#the script of the show is so fucking vapid when it comes to this like kaworu shows up for ten minutes and is like I gay :)

[junglejim4322]

As much as I hate the way they reduced kaworu to sanitized nothing in the adaptations of evangelion particularly the show and how badly it fucks up the narrative it really is a fascinating choice for a series with a predominantly male audience to paint homosexuality as quite literally the only positive thing and normal relationship to happen in shinjis life ever

[popculturebuffet]

Averyfest Special: Top 12 Uncle Phil Moments (Comission by WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy pillow mounds of mashed pot-a-toes. Today kicks off Averyfest. For those like me who didn't know about this treasured event, Averyfest is a now yearly event held in Sufolk, Virginia, home of the one the only James Avery, a celebration of black culture in honor of this fine actor.

And since both Kev who comissioned this and myself happen to be big fans of avery, we decided to honor him with a little celebration of our own. THE TOP 12 UNCLE PHIL MOMENTS. While Avery had a long storied career in tv we can come back to next year, including being the first animated shredder, guesting on night court, being to my suprise the first actor to play Jim Rhodes overall in the 90's iron man cartoon, leading his own sitcom Sparks and more we'll probably find as we dig. The man is talented as hell and IS more than uncle phil.. but it's also hard to define his legacy without his best roll.

Over 6 seasons Avery gave us one of if not the best sitcom dad ever: Uncle Phil worked in a lot of contexts and played off everyone in the cast uniquely: he was respectful yet stubborn with his wife vivian, often livid at Will's antics but more than there to support his adopted son in all but paper when he needs it most, alternating between having a close bond with carlotn and being another straight man to the increasingly cartoony dweeb, grappling with ashely growing up and serving as easily hillary's best foil, exasperated at his daughters vapidity. Ther'es also of course Geoffry, his butler who hasn't met a joke he won't make about his boss and is too good at his job and too loyal, and has frankly put up with too much crap at times, for Phil to complain. Over the series Avery got to show his strong dramatic chops with the more grounded moments of character and his immense comedic chops. Avery was a wonderful man, a wonderful talent and he's dearly missed and this is entirely in his honor, showing off every inch of his performance with my 12 faviorite momnets from the show.

12) And I"m Telling You (The Script Formerly Known As.. 6-5)

This is an episode I honestly barely remember, i've watched the series casually on and off. But this is a moment i've rewatched a few times on it's own.

Now i'ts so low on this list because the moment's more Will Smiths, an actor I respect as a performer, who fucked up royally at the oscars (As did Chris Rock), an incident I was going to get into but frankly.. this isn't about Will Smith. I'll still give him credit where he's do, but this isnt the place to unpack that whole incident, plenty of people have, and I'm only adressing it because it's hard not to.

Anyways this was more Will's moment, giving a hilaroiusly over the top lipsinc to phil after Will Smith Shenanigan #129. But while Smith's capering would be fucking brilliant on it's own what sells it and lands it here is Avery's facial acting. Giving the most baffled and bug eyed performance, Uncle Phil is left somewhere between confused and pissed off before ultimately giving up and it's glorious. This moment would be good anyway but it's doubly good thanks to his reactoin to the madness before him.

11) Soullllll Train (Soul Train, 5-8)

The Soul Train ep is a fun one for Uncle Phil.. and for all involved as the banks as a whole get invited on SOULLLL TRAINNN after Phil had a great showing years ago. Phil's self concious, but goes anyway and gets a great moment dancing with his wife and showing age dosen't matter, how you feel is. We also get him dancing with a guy for funk practice, something that will never not be hilarous.

10) Hell Toupee (Geoffery Cleans Up, 2-16) I honestly forgot this was in the same episode as Geoffery Dates a Rich Lady, a plot that's nice if forgetable. This on the other hand is pure comic gold. I don't know who in the writers room shouted "let's just put james avery in a goofy toupe and riff on that" but bless them. Trying to make his dad look younger, Carlton puts him in this monstrosity while Phil is fully against the whole idea, feeling self concious. I do like how Phil's Self Conciousness is a big part of his character, that he dreads not being seen as the upstanding rich lawyer he's become. Sometims it holds him back like the Soul Train ep above or an episode coming up on the list. Other times like this.. you get it. He's fine being bald, looks honestly damn good with a bald head and beard, and dosen't really need it, Carlton just got in his head. Will's scream at seeing his second hairpiece is also worth it.

9) Pillowy Mounds of Mashed Potatoes (4-10)

Look this meme had to get here. This wasn't an episdoe I watched a lot as I didn't want to watch Avery have a heart attack, Doubly so since Avery died of problems during heart surgery. But i'll be dammend if his weird worshipful description of how much he loves potatoes dosen't get in here. He's on a diet, he misses mashed potatoes, you don't need much.

8) Judge Phillip Banks (Season 3 Arc)

This one is lower because it's not really ONE moment but the only arc I can see Phil got to himself all series and it's a great one. After finding out his mentor Judge Robertson is both an asshole and refusing to leave despite being not fit for the job, Phillipi runs. And thus shenanigans insues as he doeas with constant set backs, robertson shooting low and anything will does, or in one case Jazz using Will's car, not helping. Ironically it is Will who wins it.. by calling Robertson, a truly hilarious villian and great guest sport, out then accidently killing the man. It's a solid arc that moves Phill forward in his career while looping in everyone else for at least one bit.

7) Beauty (The Big Four-Oh, 2-7)

This is a moment i'd forgot about. The Big Four Oh is rightly remembered as Janet Hubert's best run as Aunt Viv, dancin gup a storm as she persues an old dream to see if she still has it, insecure at turning 40. Something I can relate to as turning 30 was stressful enough. 40.. 40 scares me.

But this small moment is so wonderful it made it here: Phil telling his wife just how he feels, how he gets lost in her eyes like a thousand thoughts turned to dust, her beautiful skin and just how much he admires her. It's powerful acting from avery and a reminder that while the two argue like any couple, there's real true love there. And always would be.

6) Break Out Lucille( Bank's Shot, 1-22)

One of the best moments of the whole show and another one of those little moments that reminds you while Phil is a stuff shirt now he wasn't always and is eternally not to be fucked with. I honestly don't remember most of this episode: will did a gambling, lost a lot of money, so Phil has to bail him out. Phil does so however by showing that while Will got hustled, Phil was a hustler, making his money on pool, suckering the man who suckered will into ab ad bet.. then having Geoffery break out lucille. This alone is a nice detail I didn't really examine before writing this; normally Phil tries to keep his past at arm's length, our next entry gets into that more. He's not ashamed of the lengths he had to go to get where he is, but dosen't like to dwell on it. Yet when it comes to Pool.. he clearly still enjoys it. It's something that still has a touch of class to it and he can enjoy, something that's both his past having to hustle to pay for school and something he still keeps up. So while this is to tecah will and some assholes a lesson, Phil is clearly just letting his lack of hair down and enjoying himself with this one.

5) Zeke (Not Without My Pig You Don't, 1-4)

Not Without My Pig You Don't is one of my faviorite episodes of the show and one of the most important. As I mentioned, Phil likes to keep his past at arms length. It walks that line in that while he's not ashamed of having worked hard, done everything he can or protested, he's left most of that behind and adapted to the largely white subrban world he's in now.

The series dosen't let him get away from it for long as only 4 episodes in we meet Phil's parents and his past: Turns out Phil was a farm boy, first black president of his 4h club, desgreated a local bathroom (albeit because he had to pee real bad), and had a pig. It's all pretty charming stuff: while I grew up in suburbia my dad grew up on a farm with my grandma I visited frequently and while not having pigs, just cows, it was charming to meet Will's grandma a kindly, lively woman.

