#terrible real estate photos

[walrus-queen]

I wish Zillow allowed public comments on listings because some people really deserve to be cyberbullied

[elektroskopik]

@unteriors my partner and I have started looking for houses to buy and this image appeared in the roster for a condo/duplex that was in less than stellar shape. Enjoy!

[babychosen]

save a horse (ride a cowboy)

8pm, Friday. Red dress. Booth near the end of the bar, by the dart board.

She forgot how demanding the text felt, but it had only encouraged her to want to show up even more.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This little 1900 cottage in Lyndon, VT has so much charm and is so cute for only $142,900. 2bds, 1ba.

The front door opens directly into the adorable living room.

There's a side door that opens into the kitchen. Look at this nice little dining area.

How sweet is this kitchen?

What a little cottage kitchen.

The split photos they took of the bathroom are terrible.

The 2 bedrooms are upstairs.

By the look of all the beds up here, it seems that they've outgrown the house.

This room has what appears to be a trundle bed.

It's been awhile since we've seen one of these ridiculously confusing real estate dioramas. Well, this certainly makes the layout much clearer.

Cute little shed on the property.

Very neatly kept little house on a 0.80 Acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6554-Memorial-Dr-Lyndonville-VT-05851/227751539_zpid/?

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

hi! So I watched dp when I was younger and recently you a couple others have been all over my dash with fics from it. So i dipped my toes into some crossovers with my fandoms and now I really want more fics to read! Do you have any recs for me? I love eldritch danny and self indulgent op fics, but a good slice of life is warm an fuzzy too, so whatever your top 5 are, I want em!

aaaah most of what I read are fics I come across on tumblr that are hard to find again because of the jank search function (but you can try searching 'fic recs' on my blog and pray it works 😆) and I have a terrible habit of forgetting to bookmark fics on ao3 to find them again

so I don't have a lot to recommend but I can share the few I have saved! these are mostly quite silly fun ones

Smells Like Team Spirit

Summary:

Some mascots are great at pumping up a crowd. As Casper High's mascot, Danny has only one job: strike fear into the hearts of their opponents. This is the story of how Danny becomes the famed Mascot of Fear.

The Weird Little Shit

Summary:

A class discussion held by Wes about Danny’s weirdness was never not going to be an absolute cluster fuck

Take Me For A Ride, You Moron

Summary:

Abducting Danny is really never a good idea and it is a sure-fire way to get mocked.

as for warm and fluffy slice of life, I have a fic or two of my own you might like!

Even ghosts like cookies

Summary:

Buying and renting property in Amity Park is unbelievably cheap, cheap enough to convince an old lady with dreams of running her own bakery to pick up her life and move all the way to this strange little Illinois town.

Unfortunately for her, the real estate has no legal obligation to disclose that the entire town is, in fact, incredibly haunted.

Grabbing Smoke

Summary:

The longer a ghost is dead, the more of their lives they forget, in the same way that one forgets most of their childhood as they age

But where humans have photo albums and mementos to help remind them of things from their past, a ghost has nothing but the clothes on their back and the endless expanse of the Ghost Zone

So when Kitty visits the human realm, she can't help but feel the tickling of a distant memory at the back of her mind, somewhere, somehow, she knows she's seen Sam Manson's face before

if anyone else wants to throw in some recommendations for Anon please do!

[nancypullen]

Paris, Part Deux

We decided to take it easy on ourselves today and just pretend to be French. That meant lunch at a sidewalk cafe, shopping, and just strolling the streets around our sweet apartment. Lunch and shopping are two of my favorite things. When I say shopping, I mostly mean picking up some small treats for the people I love. Rue Cler always has what I need. Finely milled French soap, amazing honeys from my favorite honey store, and this delightful toy store where I found treasure for the grandgirl.

The Rabbits of Alice, and I certainly fell down the rabbit hole.

I picked up chestnut honey here...

This family honey business has hives all over France - if you want honey from bees that feed on lavender fields, or almond orchards, or cherry blossoms, or whatever, they've got it. I picked up some chestnut honey because it just sounded good. You can get lighter or stronger, so of course I picked the strongest.

On Rue Cler the cheese shop has 400 varieties of cheese. Four hundred! I can't even get a decent Gruyere in Denton. *sigh*

I was snapping photos as we walked, so forgive me. The fish monger, the veggies sellers, the bread bakers, the chocolatiers...everything you need for dinner is here. Even flowers for the table.

The aroma from this store - selling everything from roasted chickens to smoked pork loin made my mouth water.

That shop also sells roasted veggies to take away with your meat. You wouldn't dare walk past it hungry. Thank goodness we were full from lunch.

After making our purchases we dropped the packages at the apartment and continued down the street to just spend some time enjoying Paris.

There are always peaceful paths and parks to get away from the hustle and bustle.

And sometimes, when you look up...

there she is! I'm not sure people understand how enormous the Eiffel Tour is, here's a terrible shot I snapped when we were wayyy up on Montmartre.

So when you're on your way somewhere and you're hurrying across a street and see this between buildings, you have to stop and appreciate it.

I still think she's loveliest at night, but I'll enjoy it any time of day. We crossed the Seine, roamed around, stopped for a coffee, and after a bit more exploring we eventually decided to call it a day... because we've got to be up a bit earlier tomorrow to catch a train to Versailles! We were able to get tickets to the palace after all! I have mixed feelings about the Hall of Mirrors - I know it will be breathtaking, but I hope I don't have to see hundreds of myself reflected back at me. This is the point on vacation where I start looking a tad worse for the wear. We left on the 7th, my expiration date is coming up. Mickey snapped a photo of me shopping on Rue Cler this afternoon and I looked 90 years old. Or maybe that's just how I look now.

I guess it is what it is, if I have to be ugly I might as well be ugly in Paris! I'm going to close this blog and get some sleep. Maybe that will help. It was an absolutely beautiful day pretending to be Parisian, I highly recommend it. I like stopping at the windows of real estate offices and looking at the listings of apartments for sale or rent. We stand there and act very particular. We simply must have a balcony facing the Eiffel Tower, preferably near a good market street like Rue Cler, but also close enough to a metro station. We're in the 7th arrondissement right now, where Ina Garten has an apartment - maybe I should ring her bell and ask for advice.

We'd be besties, I'm sure.

Alright kids, I'm off to bed. Sending you love. Until tomorrow, stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

[theriverpointace]

you work at an antique shop?!? that's so cool whatttt

thanks! yeah, it's this little place downtown, a small business among like a dozen other small businesses. it's almost a family business lol, with the exception of me and the ladies who work at the other location across the street. i mostly just price inventory and keep some of the displays (jellies, candles, tea, quilts) neat, but sometimes i also get enlisted to help set up the displays! here's a display i set up (mostly) on my own :3

on the side of the street i work at, it's a combination antique stuff and newer home decor stuff, like the towels and apron in the photo, and it's sorted by different themes. at christmas we have like five different christmas themes set up. it's all christmas. but rn we have two christmas areas, in the back of the shop, and a half-dozen or so assorted other styles. rn we've got lavendery purply stuff in the front walkway and its so pretty. we've also got two or three consignment areas that are rented out, i think it's two boutiques and then my boss's mother's tea stuff.

then on the other side of the street, it's all consignment. there are, iirc, two women's boutiques, one area of like kids' stuff, one area of a ton of random stuff that's fun to peruse, and three different antique vendors. one of them always has super cool stuff that i want to get. like this crab sign:

one of them is really delicate like porcelain stuff, and i'm always scared to walk over there, let alone vacuum lmao. always terrified im gonna break smth if i like breathe wrong. and the number of stories my boss has told me about people breaking things and how much she emphasizes that its Not That Big A Deal, perhaps i should relax a bit about it. but i h a t e breaking things.

and the shop always has immaculate vibes. exquisite. everybody who comes in always has a compliment, usually smth like "it smells nice in here" or "you have such fascinating stuff!" i've also gotten a lot of "she's got you hard at work, huh" and "wow, christmas already" comments lol. once i came in to work and i had had a really hard morning so i was crying and she gave me a hug and i took like five minutes to gather myself to Do My Job Which I Am Paid For and within probably half an hour i was feeling so much better bc yeah, it's work, and sometimes im on my feet for four or five hours which sucks, and it's probably not a permanent job, but it's literally just such a nice place to be. maybe i'd rather be at the park or on the couch or with my friends or anywhere else sometimes, but as a job i'd never trade it for the world. in fact i have loose idle daydreams about "what if i stayed there through college. what if i worked there part-time and got a second part-time job and rented an apartment from my cousin who owns like a third of all the real estate downtown and wrote in my spare time and lived here forever." and ig i kinda don't want to do that but it wouldn't be a terrible life either.

anyways long answer but i love my job so much and i kinda never want to quit. i was worried i wouldn't be able to keep it thru the fall semester but i can so :D love it love it love it there

[alphaman99]

The REAL BLACK History added a new photo.

