#than the people who built this house in the 1960s

[robinsnest2111]

gonna be living on a construction site for the foreseeable future <3

beauty shot of the mold that was supposed to be gone according to my father from 2 years ago, hiding out behind the wallpaper <3

[useless-catalanfacts]

Hi. A question in relation to your response a few asks ago. As a leftist foreigner, I have always thought Catalonia and its independence movement have a cemented leftist core, but is that just me simply being an essentialist and simplifying the dynamics since the war? Of course, I understand that most Catalans, like most people, are just normal people living their lives and wanting health and happiness and not hard-core extremists either way. I'm half Palestinian and boy, am I tired of people painting us as inherently political when all we want to do is, you know, stay alive. But, I've always just imagined Catalonia as a stronghold for socialist and anarchist vibes. Is that off? And if it's not off, how come one Spanish narrative is that Catalans are bourgeois and capitalist has been so prominent? Like, what are they basing that on? The fact that Catalonia is a somewhat wealthy region? And how do leftists respond to that? Sorry for sensitive questions I'm just really intrigued by this. Sending all the love from one occupied people to another.

First of all, my most sincere best wishes for liberation and solidarity to you and all the Palestinian people 🇵🇸❤️

You are right, Catalonia is a stronghold of leftism. It can be seen easily in maps of election results every time there are Spanish elections, or polls, etc. Catalonia and Euskadi always stand out. This is so prominent that there's even a Twitter account called The F*ck*ing Same Map Again making fun of this, lol. And within the independence movement even more so, too. Historically, the Catalan independence movement has been very linked to communism, with presence of social democrats as well. Since around 2010, many more social democrats and liberals have joined, too. This is not to say that no other profile exists, as you pointed out you can't expect a whole country to have the same ideology, but it's overwhelmingly the case.

The reason why the Spanish left likes to stereotype Catalans as bourgeois (at the same time as, when it's more convenient to them, they also stereotype Catalan people and language as a poor rural farmers' language) comes from the fact that Catalonia (and to a lesser extent also the Basque Country) were the only places of the state of Spain that were industrialized during the Industrial Revolution and for most of the 20th century. This created a very prominent Catalan working class —for your ask, I assume you know about the CNT, the collectivizations, etc. To give an overview, in 1919 about ⅕ of ALL of Catalonia's population was affiliated to the CNT anarchist union, that is not counting people in the rural areas affiliated to unions for rural workers like Unió de Rabassaires that also sympatized with CNT in many matters but was more focused on agricultural workers. More than ⅕ of the whole country's population being a paying member of the anarchist union!— But, of course, industrialization also produced a muuuuuuuch smaller amount of bourgeoisie. While most Southern and Central Spain was still ruled by the aristocracy that owned most of the land and hired agricultural workers on a daily basis (jornaleros), in Catalonia there were bourgeois factory owners.

In the 1920s, many people came from rural areas of Spain to Barcelona and other urban areas of Catalonia (the population of Catalonia tripled with their arrival), and in the 1960s again the same (this migration tripled again Catalonia's population). In many places, the people who were arriving lived side by side with the people who were already there, usually learned Catalan and mixed with the population. But in some places around Barcelona, because there wasn't enough housing in the city for all the huge amount of people who were arriving, the regime (this was still under Franco's dictatorship) built "dormitory suburbs" where previously there was no town nor suburb. Areas that used to be fields suddenly were all built into cheap housing for the arriving Spanish workers, often with very bad conditions when it comes to public services. Thus, there were pockets of the newly-arrived population that lived in areas only created for them and only inhabited by people who had arrived at the same time as them. The result is that these workers only ever knew other Spanish immigrants, and the only Catalan people they ever met would be at their jobs when they commuted out of their dormitory suburbs into Barcelona's centre. This way, in these pockets of the population (which, of course, did not come free of Catalanophobia) the idea that everyday people spoke Spanish and the bosses and managers spoke Catalan was cemented.

(Obviously, I don't mean to say that everyone in those neighborhoods thought this, only that it was an idea that developed and spread to many people there. There were also people who did not see all the Catalan people as enemies and kept a good class analysis and allied with the Catalan working class and the Catalan people as an oppressed group. A famous example is the writer Paco Candel who lived in one of these new working class neighbourhoods and was an activist for the working class and also for Catalan language, cultural and political rights. I don't think it's been translated to English, but if anyone reading this wants to get a very good view of what the situation was like, the must-read is Paco Candel's 1964 book Els altres catalans).

The idea that "people like us" speak Spanish and bosses speak Catalan is, of course, objectively false. Since in every place capitalism needs more workers than bosses, the first proletariat of the state of Spain was Catalan, and the overwhelming majority of Catalans were and are working class. And the poorest areas of Catalonia are also the ones where Catalan is most spoken and Spanish is rarely heard (all of them in Terres de l'Ebre, a largely agricultural area). At the same time, Spanish has always remained the language of power, the only one spoken by the police, the army, the government, the public administration, etc and the one that rich people want to be heard speaking for prestige reasons. Even more so back then, when Catalan was prohibited and legally persecuted in many sectors. But despite being an overall false picture, it was the experience of these people day after day. The mix of already-present Catalanophobia with the "confirmation" of Catalan people being their enemies in the workplace created this very weird and very out-of-touch mentality of Catalan people being bourgeois in a small part of the Spanish speaking people, while for the vast majority the idea of still that speaking Catalan is for extremist antifascists and that it was a thread for the fascist state and for the very existence of Spain and thus needed to be erradicated. With time, after the dictatorship ended and the democracy period started (1978), the Spanish left was legalized (Catalan independentist parties would take a while yet, because it was said that "Catalan separatists are more dangerous than the communists", but in some time ended up legalized as well, except for some Basque parties that have been illegal until the 21st century) and a part of the Spanish left instrumentalized Catalanophobia to gain votes in some circles, so they used this rhetoric and it spread more, because it gave them a justification that used the right words to sound vaguely leftist and they don't have to question their beliefs nor prejudices.

I hope this answers your question. Thank you very much for your interest and your solidarity, it's greatly appreciated.

[ciginatree]

This Place is Haunted - Ricky Olson x fem!reader

Summary: When a group of friends decide to perform a seance in one of the most haunted spots in eastern Pennsylvania, things take a dark, bloody turn.

Content warnings: language, gore, death, Ouija board/seance, mentions of sacrifice, murder, suicide, child death; fluff

Word Count: 5.4k

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to finish! Thank you all for being so patient, it turned out a lot longer than I expected and took a long time to edit. Shout out to my sister for being my beta tester. Enjoy!

This story is a complete work of fiction portraying the likeness of a real person or persons in a fictional situation.

Ricky POV

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I say, breaking the silence in the van. At my feet is a backpack stuffed with flashlights, gloves, a first aid kit, candles, and to top it off: a Ouija board. I had dabbled in the paranormal before, I live in a haunted house for fuck’s sake, but I had never thought to take it this far. I mean, breaking and entering into the most taboo spot in this part of Pennsylvania? There’s no way in hell it can end well.

“Seriously, Rick? You’re gonna back out now? This was basically your idea,” Angelo groans.

“Yeah you literally won’t shut up about this place and how much you’ve been wanting to ‘check it out’,” Balz emphasizes with air quotes, momentarily taking his hand off the wheel.  

“I didn’t mean I wanted to actually break into the place!”  

“Whatever man it’s too late you’re not getting out of this van.”

I sigh, sinking into the seat of the car, accepting my fate. I look down at my watch: 11:13 pm. The only people out in this podunk town now are druggies and night shifters. Moving here from Seattle was a drastic change, a welcome one, but drastic nonetheless. I left my hometown to join the band a few months ago and I have to say, I got some nasty culture shock. 

“Wait, why are we going to Chris’s? I thought he wasn’t coming,” I say as we turn onto the familiar street.

“He’s not. Y/N is,” Balz remarks smugly. 

“What?!” Y/N has been helping out with some of the more local shows since before I joined the band, she’s Chris’s neighbor so we’ve gotten to know her pretty well outside the shows too. And it’s no secret to the band that I’ve developed a bit of a crush on her. I groan, dragging my hands down my face and slumping into the seat. Goddammit I really can’t back out now. Balz pulls into the driveway and honks twice. A few seconds pass before Y/N exits her house. She turns around and locks the door before bounding down the steps towards the van. She slides open the door and settles into the window seat to the left of me, giving a quick greeting. 

“Oh Y/N, that seat belt is broken, you'll have to sit in the middle seat,” Balz says looking in the rearview mirror. Bullshit. I meet his gaze in the mirror, glaring at him briefly. I know exactly what he’s doing. 

“Oh. Ok.” Y/N replies nonchalantly, sliding over into the seat next to me. I scoot over a bit so she has room to buckle. I meet her gaze, giving her a small smile before looking out the window. Balz pulls out of the driveway and starts heading down the backroads towards the abandoned house. I feel stiff. I can sense her right next to me, our knees practically touching. I try to keep my breathing steady to not give myself away. “So…what exactly is the story behind this house?”

“Why don’t you tell her Ricky? You’re the one who’s obsessed with the place,” Angelo jokes. My cheeks heat up a bit and I pull my lips into a tight line. I neutralize my expression and turn towards Y/N to respond. 