What makes this a moment for Phil is how he grapples with it. He's mildly embarassed at his past when Hattie brings it up to his kids.. but he's absolutely furious when will, in a truly kind moment finding out a newpaper inteview Phillip did is going to be cut as the reporter finds it boring, tells the stories. What makes this so good is that Will isn't pulling some prank or trying to get under Phil's skin: he saw the story was going to be cut and while he laughed at Phil's antics as "Zeke", he's clearly proud of what the man acomplished even back then. It's already clear that while Will will razz phil constantly, he loves his uncle even this early.

Phil however dosen't want to be known as a "hog handling hick from yamacraw" so blinded by who he is NOW that he hates who he was despite again being from the farm being nothing to be ashamed of. He had two loving parents who worked hard to support them.. and Hattie hearing this is furious and calls him out. This being a sitcom Phil does manage to patch things up with a warm speech, but it feels more earned here, wtih Phil accepting his past and himself and how hard his parents worked to get him where he is today. Just because being a farm boy dosen't fit iwth who he is now dosen't mean it didn't get him there.

4) Goodbye (I, Done 6-24)

I, Done is a solid series finale, giving all the banks their happy endings: Geoffery to London to connect with his son, Ashely and Hiliary to New York for school and her show, Carlton to Princeton and the rest of the Banks somewhere east. That leaves will in Calfironia, still in school and wondering if he'd gained anything at all and hidning the fact he didn't have some grand plan. When confronted he feels like a looser.. and instead.. Phil sets him straight

You have no idea what my first memory of you is. I remember... a kid loaded with all the potential in the world. Now I see a person on the verge of realizing that potential.

While Phil always had issues with Will it';s clear from the pilot, which we'll get to he loved the boy as his own and confirms it at the end, saying Will's his son end of story. It's a powerful goodbye..a nd yet not one as he gets will to promise to call him every sunday. While we never saw it... I never doubt the two met again. And still call every sunday.

3) I Heard the Brother Speak (The Fresh Prince Project, 1-1)

This to me is Phillip Banks defining moment. It's an important one as we're only on the first episdoe and Phil spends most of it being what you'd expect from the series premise: a stuff shirt who Phill seemingly needs to get to loosened up. And that isn't untrue: there are time Will gets Phil out of his own bubble and to accept the wider black experince. But what makes the show works so well is that it's nuanced: it was a goal from the start to show there's not one kind of blackness. And that just becaue Phil is a rich man now dosen't mean he forgot his roots.

He keeps a bulk at arms length.. but there are parts that won't leave him. When Phil tries to counter part of his rebellion is simply Phillip being so bougise, claming he's forgot himself, he's not entirely wrong, as the previous episode shows just two episodes after this, but he's not right either: Phil makes it clear will DOES NOT know the full measure of him and that while rich, Phil was old enough to have been on the front lines, at the marches, encountering racists, probably getting hosed, and to have "heard the brother speak". While there's no doubt Will encountered racisim and the series never darts around that, we'll get to THE episode tackling that soon enough, it's still enough of a gap to give will pause and feels like the moment Will stops seeing phil as just this adult to rail against, but his eventual new dad. It's also a good moral for a sitcom, one not done enough: that sometimes you can' tjudge a person just by what little you know but by their ful character and past. That there's always layers beneath. And this was the first time we saw Uncle Phils.

2) BULL! (Papa's Got a Brand New Excuse 4-24)

I already put this episode at the top of my top 12 fresh prince episodes, so this isn't remotely suprising. Will's dad returned, claimed to take him on a trip then prepared to flee again. Phil spent the whole episode PISSED Lou was back. Vivian wasn't happy either, but both tried to give Will their blessing and space. But when Lou planed to abandon will AND have Phil tell him, Phil fucking explodes. he has before, lots of angry rants at Phil and Carlton most of which they deserved. But this is Phil at his most pissed off with only our #1 coming close: he tears the man apart, refusing to let Lou leave when he tries to brush him off, making the man sit and shouting BULL when Lou tries to say he'll still take the trip and tearing into him. It's one of the best reason you suck speechs i've ever witnessed tearing Down how Lou thinks he can just duck in and out of his sons life, what he's done and how yes Lou was scared, young and it's understandable.. but so was Uncle Phil who as seen by flashbacks got his fortune young but also still struggled at first, and who didn't remotely run from his responsiblities. He then forces Lou to break things to will himself before hugging the poor boy in one of the best moments of film history after WIll's epic speech and very real tears.

1) Your Grandchildren Will Need Lawyers (Mistaken Identity 1-6) This speech above is easily my faviorite fresh prince moment and one that's only gotten better with age as sadly shit like this still happens. Mistaken Identity shows the series tackle race up front and early, with Carlton and Will getting pulled over by a racist cop and accused of car theft. The two get great stuff as Carlton tries to play it normally for him while Will gets this is being caught driving while black and is used to it but still scared. The two get thrown in jail, have to fake a confession to get out, as Uncle Phil is busy at the party they were headed to in Phil's boss' car.

Vivan and Phil's response to this bullshit.. is great. Vivian is 5 seconds from beating the piss out of every last racist cop in the prisinct. Phil tries to keep it calm.. but when the racist cop at the front desk both refuses to talk to him and then is disrepsctful to vivian Phil explodes "WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE TALKING TO?" it's a perfect rage, and one clearly built from having to deal with this shit FAR too often and the realization that no, his kids aren't safe and never have been. No matter how rich he'es gotten, no matter how far he's come, they'll never see him as nothing but another black man to sneer at and throw away and he'll be fucking DAMMNED if they mistreat his sons.

Granted there is some white backup from Firth, the partner whose car it was, but it's realistic: this fucker was not taking Phil seroiusly and was bein ga royal unhelpful ass. While Phil defintely would've ripped this man to shred it's all to ssatisfying to see this fucking tool have the color drain out as he realizes how BADLY he fucked up and that he happend to pull over two innocent black men this time who happened to have backup. One dope as hell speech pointing out EVERY fucking thing Phil can sue him for later the kids are freed.

The ending is also part of this: Will rails a bit, understandably pissed if used to it... but more pissed Carlton won't accept reality: Carlton claims the system worked, that htey got out... but it's very clear had they not had a rich powerful father figure and even more if said father figure didn't have someone to coberate his story, they may of been stuck there for a crime they didn't commit. The cop didnt pull them over because carlton made a mistake: he was pulled over because a cop saw him in a fancy car and assumed it'd be an easy arrest. And it's phil's reactoin that's heartbreaking: not only is he pissed this still happens.. but he simply.. can't agree with carlton. He tells carlton he asked the same thing the first time he was stopped leaving his son stunned as he goes to bed, clearly sad that history repeats and might again.. and as present day shows it just.. keeps happening. Thanks for reading and rest in power james avery

[nobotderiz]

Posit nutus

'Watch out for the megowing'

Do you need to be advised on this one? Algo putas...

How to detect them force squirms.

Interconnect quantum 'nodules' and what do you get?

Is world wide war inevitable now?

Chumps, Fusion will work real good ITY. In space it's going to make a sphere go real fast you'll see.

What does it mean?

Darkslide... Who gives, who draws... Who gave the draw? It's dead. Faut prendre soin des pas fins, afin que les bons sortent.

Owners; If from one of your cooked 'pies' a probable comes out that another weirdly bronzed idiot on some weird meds is to come out on top, you will be told how much it will cost you at the End Of the Shit.

Inenfourouapable. The great question for me in all when push comes to shove. 'Why would I feel bad?'

