" and "Avengers: Infinity War."

"Yes. There was a moment where Marvel was interested in us taking on one of their properties. It would have been a $150 to $180 million budget and about three years of our lives," Mark told New York Magazine's Vulture in March. "To be a little Sundance filmmaker tapped by Marvel felt incredible. But the amount of stuff we could make over those three years, the relationships we could forge with younger filmmakers..."

And movies are no longer the Duplass brothers' only source of income. In 2017, the brothers launched an advertising company, Donut, which makes branded content and commercials for both television and online for the likes of Amazon, Lyft, Levi's and Snapchat, a representative for the Duplass brothers tells CNBC Make It. They also just released a book, "Like Brothers," in May.

ok it's official, you can buy our book now (please

Brands turn to the Duplass brothers for the same aesthetic that has become their trademark in producing films and television shows. “Mark and Jay capture that human condition that we can all relate to. They capture how messy life really is. A lot of other people just try to polish and perfect it and water it down,” Sean Ohlenkamp, the creative director for Amazon’s in-house creative agency D1, told Fast Company.

The business model for how the brothers produce ads is the same as it is for films.

"Our model is, nobody knows anything. So what you need to do is make a lot of things cheaply upfront, and be able to chase that creative. So what we’re offering a lot of people is, hey, rather than spending X on one spot, let’s spend X on five or six smaller versions, and then we’ll start testing them and seeing what works," Mark told Fast Company. “That’s what our Netflix model was based on, honestly ... We’re not gonna make you one movie — we’re gonna make you four little ones. And we’ll let the zeitgeist decide what blows up. And that humility has helped us as creators and seems to be lacking almost everywhere, honestly.”

New fun! RT @THR: .@TheMindyProject's @FortuneFunny stars in new @Lyft ad campaign

Success is something the Duplass brothers have built gradually and steadily. And that's a strategy Mark Duplass recommends to anyone looking to launch their own innovative career.

"I would say if you have a dream — and whether that is you want to be some sort of artist or you want to start a start-up or a business, anything that very much feels like it's uniquely yours and you may not be able to get traction going through traditional channels — the way to do it is to build it brick by brick on your own in microsteps," Mark tells CNBC Make It. "For us, in the filmmaking world, that meant our first $3 movie that went to Sundance, then we made a $100 short film out of that ['Scrapple,' 2004]. From there, we made a $10,000 feature ['Puffy Chair,' 2005] from borrowed money. Then we made a $50,000 feature ['Baghead,' 2008] that had like a genre element to it."

Building your career in microsteps has the benefit of giving you a sense of independence, says Mark. "You're always in control and self-empowered," he tells CNBC Make It.

And when you are operating from a place of being in control, you will make authentic decisions.

"When it does come time for someone to offer you either money or to offer to purchase your company, you're in the perfect position to know that, 'Well, I have full autonomy. And I can do this without your money or your purchase.' And when you send that signal to people it makes them even want you more," Mark says. "So then you're in the lovely position of a) I can continue to do this thing independently or b) I could bring in this private equity investor, but I don't need them. And when they sense that, that's when you really sort of have the power to continue doing what you really want to do."

Duplass Brothers Productions company photo 1984

Mark Duplass says the other benefit is that anyone can use this strategy, even those who are, like the Duplass Brothers were decades ago, small fish in a big pond.

"The reason I recommend this sort of microbrick campaign of just building it one step by one step is that it's the only thing I know how to do. And I find that most people who are looking for advice were in the same position that I was in — from nowhere, no connections, didn't feel particularly intelligent, well spoken, or good looking, just swimming around in the land of the B-minus with no connections and no one to help me. That's where this advice really plays," Mark tells CNBC Make It.

"If you're graduating top of your class from [University of Southern California] film school and your father's last name is Spielberg, you don't really need to listen to me, but if you're not — and I suspect most of you aren't — I find that self-reliance really is the key."

— Video by Andrea Kramar

[kyukurator-blog]

HOORAY FOR THE RED, WHITE AND BRITISH

The most typically American movie opening this Fourth of July weekend is Baby Driver, made by a quintessentially British auteur — Edgar Wright, of Shaun of the Dead fame. 