1d  ·

When Tina Turner left her first husband - who was also her boss, captor, and brutal tormentor - she snuck out of their Dallas hotel room with a single thought in her mind: "The way out is through the door."

From there she fled across the midnight freeway, semi-trucks careening past her, with 36 cents and a Mobil gas card in her pocket. As soon as she decided to walk out that door, she owned nothing else.

When she filed for divorce, she made an unusual request. She didn't want anything: not the song rights, not the cars, not the houses, not the money. All she wanted was the stage name he gave her - Tina - and her married name - Turner. This was the name by which the world had come to know her, and keeping it was her only chance to salvage her career.

Things could have gone a lot of ways from there. She could have labored in obscurity for decades, maybe making records on small labels to be prized by vinyl connoisseurs in Portland. She could have stayed in Vegas, where she first went to get her chops back up, and worked as a nostalgia act. And, of course, given what she had been through, she might have ... not made it.

What happened instead is that Tina Turner became the biggest global rock star of the 80s. I'm old enough to barely remember this, but if you aren't, it was like this: The Rolling Stones would headline a stadium one day, and the next day it would be Tina Turner. A middle-aged Black woman - she became a rock star at 42! - sitting atop the 1980s like it was her throne.

She managed this because of whatever rare stuff she was made of (this is a woman whose label gave her two weeks to record her solo debut, Private Dancer, which went five times platinum); because she decided to speak publicly about her abusive marriage and forge her own identity, and in doing so give hope and courage to countless women; and also because - in a perhaps unlikely twist for a girl from Nutbush, Tennessee - she had her practice of Soka Gakkai Nichiren Buddhism, to which she credited her survival. She remained devout until the end.

Tina's second marriage - to her, her only marriage - was to Edwin Bach, a Swiss music executive 16 years her junior. Of him, she said, "Erwin, who is a force of nature in his own right, has never been the least bit intimidated by my career, my talents, or my fame."

In 2016, after a barrage of health problems, Tina's kidneys began to fail. A Swiss citizen by then, she had started preparing for assisted suicide when her husband stepped in. According to Tina, he said, "He didn't want another woman, or another life."

He gave her one of his kidneys, buying her the remainder of her time on this earth and perhaps closing a cycle which took her from a man who inflicted injury upon her to a man willing to inflict injury upon himself to save her from harm.

Born into a share-cropping family as Anna Mae Bullock in 1939, she died Tina Turner in a palatial Swiss estate: the queen of rock 'n roll; a storm of a performer with a wildcat-fierce voice; a dancer of visceral, spine-tingling potency and ability; a beauty for the ages; a survivor of terrible abuse and an advocate for others in similar situations; an author and actress; a devout Buddhist; a wife and mother; a human being of rare talent and perseverance who, through her transcendent brilliance, became a legend.

Credit: Will Stenberg

Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History

[switchedandbewitched]

Switched and Bewitched

Chapter 3: Gosh That Takes Me Back... Or Forward

Read Chapters 1-7 on AO3!

“What -- and I cannot stress this enough - the fuck.” Daphne was staring at The Malt Shop with

utter disbelief. What had once been a cozy, cool place to hang out and kick back with the jukebox on had been clearly turned into a novelty restaurant. 

“Like, it’s okay, Daph. We can go somewhere else, we don’t have to go in there,” Shaggy said, taking Daphne by the shoulders and steering her away. 

Daphne pulled out of his grip. “No! It’s the only... the only place... we’re going to go in there and we’re going to like it.”

Velma, Shaggy, and Scooby exchanged a threeway nervous glance and Velma gestured towards the door. “After you.” 

“I’m sorry, but we don’t allow dogs in here,'' the host said. He raised his eyebrow at the state of The Gang. While Shaggy had a chance to change at the Shaggleford estate, Daphne and Velma still donned their filthy and somewhat torn clothing plus Shaggy’s arm was in a sling, Velma’s missing shoe had been replaced with an aircast for her sprain, and Daphne’s face had a large bandage covering something in the realm of 15 stitches. “But... we could seat you outside...”

The Gang agreed, despite the fact that Daphne looked as though she may burst into tears at any moment. 

“$18 for a burger?!” Velma cried. A few other patrons turned to look at her and she lowered her voice. “This is highway robbery.”

“Like, it doesn’t matter. I have money my uncle left us,” Shaggy said. “The real problem is this menu! No sardines anywhere.”

The server came over, a skinny teenager in a cheesy 50’s uniform. “Hiya folks, welcome to The Malt Shop, the most authentic nifty fifties experience in California. What can I get for you?”

“We'll take four cheeseburgers. Strawberry shakes, and fries," Velma said, handing all the menus back to the server. 

"Oh, and could you, like, throw some green olives on top of my shake?" Shaggy asked. 

"Um..." the kid stuttered and reached for the menus. "I'll ask the kitchen."

Velma wasted no time throwing the files from Red Herring down on the table and cracking them open. The contents ranged from articles posted immediately following the disappearance all the way to true crime pieces published in the last few years. Apparently the Coolsville 4 had their own History Channel documentary. She started by pulling out the photos of the crime scene and The Gang poured over them, studying every inch with French fries in hand and exceptionally terrible milkshakes. Everything was exactly how Red Herring described it: nothing beyond a bit of evidence from each of them was found in the swamp, and it wasn’t particularly helpful evidence, either. 

"Jinkies! I think it's a clue!" Velma exclaimed. 

"What is it?" Daphne asked. 

Velma pointed to the photo of Shaggy's ripped shirt piece. "Look there. It looks like Shaggy's shirt is caught on some sticks but if you look a little closer..." Velma grabbed the pen that was clipped to the folder and outlined a shape. "It's covered in mud and hardly noticeable but it looks like --" 

"Rold!"

"That's right. Scooby, it looks like Shaggy's shirt is caught on a gold... I can't tell...?" Velma responded. “Cna you?”

"Not me. So what does that mean?" Daphne asked. 

"I'm not sure yet."

"Like, maybe we could ask... my great great nephew or whatever. I know my uncle and I bet he has files just like these somewhere," Shaggy suggested. He tossed an olive into his mouth with gusto. "Like, we should probably head back soon anyway and see if they're done setting everything up.” 

Velma turned back to cast a longing glance at The Malt Shop and instead was met by a dirty look from the server. “I don’t know what his problem is,” Velma said. “We tipped ten percent!”

“Like, don’t worry about it,” Shaggy said. “Half the stuff here doesn’t make sense.”

“It sure would be nice to have the Mystery Machine,” Daphne lamented. “This whole walking all over town thing is making my feet hurt. I didn't exactly pack sensible shoes.”

The rest of the trek back to Shaggleford Estate passed in heavy silence. As time passed in 2022, The Gang grew increasingly uneasy about the likelihood of returning to 1969. Plus, with Fred in the hospital, morale was even lower. 

Upon return to the Estate, there were at least four cars in the driveway and the front door was ajar. Daphne pushed the door open with her fingertips and it swung back, nearly whacking what appeared to be an even ganglier, scruffier version of Shaggy (if that was possible) in business casual wear. 