“Long story short, a bunch of culty shit happened in the 1960s. Sacrifices, mania, suicide; that sort of thing,” I mutter out quickly.

“C’mon you can do better than that. Seriously, give me the details,” Y/N looks at me, eyes full of curiosity. 

I sigh, exhaling through my nose. “The Banes family moved into the house in 1962, the house was newly built. Emily Banes, the mother, started getting into the occult and paranormal pretty soon after they moved in. She believed there was some sort of spirit in her house that she needed to please, she basically worshiped it. In ‘63 she gave birth to Henry, who was born with his limbs all twisted up. The doctors did their best to fix him, but it didn’t work too well. Emily believed that the defects were because the spirit was angry with her, but the truth is she took thalidomide during the pregnancy to help with morning sickness which caused a malformation of Henry’s skeletal structure. About a month after he was born, she ritualistically sacrificed him in the living room in an attempt to ‘please the spirit’. She buried him in the wall and claimed he died from the defects,” the car is dead silent now as I continue,.”Emily went manic, blaming her husband, Robert, for Henry’s death. She tore into the wallpaper and brick, ripping up her fingers trying to find her baby. The neighbors found her roaming the neighborhood at night muttering to herself and digging in their bushes. She ended up stabbing Robert 34 times in his sleep before tying an old curtain around her neck and jumping off the balcony that overlooks the front room. The house has been lived in a few times since then, but has been abandoned for decades. Rumor has it that if you light candles in the shape of a pentagram in the living room, close your eyes, and listen you’ll hear a baby shrieking faintly in the walls.”

The silence was thick in the car, suffocating as we drove over the gravel backroads. I bite my lip, pushing the lip ring with my tongue as I wait for someone to speak.

“Jesus,” Y/N finally breathes out. I look over and her eyes are wide with shock. “We’re seriously doing a Ouija board here in the middle of the night?” There’s more than a hint of fear in her voice. 

“Don’t worry, Rick will protect you, won’t you Ricky?”

I roll my eyes at Angelo’s jab before turning my attention back to her. “Seriously though, it’ll be fine. I’ve got a pocket knife if things get tough.” I tap my pocket, smiling.

She chuckles, “Oh boy, ghosts watch out Ricky’s got a pocket knife.”

I laugh as the van slows to a stop. The run down house looms into view of the window. Taking a breath I grab the backpack in front of me before sliding the van door open and hopping onto the gravelly, dirt filled terrain. 

***

Glass crunches under my feet as we enter the house. A curved staircase shadows the entryway, what’s left of the musty carpet hanging loosely on the wooden stairs. I follow to the right of the staircase, the grained wooden floor of the front room coming into view. It’s littered, the sharp odor of urine assaults my nose and my chest heaves. I bring the sleeve of my sweater to my face and cough into it, holding it there in a feeble attempt to mask the smell. “Oh my god, I can taste it,” I wheeze.

“Christ!” I swivel around in time to see Balz coughing and swatting frantically at a cobweb caught on his face. I laugh maniacally into my sleeve as he hacks up half his air supply. When he’s regained his composure I sweep my hand out in front of me, gesturing for him to lead the way. Shuddering, Balz smacks my arm out of his path glaring as he speed walks past me. I snicker, falling into step behind him with Y/N behind me, and Angelo bringing up the rear.   

 Dust sparkles in the rays of our flashlights, the wood protesting beneath us. I sweep my flashlight over the area, taking in the decay. Clink. I aim my flashlight down in front of me, searching for what I kicked. A slim cylinder, caught in a notch of the wooden floor. A needle. Like I said, druggies. I swipe it over to the wall with the toe of my shoe and continue into the room. 

“Woah, is that…?” Y/N’s flashlight points up, the light bending off the ancient crystals of the chandelier. The broken light casts a speckled spotlight onto the twisted iron railing lining the balcony that overlooks the living room. The mangled railing leaves a gaping hole; a mouth filled with rotting iron teeth and a gruff wooden tongue. Mutilated shards of metal angle down the overhang, beckoning us to join it in death, just as Emily had.

“Yeah.” I say simply. I try not to imagine what her body would’ve looked like swinging below the chandelier. I slip the backpack off my shoulder with a jangling thud and crouch down to remove the supplies. Y/N brushes dirt and leaves away from the gear with the side of her shoe, taking a seat across from me. Legs crossed and hands folded under her chin she watches as I set up the seance. I pull out the candles and the Ouija board, furrowing my brow I rummage through the fabric. “Shit, I forgot a lighter.”

“Here,” Angelo paces back from the chipped wall he was inspecting, plunging his hand into his pocket to remove an old lighter. I take it from him, stowing it away in my hoodie.

“Thanks. Balz get over here!” Balz whips his head away from the dusty window and trods over to us. “Ok, here’s how this is going to work. We’re gonna set up a pentagram with the candles and us, the Ouija board, and the final candle will be in the center. Do not blow out any of the candles once we have started the seance, do not taunt the spirits, and absolutely do not end the session or remove your hand from the puck without saying goodbye. Or I will kill you. Got it?” Everyone murmurs some form of acknowledgement, looking around at each other. “Good. Everyone grab a candle and start setting up.”

The candles aren’t fancy, just small unscented tea candles found at the convenience store on Main Street. My back shivers and I take a breath as Y/N sets down the last point of the star. She, Balz, and Angelo rejoin me in the center as I unfold the board, placing the planchette in the center, and the final candle at the head of the panel. “Ok. Everyone turn off your flashlights.” Clicks echo throughout the room, and we are blanketed in an inky darkness. I stand up, withdrawing the lighter from my pocket and flick the metallic gear once, twice, the third time sparking a flame to life. Warmth dances across my fingertips and illuminates a burning orange under my face. I walk the perimeter of the star, igniting the candles one by one until the only one unlit is in the center of our little group. I tilt the flame, charring the pure wick of the final candle. Extinguishing the light in my hand I return the lighter to Angelo and cross my legs, filling the final gap on the sides of the Ouija board. Y/N sits fidgeting with the hem of her shirt to my left, Angelo to my right, and Balz across from me. I bring one knee up to my chest, folding the other beneath me. I grin in the lowlight. “Alright, let’s begin.”

Each person in the group places the first two fingers of their right hand on the planchette. We drag the puck along the perimeter of the board in three stalking circles, thinning the veil between worlds with each scrape of the cardboard. The planchette comes to rest in the center of the alphabet and I hesitate. “Shit, what are we even going to ask?”

“Probably should have thought of that before we started,” Balz hissed.

“Ok, ok just-” I sigh. “Hello?” Silence. I glance around, the flames stand still as unmoving soldiers. A lighthouse to whatever could be lurking here. I feel a chill skate along my back and I repress a shudder. A thud sounds from the back of the house and we whip our heads around, holding our breath. A small creak follows, then nothing. We all wait, turning back to stare at the unmoving puck expectantly. Nothing. “Must’ve been a rat or something. Somebody else try asking something.”

Y/N inhales, biting her lip before speaking. “Um, is… are there any spirits here? God I feel stupid.”

“You’re fine, let’s just wait a minute. See if something happens,” I tell her, eyes remaining fixed on the board. We wait, silent, for thirty seconds.

“Holy fuck!” Angelo panics suddenly. The planchette twitches, dragging itself with a scraping sigh along the board. “Is anyone moving it? Rick, are you moving it?”

“No, I’m not moving it! Now shut up!” The deformed heart shaped piece advances slowly towards the left of the board before coming to a rest. B. My heart is pounding in my ears, filling the silence between us all as the planchette resumes its movement. A. Another drag, quicker this time. B. One last scrape. Y. 

“Baby?” Y/N whispers.

“Damn. Baby? Like the baby, like the one in the walls?” Angelo hisses.

“Are we talking to Emily Banes?” I ask, ignoring both Angelo and Y/N. The planchette moves swiftly across the board. My eyes widen, startled at how quickly it responded. It barely stops at each letter before jolting to the next one. D.E.A.T.H.

“It’s not even answering the damn questions!” Balz exclaims. The planchette hasn’t stopped moving as it spells out another word. D.E.C.A.Y.

The puck whips wildly as it spells, possessed by an unseen force. My fingers tingle as my arm jolts to accommodate the movements of the piece. S.H.I.F.T. 

“Ricky, I don’t like this. I- I don’t feel good,” Y/N pants out next to me. 3. I turn my head to look at her. Fuck. Her face is flushed and strained, her head bobbing slightly as her eyelashes flutter. P.D.Q.L.Q. At this point it’s spewing letters faster than we can register. W.K.H.K.R.X.V.H.

“I’m calling it. We’re done.” I say shortly.

“Dude, we’ve only been doing this for like 5 minutes,” Angelo argues.

“I don’t fucking care, we’re done!” I shout across the board. “Circle the board three times and say goodbye.” But the second we try to move the planchette it plants itself in the center of the board. “What the fuck?” I push as hard as I can with my two fingers. The flames are flickering like flags in a hurricane, and the top point blows out and another creak sounds from behind us. I smack everyone’s hand off the planchette before curling my fingers around it and ripping it from the board. I stand up, hurling it across the room with a shout. It clatters into the wall before ricocheting and skidding across the floor. Momentary silence. Perplexed breathing huffing into the empty space. 