It’s no secret that we’re anglophiles here at The Thread (even though one of us was born in Ireland). And when we see American culture reflected back in a British mirror – well, sometimes it seems like those English directors love America better than we love ourselves. 

This week — definitive American movies that were made by UK directors. 

  BABY DRIVER (2017)

Edgar Wright had barely finished his genre-steeped, culty, and ultra-British zombie comedy Shaun of the Dead (2004) when Universal offered him a big-budget job directing comic book adaptation Scott Pilgrim vs The World(2009).

Wright enhanced his homeland cred by going back repeatedly to finish his UK-set “Three Flavors Cornetto Trilogy” (Shaun, Hot Fuzz (2007), The World’s End(2013).   But he was also dating Anna Kendrick and co-writing The Adventures of Tin-Tin and Ant-Man, anchoring him firmly in LA

Baby Driver is a hybrid heist movie/romance, softer-edged than Tarantino but equally soundtrack-driven and film-buff referential.

Baby-faced Ansel Elgort (The Fault In Our Stars) plays a moody savant getaway driver whose tortured genius is fueled by an iPod for each mood and occasion.  He owes his soul (for at least one last job) to boss Kevin Spacey.  But things are complicated by a whack-job thug (Jamie Foxx) and a waitress named Debra (Lily James) who reminds him of his mom.

P.S. – if you happen to be in NYC this week, Edgar Wright has curated a series of Heist Films at BAMcinématek

    NORTH BY NORTHWEST (1959)

By the time he made North By Northwest, Alfred Hitchcock was an American citizen, a huge TV celebrity, and had been making movies longer in Hollywood than in England.

Hitchcock loved iconic settings; Cary Grant’s smug but charming ad man Roger O. Thornhill flees from The Plaza to the UN to Mount Rushmore – stopping along the way at a deserted, treeless Midwestern landscape.

Thornhill is being hunted by foreign agents who mistake him for a spy – who in the end doesn’t even exist.  The cool Hitchcockian blonde is Eva Marie Saint, who despite working for the enemy ends up in Thornhill’s arms.

This just may be our favorite Hitchcock film, but we’re hard pressed to say why.  Maybe the Americana, maybe the simplicity.  Maybe it’s just that in his mid-50s he was at the height of his craftsmanship.

And on a run…the film before this was Vertigo (1958), and the next would be Psycho (1960), which Hitchcock made on a TV budget and went on to be a global blockbuster, making him extremely wealthy and allowing him to eventually own a third of MCA Universal, the studio he worked for.

    THELMA AND LOUISE (1991)

 Even after he had become passionately attached to Callie Khouri’s script, Ridley Scott was not his own first choice to direct Thelma and Louise.  Scott had years of highest-end commercials under his belt, and was famous for his darkly stylish sci-fi flicks –blockbuster creature shock-fest Alien (shot in London), and the considerably less-successful Blade Runner (L.A.).  He was also seen as pretty macho — for a Brit anyway.

Eventually he realized that he was so invested in the project that he had to direct it himself.   And when he did, the result was yet another  cinematic landmark.  But rather than being set in a shadowy future, it was set the sun-drenched cutting edge of the present.  The result was a feminist road moviestatement that redefined a classic American genre, redefined the kind of characters that women could play, and took Scott’s career new heights.

    AMERICAN BEAUTY (1999)

 Sam Mendes is really a theater director.  But a theater director who won an Oscar for his first film (American Beauty) and is one of two directors ever to have done two James Bond films.  Go figure.

Alan Ball wrote American Beauty as a spec script to get himself out of the sitcom business.  He never thought it would get made, but it did, and empowered him to become the moving force behind HBO series like Six Feet Under and True Blood.

At a young age Mendes was a founder of London’s Donmar Warehouse theater; after his Broadway success with Cabaret (Alan Cumming version) he took a trip to Hollywood, was offered the chance to direct, and pulled American Beauty out of a pile on an agent’s desk.