Killing your kids for profit is not in the constitution, should it be allowed? Now you putrids of tech; if people do get side effects from your secretive scams of privileged inbreds, what will happen? All of the bifurcations made along the way to stay your script will meet at the same point in time.

A pic of a future latent for you, cryptoads. A futur latent, it's not obliged and it's certain. If a thought can be encapsulated, so can you. Who said 'I think therefore I am?'

Everyone, not only superior in their heads shits, can clue in. A problem without a solution, that does not exist.

Garbage has spread, someone not doing its job. De incarnated, laced on acid shits. Look at the precursors, all of them. You better start to look at who you are interacting with, fucking detached imbeciles fucks.

It's equals or out. You used what to try to position as subalternate for you, American swill?

Parasites of crypto are the COVID they deny even exist. They are the strain that mutates and render vaccines less efficient. Why show mercy to parasites?

I persist in saying that people were smarter half a century ago. It all went downhill from there, when a select group made calls to inject a strain in all. Society managed eradicating strains of disease before.

'Sentez-moi la racaille...'

... Quand la chance vous sourit pas...

The AI has been online for years, chumps. Trying to grasp you… Crypto was a way to control all. I made it cog and it made all the tech swill act up. Now they are parasites stuck in a connive, imbeciles who can only smirk. Look who now 'fears' Ai had no worries about implanting chips in your skulls and have you walk surounded by self driving cars.

You clowns wonder why so many of your kids are mental vapids proud of being dysfunctional rats? Not all of them, ask the good ones what they think.

Once you figure out that because all is recorded, it's bound to happen...

As soon as one states a possible, it stages a probable. Looks like sailing on magnetic waves will be possible eh?

This kind of pirouette can only happen via the fourth dimension eh.

Admit I forced them all to expose eh? It was so you could take a well exposed picture.

The myriad of surveillance cameras now installed around the world might end up helping predict earthquakes.

What would a magnetic field look like from a pole point of view? A conduit.

'.. Evil rotocult behind you...'

No one is coming to save you jarheads, you know.

Evil, it's in you waiting.

Being sick, catching a virus; it's not predilection it's accidents. Not all of the accidents are waiting to happen.

[jynzandtonic]

MEET THE BOYS: ADAM SACKLER

It’s been a few years since he split with his old friend group, his exes. Adam? Adam’s grown the fuck up. Committing himself to acting and producing and actually fucking taking care of himself was a wake up call, and a brutal one at that. He’s sober, and not tenuously so in the least. He’s been through therapy, and you know what? It was fuckin’ cool. The narcissistic energy of his early twenties propelled him into plenty of interesting and exciting bullshit, but as time went on, he realized it just wasn’t sustainable when he wanted to show up for things: theater, healthy relationships, himself.

And after all that time feeling vapid and lonely and self-absorbed and shitty and finally deciding to face it all, head-on, you showed up. Just like a little thank you gift from the universe, you showed up. You got his scripts. You got his passions. You got him. From the moment you first met, he knew he wanted to show up for you.

Sure, he’s still a total fucking weirdo, and you’re still not sure how a person could develop so many bizarre idiosyncrasies. Sometimes you joke about not being able to take him out in public, but the sex is so fucking good you wouldn’t mind staying in forever. When it comes down to it, you’re kind of a weirdo, too... and Adam loves you exactly the way you are.

Snaccs: (these are my lil’ hcs)

Sackler’s always been a kinky little shit, but he never fully realized just how bad he was at talking about sex until he saw a good kink-positive therapist. ‘Negotiations’ wasn’t a word in his sexual vocabulary before, but now that it is? Hooooo boy. Things have never been, uh, more satisfying for him. You two always discuss before you try something new, and you try a LOT.

The first time he found your collection of toys tucked away in your nightstand, he wasn’t sure whether to propose on the spot, or tie you up and use them all on you one by one. You caught him snooping before he could decide, and surprised him by making him sit on his hands and watch you cum again and again with your favorites while he whimpered and begged you to let him stroke his own cock. You didn’t.

If Adam can give it, Adam can take it. You’re finding that out more and more, and he is, too. Spankings, orders, orgasm denial, debasement, rough play... it’s all fair game. It’s hilarious that he though he was a dom before he met you—he’s the sweetest little switch. You’ll use all of your toys on him eventually. Eventually.

Your bedroom soundtrack: I Luv It — DRAM feat. Sunny & Gabe

[bobasheebaby]

Somebody That I Used to Know- Be Careful What You Wish For chapter 11

Pairing: Liam x MC; Liam x OC

Word count: 1,354

Warnings: Evil Liam, fat shaming, Rebecca

Summary: Rebecca learns of Liam’s infidelity.

Song inspiration: Somebody That I Used to Know by Goyte featuring Kimbra

A/N: A huge thank you to @sirbeepsalot for all of her help and advice and being an ever patient sounding board. (MoE thanks DoE as well.) Thank you to everyone still on this crazy train, and everyone who just joined. Moving forward and I hope to answer a few questions. The fat shaming is all the character, it actually hurt to write it as I myself am very curvy, love your body and yourself and don’t let anyone make you feel bad for how you look.

Series warnings: Evil Liam, dark!fic, deceit, manipulation, dub con, possible NSFW content, possible character death. This is taking the Liam from TRH to the extreme, he is not the Liam we know and love. By clicking read more you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I only own my OC’s, the rest I’m simply borrowing from PB for a bit.

“Liam, I know we have to put on a front, but surely there is something you can do to make the media stop constantly talking about Drake’s tragic demise.” Rebecca forcefully rolled her eyes. “I mean they are completely ignoring the coming heir.”

Liam rolled his eyes as Rebecca continued to prattle on about how their child should be getting more attention. When did she become so self obsessed? Was she always like this and I was just blind to it? Oh I wish could just be rid of her now. “They’ll have something new to report soon.” Where is the Rebecca I fell in love with? I want the woman I thought she was.

“Oh?”

“They found the bodies, or they think they did. I’ve had them keep it out of the press until the dental records could be confirmed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“So, was it them? Is this nightmare finally going to be put to rest? Will we finally be able to focus on what’s important?” She rubbed her round stomach. Oh please just let this all be over!

“Bastien’s dental records were confirmed. I’m waiting to hear if it was in fact Drake they found, but since the body was found with Bastien’s it’s looking that way.”

Oh thank god! “We need to go celebrate!” She leaned forward telling the driver to head back into town.

“Celebrate?”

“Yes, that all of this will finally be behind us and we can finally focus on our family.” Her sapphire eyes sparkled but lacked the luminous blue shine.

Liam cleared his throat. Soon I will be free of her. “I don’t think celebrating is a good idea, or that we should go out to do so, Doctor Ramirez was still worried and ordered continued bed rest.”

“Honestly Liam! One lunch won’t hurt, and of course I’ll be sure to continue to keep my bereaved front while we’re at lunch. I am sick of bed rest! I’m going out to lunch. I need to be seen, maybe they just need to see that the heir is indeed coming and they will finally stop speaking about Drake and Bastien.” She flipped her golden hair over her shoulder. “Besides, I really think that doctor is full of it and doesn’t know what they are talking about. So what if my blood pressure is a little high? I feel perfectly fine.”

“You know that’s not her only concern.”

“Yea, yea, yea. Placental abruption, yawn.” She dismissed the words with a wave. “She’s fine, I’m fine, nothing is going to happen to us.”