“Oh!” Daphne cried. “Sorry!”

“No problem, ma’am,” the man said sheepishly. “It’s quite alright.” 

The Gang filed into the foyer.

“I’m T-Timothy Shagburg, Shaggy’s g-great-nephew,” the man informed them. “B-but please, call me T-Tim. You must b-be Shaggy, of course.” Tim turned to face Shaggy who was reeling at the uncanny resemblance. Tim did appear to be older than Shaggy but they shared a near identical build. Tim proceeded to hand Shaggy a manilla file folder. “And... you must be D-daphne, Velma, and Scooby.” Each one received their own folders. “I d-do b-believe I’m missing Fred Jones?” 

“Freddie’s in the hospital,” Daphne said. “He got hurt when... when we... left.”

“No, no, that won’t d-do. I will send a car to fetch him. He can stay here with round the clock care, if needed,” Timothy said. “Uncle Shaggleford provided strict instructions to start working on this project as soon as possible. Please review each of your folders.”

The Gang cracked open the folders and revealed IDs, debit cards, copies of the police report from their initial disappearance, instructions from Uncle Shaggleford, cover stories, and other miscellaneous documents. 

“Hey! They all have driver’s licenses and I have a “California State ID card’,” Velma protested. 

“Hmm.” Tim scrolled to Velma’s file on his tablet. “Ah, I see. It states here that you never received your d-driver’s license.”

“That was 52 years ago!”

“Well, like, Velma... that was also yesterday...” Shaggy said. 

“Regardless,” Time interrupted. “We will be taking you all for a d-driving lesson. The rules of the road are a little d-different than they were in 1969.”

“Like, what’s with the names? Casey Kasem? Sounds fake, man,” Shaggy said and held up his ID which read: Casey Kasem, DOB 03/04/2003, HGT  6’0, WGT 160 lbs, HAIR BRN, EYES BLK. 

“Stefanianna Christopherson is a bit of a mouthful. Am I supposed to remember that?” Daphne asked. Daphne’s new identity listed her 21st century birthdate as 09/30/2003, height as 5’7”, and weight as 130 lbs. “And I’m barely 125 pounds, thank you.”

“Please, Ms. Blake, Ms. Dinkley. We understand this is a very d-difficult time for you. We have set everything up as b-best as we can but there will be incon... incon... inconveniences.”

Daphne sighed and slid her license into her pocket. She missed home. 

“Now if you would all please follow me,” Tim said and began walking towards the basement door. “We have put together a presentation to assist with acclimation.” Tim opened the door and gestured to the well-lit staircase with a flourish. 

Velma sat back on her overstuffed leather office chair. “Nine eleven.”

“Yes,” Timothy said. He picked up a remote off the table and clicked a button. The projector screen began to roll back up into the ceiling. 

“I really did not see that coming with Nixon,” Daphne said. 

“Hey, like, at least gay marriage is legal now...” Shaggy’s attempt to lighten the mood was unsuccessful. It was possible The Gang had just witnessed the most depressing series of powerpoints, videos, and documentary clips in history. 

“Perhaps this will cheer you up,” Tim said and called someone into the room over his earpiece. A woman in a business suit appeared and nodded at The Gang. Her appearance, though professional, was somewhat diminished by messy hair clipped back away from her face and uneven bangs. 

The woman pushed her glasses up her nose. “Sir.” 

“This is Marcie Fleach, our head of IT and Cyber Security. Marcie, d-do g-give them their cellphones, please.” Tim wrung his hands together nervously.

Marcie set a black briefcase on the table and popped it open. Inside were brand new smartphones, which The Gang only recognized as the rectangles everyone seemed to have their noses glued to. 

“Rike, ro I ret one, roo??” Scooby asked. 

“I’m afraid not, Scooby. B-but I’m sure Shaggy will b-be happy to share. Please consult the calendar in your phones for all important meetings and appointments. The g-goal is to minimize your conspicuousness as much as possible.”

Velma hesitantly unlocked the phone at the instruction of Marcie and navigated to the calendar app. It was filled with all sorts of stuff: Thursday weekly debrief, Scooby Vet Appt, 9am 21st Century Lessons (daily), Driving Lessons, Trap Engineering and Design (Fred), Smart Technology Skills (Velma), and the list went on. 

“Um, I would love to learn about modern computers but this is a little...” Velma trailed off. 

“A little structured, don’t you think?” Daphne asked. 

“Like, we usually just go with the flow, man,” Shaggy finished. 

“Rith re row,” Scooby agreed, nodding. 

“Yes, of course, b-but in order to maintain the integrity of the project, or mystery as you all would say, we need to keep on t-track,” Tim argued, but retained an anxious tone. 

“What exactly is the ‘project’?” Velma asked. 

“To figure out time travel, of course,” Tim said. 

“While we do have a mystery on our hands, Mr. Shagburg, the mystery for us is not how we got here -- It’s how we get home. If we find out how we got here incidentally, that is a phenomenal scientific feat but really we just want to go home to 1969,” Velma said. 

“Velma, I’m not sure you fully understand the scientific ramifications of this event!” Tim urged. “Nothing like this has ever b-been recorded in history! We could solve some of the b-biggest questions in the universe!” Tim’s voice became more forceful as he went on and The Gang shifted uneasily at the change in demeanor. 

The Gang looked at each other. What would happen if they said no? As it stood, everything was being provided for them by the Shaggleford trust. 

Velma smiled, uncomfortable. “You’re correct, Mr. Shagburg. The scientific implications of us traveling through time are massive. Which is why we are going to request our schedule open up just a bit in order to support us looking for clues and solving this mystery. Plus, it wouldn’t feel right to continue without Freddie.”

“Quite right, Velma. Fred should be here any moment. His room has b-been set up on the first floor with a nurse. Shaggy, you have b-been moved upstairs. I hope you d-don’t mind.”

“Anything for Freddie. Like, he’s one of my best buds,” Shaggy said.

“Tomorrow we will handle the next order of b-business... finding out what really happened to you out in the swamp. However, I'm sure you're all quite t-tired and could use some rest."

The Gang made no arguments there, they were exhausted. They made their wait up to their bedrooms in a slow trickle. Each room was more or less the same: a dresser filled with their regular clothes, an empty closet, a desk, a bookshelf with some of the best reads from the last fifty years, and, most importantly, huge king beds with fluffy pillows and a stack of blankets.

Around midnight Velma heard someone knock gently on her door. Click. It began to creep open and Velma tensed in her bed, pulling the covers to her chin. Intruders don’t typically knock first, you scaredy cat, she told herself sternly.

“Like, Velma?” 

She relaxed into her pillow. “Shaggy, you scared me half to death!” In the moonlight Velma could see Scooby charge towards the bed. He licked her face a few times and then settled in next to her. Shaggy closed the door quietly and sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “Like, I don’t... I don’t know. I think there’s something wrong with me. Man, I think this whole time travel thing really messed me up.” He sniffled quietly. 

Velma rubbed her eyes and sat up, sliding her glasses on her face. “What do you mean? Do you feel sick? Are you injured?’

“No, no, I feel... I feel fine. Like, my shoulder still hurts but... It’s... something else. You’ll think I’m crazy,” Shaggy replied. There were tears now, steadily streaming down his face. 

Velma slid her hand over his shoulder. “Shaggy, I believe that ‘crazy’ has left the building. This whole thing has shown me that anything is scientifically possible, even if we can’t even conceptualize it yet. Hit me with it.”

“I’m seeing things... Well, like, not seeing things. More like I’m remembering things, but they never happened. Sometimes it’s monsters I’ve never seen and sometimes it’s people or places I’ve never met or been to. Like, I don’t understand. It feels so real. And you’re there too... and Scooby, and Fred, and Daphne, and sometimes others and they, like, seem like our friends. But, again, I’ve never met them.” Shaggy finished his confession with another sigh and jumped off the bed to pace around the room. 

“Jinkies,” Velma said. “It’s happening to me, too. Tell me what you’re seeing.” Velma gingerly picked up her phone and opened the notes app Marcy had shown her. Pen and paper would have been preferred, of course, but Timothy had not yet provided The Gang with much other than their folders and cellphones.