“Now what?” Balz hesitantly asks. I look around at everyone, silently questioning. 

“What if we explore the rest of the house?” Angelo proposes. I look at Y/N, raising my eyebrow slightly. The color has returned to her face, but she looks unsettled. 

“Sure, might as well,” she shrugs her shoulders. Balz and Angelo move to blow out the rest of the candles, gathering up the Ouija board. I turn to her as they walk out of earshot.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to,” I don’t want her to feel pressured into doing this, but curiosity is sprouting steadily in me. 

“Yeah I’ll be fine,” she gives a small half smile, but her eyes look uneasy. I nod warily, walking to the backpack to pack up the rest of the supplies. We decide to leave the candles where they are to cool off.

“What if we split up?” Balz suggests, side eyeing Angelo with a glimmer in his eyes that I don’t really like. 

“Yeah, I’ll go with Balz, you two go upstairs and look around,” Angelo replies, grinning evilly. Figures. 

“Sure, works for me. Everyone meet back at the candles in 30 minutes?” Everyone agrees, and I pull two flashlights out of the backpack. Angelo and Balz click their lights on and start walking towards the back of the house, down the corridor towards the kitchen, leaving me alone with Y/N. I hand a flashlight to her and tilt my head towards the staircase. “Let’s go.”

We make our way to the musty set of stairs together, the wood damp with rot. I take the lead in case any of the stairs give out. The planks creak and moan with every step of our feet on the curled carpet. When we reach the top I look out over the banister, pointing my flashlight down into the room and I sense Y/N step beside me as she peers down past my shoulder. 

“Jesus, that’d be a nasty fall,” she mutters, “Shall we?” She sweeps her flashlight dramatically over to the end of the hallway.

My mouth twitches up in a half smile. “We shall,” I respond just as dramatically. We laugh, making our way to the last door of the hallway. I nudge it open with the end of my flashlight, coughing at the unsettled dust. It’s a bedroom. A metal framed bed sits in the left corner, opposite from a closet with sliding wooden doors. I walk over to the bed, inspecting the stained mattress that lays upon it. Crouching down, I direct my beam of light under the bed. I wrinkle my nose at the empty beer cans and stand up. 

“Hey, Rick? Can I ask you something?” I turn towards where Y/N is inspecting the dirty, steel framed window. 

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“Why’d you guys invite me?” I pause.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this kind of seems like a guy’s trip sort of thing, so why was I invited?” I bite my lip, toying with the ring as I try to think of what to say. I sigh, folding my arms and averting my eyes, a heavy knot forming in my stomach. 

“Balz and Angelo think I have this… I dunno, a thing for you or something. So I think they invited you to try and get us to spend time together,” I mumble quickly, toying with the sleeve of my hoodie.

“A ‘thing’? What, like a crush?” 

I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks as I stammer out a response. “I guess? I dunno, it was their idea.” 

“Do you have a crush on me?” She takes a few steps towards me and I can feel the humiliation burning me alive. “Do you like me like that?”

I lift my eyes to look at her fully, expecting disgust written all over. However, she looks curious with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. I search her face before giving a small answering nod, nerves eating away at my stomach. Before I can say anything else she grasps the front of my sweater, crashing our lips together in a messy kiss. I inhale sharply before closing my eyes and leaning into her. My heart swells and beats like it’s trying to escape my chest and I bring one hand up to cup the back of her neck as the other snakes around her waist, pulling her into me. She tastes heavenly. She tilts her head, deepening the kiss as our lips move against each other softly. Finally, we break apart, gasping for air. 

“I like you too,” she whispers. I break into a smile, huffing out a breathless laugh before pulling her back into me. I kiss her passionately, groaning at the soft noises she makes against my lips. I brush my tongue against her bottom lip, pushing it into her mouth when she parts them. She gasps and threads her fingers into my hair, tugging softly. I groan, squeezing her hip as I lick into her mouth and work my tongue against her own. 

I stumble us both backwards until my calves hit the bed and I sit down, tugging her down beside me. Not caring about how filthy the mattress is, I wrap my arms around her again, dipping my head down to kiss and suck her neck. I caress just below her jaw, sucking and gnawing at the tender skin, reveling in the way she tilts her head back. I pull away, grinning, and in the moonlight streaking through the window I can see the forming mark. I rest my forehead against her own, massaging her cheek with my thumb. “Be mine? Please?” 

She pecks my lips and I can feel her smile into the kiss. “Of course,” she chuckles lightly. I smile, pressing one last kiss to her cheek and sighing before checking my watch.

“Shit, it’s been almost half an hour we should get downstairs,” I clamber off the bed, grabbing my discarded flashlight. I take Y/N’s hand and lead her out the door when we hear a bloodcurdling scream. Balz. I freeze, squeezing her hand, and peer around the corner, praying to god that this was some sick prank he was pulling. Peering out I see a man, thin and tall dragging Balz by his ankle into the living room. There’s a dark trail following beneath his body and it’s then that I register the knife. Adrenaline shocks through me and runs my blood cold. I eye the front door gauging how fast we could get there. My head snaps back down to see the man on all fours, drooling, and scrambling for the staircase, Balz groaning on the floor long forgotten as he clambers right towards us. His hand hits the bottom step and I backpedal as fast I can, yanking a terrified Y/N with me back into the bedroom, making a beeline for the closet.

I slide the wooden door closed as quietly as I can. Circling one hand around Y/N’s mouth, and the other around her waist, I back us up into the closet as far as we can go. Moonlight bleeds in through the wooden slats and spills onto the floor before us. I can feel her hyperventilating against my palm and a lone tear drips onto my wrist. Without saying a word I turn her around and pull her into my chest, stroking her hair as I shush her gently. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry you got dragged into this. Baby, I need you to calm down, or he’ll hear us,” I whisper shakily into her temple. I try to remain calm for her sake, but I’m sure she can feel my heartbeat rapidly pounding in my chest. I can feel her near silent tears staining my neck as she bites down on my hoodie to muffle her breathing. I lower us down to a crouch, minimizing our appearance. Y/N clings to me harder, shaking, eyes shut tight against my neck. I keep one hand on the back of her head for comfort and bring the other to the pocket of my jeans, drawing out my pocket knife. I flip it open slowly, looking down to adjust my stance.

My heart drops and my breathing stutters to a halt. The moonlight is gone. My gaze trails up to see a bony figure, staring through the slats of the closed door. My grip tightens on Y/N’s head and I press her further into my neck. She tenses, holding her breath with me. A croaking, throaty chuckle rises into existence.

The motherfucker is laughing on the other side of the door. Deranged. That’s the only way to describe this corpse of a man. The laughing melds into a gurgling cough, the fit ending in a deep, guttural groan. “I know you took my baby,” he sing-songs in a hoarse moan. His gaze is at the wrong angle to be looking at us. He’s talking to the goddamn door itself. “You put him in the walls.” He giggles before giving a wet sniff. He trails his wet knife across the slats like a child playing a xylophone. A drop of blood oozes off the knife and in between the slats of the wood. Balz’s blood. It drops off the grain and dribbles next to my foot with a soft patter. I jerk my leg towards my body and stare at the crimson droplet in horror. 

I snap my gaze back up in time to see the man slam his head into the doorframe, the force of it rattling the sliding doors. “I KNOW YOU TOOK MY BABY, GIVE ME BACK MY BABY,” he bellows, repeating each phrase with every bash of his head. Y/N jumps, gripping the back of my jacket so hard I think it might tear. Through the slats I can just make out the outline of a syringe sticking out from the crook in his arm. He cracks his skull against the wall once more before stumbling across the room to the window with a low groan. “Why’d you take my baby?” he sobs, before smashing his head through the glass with a shriek. 

Now that he’s away from the door I jump up, bringing Y/N with me. She’s trembling, her eyes red from tears. “Ok, on the count of three I’m going to open the door, and we’re going to run like hell to the front door, got it?” Another crash followed by an unearthly howl and glass shards tinkling to the floor. She shakes her head frantically, eyes wide.

“No, no, no, no, no. He’s right there he’ll get us-”

“Hey, it’s ok I’ve got you, I promise,” I grasp her shoulders and plant a quick kiss to her forehead, sliding my hand down to clutch hers, the other one gripping my knife in front of me. “One… two… three!” I slide open the door and hurdle out of it, Y/N right behind me. I fling my arm out to turn the corner out of the room, when I’m suddenly wrenched backwards, Y/N’s hand leaving mine as I stumble. The force of it all sends the knife flying out of my hand and into the hallway. I whip around to see Y/N on the floor, the man gripping her by her hair. She cries out, sending elbows and fists backwards as she tries to regain her footing, but the man is just out of her reach.

“Get the fuck off her!” I shout, diving at the man. He yells, letting go of her to claw at me. I punch at his face blindly, landing any hit I can. “Y/N, go find Angelo!” 

“What about you?” 