Even though it’s not a pure genre piece, American Beauty taps a well-mined vein in American film: the struggle to find yourself when you’re lost in the existential desert of the suburban American Dream.

  FEAR AND LOATHING IN LOS VEGAS (1998)

 Both Scorsese and Oliver Stone tried and failed, but Terry Gilliam was born to make this movie.  And, like the two leads — Johnny Depp and Benecio del Toro — you can’t imagine anyone else pulling off Hunter Thompson’s this drug-fueled, gonzo tour de frenzy.

For us, this movie captures the Vegas zeitgeist in a way that no other film has: utter chaotic decadence.  Even though it relates more closely to real life than any of Gilliam’s other movies, the result is less structured and tenuously tethered to reality.

Fear and Loathing was widely panned upon release, but with every year that goes by it becomes more beloved.  Beloved may be a weird word to use about a movie this debauched; but it’s clear from fan reviews that for those who have been there – in body or in spirit — it’s an irreplaceable document of a certain state of mind.  The film’s even gotten a Criterion Collection release, which is akin to being accepted into the Library of Congress – but more exclusive.

    THE GRIFTERS (1990)

Like songs, some movies mark a very particular moment in time.  My Beautiful Laundrette is one of those movies.  For us it marked the first moment when a broader definition of racial and sexual identity became an ordinary part of cultural discourse — for the first time not as some special case, but just as everyday facts of life, like hair color or eye color.

So for some strange reason we’ve always been happy that Stephen Frears found Hollywood a nice place to visit but never really came to live there.

The word “grifter” is a mashup of “grafter” and “drifter”, American circus slang for the smalltime con artists who followed circuses in the early 20th century.  It’s a person who lives by being smarter and more charming than their marks – and yet is temperamentally unable to think any bigger than one move ahead.

It’s an amazing, bright, bleak movie, our most favorite of many favorite Anjelica Huston performances, and with John Cusack (they do look alike, don’t they?) and Annette Bening, a near perfect three-hander.

  HOORAY FOR THE RED, WHITE AND BRITISH was originally published on FollowTheThread

[myfoxny]

Super Bowl ads, politics and current affairs

Celebrities, sap, and stunts are typical fodder for Super Bowl ads, but in this year's charged current climate, will they also include politics? One ad is already getting attention for its political undertones. Budweiser's "Born the Hard Way" spot tells the story of company founder Adolphus Busch's journey from Germany to the United States. As Busch is welcomed to America, someone shouts the line, "You're not wanted here!" The ad was shot months ago but debuts at a time when debate over immigration has reached a boiling point. Other ads, like a Kia spot with actress Melissa McCarthy, promoting its eco-friendly SUV is intended to be funny, but also touches on environmental issues. It in, McCarthy is seen trying to save the whales, trees and melting ice caps. A voice says at the end, "It's hard to be an eco warrior but it's easy to drive like one." "I think you'll see a little bit of politics, but very gentle," says James Cooper, editorial director for AdWeek. "A lot of it wasn't really intended to be a political statement, it just sort of tapped into a zeitgeist around immigration or the environment that just happened to be in the public dialogue." Cooper says brands don't want to take a gamble on a $5 million ad spot and risk alienating viewers. "The country is pretty evenly divided right now, so you're talking about 60 million people not necessarily liking your spot so it can be very dangerous," Cooper says. One ad by Pittsburgh-based company 84 Lumber has already been rejected by Fox for being too controversial. It reportedly featured images of immigrants at a border wall. The company will now air a different spot during a game and post the original ad online instead. Even brands that traditionally court controversy are playing it safe. Internet company GoDaddy told the Wall Street Journal: "We didn't want to add to what is an already politically-charged, divisive climate." That's just fine with football fans we spoke to. "There's a time and place for everything and that's our getaway, so let's just leave politics out," said Duke Long of Wisconsin. Lisa Arpaia of New Jersey agreed. "Let's leave something sacred, please, enough is enough," she said. http://dlvr.it/NGM7rh

[jasonseligson]