Shaggy closed his eyes and described the images that floated through his brain with as much detail as he could. First, The Gang was running from a giant Yeti but that melted away to Chinatown on New Year’s Eve. A face Shaggy didn’t recognize flashed before him and he mentally clawed at it, trying to hold onto it for another moment. It was a little boy in a yellow sweatshirt, but Shaggy still had no idea who it was. For a moment, he didn’t even know who he was, as he watched himself, dressed in a red shirt and blue pants, turn into a horrifying monster. The image shattered as a high pitched voice yelled “Scrappy Dappy Doo!” in his brain. A town sign drifted into view: Crystal Cove. 

Shaggy shook his head. “Zoinks, like Velma I can’t do this anymore. I ... I can’t.. I want to go home.” 

“It’s alright, Shaggy. I have a theory. I’m seeing similar... visions... but also different ones. I can remember us in Hawai’i, chasing a witch doctor, for example and a woman turning into a vampire.”

“That, like, doesn’t ring a bell.” 

“Crystal Cove, though, I remember that, too. I see Crystal Cove High School. We’re all there, you, me, Fred, Daphne. We’re, um, we’re dating --”

“Dating? But like --”

“-- Yeah, I know. As I said, I have a theory. We need to talk to Fred and Daphne before I can form a complete hypothesis, and -- Hey, what about you, Scooby-Doo?” 

“Rike, rat rabout re?” Scooby mumbled, mostly asleep in bed. 

“Do you remember anything weird or wrong?” Shaggy asked. “Something that hasn’t really happened yet?”

“Ri remember rappy. rand ra raveman! I ron't remember ranything relse.” 

“A caveman?” Shaggy asked. 

“That can’t be right,” Velma said, brow furrowed. 

“Like, crazy left the building, right Velma?” 

Velma shook her head. “It’s late. Fred needs rest and Daphne is worried sick. I’m not going to wake them up unless you are.”

“Me either, but, like, Velma?”

Velma laid back down and pulled the covers up. Scooby snuggled up to her back, nearly as long as she was tall. “Yes?”

“Can I sleep in here tonight?”

“If you hog the covers then I’m pushing you out of this bed.”

“Like, understood.”

Read Chapters 1-7 on AO3!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This day in history

There are only five more days left in my Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

#20yrsago NYT discovers the “Plam Pilot” phenomenon https://memex.craphound.com/2004/01/28/nyt-discovers-the-plam-pilot-phenomenon/

#20yrsago Irish ISP will disconnect Internet users after three unsubstantiated copyright claims https://memex.craphound.com/2009/01/28/irish-isp-will-disconnect-internet-users-after-three-unsubstantiated-copyright-claims/

#15yrsago Ryanair will fine passengers who board with too much carry-on https://gadling.com/2009/01/22/ryanair-to-ticket-passengers-who-try-to-cheat-the-baggage-system/

#15yrsago BBC promises to put 200,000 publicly owned oil paintings online by 2012 https://www.theguardian.com/media/2009/jan/28/bbc-digitalmedia

#10yrsago Gartner Hype Cycle on the Gartner Hype Cycle https://twitter.com/philgyford/status/427840025544650753

#10yrsago Makerspaces and libraries: two great tastes that taste great together https://medium.com/the-magazine/shifting-from-shelves-to-snowflakes-d2a360c7ac7b

#10yrsago Pope Francis on the Internet and communication https://www.hyperorg.com/blogger/2014/01/27/a-gift-from-god/

#10yrsago UK National Museum of Computing trustees publish damning letter about treatment by Bletchley Park trust https://web.archive.org/web/20140130143734/https://www.tnmoc.org/news/news-releases/deciphering-discontent-statement-tnmoc-trustees

#10yrsago What is exposed about you and your friends when you login with Facebook https://twitter.com/TheBakeryLDN/status/427531934294880256

#10yrsago 890 word Daily Mail immigrant panic story contains 13 vile lies https://web.archive.org/web/20140126081130/http://britishinfluence.org/13-reasons-taking-daily-mail-press-complaints-commission/

#5yrsago Bride attains virality by adding pockets to her dress and those of her bridesmaids https://metro.co.uk/2019/01/27/bride-added-pockets-wedding-dress-bridesmaids-dresses-8398183/

#5yrsago Grifter steals dead peoples’ houses in gentrifying Philadelphia by forging deed transfers, then flipping them https://www.inquirer.com/news/a/house-sales-fraud-theft-philadelphia-real-estate-dead-owners-william-johnson-20190124.html

#5yrsago Megathread of Facebook’s terrible, horrible, no-good eternity https://brucesterling.tumblr.com/post/182371861433/all-things-facebook

#5yrsago How Facebook tracks Android users, even those without Facebook accounts https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0vlD7r-kTc

#5yrsago Video and audio from my closing keynote at Friday’s Grand Re-Opening of the Public Domain https://archive.org/details/ClosingKeynoteForGrandReopeningOfThePublicDomainCoryDoctorowAtInternetArchive_201901

Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28 - THIS SUNDAY!) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

Image: Sam Valadi (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/132084522@N05/17086570218/

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[wordpimp]

Plath and a camera

Prep the motorbike, lozenge Pollarded green balls I've got terrible real estate photos on my feed Do you have any eights There are at least six of them in your hand You're a bad liar

Often I am too But I don't think it's a lie to be close In a room where nothing needs to happen A land where fast wearing spells are cast On top of bad looking dryers Within mauvy greeny yellow looking furniture

You have to run away from it sometimes Dream something better A new way to die and Be happy

I would like to end up in a bar On the kind of night where You and I could look at each other and  maybe not spill our drinks Say plenty, admit nothing Guess the score at halftime Eventually get hammered (several hours later) Take a look around

 At the end of the night Drag the body out back And bury it

[thesplatterfiles]

How We Survive Real Life Horrors

Since the horror novel I am currently working on is set in Boston, I decided it was time to learn more about a bookstore that has become a landmark in the city and a favorite place of mine to visit. My main character spends a lot of time wandering the city looking for places to belong, and I wanted that to be grounded in real life locations. 

Brattle Book Shop, one of Boston’s original bookstores, is celebrating its 200th anniversary in 2025. Located walking distance from Boston Commons, the first two floors are stuffed with used books, maps and postcards, mainly supplied by estate sales. The top floor is reserved for rare and collectable items. Past offerings included first editions of Lolita and a signed photograph of Abraham Lincoln. In the alley next door are shelves and carts of books selling for $1, $3, and $5 dollars. 

The shop is currently owned by Ken Gloss, who is also known for his appearances on Antique Roadshow. His parents bought the store in 1949, and it’s survived several location moves and a fire in 1980. Thanks to Ken’s work on TV, his podcast Brattlecast, and social media, the bookstore is enjoying more visibility than ever. In particular, the ally lined with shelves and carts of books has become one of the most instagrammed sites in Boston, and made an appearance in the Oscar nominated film The Holdovers. 

The first time I visited was May 2002, my junior year of high school. I had just finished the full 20 mile loop for Boston’s Walk for Hunger with my friends, and my feet were starting to swell. I was limping, sweaty, and I just wanted to sit on a bench with the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream sandwich volunteers bestowed on everyone who crossed the finish line. My friends convinced me to begrudgingly limp a little bit further, to check out a bookstore a few blocks away.

It was worth it. I loved squeezing through the narrow isles to browse shelves stuffed full of books, and the quiet of the third floor. The best part, of course, was browsing the carts in the alley. I wound up buying a hefty National Geographic photography book for three dollars. I still own it. 

I discovered the thrill of treasure hunting in a used bookstore at Brattle Books that spring, just over a year after the attacks of 9/11. The war in Afghanistan was raging while Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policies required gay members of the military to serve in secret. The Patriot Act empowered law enforcement to search and surveil Americans at unprecedented levels. My guidance counselor had gone from weekend training with the National Guard to being deployed to a war zone. I didn’t know it yet, but in a few years some of my classmates at our rural high school would be fighting in the Iraq war. 