“Go!” The word ends with a wheeze as a hit to the stomach knocks the wind out of me and I slump to the floor. The man starts after Y/N again and I scramble up, tackling him to the ground just outside the door. I look over to see her reaching the staircase before I’m hoisted up roughly by my arm. Up close, the man is more rancid than I could have previously thought. There are missing patches of hair, replaced by gummy scabs; his pupils are extremely dilated, the surrounding whites cracked with streaks of red. His lips are chapped and bleeding and his sallow face has numerous cuts from the glass he smashed himself through, the blood smeared across his puckered face. 

He slams me into the wall and I gasp as my head rebounds off of it. He chuckles leaning in close to me and I can smell his putrid breath. He mumbles croaky nonsense into my face and I bring my knee up to his groin. He lets go of me with a grunt and I punch him again as he stumbles back towards the railing. I heave against him with a final shove and his foot slips, catching the empty air between the disconnected pieces of mangled iron. He tumbles backward over the edge and I feel myself lurch forward. He’s caught my wrist.

My heart falls to my stomach as my feet leave the ground. I lock eyes with the man as an iron bar catches him, sliding through his spine and out his stomach with a gurgling choke. But I don’t stop. I pass the iron bars and freefall over the banister and past the mouth that caught the man in its teeth. For a moment it’s peaceful. Until my head cracks against the floor and my entire body goes numb. My vision blurs and I can just barely see the man skewered above me, hanging like a repulsive, mounted beast. Like Emily. 

I hear Y/N scream my name through the fuzzy haze before everything fades and I’m falling once again into darkness. 

***

Beep

Beep

I slowly wake to the feel of sheets over me, a steady light beating down behind my eyelids. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I blink my eyes open, shutting them again quickly at the burning of the sterile white lights. I try again, blinking and squinting as my surroundings slowly come into focus. I could hear the steady beeping of machines, each short sound stabbing my skull like a knife. There’s a warm weight on my hand, and I anchor myself to it. I turn my head slowly, gasping sharply at the splitting pain. My whole body aches, I feel like I can’t move.

I pant from the effort it takes to turn my head, tilting my eyes down and I see her. Y/N. Her hand is wrapped around mine, her head resting on our conjoined hands. Her hair cascades down on the hospital bed, her breath fanning gently across my fingers. She doesn’t look hurt and my chest heaves a collapsing sigh in relief. I attempt to curl my fingers around her hand, but pain shoots through my arm the second I try to move it. I hiss in pain, dissolving into a coughing fit that feels like it’s going to tear me open. Y/N snaps her head up, standing to lean over me. The light blurs around her, giving an angelic effect I wish I could admire more, but the strain in my eyes prevents me. 

“Hey,” she says softly. Her voice sounds tired, trembling slightly. “How… how are you feeling?”

“I feel like shit,” I rasp. She brushes a piece of hair back from my face.

“Yeah, falling from a balcony will do that for you,” she chuckles nervously. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a while now. Um, they said you have a couple fractured ribs, most likely a concussion, and a hell of a lot of bruising. They gave you an IV and some pain meds,” she gestures to the needle sticking in my hand. She takes a shaky breath and her voice breaks as she talks. “Scared the fuck out of me, Ricky.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears starting to well in the corners of my eyes. I’m exhausted; mentally, physically, emotionally. I just want to go home. Y/N laughs shortly, sniffing wetly as she wipes the tears that fell from her own eyes, before brushing away the one that fell down my cheek.

“Don’t apologize, you saved my life.”

I gasp a stuttering breath as my eyes widen, muscles tensing. “Balz- oh my god what-”

“He’s ok. He’ll be ok.” She interrupts, placing a hand out to steady me. “He had to have surgery, so he’s recovering in a different room. Angelo’s alright too. I found him barely conscious and dazed in the kitchen before you fell. He’s a little beat up but there’s no sign of a concussion or other injury. He’s in the waiting room right now.” I slump back against the pillow, relieved once again. I take a deep breath and try not to think too hard about everything. 

“Do you… need anything?” She asks quietly. My gaze darts to her lips before resettling on her eyes.

“Kiss me. Please,” I whisper desperately. “I just-” She cuts me off by softly pressing her lips to mine. I close my eyes and melt into her. Her cheeks are still wet from her tears and I wish I could move my arms enough to wipe them away. She squeezes my hand before pulling away just a bit, her lips brushing mine as she speaks.

“You can rest now, it’s ok. We’re all ok.” She kisses my cheek and sits back down in the chair she had pulled next to my bed. I can feel my eyes drifting and dozing as she takes my hand again, kissing each finger as I drift back to sleep. I squeeze her hand the best I can, knowing she’ll be here when I wake up.

Tag list: @rumoured-whispers @thewarmisice @black-damask-1999 @skulliecadaver-blog @bloody-delusion-expert

[allergictocolor]

Character Profile - Cousin Itt

Cousin Itt was created for the 1960s TV show, so I don’t have a quote from Charles Addams saying what he should be like. He was fashioned after two drawings of a man completely covered in/made out of hair and wearing sunglasses:

In his first TV appearance, he was a little person wearing a suit and gloves, who simply had a tremendous amount of hair. You could clearly see his legs, arms, and hands. Here he is performing a magic act for the family:

That first costume was made using real human hair, but since everyone everywhere smoked all the time back in the 60s, the costume was later changed to synthetic hair to be less of a fire hazard. They also added more hair, glasses, and sometimes a hat. This became the iconic look of Cousin Itt.

He was played by Felix Silla (above right), who at 3’11” tall was the perfect height to wear the costume. While he performed Itt’s actions, they did not use his voice. Itt’s signature meeping sounds were created by the show’s sound engineer, Tony Magro. His way of speaking was replicated in various ways in every later incarnation, even when he was voiced by a celebrity. In the 2019 and 2021 3D animated films, his voice was provided by Snoop Dogg, but it sounds like it was played backwards and the pitch was raised and possibly sped up. Despite his speech being indecipherable, the members of the Addams family can all understand Itt perfectly.

In the sitcom, Itt will ring the doorbell when he arrives at the house, but if they take too long to let him in, he’ll climb up the walls and enter the house through a window or the chimney. Itt doesn’t live in the house, but he has a guest room built to his dimensions. The others have to stoop to fit inside of it. It’s played for comedic effect, but it’s kind of wonderful that there’s at least one place where other people have to deal with everything being built for his size, rather than the other way around.

The plots for Cousin Itt’s appearances in the sitcom centered around him finding a job or, at one point, losing his hair. In the 1991 film, he falls in love with Margaret Alford, the wife of Tully Alford, who was scamming the family. This sort of establishes Itt as a ladies’ man, which carries over into the 90s animated series and the 3D animated films. Though in the 1993 movie, he’s happily married to Margaret and they have a hairy little child together named What.

Cousin Itt has not yet appeared in the Netflix show Wednesday, though an ancestor of his has. In the seventh episode, Fester, Thing, and Wednesday break into a safe behind a painting of Ignatius ”Iggy” Itt. The way that Fester refers to him makes it clear that this is not the Itt that they both know today, but a different, earlier relative. In addition to that, the dates under the painting are from 200 years ago, and we can assume that Cousin Itt is not over 200 years old. Though it is hard to tell with this family.

Will Cousin Itt make an appearance in Wednesday? It’s unlikely to happen in season 2 unless it’s a surprise. None of the guest stars listed are under four feet tall. There is the possibility that one of the new actors with an unnamed role could be the voice actor for Itt, and a little person would be hired to do the body work, but it’s far more likely that they would hire someone famous for the role.

We are already meeting Grandmama in season 2, and there will be some amount of plot happening in the Addams family mansion, so we can’t completely rule out the possibility of Itt making an appearance. However, they may also wait until a third season to introduce him, and hire someone like Warwick Davis to play him. Right now, only those involved in the show know for certain.

[eddie-redmayne-italian-blog]

Eddie Redmayne Lives a ‘Monastic’ Life for Broadway’s ‘Cabaret’: Lay’s Chips for Lozenges and ‘the Most Painful Massage’

Redmayne tells IndieWire about life behind the scenes of "Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club," where he reprises his West End role as The Emcee for Broadway.

BY RYAN LATTANZIO

APRIL 23, 2024 3:30 PM

Life’s not all a cabaret for film actors making their way to Broadway.

In the case of Eddie Redmayne, who now stars as the ghoul-like and flamboyant Emcee in director Rebecca Frecknall’s “Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club” at New York’s August Wilson Theatre, life behind the scenes is more “monastic,” as he told IndieWire, than song-and-dance bacchanalia.

“When you’re doing a musical like this, it’s quite monastic living, and it’s almost more like being an athlete than an actor sometimes because when you’re doing eight shows a week, you’re keeping your voice in decent nick,” said Redmayne, Zooming from the backseat of a car between appointments, which just included lunch with Joel Grey, who famously starred as the Master of Ceremonies in Bob Fosse‘s Oscar-winning 1972 film.

“It’s quite a physical role,” said Redmayne, who first played The Emcee on the West End in 2022, earning a Laurence Olivier Award for Best Actor in a Musical. In this just-opened Broadway version, Redmayne sings and dances in gender-bending garb, impishly contorting himself on a 360-degree stage opposite Gayle Rankin as alcoholic cabaret ingénue Sally Bowles.