TV Redux: Girl Meets World, Fuller House, and 90s Nostalgia

It was Don Draper, beloved TV anti-hero, who famously taught us that nostalgia means “the pain of an old wound.” In one of the most memorable scenes in Mad Men,Draper shows us exactly why he’s a master advertising man: he knows just how to manipulate people, to speak to something deep inside them. “It’s a twinge in your heart,” he says, “far more powerful than memory alone.” Aside from being a TV moment for the ages, this scene gets at something profound—about the human condition and how we process stories. That ‘twinge’ that Don talks about provokes something in us, and, when it comes to television, it’s what makes nostalgia-driven storytelling so dicey.

There’s a fine line between feeling emotionally moved (like something that reminds us of our past) and feeling manipulated. We know it when we feel it. But with the recent onslaught of 90s TV revivals, this line is becoming blurred. I think it’s possible, albeit rare, for a TV show to tap into our emotional centers without truly manipulating them. Truly well-crafted sequels, reboots, and revivals should be able to stand on their own feet first before “earning” their use of nostalgia. For the purposes of this article, I’m going to stick to discussing two modern-day sequels of 90s shows: Girl Meets World and Fuller House.

In its pilot, and certainly its early episodes, Girl Meets World relies pretty heavily on 90s nostalgia. My sister and I, die-hard TGIF acolytes that we were/are, have no problem with this. Like countless others, our love of Boy Meets World was what brought us to check out its sequel in the first place. Who wouldn’t want to see Corey and Topanga as parents, or learn what became of Shawn Hunter? These were all good things to get excited about, and valid reasons to tune in. Even in its second season, the callbacks have continued: past alumni have made guest appearances, and past jokes and story lines have been continued and referenced throughout.

Girl Meets World didn’t have to try hard to get its old fans on board; it could have taken the easy way out. This was a new show with new characters, which meant that it also had to cater to a new generation. From its inception, Girl has had to service two different audiences, but the way it has gone about doing so has been extremely smart.

The first order of business was to get the audience to invest in its younger characters in addition to its older ones. And after two seasons, I can’t emphasize enough how beautifully this show has evolved. Even watching the show as an adult, I care deeply about these new characters and have been moved by their stories thus far. Girl still makes plenty of references Boy, but it’s found its own identity as well. Simply put, this is not the Corey and Shawn show anymore, and while that may be a somewhat sad truth, it’s also what has made the show so interesting. Girl Meets World is committed to telling the story of Riley, Maya, and their friends, and creatively, the show has taken the time and invested in their relationships so that the show has moved beyond a simple and arbitrary extension of its predecessor. The show is distinctly different from the one that came before it in that it tells a coming-of-age story from a female perspective, but its heart and humor are one and the same. Pure nostalgia without purpose or story only gets you so far; the show seems to be aware of that, and Girl Meets World continues to strike a nice balance with each episode. In short, it’s earned both its nostalgia and its place as a television sequel.

Nostalgia is a potent feeling, but it doesn’t have to be a painful one. When handled well, like I would argue, Girl Meets World does, writers and performers can capture nostalgia and explore what it means in complex ways. They can reach back in time, to go back to Don’s pitch, accessing the things fans hold close to their heart. They can allow you to feel something without assaulting you with it. Unfortunately, nostalgia can also be used as a cheap tactic, and when this happens, it’s hard not to feel cynical about the things we once loved. Wound or no wound, the connection nostalgia catalyzes in us is so powerful because they are drawing on our own memories—creating an invisible line between who we were and who we are. Think of the shows you loved when you were growing up. You loved them, in part, because of what they meant to you at a certain point in your life. Like Don says, “this device isn’t a spaceship, it’s a time machine.”

Let me preface this next paragraph by saying I am not the world’s biggest Full House fan. I’ve seen probably every episode as a kid with my sister, and I enjoyed it—but it has never been one of my pop culture touchstones, and it doesn’t mean anywhere near as much as Boy Meets World. That said, I’m not all that surprised behind Full House’s revival. I suppose the simplest executive and creative explanation for Fuller House’s existence boiled down to a question of “why not?” And sure, I guess that’s reason enough to get any band back together. To that end, it would also be unfair of me not to consider that for some people, Full House was a seminal show and its return was the greatest thing to ever happen (I don’t know these people, but I’m certain they exist somewhere). But after watching the entire first season, I don’t think the show does enough to earn its nostalgia, nor do I think it’s particularly good.