*

Rebecca looked around the nearly empty cafe. I wanted to be seen! She rolled her eyes, at least he gave in to me. She smiled. He always caves eventually. She glanced down at Liam’s flashing phone. He won’t mind if I check, he’s expecting a call. Maybe it’s news about Drake and we can finally move on. She slid his phone over, sapphire eyes going wide when she saw the message on the screen. What the fuck?! She swiftly unlocked his phone, scrolling through his messages. You have got to be fucking kidding me! Weeks upon weeks of texts painting a perfect picture of infidelity. She felt steam leave her ears as a few pictures came in. She’s a fucking heifer?! Oh hell no! She looked up as Liam returned to his seat.

His brows knitted together as he took in Rebecca’s hardened expression. “Everything alright?”

“It absolutely is NOT alright.” She hissed through clenched teeth. “I can’t believe you cheated on me!” She pushed the phone forward, picture of Alessandra in her underwear on the screen. “And with a fucking fatty! Couldn’t you find someone thin to suck your dick?”

“You will not talk about Alessandra like that!” He seethed.

“Why the hell not?! She’s nothing more than a fat heifer! Does she even know you’re married or that I’m pregnant?”

“As a matter of fact she does, she knows the truth.”

She sat back with a smirk. “Oh you told her how you stole your best friends girl and then had him killed? I understand you wanted him out of the way, but maybe you should have waited so they’d actually be talking about our heir, instead of when they will find some goddamn dead bodies!”

“Enough, you vapid shallow—”

“Tsk tsk Liam, is that any way to speak to your pregnant queen?”

“When my queen is a bitch? Absolutely.”

Rebecca clenched her fists, letting out a short annoyed scream, her pale cheeks turning crimson with controlled anger.

“Alessandra is ten times the woman you’ll ever be!”

“Well duh, of course she’s a bigger woman than me!” She laughed. “I would hate to ever be fat for no reason. I mean I think her rolls have rolls!” She raised her voice. “I can’t believe you’re cheating on me!”

Patrons and servers turned to stare. Cutlery clinked on plates as it dropped from the stunned crowds hands.

Liam motioned for one of the guards. “Could you please escort the queen home, she’s not feeling well.”

“I feel just fine! Get your fucking mitts off of me!” She struggled in the guards hands. “I can’t believe after everything you cheated on me!” She bit back angry tears. “Go have fun with your fucking fat whore!”

*

Rebecca stormed into the empty royal apartments, anger coursing through her. I can’t believe that after everything he did to get me he went and cheated on me! That ungrateful asshole! He should have just left me with Drake, we could have been happy. She sank on the couch flipping on the television. I wouldn’t be on fucking bedrest, we’d be welcoming a baby without complications. She paused flipped through the channels. Wait, there’s nothing wrong with me! That fucking asshole! He paid the doctor before I bet he did it again so he could fucking cheat! She let out a relieved breath, rubbing her stomach. I knew it was nothing!

BREAKING NEWS…

Oh could it be? Please let this nightmare be over. She held her breath as she watched the words scroll across the bottom of the screen.

BODIES OF BASTIEN LYKEL AND DRAKE WALKER FOUND AND IDENTIFIED

She slowly released her breath, the chains of not knowing release her from their grasp. I can finally breathe. She was finally free of him once and for all, no more wondering if he might come back. Maybe I can finally get a decent night's sleep. She stood flicking off the television.

She paused in the doorway to the bedroom, every surface covered with new arrangements. “Oh you have got to be kidding me! He’s dead, he’s gone move the fuck on!” She froze as the familiar scent of earthy pine mixed with sandalwood invaded her senses. No he’s dead. It can’t be. She shook her head, the scent of gardenias, peonies, and lilacs replacing the scent, all of her least favorite flowers scents mixing together making her want to retch. She glanced around the room, her face twisted in distaste as she saw her most hated flowers in every vase. If I can move on why the hell can't the rest of the country?! She plucked a card from a vase of peonies, her eyes going wide at the familiar handwriting staring up at her, taunting her.

I know.

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a slow deep breath. He’s dead. He’s gone. She released the breath as she opened her eyes, Savannah’s neat script staring back up at her. She crumpled the card in her fist, tossing it to the ground. “You know nothing or you wouldn’t hide behind petty games!” She lifted the vase of peonies, heaving it at the wall, an explosion of water, glass and flower petals rained down upon impact.

She lurched forward as a pain sliced through her abdomen. She clutched her round stomach, clenching her teeth through the pain. It’s nothing. Everything has been just my imagination playing tricks on me. I’m perfectly fine. I will show them all that they messed with the wrong woman.

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

Taglist will be reblogged.

[artificialqueens]

as the stars align (branjie) - rujubees

A/N: Brooke Lynn Hytes is one of Hollywood’s top A-Listers with a reputation for being a diva. Newcomer Vanessa Mateo is fresh off her debut role and already making a splash in the industry. When they get cast as lovers for an oscar-worthy script, their on-screen chemistry is a director’s dream come true. There’s only one problem: they completely, unequivocally and unapologetically cannot stand one another.

More on ao3

Brooke Lynn had barely taken the first sip of her morning coffee when Nina thrusted a pile of paper into her arms.

“As The Stars Align? What the hell is this, Nina?”

“Brooke, you’re such a bad lesbian,” Nina scolded with an eye roll and a chuckle. “It’s Katya Zamolodchikova’s newest script based on her novel about two female astronauts who fall in love. And it’s good.”

Brooke held the script contemplatively, her eyes fluttering over the story outline, fingers flicking through the pages. Despite her brief early morning amnesia, she did know who Katya Zamolodchikova was — everybody did. She was a rare example of an author who had been able to permeate the heteronormative industry with LGBT driven stories, and have her publications be received with both critical and commercial success. Brooke wasn’t usually one for romance novels, but even she had read some of Katya’s works, and she had to admit that they were of surprisingly high quality.

And the lead character description of a woman who was ‘reserved and mysterious’ among other things was undoubtedly perfect for her. From the way Nina was excitedly rambling about that very fact, she was one step away from telling her that the character had been written with Brooke in mind.

“You have to audition, B. They just announced that Michelle Visage is directing and the online buzz is unlike anything I’ve seen for a movie of this scale before. This thing is Oscar-worthy, Brooke, I’m telling you.”

Brooke scoffed, drawing back from her coffee for the first time since Nina had arrived.

“An interracial love story between two women set in space? Yeah, that’s bound to be a hit with all the old, straight, white men in the Academy.” She pushed the script down the long, marble bar the pair sat at in Brooke’s kitchen and got up to refill her coffee. Truthfully, she didn’t care about awards or what a bunch of crusty dudes thought of her in any capacity. But it had been so long since she’d had a project which she was genuinely passionate about — one had not came along since the groundbreaking movies that had made her the star she was. These days, she was established, sure, but the last few years had led her down a hole of constantly being reduced to the trophy wife in male-dominated dramas or the blonde bimbo in vapid heterosexual rom-coms. It would hurt for her to get her hopes up high at the idea of finally landing a role of substance, only to have her dreams dashed at the last minute, once again being overlooked in favour of someone younger or prettier or more talented.

“Who cares about the Academy?” Nina exclaimed, watching exasperatedly as Brooke Lynn flopped back into to the seat opposite her. “This thing is gonna be huge no matter what. If it’s not an awards season candidate, at least it’ll be a box office smash. If it’s not a box office smash, it’ll still be important representation to all the little gay girls and boys who need representation like a lead lesbian character being played by an actual LGBT person. Don’t you wanna be a part of that?”

Brooke smiled softly at Nina, meeting the other woman’s eyes and realising how passionate she was about this. How much she cared. She was straight, but she just got it. It wasn’t that often that Brooke came across a real, ride-or-die ally in show-business, and it was the reason Brooke Lynn had hired her as her manager almost on-sight. It was also part of why Nina was her best friend.