“I wish I could say I was out living a hedonistic Broadway existence, but actually, you are drinking a ton of water,” Redmayne said. “I haven’t got a huge amount of experience in musicals. I listen to all of our musical theater actors in the piece who give me tips on which voice lozenges to use, and apparently, Lay’s chips, like the oil and the salt in that, [are] very good for keeping your voice moist, and these random Chinese medicines that are good. So I take any piece of advice I can to try and keep me upright basically.”

Redmayne made his Broadway debut with the play “Red” opposite Alfred Molina, earning a Tony Award for Best Featured Actor in a Play in 2010. But Redmayne’s musical acumen is limited to the movie “Les Misérables” (he openly despises his own musical performance in the film) and now “Cabaret.” He displays considerable pipes in this splashy stage show, singing lyrics by Fred Ebb and music by John Kander from the 1960s musical.

You’re rehearsing from 9 o’clock in the morning to 6 in the evening, and you’re doing these numbers over and over again. Your voice is a muscle, so it’s about getting to the point where it’s able to sustain,” Redmayne said. “There is a lot of not just singing, but there are quite vocal introductions. You’re having to roll out a lot, using those foam rollers. I go to this brilliant man called Greg Miele, who is a bodyworker, on my day off. I go to get a massage, and [my wife] is like, ‘Lucky you.’ And I go, ‘No, but it’s the most painful massage you have ever experienced.'”

Redmayne’s turn as The Emcee — is he a figment of the Weimer-Era Berlin imagination? a manifestation of Nazi terror taking over? a real person at all? — is intensely physical and loose-limbed. Prior to the fall 2022 West End debut of “Cabaret,” now transferred to Broadway in an even more audience-immersing format, Redmayne took a movement course at the École Internationale de Theatre Jacques Lecoq to understand his character’s body language.

It’s housed in this old 19th-century gymnasium. It was a course on Theater of the Absurd, and it was for professional practitioners,” Redmayne said. “There were people from all over the world, aged 17, 18, to 60, and we did lots of mask work, and there were some brilliant teachers there who were incredibly blunt. You made a fool of yourself and put in your place, and yet you’re also liberated to rip off all the excess, particularly perhaps having worked in film for a while, that had built up in me.”

As for that lunch with Joel Grey, Redmayne said he indeed has the original Master of Ceremonies’ stamp of approval. “When I first did the show in London, it was our opening night, and I was halfway through, it was at the interval, and there was this extraordinary bunch of flowers, and I opened the card and Joel had sent me flowers welcoming me to The Emcee family, and he has been so generous,” he said. “He came to see the show with John Kander the other night. I’m not going to lie, I was utterly terrified and intimidated, but they could not have been more generous and kind.”

Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club” is now on Broadway. Stay tuned for more in conversation with Eddie Redmayne on IndieWire soon.

[tyrantisterror]

Which Ultraman kaiju are your personal favorites and why?

The only Ultraman series I've seen in full is the original - I've seen, like, a third of Ultraseven, several episodes of Ultraman Cosmos, the first season of Ultra Galaxy Mega Monster Battle, and scattered episodes from some of the others - so this is a very skewed/poorly researched answer that's likely to change. But also there's hundreds of these fuckers to choose from so narrowing it down would always be difficult.

Gomora is my absolute favorite Ultra monster. His debut two-parter is one of the best in the original series, and he really pushed Ultraman to his limit. He's got a killer design that has that beautiful simplicity you get from the best kaiju out there - that Showa Tsuburaya house style. And he got to be a hero more than a few times! Gomora fucking rules.

Red King is my second favorite. I love his distinct scales, pin-headed body, and the gleeful malice he exudes. There's even a great aspect to his name - you can't help but wonder why this bone-white monster is called "Red King" until he starts tearing lesser monsters limb from limb. He's "Red King" because he's a king bathed in cherry red blood. A wonderful heel who, like Gomora, had enough star power to get some sympathetic moments later in the franchise.

The Baltans had me when, in their debut episode, they were asked why they couldn't colonize Mars instead of Earth, and answered, "We don't like Mars! We don't want to live there! We'll take Earth!" Maybe it was just a silly translation, but it felt so petty and irrational, this civilization of bug people who could easily avoid conflict by just taking an empty planet, but decide they want to fight humanity instead because they think Earth looks more fun. And another killer design to boot!

...I don't need to explain why Camearra is on this list, right? We all know why she's here, right? Right. Moving on.

I feel the original Mephilas design is kind of at odds with his characterization - he's too cute and cuddly looking! But Shin Mephilas really hits a good spot for me, still recognizable but a bit more sinister for a faustian tempter figure.

Jamilla is one of the most tragic kaiju in all of Ultra canon, and has a suitably messed up design to match. It's like if Belial from Basket Case was built to play basketball.

Finally, let's end with Veron, the alcoholic kaiju who is defeated in part by what I think might be a 1960's Japanese meme?

[beautifullache]

🦄The Sims 4🦄

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[halfwayessay]

Bugibba and Young (1983)

[This is part of a much larger script on the history of Bugibba] [This will also be a lot longer than my previous post, I apologize]

Bugibba is one of the largest resort towns in the entirety of Malta and has been that way for the past 80 years, since its initial boom in the 1960's. It, however, has little history and heritage to speak of which is why information on it is so hard to find. That's why Chapman & Speake's amazing 2011 paper is such an invaluable asset and its also how I found Young's 1983 paper which this post will focus on. This post, compared to the one I made yesterday, is slightly more analysis based rather than a retelling of some interesting history.

But why Young (1983)? As Chapman & Speake mention: “Prior to the 1950s, Bugibba and its neighbouring settlements such as Qawra and St. Paul’s Bay were small fishing and farming based communities” (2011: 483). This makes Young’s paper really interesting in the context of its focus and Bugibba’s former status as a fishing town (which it had been for decades [e.g Chircop 2010], if not centuries [e.g Abell 2007: 125]). It describes 6 stages of development, which will be projected onto Bugibba below.

i. The early traditional stage is pretty much still the traditional fishing-farming village, with the only tourists who come there being those who come to visit relatives (p.38). This is most likely the state in which the 1899-1907 survey of Malta was done, by the British Royal School of Military Engineering (NAM 1899-1907). This map shows a significant lack of an established city with only a few (presumably) houses by the shore (fishermen or farmers, most probably).

ii. The late traditional stage is similar to the previous stage, however some infrastructure has been built for tourism; not necessarily hotels/accommodation, but rather summer homes which the wealthy use on their time off. Possibly, the city may even get a police station, indicating that the government knows the potential of a future resort town (p.36, 38). This is similar to what Chapman & Speake said themselves (p.486), about what Bugibba was like pre-1950 tourist boom.

iii. The initial tourism stage is when people start to come to the village, although tourism in and of itself hasn’t really started. They respect the local culture, seeing as some of them are poets/wealthy and themselves dabble in culture, and they stay mostly separated. The villagers live on as if the tourists aren’t really there, or as Young states, “‘apathetic’” (p.38). NAM (1928), a motion to start an archaeological investigation into Bugibba, could reasonably be used to plot time. It wouldn't be unreasonable to state that amongst the poets and wealthy coming to Bugibba, might be some archaeologists. This plots pretty accurately on the rest of the accounts of Bugibba's development.

iv. The early tourism stage describes when a fishing town, like Bugibba, has finally been acknowledged for its potential. This brings with constructions of tourism complexes, commercial enterprises (shops that aren’t for village living essentials as in stage i-iii) and more. The village is being encroached upon by the tourist infrastructure, possibly even by Maltese with good money[fn1]. “Natives”, accepting the inevitable, mingle with tourists and trade food, products and newspapers and additionally, some who have the qualifications to, help the tourists out with their medical issues.

v. The expanding tourism stage signifies a point in which the village has been designated (usually by the government) to be a tourist attraction and now infrastructure to accommodate tourism is built. This also includes stuff like a new school or bus lines, which also incidentally help out the locals. One of the defining infrastructural developments is the building of a “major luxury hotel” [p.38]. New shops and attractions will open up and, whilst the older village locals might worry, the newer village locals embrace the new attention the village’s getting. This would be Bugibba leading into the 1950’s and it is from here that the development which Chapman & Speake go over.

vi. The intensive tourism stage of tourist development is the final one and it is what can be observed in the early days of Bugibba's tourist boom. The town has been ransacked by private companies looking to get their own piece of the tourism pie, new self-catering apartments, hotels and villas for tourists from all over the world to visit. The urban development of the town has gone into full swing and "the only traces remaining of the Early Traditional Stage" [p.40] are the few monuments and fishing huts which people deem as the town's heritage. This is true too in Bugibba, as little if anything from this period remains intact. 

Almost 4 decades ahead of his time, Young commented on the model he created, asking: “How may the villscape change after Stage 6? Will it, in time, lose some of its appeal as a tourist destination?” [p.41]. This is what Chapman & Speake spend a majority of their time discussing, asking an eerily similar question at the end of their paper: “If Bugibba’s future is not as a resort, then questions concerning its form, function and identity need to be asked” [p.490]. Thanks for reading if you did and below are the references. This was really fun to put together.