Whereas Girl Meets World peppers its references to the original series (there are usually one or two per episode unless it involves some special guest star), Fuller House comes out with the nods, references, and “jokes,” which are mostly catch-phrases, right out of the gate. During the pilot’s first four minutes, my sister turned to me and said “it almost feels like a staged play.” That’s exactly what it felt like. Every main character got a round of applause which stalled the dialogue. And the moment when the entire cast breaks the fourth wall with a line about Michelle (Mary Kate & Ashley Olsen) not being there is painful to watch. And it’s not like the dialogue was so great to begin with. It doesn’t matter to the Fuller House writers that realistically, its now grown (and in some cases, really grown-up) characters probably wouldn’t still be saying the same things they said as teenagers. From the get-go, Fuller House throws everything it has at the viewer, in a desperate attempt to make you remember everything, and feel something. But all of it (mostly) just didn’t work for me. It felt like pure fan-service, which is another consequence of playing with the fire that is nostalgia. it’s a throw-everything-against-the-wall-and-see-what-sticks approach.

Girl Meets World is not perfect—and nor for that matter, is Boy. Both have their fair share of cheesy, didactic moments. But I’ve always admired (and will continue to defend) both shows for their extraordinary merits. Creator Michael Jacobs’ is committed to not talk to down to kids, and to tell stories that not only resonate, but reflect their experiences. In Season 2, Girl Meets World had some exceptional episodes tackling Asperger’s, death and grief, religion, and social class. Ultimately, I found myself not caring about any of the kids on Fuller House. The brighter moments really came in seeing D.J., Stephanie, and Kimmy back on screen as adults, and watching them interact together. The kids, while cute, felt like generic sitcom kids. And you really can’t say the same about the teenagers on Girl Meets World.

To be fair, Fuller House is consistent with the DNA of Full House, and I suppose, technically, that makes it a proper sequel. But ultimately, Girl Meets World does a far better job at both honoring the legacy of what came before, and crafting new stories for the next generation. There’s not too much investment in the new characters and the old ones (John Stamos, Bob Saget, etc.) are barely present. Girl Meets World has found new and surprising ways to bring back old faces, and give them dynamic character arcs. But then again, Boy Meets World was always the deeper show. So maybe comparing Boy Meets World and Full house is like comparing apples to…I don’t know, tomatoes? They’re both fruits, and they both sprouted in the same general cultural zeitgeist, but they really don’t taste all that much alike (especially, the longer the shows go on).

When we talk about nostalgia, even if we’re sharing a happy memory, usually there’s a sadness associated with it. In a storytelling sense, nostalgia is just as powerful. When we watch television, we sometimes spend years with characters: we watch them grow up, and we grow up ourselves along with them. A show doesn’t have to be big or go for 10 seasons to have this affect; it just has to mean something to someone. And I have to admit: if nostalgia is the active ingredient here, I do feel there’s a kind of magic in watching Fuller House’s opening credits. I don’t just remember my sister and I sitting in our house around the TV, watching the original Full House; I remember us being those ages. And so, seeing the actresses grow up before our eyes got to me (I’m only human!).

Fuller House might not be a great show; it might mean the world to someone else: and that’s okay! The TV world is bigger and wider than ever before, and if there’s a home for a breezy binge-watch trip down memory lane for us millennials, it’s Netflix. Perhaps, in its second season, Fuller House will strive for something new and different, or at least deeper, or maybe it doesn’t have to. But now having finished its second season, Girl Meets World has made me a true fan. I’m excited to see where the next Boy Meets World tie-in comes in, but I also can’t wait to see these characters go next. It’s no longer nostalgia; it’s just excitement. And I think that is the mark of a true sequel’s success.