At home, my parents were arguing and sleeping on opposite ends of the house, mom upstairs, dad in the basement. I walked on eggshells around both of them. Books however, had always been a comfort for me, and they continued to be as my parents’ marriage crumbled and Bush won reelection. I went back to Brattle Book Shop any time I had a chance. High school summer vacation, as college student who could take a train ride from campus to the city, and when I worked one of my first jobs a few blocks away in the Financial District. 

I discovered other used bookstores to visit as well. I began collecting more photography books, and have acquired some really unique finds, including a collection of NYPD crime scene photos taken during WWI and a book showcasing the home of artist Edward Gorey. Over the years, my collection has moved with me from apartment to apartment, and eventually from Massachusetts to North Carolina.

This week has been filled with terrible, gut-wrenching news, and there will probable be many more weeks like this. I think I needed to research places my character could go for comfort because I know I need them too. I’ve found a few amazing used bookstores in the Charlotte area since I moved here. I think I’ll visit one this weekend. 

File Documents:

An Antique Bookstore for the 21st Century- The Crimson 

Brattle Book Shop celebrates 200th anniversary - The Huntington News (Northeastern University)

REVIEW: Brattle Book Shop- Condé Nast Traveler

The Brattlecast #185- The Oscar Bounce

The American War in Afghanistan: A History- Defense University Press

Repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell"- Human Rights Campaign

End Mass Surveillance Under the Patriot Act - ACLU

Elephant House: Or, The Home of Edward Gorey

Evidence- Luc Sante

Images Of The World- Photography at the National Geographic

[almostfancywombat]

Bizarre x 100

| mp100 meets jjba

Vivian sat in his home office, mindlessly sifting through a rotary card holder. He skimmed the names and contact information, tracing each swooping letter, the details on each card long since memorized. 

Upon completing his job in the mainland Bronx, Vivian would return to City Island and dedicate the early afternoon to paperwork and blog entries. The tasks usually kept him occupied until 3:00, but his early start caused him to finish before 2:00, amounting to eight hours of work. 

Discomfort blossomed across his lower back. While he was drowsy from the ache and staring out the window, he couldn't rest when his assistant was due to finish his class within the hour. He didn’t know whether to anticipate a call, but he remained vigilant. 

Vivian busied himself with wall-staring, wondering if the paintings and photos he’d hung entirely covered each hole that had been made. He wondered if selling the old house was an option, how much he could anticipate to fork over to fix it up. Real estate sold well on the small island, and he could relocate to somewhere more convenient and leave behind his dreary setting. 

Before he could continue surveying potential renovations, his office's door flew open, nearly startling him from his seat. 

Although Keowynn appeared distraught, he quickly regained his composure, jolting upright. The terrible haircut he had rocked since middle  school stood up in place, but his bangs brushed the top curve of his eyes as he spoke. An intense gaze fixated on Vivian as a humanoid figure drifted in, shutting the door behind itself. 

Keowynn was perpetually young with a face that could've been either twelve or twenty-two, and Vivian feared committing an OSHA violation each time he went out with the boy. Some of his features were more defined, while his eyes held a blankness that said he stared at paint drying for fun. This perpetual youthfulness might've resulted from his lack of facial features, as he was neither prone to smiling or having his emotions stirred. When he spoke to people, he stared at their eyebrows to avoid causing discomfort. 

These are only some of the odd traits Vivian had noticed. He would’ve been very disturbed had Keowynn not proved himself such an incredible companion and employee. 

“Finished early,” he panted. “I can take the job after all.” 

Vivian tried hiding his relief. His skill, after all, couldn’t be learned organically. 

“Oh, it’s just you! You and that ghost thing had me terrified.” Vivian laughed and waved. Moving to gather his items, he haphazardly shoveled papers into the bag draped across his chair. “Did you slay that mock exam?” 

“Skinz. And don’t talk like that. It's cringe.” 

“Of course, of course. Sorry, it slipped my mind that we’re supposed to forget any slang once we reach the mid-twenties.” Vivian dismissed, petrified by the creepy Victorian-Child-With-A-Doll schtick Keowynn had with the spirit. He warily eyed the thing, stealing a sip from a cold cup of coffee. The last time he’d forgotten its name, Skinz had stolen his car and Keowynn, leaving Vivian stranded on a farm in Connecticut. “How did you get here so fast? It's still twenty minutes until I expect you.” 

“Florence dropped me off.” 

“Oh? Looks like somebody has a story to tell.” As disappointing as it was, Keowynn wasn't one to pick up on hints, so the question went ignored. Clearing his throat, Vivian set them on track. “Anyway, I received a call from our regular in Norwalk.” 

Keowynn stood in the doorway, allowing an awkward exchange when the housekeeper walked past. She greeted Vivian and his assistant but did not mind the hunkering figure; being like most regular people, she was unable to see it. Keowynn finally entered the office and shut the door. Meanwhile, the spirit busied itself in the corner, playing with the nozzles. 

“Please control Skinz before it makes a mess.” Skinz didn’t react because it hated him, but Vivian digressed, knowing better than to directly confront it. “He said the crabs keep returning, but in a different area. It may be the same water spirit, but we theorized it could be a vengeful fisherman.” 

Vivian stood, feeling his weight bear down on his knees. Weary, he gripped the back of his chair, causing his bag to slip. Before it fell to the ground, Keowynn managed to snag the strap, snatching it from mid-air. 

He used telekinesis to will it to himself, and Vivian muttered thanks, adding, “Can you bring my walker? I think I need it today.” 

Keowynn dutifully took the bag and slung it over his shoulder. Then, he whistled, ordering the glimmering figure across the room with a single gesture. The thing—Vivian had grown to call it anything relating to a ghost for its ethereal and floating visage—opened a small closet and tugged a walker free. He hadn't needed it in a while, but because his pain seemed to flare at the seaside, he politely asked Keowynn to communicate. “Tell Skinz to bring my cane, too.” 

Tapping the thing, Keowynn shared the order. Skinz did something rare by obliging, setting Vivian's cane on a handle, then taking the bag to do the same. But, instead of pushing it as Vivian intended, it sat in the little seat attached to the walker, expectantly staring at Keowynn. 

Like a lion tamer, Keowynn stared back. His blank gaze somehow possessed the same intensity. They had a silent yet fierce battle of wills before reaching a stalemate, and when he pointed at the door, Skinz finally grabbed the luggage and toted it away. Another win for Keowynn; Vivian counted, settling the score at ninety-seven to one. 

During the hour-long car ride that should’ve taken forty minutes, Keowynn read from his review book with Skinz peering over his shoulder, pointing at all the incorrect answers. While Keowynn understood why Skinz hasn't been allowed to ride shotgun following the New Haven incident, he didn't think it was fair. The back seat had more space, he gripped, and was far more comfortable, having his own vent. Vivian never permitted anyone to touch his car's interior, the vents and radio being untouchable. 

“We’re going to a place by the shipping docks,” he explained, parking on the side of a street. He stares at the small buildings surrounding each side, eyeing the crowd. 

Before he could suggest heading out together, Keowynn grabbed his phone and departed, intent on finding the location alone. Ever an angel, he’d scout beforehand and report if a site would be accessible. Given how the stout, red-brick buildings gave way to a large body of water, inaccessibility was something Vivian should've had the foresight to anticipate. 

“Look at him, being independent. Brings a tear to my eye.” Still, as kind as the gesture was, he couldn’t permit the boy to wander. “But we both know his navigation skills are shit,” Vivian whispered to Skinz, “so follow him. Please.” 

Vivian used to be terrified of allowing that thing in public, but after it had visibly lost the urge to punt newborns from their carriages like footballs, he’d become more lenient. Of course, there was also how no one, save for others with supernatural abilities, could see it. He wasn’t sure what the rest saw, but it couldn't have been much stranger than reality. 