Footnotes: 1. E.g, it could be that Calleja Giuseppe (NAM, 1920), who was going to America, possibly in Detroit for work (Sanko, 2018: 113), came back with good money and helped with the building of new tourist infrastructure

References: Abell, N. (2007). The Role of Malta in Prehistoric Mediterranean Exchange Networks. Chapman, A. & Speake, J. (2011). Regeneration in a mass-tourism resort: The changing fortunes of Bugibba, Malta Chircop, J. (2010). Living on Fishing, Caught in the Market: The Maltese fishing communities, 1860s-1920. Sanko, M. A. (2018). Britishers in Two Worlds: Maltese Immigrants in Detroit and Toronto, 1919-1960. Young, B. (1983). Touristization of traditional Maltese fishing-farming villages.

Archival Sources: National Archives of Malta. (1899-1907). Item 50070 - Survey of Malta - Bugibba Area. National Archives of Malta. (1920). Item 4433 - Passport Application of Calleja Giovanni. National Archives of Malta. (1928). Item 0309/1928 - Reports that remains of a megalithic building exist in the land "Ta Bulebel" at Bugibba, and recommends that the site be valued and examined by the Public Works Department. D of M.

[climatecalling]

The most seductive argument that degrowthists make is also the soundest: most of us who live in rich countries could easily make do with less—especially less energy. A study ... calculated that to stabilize the planet’s temperature, we need to decrease the share of passenger-car transport in our cities by eighty-one per cent, “limit per-person air travel to one trip per year,” reduce living space per person by twenty-five per cent, decrease meat consumption in rich nations by sixty per cent, and so on. Those numbers may sound drastic, but in some respects they’re not that far from how many of us lived a half century ago. The median square footage of an American house built in the nineteen-sixties was fifteen hundred square feet, compared with about twenty-two hundred today—and the earlier model was home to more people. Before 1972, more than half of Americans had never taken a plane trip, much less more than one a year. And, since 1960, we’ve increased our total meat and poultry consumption by thirty-five per cent. People assume that going backward is impossible, but why? There’s little evidence that all this extra consumption has made us particularly satisfied, and more than a sneaking suspicion that it’s done the opposite. ... There’s no reason that we can’t head in other directions, and there are signs that we’re already starting to: twenty-five per cent of sixteen-year-olds had a driver’s license in 2020, down from forty-six per cent in 1983, as some combination of cell phones, rideshare services, bike lanes, and environmental concern began to change the teen-age experience. Public policy can push some trends to happen faster: the city of Paris has made enormous investments in public transit, built hundreds of miles of bike paths, and closed many streets to cars. Car trips within the city dropped by almost sixty per cent between 2001 and 2018, car crashes dropped by thirty per cent, and pollution has improved. The city is quieter and calmer. ... France has even banned some airplane trips between cities that are less than two and a half hours apart by train.

No paywall: https://web.archive.org/web/20230731202119/https://www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/to-save-the-planet-should-we-really-be-moving-slower

[up2123753]

Modernism

Another 1930s Odeon

The Modernism architectural style originated in Germany in the 1920s.

The “modern movement” as explained by RIBA was “used to describe the rigorous modernist designs of the 1930s to 1960s”. This was a period where architects “abandoned past styles”(RIBA) and focused on the functuality of structures and rationing the use of materials rather than the look – “rejecting ornament and embracing minimalism”(RIBA).

Modernism was inspired by the Age of Enlightenment in the 18th century when art and design “embraced rationality and simplicity”(study.com) as a response to the Renaissance’s wealthiest who inhabitated homes of complexicity and luxury.

(archdaily)Definitions:

“Functionalism is based on the priniciple that the design of a building should reflect its purpose and function.

Minimalism emphasizes the use of simple design elements without ornamentation or decoration.”

During this era, characterized by inddustrialisation, there were many scientific advances (which led to a rapid change in society) as well as building technology advances. These building technology advances consisted of new construction methods, e.g. the steel frame and curtain walls, etc. The new methods were consistent with the modernism style as they were methods which kept material usage to a minimum as well as falling in line with the new desire for functional over aesthetic buildings. Lbuildings such as skyscrapers and mass housing (flats) were able to be built due to the advancement of knowledge and science, allowing the new methods to be structurally stable for such projects.

While previously the crafting of “furniture and décor”(study.com) was done indivdually and intricately, the new developments in technology meant that mass production was available and as said by study.com, “increaded affordability”.

(RIBA)Characteristics:

“Form follows function (function first)

Modern materials (e.g.steel)

Less is more (minimal)

Open plan interiors (spacious)”

During this time, society started to move away from being as materialistic and showing off money through excessively detailed and bright designs and towards function and minimalism. The departure of the extensive materialism allowed society to rebuild with a new order of equality between classes.

References:

“Another 1930s Odeon.” Art Deco Architecture, Sept. 2012, decoarchitecture.tumblr.com/post/31848938933/another-1930s-odeon-modernism-in-metroland.

Bowen, Kristy. “Modernism in Architecture: Definition & History | Study.com.” Study.com, 2019, study.com/academy/lesson/modernism-in-architecture-definition-history.html.

Kuiper, Kathleen. “Modernism.” Encyclopædia Britannica, 17 Jan. 2019, www.britannica.com/art/Modernism-art.

“Modernism in Architecture.” Dezeen, www.dezeen.com/tag/modernism/.

Olcayto, Rory. ““Housing for Dirty People’ Is Back and I Welcome It.”” Dezeen, 29 Mar. 2023.

Royal Institute of British Architects. “Modernism.” Architecture.com, Riba, 2019, www.architecture.com/explore-architecture/modernism.

Walsh, Niall Patrick. “12 Important Modernist Styles Explained.” ArchDaily, 18 Mar. 2020, www.archdaily.com/931129/12-important-modernist-styles-explained.

[theol1-2]

Barney Miller 101: The Squad

Barney: In charge of this chaos. Practical, kind, patient, protective of his people, worries about them and does his best to help them. Dad In Charge. Jewish. Morals are more important than the letter of the law because sometimes the law, and bureaucracy, is stupid. All-around good guy. Deserves better.

Fish: Been there done that got the aches and pains to show for it. Old and going to complain about it because he damn well deserves it. 120% done with this shit. Reluctantly married and 50% prunes and painkillers by weight.

Yemana: The most unlucky gambler ever to walk this earth, and yet he continues, undaunted. Once got his sideburn shot off. Worst coffee maker the planet has yet seen. Japanese. Sentenced to 25 to life in Filing in 1960 and hasn’t escaped yet.

Harris: Dapper As Fuck. Writer, spends more of his time trying to make money than almost anything else, and annoyed by all this crap. Does Not Care until he really does. Makes a shockingly good looking woman. Black and proud. Best Hair Award 45 yrs running.

Wojo: His full name is unspellable unless you’re Polish, accept it. Built like a brick house and eats like a horse. Former Marine and proud of it. A straightforward, nice boy who has the most character growth by a country mile and is trying really hard even if he doesn’t always understand. Squad Slut, total himbo. Also plays the flute and faints at needles.

Dietrich: 90% of his personality is Fun Facts, Dramatic Effect, and feeding off other people feeling awkward. Pedantic as hell, wit dry as fuck, puns always. His jokes are terrible. Obsessed with Goethe for some reason. Grows his own wheat in his apartment. Always has a definition ready. Intellectual Asshole but cute about it (it’s probably the glasses).

Chano: Passionate af. Dancer, Puerto Rican, loves his country, a silly boy. Once had to write a burglary report and had to write his own name under ‘Victim’. Loves playing secret agent. Broke down sobbing when he had to shoot a guy and needed a week off to recover. Loved wearing a dress for mugging detail completely unironically.

Wentworth: Gets combat fever like CRAZY oh my god do not get in her way. Survived a relationship with Wojo, sanity intact. Does not care what people think about her and focuses like a laser. Protective af, tiny and will fite you. (and you will lose.)

Batista: Don’t fuck with her. Even tinier than Wentworth and even more determined. More arrests than everyone else combined. Gets Shit Done.

Levitt: He’s short and he’s angry about it. Fluent in ASL, determined to make detective no matter what it takes. Frequently misunderstands because he is convinced that there is a trick to getting this damn promotion and there isn’t. Has the worst suits, bless him.

[carlessvalley]

Why houses are so expensive in America. - μ's analysis

Inventory.

That's the short version. We just have too few.

But how does this affect anything? After all, places like Seattle have been building apartment buildings a lot recently.

They've been building too few apartment buildings.

Alright, I'll stop beating around the bush. What do I mean?

Well, you see, in the United States (and indeed, in most parts of the world) we've decided to treat housing as an investment opportunity. Buy your house now, and sell it for more in the future. "It helps build the wealth of American families by giving them an asset that will never depreciate!"

And this may have worked a long time ago, when there were fewer people (and when a different kind of development pattern was more common) and wealth inequality wasn't so intense, even if it could be claimed that the housing market was better off in the early 1900s (a point where it got so bad that we created antitrust laws) relative to today.

But the United States has a lot more people than it did 40 years ago. And the way we've changed our land use hasn't exactly helped.

You see, the idea of houses as investment runs into a little problem. With housing being such a lucrative investment where returns are guaranteed, it's really high in demand. But this causes a problem when the amount of newly built/empty housing units in a metro area is less than the number of people who want to move there.