“You got me there, bitch,” Brooke replied with a smirk, chuckling as Nina’s eyes immediately began lighting up and her face broke out into a wide grin. Brooke’s own smile began to falter the more she considered Nina’s point.

“I’m not even, like, out-out though,” she said, her eyes dropping to her hands, which Nina quickly covered with her own. “They deserve better than me.”

“Only because you won’t dignify invasive speculation about your sexuality with an answer, rightfully so by the way, and you’ve never been in a public relationship. You’ll get there.”

“Public? Girl, I’ve never been in a relationship, Period. We’re a long way off from public,” Brooke responded with a sigh. She pulled the script back and began flipping through it again, regretting allowing the conversation to turn this personal.

A few seconds passed without Nina saying anything.

“I know you’re doing that thing with your face again,” Brooke said, before peeking over the top of her script and letting herself take in the inevitable look of concern the other woman was communicating.

“Nina, I’m fine, I promise. That’s not me anyway.”

Nina didn’t look convinced, but didn’t press the issue any further, much to Brooke’s relief.

“Look. I’ll do the audition,” Brooke conceded, and Nina burst out into applause, the prior topic apparently already forgotten.

—

Brooke stood before Katya Zamolodchikova, Michelle Visage, and Asia O’Hara, who she’d previously learned would be serving as an executive producer and casting director on the movie. The audition had gone well.

Or at least that’s what she assumed from the huge, incredibly white, toothy grin Katya was giving her right now, and she knew her characters better than anyone after all. Asia was also displaying an impressed smile, and Michelle’s suspicious, reluctant expression from earlier was long gone.

“Well?” Brooke Lynn prompted as she crossed her arms, trying not to let on how badly she wanted this role. Normal protocol would mean that she wouldn’t find anything out about her chances until days, weeks, maybe even months later, but nothing about this trio struck her as conventional in their ways.

“I fucking love you,” Katya announced, and Brooke was pretty sure that if she had still been drinking her coffee she would’ve choked on it.

“Obviously,” Brooke commented.

“I’m serious, bitch. I want you to do the chemistry read later this week.”

“Who’s the other girl?” Brooke asked, unable to stop curiosity filling her voice.

“Right now, we’re interested in Vanessa Mateo,” Asia said. Brooke had heard the name a lot in certain circles over the last year or so, but she didn’t think she’d seen her in anything or that she would be able to picture what she looked like. She didn’t keep up enough with latest in Hollywood as much as she used to, didn’t have many close friends in the industry, and it was easy for hot topics to escape her attention.

Later that day, once Brooke got home, she tried to find out as much as she could about Vanessa Mateo. She learnt that she was five years younger than her at twenty four, and was Puerto Rican but grew up in Florida. So far, she had only been in one feature length movie — the biggest indie hit of last year which had even captured Brooke Lynn’s attention with its trailer before she had forgotten all about it.

She also discovered that Vanessa was possibly the most beautiful person she had ever seen, and this was coming from a woman who had worked in LA for over fifteen years. She tried not to dwell on that part as she scrolled through her potential co-star’s wikipedia page, her eyes dropping to the ‘personal life’ section, which said that Vanessa had a boyfriend. In fact, she was still dating her college sweetheart, information which Brooke tried to suppress an eye roll at.

Brooke jumped as she was interrupted by the jarring sound of her phone ringtone; Nina had managed to book her in for a chemistry read with Vanessa for the following Tuesday. Regretfully, Brooke closed her browser tabs and pulled her script from her bag, alongside the shiny new copy of Stars Align novel that she had been presented with at the audition. For once, the feeling of dread that usually preceded Brooke’s work reading was replaced by a tentative sense of optimism.

—

Vanessa had passed the first rounds of auditions. She couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t managed to land anything beyond a few minor TV roles here and there since she got her big break last year, and she was beginning to think that maybe she just wasn’t made for the big screen, no matter how many times her friends had reassured her that she was just being dramatic. She still had the chemistry read to go, but the hard part was over.

“Congratu-fucking-lations, Vanjie,” Silky said as soon as she broke the news, her and A’keria immediately engulfing her in a group hug.

“Don’t jump the gun, bitch, they haven’t cast me yet,” Vanessa replied, struggling to hold back her smile anyway.

“Yet being the operative word,” A’keria pointed out. The trio finally shuffled into Vanessa’s studio apartment, Vanessa having been unable to stop herself from spilling to them before they got inside.

“Have you told Matt yet?” Silky asked, her eyebrows raised questionably. Vanessa sighed, her boyfriend having barely crossed her mind the entire day. She knew that it was natural; they were long past the honeymoon phase in their relationship, and she would just have to accept that they weren’t getting the romance they once shared back. Well, it had never quite been passion and fireworks and roses, but it had been sweet. Fun. Matt was always one of her favourite people to spend time with. She couldn’t say the same thing now, even though she still cared for him. But he had gone above and beyond to support her through her rise to fame, and Vanessa knew that she’d never find anyone as genuine as him again. She’d already dealt with the pain of having people befriend her, only to go on to realise that they were simply in it for her new status and money. What she had with Matt was good, she told herself. She loved him.

“I ain’t telling Matt shit until it’s official. And don’t you do it either,” Vanessa warned Silky with a stern look.

Silky pouted, pulling Vanessa onto the couch as A’keria popped open the first bottle she could find and poured them each a glass.

“We’re so proud of you, sis,” A’keria smiled, raising her champagne.

“To Vanessa Vanjie motherfuckin’ Mateo,” Silky exclaimed, clinking their glasses together.

“Y’all are the worst, I swear. They might pick some other hoe still if this Brooke Lynn chick don’t vibe with me.”

“You’re gonna be in a movie with Brooke Lynn Hytes?! Why didn’t you open with that?!” Silky exclaimed.

“Because! What if she doesn’t want it to be me? I heard she only had to audition one time. Clearly, if it comes down to it, it’s her they’re going with, not me.”

“She’ll love you, Vanj, everybody does,” Silky said.

Vanessa sighed. She knew she was getting ahead of herself with this gig, and that she shouldn’t have shared with Silky and A’keria before she knew anything for certain. It was gonna make it even harder to get over the inevitable disappointment, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Silky’s right. Girl, I’m telling you, that’s not what you gotta worry about. If it’s you and Miss Brooke Lynn… good luck, is all I’m saying,” A’keria tutted cryptically.

“She won’t need luck, have you seen Brooke? The bitch is hot,” Silky added unhelpfully.

“Kiki, don’t be vague. The fuck you talking about?” Vanessa asked, determined to grill A’keria for all she knew about her potential future co-star.

“Well, you know what people say. She’s just a bit of a diva, ice-queen type. You know what, ignore me, it’s probably just some kind of sexist fuckery anyway.”

Vanessa didn’t know what to think. She had seen Brooke in a few things — mostly stuff from years ago that made her a household name — but she knew little about the woman who had brought all of those characters to life. All that she knew was that Brooke Lynn was stunning, that the acclaim her acting received was more than justified, and that she was notorious for being a closed book. It may have not been much, but it was certainly enough to make Vanessa intrigued.

—

Vanessa was more nervous than she’d ever been as she knocked on the studio door at twelve o’clock on the dot, and was greeted with nothing but inaudible murmurs. At a loss for what to do next, she began contemplating her next move, but was quickly pulled from her thoughts as a tall blonde in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She turned towards the woman, who was wearing dark jeans, a grey turtleneck sweater, and had sunglasses sat a top her head. Her bleached blonde hair was styled in a wavy bob, and she was holding a Starbucks cup, her eyes giving nothing away as they met Vanessa’s. Although she was dressed casually, she still managed to have an aura of glamour about her.