Skinz was having a good day, so it obeyed without any qualms, eyeing him for only half its usual time before departing. Vivian breathed a sigh of relief, glad he’d get to live another day. He was always struck by its appearance and oddities. He hated feeling jealous of Skinz; the thing’s mere presence caused him discomfort, but he held a great interest in it as an occultist. Although incredibly muscular, Skinz lacked a gendered form. Its torso and limbs were thick, yet its waist was hardly wider than a sheet of paper. While Vivian didn't experience its personality beyond anger, from what he could tell, it was moody, had a penchant for violence, and could consider a career in modeling, because it strutted down the road as if it'd waltzed off the page of a fashion magazine. 

Vivian stumbled out and unloaded the car, setting a toolkit in his walker. Unfortunately, while he did not have a special gift like Keowynn, he’d come prepared, packing talismans and artifacts purchased during a volunteer archaeologist conference in Damascus last summer. 

Testingly, he scooted along the craggy paths, carefully shifting his weight from foot to foot as if stepping on a waterbed. Walking seemed feasible today, but he’d bring his walker to play it safe. The seaside inexplicably caused his pain to flare, and Vivian attested it to a trauma association causing phantom pains. 

Humming, he strolled through the picturesque streets, stopping to peer into the storefronts of quaint, brick shops. Then, when mothers began clutching their children, he realized he might’ve been a creep. He quickly grabbed his phone to text Keowynn, inquiring about his whereabouts. Vivian didn't expect an immediate response, knowing he was easily distracted. So, it was to his utter surprise when his phone pinged less than a minute later. Overjoyed, he opened his messages, only to be left squinting down at the screen. It read a slew of nonsense as if someone had pressed a letter before turning to the autofill option. 

‘A few days ago I had a great distaste and don’t want the friendless life and go back to get a friend to help me with my family,’ the message read. Then, a blurry image of Keowynn standing on the pier appeared. Clutching a post, mist swirled around him. It was aesthetic, in the SoundCloud indie band kind of way. 

“Is… This… Skinz?” Vivian typed, feeling ridiculous as he muttered each word. There was no way it was intelligent enough to respond, and yet, it did. The message was even less coherent, but a scandalous emoji was tacked onto the end. Despite his offense, Skinz flipping him off via text message was quite impressive. 

Resorting to his final, desperate shot at contacting Keowynn, he opened an app. Find My booted; instantly, it displayed Keowynn, whose bag Vivian had attached a discrete GPS tracker to, via the pair of wireless earbuds he’d gifted the boy. Unethical to an outsider, perhaps, but he dared anyone to try talking to Keowynn when he was unfocused. The boy was more likely to accidentally join a traveling circus than remember the chore Vivian had sent him out for. 

Following the unmoving dot, Vivian made his way to an empty sector of the docks, where vacant fishing boats dotted the water and bobbled with the waves. No one was in sight, and he double checked that the location was the one mentioned in the job posting. 

Standing a few yards out on the pier, Keowynn could be seen with his lips quirking downward. Meanwhile, Skinz stood where the dock connected to the land, munching on a sandwich. Entrusting his chair to Skinz, he grabbed his cane and inched forward. 

“Why are you standing around?” 

Keowynn’s gaze was glued to the sea as he pointed at a boat riding the waves. In his second survey of the area, Vivian spotted a distant figure gaining speed. In a flutter of dark cloaks, he approached the shore. Perhaps it was a poncho. It looked fit to rain.  “Our territory is encroached.” 

Vivian squinted at the horizon. Lo and behold, an erratically dressed figure stood in a small yacht. His stance was odd, swaying with the boat as it docked. His sequined overcoat glimmered like the sun reflecting on the shore, becoming mini spotlights as he swaggered forth, stepping out from beneath the boat cover. 

The air suddenly turned electric, energy from an unknown source pulsating. Vivian suddenly sensed another presence when the man's boots hit the dock. Although he couldn't see anything, it had to have been something like Skinz; he recalled feeling similarly upon first meeting the thing, down from the piercing headache and dizziness. Unable to stand, he hunched over, resting his hands on his knees. The world didn't spin any less, but it kept Vivian from kneeling over and spewing his guts. 

Still, he remembered something more vital than himself. “Where’s Zach? Did something happen to him?” 

After concluding no familiar faces were in sight, Keowynn nodded. “Sit this one out. I can probably deal with this guy.” 

Vivian doubted it, but in his state, Keowynn would be the better choice. He screwed his eyes shut and inhaled. “Be careful. I can’t see it, but I feel something odd. Another being like Skinz is here.” 

“What do you—” Keowynn squealed. Louds thumps cut him off, the sound of him stomping. 

Upon opening his eyes, Vivian saw a mass of horseshoe crabs flying from the sea. The sight was like someone was pouring them in reverse, a cascade of creatures leaping onto the narrow walkway. Keowynn screeched and jumped, furiously smacking as they moved toward him. 

Despite his vertigo, Vivian kicked and stomped, attempting to keep the crabs at bay. A deep voice cackled at his near-futile efforts, and he turned his attention to the yacht, prepared to swear at the man for ableism, which always seemed to work in shutting a heckler down in the generally liberal north. 

“Ope, I’m discovered!” said the man in an odd accent, a voice that had Vivian squinting, attempting to recall. 

It sounded slightly different, but everyone did over static. Horrified, he realized this person was the Norwalk regular. Only, he wore an Elton John-esque outfit instead of his regular style and appeared to have aged a decade since their last meeting. 

“It was all a plot! By going incognito for so long, I can finally enact my revenge by stealing your… Ghost thing!” 

Keowynn took a moment to decipher the strange words but abruptly resumed smacking the crabs, his face adopting an ugly expression that distorted his face in ways never seen. Casually holding a giant horseshoe crab, he tossed it back into the water. "Who are you?" 

The man looked as if the boy had stomped on his heart. "Brooklyn Emilianowicz. We met in Maine, when you were on a field trip." Desperate, he pressed. “I was chaperoning my brother’s group when he threw up on you, then I took you to the gift shop, where you introduced the whole psychic shebang.” 

Keowynn’s eyes went wide at the unfortunate name and event. He’d always assumed that was a fever dream. “That actually happened? I thought I was drunk on something. Maybe apple juice.” 

“You exploded a bus, and I got fired. Sent my life in a downward spiral.” 

Keowynn pretended to recall, only remembering a vague string of events from that day. Mostly, he remembered a glorious day spent viewing trains. “You’re too plain to remember. I also hated school enough to forget everything about it.” 

Vivian nodded in agreement, having already forgotten the man's name. While the encounter was progressing strangely, he wondered, “Hey! Are you the asshat who made the call?” 

“Yep.” The man shamelessly admitted, but Vivian expected nothing better of a man who owned a yacht. 

“Goddammit, Winnie,” he sobbed, hunching over, “you’re not getting paid because of this idiot. Once we deal with him, I’ll take you out to get ice cream. Or Taco Bell. Whichever makes you happier.” 

Brooklyn flushed. “Why resort to name-calling? That’s hurtful.” 

“So are these crabs,” Keowynn murmured, slapping a few more down. They fell to the dock and remained on their backs, wriggling around without any direction. “Why are you making them attack us, anyway? Skinz said you’re controlling them, so don't even try to lie.” 

“It talks?” The man brightened and spun around, becoming a disco ball. The sight nauseated Vivian, who struggled to remain upright. “Well,” he propped a foot on a post, flexing in his skinny jeans. “Word’s been traveling about you, and I want that thing of yours. It must’ve gotten stronger after so long.” 

“Not really, but the idea of someone stealing him mildly concerns me.” How was such a thing possible when Keowynn, someone who had grown up accompanied by Skinz, still hadn’t found a way to make him serviceable? If he could, he would’ve trust-traded Skinz for a functioning spirit. 

The man frowned. “Hmm. What about you? What do you say?” 

Vivian jumped, surprised by the sudden address. “Come again?” 

“Do you think we can take it down? Could I pay to help me obtain it?” 

“No!” Vivian shouted. Did he really look like such a sleazeball? Did outsiders think he looked like someone who'd harm Keowynn? The thought terrified him enough to space out, questioning his worth. 