Take the story of San Francisco as an example. Towards the ladder end of the 20th century, the concept of a tech company came into existence. And tech companies, especially software developers, were able to have HUGE profit margins. So, having someone skilled in developing software was very valuable, and worth top dollar salaries. And San Francisco was where a majority of them were located. This quickly meant that someone could go to university, graduate in 4 years with a computer science degree, then move to San Francisco and immediately earn six figures.

Unfortunately, the number of people coming into San Francisco for these jobs was greater than the existing housing stock, causing prices for these houses to tend towards the highest bidders.

And they went to the highest bidders because, if you bought your house in the 1960s for 50k, and now, in the 1990s, upon listing it, you get offers up to 300k, you're probably going to take the 300k offer. Why accept someone else who can only afford 70k for your house?

And the average price of houses drove up, because the number of prospective citizens who were offering massive sums for the houses was higher than the number of housing units that were available for them to buy.

So... how exactly does a city go about fixing this problem? How do they drive down the price of housing?

Some of you are itching to propose that they just build more houses, after all, if quantity is a problem, then quantity should surely fix it.

Luckily, we have a metro area who's done just that.

Phoenix, Arizona

An in-demand, giant metro area with the perfect geography for just building tract housing for miles and miles.

...And we find the same pattern. Phoenix homes in 2020 were an average of ~$300k, whereas they average ~480k nowadays.

Why, then, does this happen? A lot of people have claimed that a lot of different factors are at fault: Houses just... naturally increase this much all the time; companies are buying all the houses and renting them out; Joe Biden.

But the real reason is simple: Single-family houses are really inefficient.

That's the biggest reason. They're just too inefficient to be making up as much of the housing stock as they do.

Just look at San Francisco on satellite view. South of San Bruno Mountain and the Oakland side of the bay are all these detached, single-family houses separated by yards and giant roads.

Don't trust the observations of satellite imagery? Well here are your numbers:

Of the urbanized area, about 75 percent is in primarily single-family residential neighborhoods, representing 69 percent of the region’s total housing stock.

The kinds of dense, mixed-use areas that support walking and high-quality transit make up only 1 percent of the urbanized area but are home to 5 percent of its residents and 29 percent of its jobs.

[Source]

The average lot for a Single-Family residence in the bay area is ~5000sqft(~490sqm) That means you could put two 2000sqft units on one lot, and still have 1000sqft leftover. And that's not to mention how much more you could get by adding floors.

Assuming three floors, a totally reasonable height that wouldn't really kill the look of any particular neighborhood (especially if this is being built near the transition from residential to commercial and going outward from there) then we could get the following setup:

Two 2500sqft units, three 1600sqft units, and then four 1250sqft units. That means, on the space of a SINGLE home with SINGLE family, you can build a 9-unit apartment building that can hold ~25 people.

This is just more efficient than the current solution: build outward and build low.

And focusing more housing development into replacing old stock towards the urban center from the 1970s means less freeway congestion and more demand for higher-efficiency, environmentally friendly transit modes.

[useless-catalanfacts]

Was curious if you have any interesting information on L’Hospitalet de Llobregat?

I moved about a year ago, and I am about to sign up for my first Catalan class with the CNL soon. Since I do not speak Catalan yet and have limited Spanish, a lot of information I come across for my new home is not accessible to me.

Thank you in advance, and for you write on here in general. It is a great resource.

Thank you! And best wishes for the course with CNL, I hope you enjoy it!

L'Hospitalet de Llobregat is the 2nd most populated city in Catalonia and has the most densely-populated neighbourhood in all of Europe (Torrassa and Collblanc neighbourhoods). I'll shorten it to L'H from now on.

There's archaeological evidence of population in what nowadays in L'H since the Paleolithic (hunter-gatherer communities in the Prehistory), Ancient Iberian (the indigenous people who lived here before the Roman invasion), and the Roman era.

Ancient Roman head of Medusa known as "Medusa de Provençana", found in an excavation next to the Santa Eulàlia de Provençana church in L'H. Nowadays it's exhibited in the Museu d'Arqueologia de Catalunya, Barcelona.

The origin of the city as we know it now dates back to the Middle Ages. It originated as two entities: the older Provençana (which we have written records of since around the year 900, and was found around Sta Eulàlia de Provençana) and the later Hospital de la Torre Blanca ("Hospital of the White Tower", from around the year 1100, what is now barri del Centre). The second one was a hospital not in our modern sense of a place to take care of the ill, it was a house for helping poor and homeless people, probably founded by the Knights Hospitaller. It grew in population and ended up becoming more important than Provençana, and eventually the name that designated the whole area was changed from Provençana to L'Hospitalet (meaning "The Little Hospital" in Catalan).

But throughout all of these centuries, L'H was a very rural town with a small population (as an example, it had about 900 inhabitants in the year 1815). The population grew when an irrigation canal was built that allowed the fields to be way more productive, reaching 5,000 inhabitants around the year 1900. But the population boom came in the 1960s and 1970s, during the Francoist dictatorship, when many immigrants from different rural parts of Spain moved to the big cities to work in the industry. That's when the areas around Barcelona were quickly built up in these massive apartment blocks to make the "bedroom cities" from where the newly-arrived workers commuted to work every day. The population boom was so huge that it explains why L'H is the 2nd biggest city in Catalonia and so densely populated.

Carrer de la Florida in 1956 vs 2024. (L'H city archive / Google Maps).

Carrer de la Renclusa, 84, in 1955 vs 2024. (L'H city archive / Google Maps).

Carrer de la Mina, 19, in 1956 vs 2024. (L'H city archive / Google Maps).

Avinguda del Torrent, 78, in 1956 vs 2024. (L'H city archive / Google Maps).

These "bedroom cities" had been built so quickly, that they didn't have any services. The inhabitants had to fight for all the services they have, which created a strong sense of pride that still continues nowadays.

As another note, one of the most famous maquis (anti-Francoism guerrilla fighters) was from L'H: Quico Sabaté. You can read about him on Wikipedia here. Another famous person from L'H is Ferran Adrià, one of the most famous chefs in the whole world.

I hope this was interesting, and I hope you can make the most of the Catalan classes, it will surely help you understand the country more and get better perspectives for a job.

[denimbex1986]

'When the history of movies in the age of streaming, COVID and the first double strike since 1960 is written, the day of July 21, 2023, will go down as the rare date that’s actually remembered as a box-office landmark. For that was the day that Hollywood dropped two blockbuster weapons — one pink, the other dark — both of which hit their target audiences and went boom.

A downside of our franchise culture is that even when movies become big hits, their appeal often boils down to a basic expression of mass taste engineered by market forces. Look, the “Jurassic Park” concept worked again. Shocking! The “Mission: Impossible” series has a wild card tucked into its gamesmanship (you’re not going to get AI to do what Tom Cruise does on a motorcycle), but once you look past Cruise’s stunt mojo, even the perfectly decent new “M:I” installment has been greeted by critics as “the best action film of the summer.” That made me think: Aren’t the “Mission: Impossible” movies supposed to be more than action films? We’ve got “Fast XXV: Fuel-Injected Diesel” for that.

Which brings me to those pink and dark hit weapons. You could say that “Barbie,” by tapping into the appeal of the most famous doll of the 20th century, takes off from as iron-clad a piece of IP as any movie ever has. You could say, “Okay, great, it made $155 million in three days — but a Barbie movie was always going to have a built-in audience.” Except that imagine if “Barbie” had been made in a standard way, by a standard filmmaker; it could easily have been a “Smurf” movie with better clothes. “Barbie” may be legendary IP, but the idea of a movie about Barbie, Ken and all their friends is not exactly a concept that lends itself to human dimensions (or to entertaining qualities as a movie for anyone over the age of 12).

For that, you need a filmmaker like Greta Gerwig, who summoned the industry power and the pop vision to transform “Barbie” into an exuberant jokey carnival of fourth-wall-breaking doll’s-house-as-rabbit-hole feminist surrealism — a candy-colored Dreamhouse burlesque that adores Barbie and resents her at the same time, that tweaks the patriarchy even as it treats Ken as the film’s most complicated character, and that has the wit to recognize that Barbie isn’t just a plaything, she’s a metaphysical projection of feminine ideals who also has the effect of undermining who women are.

That’s a lot to unpack in a movie about a doll, but here’s the point: Did Greta Gerwig simply sneak all that stuff into a Mattel movie that can still function perfectly well as a piece of product that’s moving even more product off the shelves? Or did her playful subversive sensibility take a movie that was probably destined to be successful and turn it into something twice as successful? The buzz leading up to the release of “Barbie” was off the hook. I haven’t felt that level of anticipation since the era when the thrill wasn’t yet gone from “Star Wars” movies. And I’d argue that even though most of the people eager to see the film may not have known, going in, who Greta Gerwig was (though they will now), they picked up on what the Greta Gerwig-ness of the whole enterprise meant: that this was not going to be a cookie-cutter Barbie movie, that it was going to be a bowl of very spiked punch. It was going to be a movie that surprised you. It’s that essential quality, not just the IP, that could make “Barbie” the biggest movie of 2023.