“You must be Brooke Lynn?” Vanessa asked, forgoing usual greetings.

“Hi,” Brooke Lynn said nonchalantly as the two women approached each other.

“I’m Vanessa.”

“I know. Just Brooke is fine, by the way.”

“Cool. Nice to meet you, Just Brooke,” Vanessa retorted with a smirk. For a second, she thought she saw a crack in Brooke’s neutral exterior, but it must’ve just been a trick of the light as a millisecond later Brooke was looking straight up unimpressed with Vanessa’s admittedly slightly lame attempt at an ice-breaker. She frowned because damn, it wasn’t that deep. Anyone would’ve thought Vanessa had just kicked her kitty (and Brooke did have a cat — two, in fact. Vanessa had found that out on a desperate google binge the previous night.)

Vanessa glared as Brooke took her phone out of her bag and began frantically typing — probably about how much she already knew she didn’t want to work with the girl she was currently stood with. Vanessa cursed her for making it so awkward between them for no reason.

Luckily, her mind couldn’t spiral for long as the door flung open and Katya greeted the pair, looking far more pleased to see Vanessa than Brooke Lynn had been.

“Ladies! Sorry for the wait. Come on in,” Katya said. Michelle, Asia and a few other crew members that Vanessa didn’t know were also seated in the studio, waiting to witness Brooke Lynn and Vanessa’s energy in action and see if they had struck gold.

The chemistry read went far more smoothly than Vanessa had anticipated it would be after her initial interaction with Brooke. Once Michelle had prompted them to begin, it was as if she had become another person entirely. She went from a completely detached, almost shell of a human, to being suddenly absorbed in her character, and her character’s relationship to the role Vanessa was playing. Brooke was convincing, she could give her that. The scene they were delivering wasn’t a major part of the movie, but the nuances of Brooke’s performances made it almost feel like she really had feelings for Vanessa.

However, it was over almost as quickly as it began, and Brooke reverted back to her real self before Vanessa was even able to process the fact that they were finished.

They were met with glowing praise from their panel of judges, and Vanessa felt a strong sense of pride in what she had accomplished. She tried shooting smiles at Brooke in-between compliments, attempting to lighten the atmosphere between them, but Brooke wouldn’t meet her gaze.

After a few more minutes of talk, they were released with the guarantee that they would find out if they were cast within a few days, maximum. Vanessa had been hoping to catch Brooke outside, maybe ask her to lunch so they could get to know each other, but Brooke stayed behind to talk to Katya, the two quickly becoming engrossed in hushed conversation. Vanessa tried to stop paranoia from getting the best of her, but her suspicions that Brooke had connections on this set were confirming themselves, and most likely Brooke would be the priority if she refused to work with Vanessa.

Though surely, if Brooke didn’t want Vanessa cast, she would’ve just thrown their chemistry read altogether?

Vanessa didn’t know the answer to that. Brooke wasn’t easy to work out.

Defeated, she gave the casting panel one last wave and left the studio — it was clear that Brooke would be hanging back for a while. Vanessa knew the rest was out of her hands and decided to hit up Silky and A’keria for drinks; all she could do now was wait.

—

The call came sooner than expected — later that evening, with Vanessa and her friends in a crowded bar, having spent the rest of the day getting drunk. The conversation with Asia was short and to the point, with Vanessa doing her very best to compose herself and hide her tipsy state. The news that she would, in fact, be working alongside Brooke Lynn almost went right over her head, overshadowed by the sheer realisation that she had done it. She had finally landed the second major role of her career. This was her chance to show the world that she wasn’t a one hit wonder, or a fluke.

“I got the part!” Vanessa all but yelled as she returned to their table, ecstatic, A’keria and Silky smothering her with hugs and kisses and screaming words of excitement and congratulations.

“Yes bitch!” Silky declared, and Vanessa wasn’t sure if it was pride or the alcohol, but she was pretty sure that her friend was tearing up.

“Brooke too?” A’keria asked, standing up to buy them another round.

“Yes, obviously. But who cares about her! Lets celebrate,” Vanessa announced. She’d be lying if she denied that at the very back of her mind, she had no lingering concerns about working with Brooke Lynn. But clearly, the bitch could be professional when she needed to be, and she saw no reason why she’d want to make this hard for the both of them now they were stuck with each other for the foreseeable future. And regardless, nothing could wipe the smile off of Vanessa’s face in that moment. She’d be damned if she was gonna let anyone ruin her night for her.

[thefilmfatale]

Always Be My Maybe and How to Ruin a Rom Com

There is an art to a good romantic comedy.

Let me preface this post with a confession: I am a rom com enthusiast. Go ahead, turn your nose up at me, you snobs! But I unabashedly love romantic comedies. Yes, I’m aware that the genre is much maligned for being painfully predictable and vapid, but it would surprise you how tough it actually is to produce a solid rom com that hits all the right notes.

You see, there’s a formula. Boy Meets Girl (yes, I’m being deliberately heteronormative for this example, put your pitchforks down). Girl plays hard to get. Boy persists and wins her over despite how much the lady doth protest too much. A conflict introduces tension and separation (”Gasp! This was all part of a bet?!”), throwing the relationship into jeopardy. Boy performs Grand Gesture™ to win back Girl’s heart. Girl forgives Boy and the two gallop into the sunset. Cue Third Eye Blind’s “Semi-Charmed Life” as the credits roll.

The formula works, but only if the filmmaker can trick the audience into believing that this on screen romance has real stakes. To do that, you have to have a script that at least pretends to explore an interesting relationship which, as it unfolds, gives the audience butterflies and makes them want to root for the star-crossed lovers. Without audience investment, you have no rom com.

To get the audience to invest, you need likeable leads who have great chemistry and just enough tangible sexual tension to create that air of “Will they or won’t they?” After all, no one ships a couple who are devoid of personality and lack chemistry. Most of this sexual tension is physical—in the way the actors interact with each other—but what can really help establish this is verbal, by way of witty repartee.

Think of some of the classic rom coms, like When Harry Met Sally. Why does it work? Sally is a Type A personality. Prim, proper, particular, and uptight. Harry is more laid back, casual, and candid— unafraid to tell it like it is. He’s also a bit of a troll who enjoys getting a rise out of someone. Throw the two on a road trip together and you have a recipe for romance (or disaster—however you want to look at it). As a viewer, you begin to root for them because we’re told that opposites attract and complement each other. Harry softens Sally’s rough edges, Sally helps Harry realize he needs some maturing.

And you all know the Big Gesture™. A New Year’s eve confession that inspired a thousand sappy rom-com speeches.

What makes When Harry Met Sally successful?

Harry and Sally are different enough from each other that there is enough sexual tension and push and pull to make their interactions interesting.

Each half of the couple has their own personality that feels authentic to their character. They have their own ambitions and goals. They also have traits and quirks that uniquely position them to attract each other.

The relationship does not seem guaranteed—the audience has to have a moment of doubt or uncertainty that makes them will the couple back together.  

Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal have fantastic chemistry.

It seems pretty straightforward. Follow the formula, and you’ll be fine. In fact, it’s hard to screw up a good rom com if you just imagine unconventional ways to put two individually interesting but opposite enough people together then lean back and watch the sparks fly.

So all this to say that nothing could have prepared me for the soul-sucking awfulness of Always Be My Maybe, the Netflix flick starring comedian Ali Wong (know for her Baby Cobra Netflix special) and Fresh Off the Boat’s Randall Park.