Now free from the crabs, Keowynn moved to help Vivian. Taking the cane, he began to beat the animals, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt because their creepy appearance rendered them unworthy of being called a crab. “You can’t have him, but I see why you’d want to. Your abilities suck if all they do is let you summon crabs.” Wrinkling his nose, he pried one off his shirt and tossed it back into the water. “Skill issue. They're not even ghost crabs.” 

Vivian wanted to point out how Skinz wouldn't even go if he tried, but he was fighting the final crab off his leg. Why can't that thing be useful? 

As if summoned, Skinz turned to face him. Then, without warning, it launched from its position near his walker and charged. Vivian’s heart dropped to his stomach. Certain his body couldn’t withstand its force, he fell to the deck, his face smashing into the crabs that still occupied the wooden boards. A chill went up his spine as it flew forward, gliding above him, en route to sucker-punch the strange man. Sending him flying off the docks, over open water, before he crashed into the sea. 

The air stilled and the crabs ceased their crawling. Then, something like a sonic boom sound as waves rippled through the air, and the creatures were sent from the docks. Following a gale of wind, the descending crabs splashed saltwater across Vivian. 

“Skinz? What are you doing?” 

Unconcerned, Keowynn watched as he took a swan dive off the pier. Resurfacing moments later, Skinz dragged the man from the water and tossed him back onto the wooden boards, poking at him like someone would with a dead slug on the road. 

Vivian sighed and went to retrieve his phone to dial the police. After spinning a story about a perverted stalker who'd followed his charge for years, he thanked the operator and hung up. Somewhat winded by the encounter, Vivian leaned on a post, inhaling the crisp air. He eyed the horizon, seeing the sun hovering above the sea in a delicate balance that tinted the world pink. 

“That was easier to deal with than I’d anticipated,” Keowynn said, disappointment subtle in his inflection. “But Skinz acted by himself again. He always does this whenever I want to try something.” 

The saltiness that carried with the breeze caused Vivian to wrinkle his nose but remaining in place while Keowynn calmed down was the least he could do. Hesitantly, he asked, “What exactly do you want?” 

He didn't know much about the boy. Vivian supposed it was difficult to know a child beyond goals and school, but Keowynn had dropped out and recently turned nineteen. Their relationship teetered on the edge of familial and friendly, leaving him unsure of how to regard the boy. Would it be inappropriate to offer advice? Would imposing himself as a fatherly figure splinter their unconventional bond? 

Keowynn lowered himself onto the dock's edge, sitting with his legs hanging off. His arms wrapped around a post, pressing himself against it. He didn't mind the wetness lapping at his shoes, as he found being barefoot in front of others more awkward than wearing wet socks. “To figure out what was going on, I guess, but it doesn’t appear to be worth my time.” 

He and Vivian shared a similar consensus because neither understood what happened mere moments ago. Customers turned villain, non-magical crabs from a magical ability, and they were somehow at the center of it all. 

“It looked like Skinz protected us of its own free will,” Vivian commented, unsure whether that thing was capable of such an instinct and if the man had been much of a threat. “You can’t help but think that even it knew another psychic being present was wrong.” 

“About that… Do you think he could’ve just been enjoying a crab hunt?” He used to embark on those with his father, plucking the creatures as they dug into the sand. Perhaps not everyone held such patience, but it was easier to delude himself into believing Brooklyn was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Vivian bit back a laugh. “No, it’s surely not that.” Suddenly, he grew ashen. “It’s just a shock. These past few years, I’ve thought you were the only psychic-whatever in the area. I know it’s easy to go undocumented, but why would he come looking for you and say such strange things?” 

A forum hidden in the replies of a cooking blog connected all psychics in the New England area, and until today, Keowynn was the only registered member in their ward, which stretched from the Bronx to somewhere in New Haven. In addition to general locations, the members listed recent encounters with psychic or supernatural forces — good, plain, and sour — along with their abilities. 

While Vivian would ensure he created a thread for the subject later, he didn’t recall anyone detailing a way to steal powers, nor a solid definition for the supernatural entities that followed a selected few like rain-soaked puppies. As most loving claimed, their “Stripper Ghosts were only there to scream and ragdoll civilians at random.” 

Nevertheless, Vivian still didn’t think anyone had something remotely like Skinz. At that moment, he spotted the thing with Keowynn’s phone, blasting music, having somehow managed to unlock the device. While they had met others with spirits during their travels, none had been half as intelligent. Or independent, much to Vivian's dismay. 

Meanwhile, Keowynn realized they had gotten lucky, facing such a weak person. He recalled the earlier jobs, where no one seemed to take any issue with fighting a fourteen-year-old. Considering his loose grasp on Skinz, he'd feared him going berserk and attacking Vivian, but experiencing him act with clear intent had Keowynn questioning life. 

Neither imagined escaping without being injured if only the man had more experience because even the lowest abilities could be deadly if used with confidence and mastery. Could Vivian risk asking the forum about this? There seemed to be too much risk, but not at his expense. It would be a gamble on Keowynn’s safety, which wasn't worth any knowledge or sum in the world. 

Still, he couldn’t resist imagining an idealized version of the situation, where he didn’t have to rely on strangers for a vague comprehension of the phenomenon. So, while he doubted anyone else had an answer, he was suddenly bitter about not knowing precisely what Skinz was nor how Keowynn had wound up possessing it. More so, he was embittered by how Keowynn would never tell him. 

He was pulled from his musing when a soft voice spoke, fighting against the biting coastal winds to be heard. 

“If I ever manage to get my GED,” Keowynn said, precariously leaning forward until his fingers grazed the water's surface. “I want to do something meaningful. Hunting down these pricks isn’t enough.” Wavering, his voice adopted a shonen-esque tone. It was almost expected that he’d rant about the power of friendship. “I need to kick corporate ass, not be ass. You get what I’m saying?” He said, exasperation seeping into his tone. “No, you probably don’t. To be honest, I don’t, either.” 

Vivian scoffed. While he understood the necessity and desire for higher education, the unwavering belief youth had in either extreme, he couldn’t imagine the boy pursuing a riveting career as a data analysis or whatever else he’d thought to pursue, but who was he to dash someone’s hopes and dreams? 

Supported by his cane, he leaned and ruffled Keowynn’s hair. He refused to admit the boy was better off elsewhere, with a competent mentor. He was too attached and selfish, so instead, he put on his best smile and promised. “You’ll have the world, Winnie. I guarantee you will.” 

Vivian would do everything in his power to ensure it. 

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Can you imagine having a Palm Springs, California address, like the wealthy, for less than $750K? Well, here's the chance. Two rock homes are for sale - 1 for $749K and 1 for $699K - both have already been reduced by $50K. 2bds, 1ba.

They were built in 1930 inspired by Hopi and Navajo homes. The owner passed away and the family has had them on the market since 2022. They are historic and eligible for tax abatement under California's Mill Act Program.

The listing is focused on the smaller one, listed for $699K.

So, you have a large living room with a fireplace. There's a nice big alcove, too.

You could do something with this. The alcove has a little stage-like elevation.

I'm not sure what this is, but there doesn't seem to be a kitchen. Maybe that's why this fireplace is higher, like an oven?

This looks like it would make a good kitchen, especially if you want a huge one.

A patio is outside the potential kitchen.

Here's a table by an old heat stove and there's also a cabinet.

The larger home, built in 1929, features a casita.

The real estate photos are terrible. They don't show bedrooms, baths, or which house is which.

A private road with limited access leads to the homes.

The property looks neglected and overgrown, with lots of dead weeds.

You can see here how the private road veers away from a Palm Springs neighborhood with pools and stuff.

Looks like you can't access it from that main road. It's like the black sheep of the family that has to use the back door.

The lot is 3.33 acres. I know that they reduced the prices but it still seems a lot for just a couple of stone shells. What do you think?