As an act of counterprogramming, the simultaneous release of “Barbie” and “Oppenheimer” plays like someone’s idea of a cosmic joke. It’s not just that the two films make a perfect pair in their staggering lack of aesthetic and demographic overlap. It’s that glommed together into the greater-than-the-sum-of-the-parts entity known as “Barbenheimer,” the two movies seem to express the yin and yang of the 21st-century world. As a culture, we’re as serious as the atom bomb and as superficial as Barbie — and we take our superficial playthings deadly seriously. If the box-office triumph of “Barbie” sends a crucial signal that inviting a gifted filmmaker to revel in the power of her idiosyncrasy works as a commercial proposition, the box-office triumph of “Oppenheimer” sends a different signal, reminding us that we still live in a heady and sober culture, one in which a three-hour talkfest meditation on the meaning of J. Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atom bomb, can seize audiences the way the movies of the ’70s or ’90s used to.

Christopher Nolan is certainly a director with a built-in fan base. But it’s worth noting what the Nolan brand represents: filmmaking as an adventure into the unknown, as a movie you go to a theater to watch, as an experience that’s larger than life, that’s vastly bigger than you. The promise of “Oppenheimer,” and what I think is luring people out to see it in even greater numbers than expected, is that the film won’t just be a biopic about the man who spearheaded the creation of nuclear weapons. It will be a movie about all of us, about what the creation of nuclear weapons did to us. That’s one reason you want to see “Oppenheimer” with an audience. IMAX, if you experience the film in that form, means a big screen, but the ultimate big screen is the collective consciousness of everyone in the theater.

These two movies, with nothing in common except the power and passion that got each of them made, have arrived at the perfect moment in our perfect storm of entertainment-industry meltdown. Long after their theatrical runs are over, “Barbenheimer” will stand as a touchstone that can remind everyone why we go to the movies: not just to relive some old IP but to dive into a vision, to live life for two hours (or maybe three) in the grip of an artist. There’s a lesson here, apart from buzzy fireworks of success, that the industry needs to remember and embrace. The lesson is that all of this works only when we give artists the license to follow their muse, to express the excitement of what’s in their soul. Everything else is just algorithms.'

[wornpodcast]

Eviction, Hawaii, and a little advice

Hello, lovely listeners, and welcome back to another episode of Worn. I'm your host, Silla Quiñones, and I'm here to explore the intricate threads of labor, self-discovery, growth, and the harsh realities of poverty. Today's episode is a sobering yet important one. We'll be delving into a topic that affects countless lives across the globe, with a focus on the US – evictions and notices.

Evictions are more than just notices to move; they're about people's lives being upended. Eviction notices arrive like unexpected storms, disrupting the fragile stability of those already teetering on the edge. Imagine receiving that letter, feeling the weight of uncertainty and fear, wondering where you'll lay your head next. Today, we're diving deep into this topic, exploring personal stories, the social fabric, and potential solutions.

The first story on our radar is of the families on Maui in Hawaii.

As many of us are aware, our friends in Hawaii, specifically on the island of Maui have suffered a horrendous fire. A fire which the Hawaii power utility company has taken responsibility for starting. They had over 60,000 utility poles which were outdated from, and I quote from the Ap article on it, “its own documents described as built to “an obsolete 1960s standard,””.

it is such a horrific situation they’ve caused by not prioritizing safety for well over 50 years on the island of Maui.

To compound this horrible event, eviction notices have been circulating. Yes, there are human beings that saw this disaster unfold and decided that it would be appropriate to claim that individuals affected are “in breach” of their leases during this crisis and uproot them. It is, in my opinion, such a shameful and horrific act to be party to.

Now something incredibly important to note is that according to the Statewide Office on Homelessness and Housing Solutions of Hawaii, it is absolutely a violation of the statewide eviction moratorium in place to protect those affected in by the fires.

Evictions during times of crisis are unfortunately common but frowned upon. Upheaving those dealing directly with the aftermath of natural disasters is discompassionate and irrational. If you or someone you knows has received an eviction notice please contact the State Landlord-Tenant Hotline or Legal Aid Society of Hawaii. Both numbers will be in description, and listed on the show’s show notes on tumblr.

Contact the State Landlord-Tenant Hotline (808-586-2634) or a legal services agency, such as the Legal Aid Society of Hawaii (808-536-4302), to seek information about your rights as a tenant if you are a Maui Resident.

Evictions are not isolated incidents; they're part of a complex web of systemic issues. They reveal the chasm between those who hold power and those who are vulnerable. This issue disproportionately affects marginalized communities, perpetuating cycles of poverty that are difficult to break. This is why I cannot encourage people enough to reach out to housing advocates and seek legal representation when faced with an eviction.

Remember, after a notice to quit, if you haven’t vacated the premises, then the landlord has to file the appropriate paperwork with the local courts. A notice to quit is not a legal document, if it is written in a way to incite fear or be threatening, take photos and document it! No judge is going to look favorably on such unprofessional and often times discriminatory behavior. Follow up with the courts directly, having legal representation is often optional but judges have been known to rule in tenant favors when they have legal representation vs in cases where tenants represent themselves.

Our society needs comprehensive changes – from policy shifts to community support networks. Some places are experimenting with alternative housing models, like cooperatives and community land trusts. These innovative approaches prioritize people over profits and aim to break the cycle of evictions because evictions do not exist in a vacuum; they’re a manifestation of a broken system. Thank you for joining us on this episode of Worn. Remember, the fabric of our society is woven by the stories we share and the actions we take. Stay compassionate, stay curious, and keep unraveling the threads that bind us. Remember to subscribe and share Worn with your friends and family. Until next time, remember that no matter how worn we may feel, we are always capable of embracing our strength and rewriting our stories. Stay resilient.

References:

Eviction Prevention Resources Statewide Office on Homelessness and Housing Solutions (.gov) https://homelessness.hawaii.gov/eviction-prevention/#:~:text=I%20received%20an%20eviction%20notice,your%20rights%20as%20a%20tenant.

[amandak-to-mom-at-christmas]

2010

"Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away.

– Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

               Christmas seems to be a time for many things. It’s a time for family and friends to gather ‘round one another in love and fellowship. It’s a time when we, perhaps more so than the rest of the year, reach out to those around us who are in need. It’s a time when many of us pause to reflect upon the way we have been blessed – with families, with friends, with a relationship with our Savior.

And it’s a time, for me, to look back at the year that is about to draw to a close, to think about where I have been, where I am, and where I hopefully will be. This year, for me and for my family, has been one of profound changes, some which were incredible blessings, some incredible sorrows. As we put up trees and bake cookies and sing carols and wrap presents, it leaves me a lot of time to think about those changes, to let them settle into place in my heart and mind. As I do, I realize that I’ve been thinking a lot about legacies this year. As friends and family know, we lost my grandfather in April after watching Alzheimer’s disease steal him away for the last few years. I suppose it is natural to think about legacies – the part of us that lives beyond our earthly lives – after the loss of a loved one. But it’s not just that; in the coming months, I will be moving into my grandparents’ house, the house they built in the 1960s and the home they shaped through love for over forty years. The renovation process has been an emotional one – how to keep the essence of the house intact and yet still make it my house and my home. There is a delicate push and pull between holding onto the past and making room for the future. In the midst of this pushing and pulling, my mind keeps going back to legacies.

As Bradbury writes, a legacy is “something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die”; it is something that, “when people look at” it, “you’re there.” As a Christian, I know where my grandparents are. I know where their souls now reside. I wouldn’t wish them away from Heaven no matter how much I might miss them, but I trust that God is generous enough to let a little piece of them be in the house, as well, generous enough to share them with me while they’re in Heaven the way He so generously shared them with me while they were on earth. They’re there, not in the walls or nails or windows or doors but in the warmth and the memories and the love that cannot, no matter how many walls are knocked down or carpets are ripped up, be demolished.

I know the house’s story up until this point, the story my grandparents wrote there, but I can’t foresee how my own story will be written. Will this be the place a husband and I call our first home? Will children of my own run through the rooms and down the hall as I did as a child? These are, of course, some of the great unknowns of my life, of any life. But I trust, with all my heart, that while my story may be different from my grandparents’, it will be told with some of the same words: family, love, safety, security, hope, happiness, and joy. My grandparents’ legacy, the house’s legacy, will hopefully be the way they have helped to pave the way for my own happiness. This thinking about legacy is interwoven with this season. Christmas’s position at the end of the year offers us this opportunity for reflecting on the year that has been and hoping for the year that is to be. We sometimes only think of what we leave behind at the end of our lives, but the truth is that we leave things behind us with each breath that moves us forward. We leave legacies every day, every month, every year. And what we said or did yesterday, what we said or did this year, will, ultimately, be the stories of our lives. This, naturally, leads to the question of what kind of stories we are writing, what kind of stories we are leaving for others to read of our lives. Are they stories full of compassion, of love, of grace? Or are they full of bitterness, selfishness, and judgment? Are we the villains or the heroes of our own lives? In the books of our lives, the chapter of this year will soon close. We can’t erase what we have written, can’t go back and change the characters or alter the plot. But the beautiful and amazing thing about life is that with each new day, each new year, we get to write ourselves a better story; live ourselves a better, fuller, more abundant life; and leave ourselves a better legacy. Christmas is a time to start those stories and pave that legacy with a joyful beginning.