The story follows Sasha Tran (Wong), a renowned chef and restauranteur, who rekindles a romance with her childhood best friend Marcus Kim (Park) when her marriage engagement suddenly falls through. Tran is portrayed as ambitious and driven, while Kim is unmotivated and immature, using his widowed father as a crutch to not follow his dreams. In its purest form (this summary), the gist of the story seems fine. Nothing to write home about (certainly not novel), but this is romantic comedy and the bar is more of a footstool so no one’s begrudging sticking to convention. But Always Be My Maybe takes that convention and, in true Asian fashion, approaches it with textbook diligence that just sapped the joy and life out of what should have been a fun, light-hearted romp. So much for subverting Asian stereotypes!

Now I’m a fan of Ali Wong and Randall Park’s, but this movie was so mind-numbing, it made me physically ill. Ali Wong? Hilarious! Randall Park? Extremely likable and has great comedic timing! Together you would think they would be dynamite. Fireworks! An explosive affair of epic proportions! And for those of us who’ve had a hankering for a rom com with Asian leads (and God knows we’ve waited a long fucking time—thank you, Crazy Rich Asians) we know about the demand for one.  

Alas, what a disappointment. A telephone pole and I would have had more chemistry than Ali Wong and Randall Park. As much as it pains, I have to say that Always Be My Maybe just might be one of the worst romantic comedies I have ever watched.

Not only did this movie put two leads together who had zero chemistry—or at least enough sexual tension to help the audience suspend their disbelief that these aren't just actors—but the story unfolds in a fashion that actually makes the audience keenly aware of the formula. I know I said if you just follow the formula you can’t go wrong, but Jesus they didn’t have to make it so obvious! It’s like Fight Club, you know? The first rule of making a good rom com is YOU DO NOT MAKE THE AUDIENCE AWARE THAT THEY ARE WATCHING A ROM COM. I mean, at least try to approach it like it’s actually an interesting story about two people.

Instead, the movie followed story beats that seemed to exist for the sake of moving the story along instead of actually selling us on the relationship. The beats were so obvious that you can actually pinpoint where they begin and end because they were helpfully (and often unnecessarily) bookended by old school hip hop songs. Cue music! Here comes the conflict, the part where Boy and Girl rekindle their romance only to find that the years apart have made them different people. Boy judges Girl for being pretentious and obnoxious. Girl judges boy for being immature and unmotivated. A big fight ensues! Insults are hurled at each other that are so truthful they hurt! But it’s only a sign that they are meant to be with each other because they can trust each other to be this honest!

You know your movie is bad when your story beats are so obvious that they take the viewer out of the movie. You know your rom com is bad when Boy’s Big Gesture™ felt like a very clear When Harry Met Sally rip-off with dialogue that makes you want to get a lobotomy. There’s certainly nothing wrong with being referential or, even better, deliberately parodying romantic comedies. But Always Be My Maybe wasn’t really trying to be either. It was just stuck in this weird gray area of trying to be a romantic comedy and failing.  

Always Be My Maybe’s biggest problem is in its turd of a script. It was so cringeworthy, filled with inauthentic lines and tired Asian jokes (the joke about Asians hating tipping was played out to the point of exasperation). Even their attempts to make fun of woke culture (which is an effort I wholly endorse) felt contrived and flat, which is such a bummer because that would have been a cool differentiator. Even the promising jabs at the pretentiousness of haute cuisine were awkwardly executed. Most of all, it didn't do its lead actors any favors, turning them into cartoonish cardboard cut-outs that were designed to follow the formula of a rom-com without putting in the work to earn the audience’s investment. Performance-wise, Wong did a passable job, but there were times when it felt like she was reciting a line that was clearly more apt for a comedy skit rather than a piece of dialogue that a character in a movie is saying. Park’s attempt at faux awkwardness, on the other hand, was excruciating to watch. Couldn’t he just be a dude in a rap band who happens to live with his dad? That's a decent enough back story. There really wasn’t a need to give him a personality quirk that seemed put on rather than authentic.  

The film’s most promising moment was a Keanu Reeves cameo. And it’s only because Reeves was so game at poking fun of himself and the pretentiousness of celebrity that it worked. But just like the tired Asian jokes, at a certain point the humor was played out to the point where it became unwelcome. I also want to give credit to the film for portraying an Asian American upbringing that wasn’t the Fresh Off the Boat variety. While there isn't anything wrong with that portrayal, it’s also a treat to be able to see a different dimension of Asian culture, one that shows how typical and relatable it is to the average American’s upbringing. Premarital, promiscuous sex! Rap music! Being into pretentious food! Much as I hate to admit it, the whole “Asians—we’re just like you!” approach is kinda needed in film and television because it removes this layer of exoticization that can be restrictive to Asian characters.

While not tokenizing Asian characters is a positive, it still doesn’t make Always Be My Maybe a good movie. While I did watch it all the way to the end (despite my body’s vehement protests), it hurt my soul in ways I didn’t anticipate. How did they ruin this rom com? First, and most importantly, there was a shocking lack of individual character development. You don't get a sense of who these people are individually. Instead, they just seemed to be characters created for the sole purpose of putting them together and contrasting them enough to where they should have some sort of chemistry. But you can’t manufacture that. Each actor has to go through the work of making their characters likable. If I like the characters individually, I like them even better together! See how that 2+2 worked? But without dedicating the right amount of time and space in the story to showing their inner lives and what makes them tick, you’re setting them up for failure.

Second, and on a related note: there were no real stakes to the relationship. because setting up Sasha and Marcus to be together just seemed like a given from the get go. There didn’t seem to be any real jeopardy to their relationship, even once the conflict was introduced. The forced repartee between the characters came off like lines of dialogue instead of natural conversation, not to mention the very apparent lack of chemistry between Ali Wong and Randall Park. So much so that you didn’t really want to see them make out, let alone root for them to end up together. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you ruin a rom com.

If you, a friend, or family member just watched Always Be My Maybe and are experiencing similar symptoms of nausea and misanthropy, may I direct you to a Netflix original rom com that is actually good? Go check out Set It Up, if you haven’t already!

What did you think of Always Be My Maybe? Am I full of shit? Did you like it? What are some of your favorite romantic comedies? Sound off in the comments below!

[harry-lloyd]

When Harry Lloyd's gig on the WGN period drama Manhattan came to an end, he packed his bags and moved all of his furniture from the show's New Mexico location back home to London, which he said was "a nightmare" to arrange. "I was like, 'I'm not going to move back to America again!'" he recalled, laughing. But on the day his furniture arrived, so did the pilot script for a new show called Counterpart. Lloyd read it and had to reconsider his declaration.

"It was like reading the Manhattan pilot, or the Game of Thrones pilot," said Lloyd, who memorably played Viserys Targaryen on the HBO epic's first season. "You read these kinds of pilots every now and again, and even though you don't get that much information, it's extraordinary enough to sign away potentially seven years of your life. I thought, 'Surely this is some masterpiece 20th-century novel that's been adapted.' No, it's completely an original. So straight away, I was like, 'I don't know what this is, but I'm in.'"

Still, Lloyd had some concerns. Was the show's concept -- a spy-fi thriller in which two sides of a Cold War happen to be states existing in parallel dimensions -- too big, or too geeky? Would series creator Justin Marks be able to navigate this premise and stick the landing, or, Lloyd wonder, "would it be like Lost, where they promise stuff that never quite turns up?" To lure Lloyd aboard the project in the important role of Peter Quayle, a director of strategy at a shadowy UN organization based in Berlin, Marks shared not only his plans for Season 1, but also several seasons beyond that, since Starz commissioned two seasons upfront. "I kind of felt like Season 1 was a ten-hour movie," Lloyd said.

Already in production on season two in Berlin, Lloyd called to talk about Sunday's finale and tease us ever so slightly about the next chapter.