[thisislizheather]

2023 Resolutions Revisited

Above Photo: The view from Nubeluz, NYC

Time to revisit the resolutions that I made in 2023! This is definitely my favourite post of the year because I will forever love accountability. The best part about making resolutions is going back and seeing how they went in reality. Why are people so anti-resolution? My guess is because most of us think that resolutions are supposed to be serious and not at all fun. Well, news flash - I’m here to tell you that you’re allowed to make fun ones. Also I’m bringing back “news flash.”

Throughout the year, I kept making my seasonal lists (spring, summer, autumn, winter). I got really into making reels, Nathan did his second Tonight Show, I got to visit the abandoned City Hall subway station, I toured the gorgeous Kings Theatre in Brooklyn, went to a tulip farm in New Jersey, we celebrated my dad’s 100th birthday with a giant party and a family trip to Scotland, I saw a ton of shows on Broadway (Death of a Salesman, Moulin Rouge, Shucked, Pictures From Home, Bad Cinderella, Hamlet at Shakespeare in the Park, Six, The Shark is Broken). I started the Summer Saturdays series, as well as Fall Fridays. I saw the Lagerfeld costume exhibit at The Met, I got to see this incredible private rehearsal of a play with Michael McKean, I flew in a Harvard plane, I continued my domination of Halloween, Nathan had three pretty significant pieces written about him in The New York Times, I compiled my favourites of 2023, and I found my favourite summer photos as well as my favourite photos of the year. And here’s how my 2023 resolutions went.

Above Photo: Family in Edinburgh, Scotland

1. Read at least one book per season.

Spring: Keep Moving by Dick Van Dyke

Oh my god, that’s it. I read one book last year. Nobody tell my dad because that’s embarrassing as hell. That’s the worst I’ve ever done with my reading goals. Definitely aiming to better about that this year.

2. Take Baby Dog on an adventure at least twice a season.

Done! She went to Canada a total of three separate times this year, and I took her on Central Park walks each season. She also did her pet volunteering a few times and I also took her to the air field where my brother and I got to fly in those planes.

Above Photo: Baby Dog in Central Park, NYC

3. Try at least one new restaurant each month.

January: Carne Mare (such a beautiful space, it’s perfect for a special occasion, caviar mozzarella sticks were slightly overrated but everything else was good), Little Ruby’s Cafe (so great for lunch) & Bistro Eloise (had the best onion soup in all of NYC, that broth was unreal, escargots was fantastic)

Above Photo: Carne Mare, NYC

February: The Bar Room (the grilled chicken on top of their caesar salad was unparalleled), Nubeluz by Jose Andres at The Ritz-Carlton (everything was great, view is perfect), Golden Unicorn (suck city, don’t go) & Olio E Piu (so terrible, begging you to never go)

March: The now-closed Quality Eats (that short rib hash was great), Wayan (best dishes: the corn fritters, the spring rolls, the lamb kebabs and the chocolate chip cookie with cheddar ice cream) & The Grill (the MP pasta appetizer was the most incredible thing we ate - they used this crank-type machine table-side to make the broth for the pasta sauce out of MEAT BONES and I’m still thinking about it, other highlight was the gluten-free zucchini cornbread)

April: Hawksmoor (flashy and beautiful inside, but no real substance), Pete’s Tavern (space is great, food is fine and service was attentive but odd) & Figlia (best Italian in Astoria, by far)

Above Photo: Figlia in Astoria, Queens

May: Spirit Tree Estate Cidery (so wonderful, can’t wait to go again)

June: S& P (fine, absolutely nothing special) & Sojourn (the duck spring rolls are insanely good)

July: Superiority Burger (veggie burger was great, everything else was just average), Modern Bread and Bagel (the gluten free latkes and french toast sticks were unreal) & Rubirosa (great space, great food)

August: 111 by Modou in Glasgow (fantastic!)

September: Shukette (truly special), Margaritaville in Times Square (the key lime pie is legit here) & Shopsin’s (great chicken sandwich)

October: Beetle House (too fun) & Oscar Wilde (so seasonally perfect)

November: Kaia Wine Bar (insanely good birria tacos and a great happy hour)

Above Photo: Birria tacos at Kaia Wine Bar, NYC

December: Mel’s (good, but never need to go again)

4. Properly go on a date with Nathan at least once a month.

Did it! Some of the dates included: going to see Death of a Salesman on Broadway, which depressed us so much that we silently went home and immediately to sleep. He made me see Scream VI against my will, we got drinks at Sunken Harbor Club, went bowling in Astoria, had a night at Rec Room in Square One, saw Talk To Me in theatres, went to Shot of Art together, devoted each Sunday in October to horror movies, we saw The Shark is Broken AND LIFE WAS CHANGED FOREVER (we loved it) and then we went to Maryland for New Year’s Eve.

Above Photo: Nathan in Baltimore, Maryland

5. Every month, cook something I’ve never cooked before.

January: penne alla vodka (this recipe sucked, but I want to try it again) and lasagna soup (wonderful, definitely would make again)

February: greek chicken meatballs (hard pass, too bland)

March: chicken marsala (I’ve made this at least ten times since March, favourite recipe of the year) & tres leche cake (heavenly)

Above Photo: Tres leche cake

April: steak Diane (really, really good) & asparagus soup (phenomenal)

May: lemon almond pudding cake (pretty boring, wouldn’t make again) & a classic bread pudding (simple and great recipe)

June: strawberry cobbler bars (good, but nothing to make again) & this dark chocolate cake with this icing (unbelievably tasty)

Above Photo: Strawberry cobbler bars

July: nothing this month (I’ll blame it on traveling)

August: stuffed summer shells (so, so good) & homemade pizza (which I promise to shut up about after this post)

Above Photo: Stuffed summer shells

September: tomato tart (good, but a ready-made puff pastry would’ve tasted better here) & pecan pumpkin chocolate chip cookies (meh, don’t need to make again) & pumpkin spice syrup for iced coffee (wow)

October: apple cider doughnut cookies (good!) & a coconut chicken tikka masala (good but I never need to do it again)

Above Photo: Apple cider doughnut cookies

November: a rice krispies pumpkin pie (hilarious)

Above Photo: Rice Krispies pumpkin pie

December: espresso martini cookies (good!) & a mushroom loaf (truly great) & chocolate pistachio shortbread cookies (the worst! I think I just messed up the recipe though so this is on me)

6. Go on a solo, alone trip.

Biggest regret on this whole list. I’ve wanted to do this for years, so I might just keep it on the 2024 list.

7. Have at least one advertiser on this site.

Not yet! But I’ll keep trying.

8. On the first of each month, try something new.

Jesus, these resolutions were lofty! Big nope on this one.

9. Buy a keyboard and start playing piano again.

Hahahah, not even kinda. Great idea in theory. I did play piano each time I visited my parent’s house, though, so that’s something. A pathetic something, but a something. Don’t worry, I won’t try to take a half point here.

10. Have my book in at least one bookstore by the end of the year. Even if I have to self-publish and then physically put it on a shelf myself.

Okay, truthfully I didn’t even remember this was a resolution, so I didn’t even submit it anywhere for at least half of the year. But this is exactly why I need to revisit my resolutions list at least once a month. (It’s not lame if that itself is one of my resolutions, yeah?)

One thing that I’m so happy that I kept doing throughout the year? My monthly roundup posts. They’re basically little monthly journal entries that make me realize how good I have it sometimes, and I’m so grateful that anyone wants to read them. Here are the links to the last twelve months of them: December 2023, November 2023, October 2023, September 2023, August 2023, July 2023, June 2023, May 2023, April 2023, March 2023, February 2023 & January 2023.

And here are all the best tweets posts from 2023 as well: January, February, the best Valentine tweets, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, the best Halloween tweets, November, December and the best Christmas tweets.

So if we’re keeping score (we are), I did 4/10 on my resolutions (dear god). But see the thing is - this was one of the best years I’ve had in a very long time, so that’s important to note. You can brutally fail at resolutions and still make some progress because this felt like a very full year with a lot of things that went in the right direction.

2024 resolutions coming tomorrow!

[asphinxofblackquartz]

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