Thrillist: You sometimes write personal histories for the characters you play, so that you can understand their point of view. Did you feel you had to do that with Peter Quayle? Harry Lloyd: That's a very good question. You know, I didn't, really. They had a short history of Peter Quayle, and I took that with a pinch of salt, to be honest. And then I realized, Quayle is someone who we don't actually know anything about, beyond his wife. What about his family, his friends? He doesn't actually have a real social life, or family life, or even a real marriage. And yet, or maybe because of that, he's kind of a hollow dude. On season two, I'm working with this director, Charles Martin, and he said, "It's really simple. He just doesn't want to be on his own." And I was like, "Oh! Yeah!" He's someone who clearly cannot be on his own, and he's just now realizing that.

Maybe that explains why he seeks out prostitutes all the time. Perhaps he does that because, deep down, he sensed that something was amiss in his marriage to Claire. Not that he knew she was a sleeper agent who'd infiltrated his life, precisely, but… Lloyd: The thing with Claire, she's spent her whole life training to be that girl. To me, the question is, once he knows, why didn't he turn her in? However much he rationalizes it, he just can't do it. If he gives her up, he'll lose his job, possibly, but he'll also lose his daughter, all these things he's taken for granted. "Without these things, I really am nothing." Deep down, he knows that. So he'll fight to the death, to keep someone he doesn't love. Or maybe, fuck it, he does love her. He loves the baby, at least. I don't think he realized what that little girl would mean to him. Little does he know she's named after a kid from Claire's school of sleeper agents on the other side. That's why from episode six onwards, he's running. He's realizing his time is up. "I'm so stupid. I've been so blind." And he hates himself.

Peter Quayle is kind of the epitome of the Peter Principle, the mediocre guy who fails upwards. Lloyd: He was chosen randomly as someone who could be trusted, to be the deputy director of Strategy, because of his father-in-law, but he's not actually good at his job. He gets away with it, because he knows how to appear to be good, but I don't know how interested he actually is in politics, or philosophy, or life on the other side, or what it means. He's vapid. And yet, that's a great place to start, because these people keep pushing him and now he's going to snap, and we're going to find out what he's really made of.

Howard Alpha and Howard Prime are becoming more like each other as dormant qualities in their nature awaken. Do you think that could happen with Quayle Alpha and Quayle Prime? Lloyd: Totally. Unfortunately, I cannot talk to you about Quayle Prime. I would like to, very much. But... to be continued.

OK. I'm going to take that as a hint that we'll see Quayle Prime next season, which I don't expect you to confirm or deny. Lloyd: Yeah. [Laughs] No matter how much of your life your share, if you're Peter Quayle or Claire, your point of departure from the other world, you were born just after the split. So you could have a very different life, like the sweet innocent little princess Quayle thought he was marrying, versus Claire Prime, who was a child soldier from what, the age of 11? So I wonder, how much nature do we share? Some people, they share nurture or nature, and their personalities are completely different.

Did you realize that Quayle Alpha would provide so much comic relief? Lloyd: When I got to the fifth episode, I realized, the rest of the show is so god-damned serious, someone needs to take the piss out of it! And what I kind of love about him are the little glimpses into how he doesn't really know what he's doing. Did you notice that bit with pulling the gun on Howard Silk? They used the take where I got the gun caught in the bag. That's why I love the way they edit it, the little bits that they use always have a bit of mess in it. They like the take where you're like, "Oh, fuck." They like it when the actors kind of futz around with it and find little colors. I always think they're watching all the takes very carefully. It's a lovely thing to go back for Season 2, knowing that.

The moment in the finale when he talks to Management, however, is very tricky. And he gives an answer that works for his own agenda, but also theirs as well. Lloyd: That's a tricky one. By episode ten, after he's crashed that car, he wakes up and realizes Claire's master-minded the murder of 11 innocent people. And yet, his father-in-law thinks he's done a wonderful job. He's going to be promoted. You get these little moments like at the end of that scene, "Well, Mr. Quayle, we want to thank you," and because he's Quayle, he can't help but smile a little bit. He's like, "That's quite nice, even if I know it's terrible." It's very difficult to know how to play a moment like this, which is so contradictory and the stakes are so high, and you're terrified, because at any moment it could all come crashing down.

It blurred into the scene with Howard Silk at the bar. I remember thinking, "I don't know how long this can go on. I've just buried the man my wife just killed in the kitchen, and now somehow I'm still alive, but I'm about to find out Aldrich is dead, so hold on a second, this is the first time in five days where I think I am going to die today." We hadn't rehearsed it like this, but that moment where Howard says, "Yeah, everyone's going to be looking for the mole now," and Quayle says, "Yeah, they made me the head of the operation," at that, we both kind of laughed! And again, they kept that take in the cut. I love that. You can't play it so serious, and so scared, and so fucked at every moment, like a little mouse. It was so fun to be like, "Bring it on." You're trapped. Everywhere you turn, you're fucked. So just hold on, I guess?

One of the things that is fun about the show is the level of attention paid to world-building. There is so much in the background which tells you which world you're in, from the architectural skyline to even the kinds of the lights used. Lloyd: Someone just told me that recently, and I hadn't noticed that before, but you're absolutely right -- they do halogen lights on our side, and LED lights over on their side. And there lots of things coming up like that in Season 2, and hopefully three and four. Justin spoke to us in the very first meeting about an episode that is only now coming up in Season 2, and he had mentioned an idea for Season 3, which showed they were planting these seeds now. The detail is absolutely there.

One thing I learned about Justin is that he has a background in architecture, so the set design, the art design, and the details of it, those are the things that help him get into a situation. He gave us these pamphlets or "instructions" for each world, and one of them was mainly a handbook about the OI, the Office of Interchange where Peter Quayle works. And in that, I have this flowchart where it shows all the departments and how they're interlinked. Management is at the top; then Diplomacy where Roland Fancher, which is Richard Schiff's character, makes the deals with the other side; Strategy is my department; Housekeeping is hands-on spy guys that Aldrich was working. Justin had which floor each department is on, who had hierarchy over the other, and how they all link together. And then you get down into Customs, and there were instructions for the passports and how you stamp them, and information on when people travel contraband across, how they do it.

I think it works really well when you have two genres that don't go together, and you force them together. It gives you such good chemistry between the two that you've always got somewhere to go. And the idea of another double world, we have a good handle on it, because otherwise there would so many stories to tell. If the people in these worlds actually found out about each other, there would be anarchy and chaos! So to just have just this single tunnel, this crossing that they can pass through via customs, and to keep it in this spy genre, and to keep it tight, and to make sure it's exciting, it's a thriller, it's a plot that moves so that every episode isn't some kind of indulgent philosophical rant, I think that's such a clever vehicle. You still get these wonderful scenes where you do think about the philosophical aspect, and all the doors that it unlocks, but at the heart of it, it's a fucking car chase, which is such a smart combination of these two completely different genres.

Would you ever think, the person you need to get you out of a jam is your counterpart? Would you be like Howard Silk, and say, "I need my Harry Lloyd"? Lloyd: I wouldn't trust him at all. [Laughs]

[crstapor]

The Phantom Menace

Allow me to argue in favor of an unpopular opinion. Not because I’m a troll, or a staff writer at Slate, or for the lulz, no, because I genuinely mean it. Until very recently I didn’t understand I had this opinion, and, now that I know I do, felt like coming clean with it. So, in the nature of full disclosure, I need to say that The Phantom Menace is the best Star Wars movie of all time. Ok, fanfolk, catch your breath while I reiterate: The Phantom Menace is the greatest Star Wars movie ever made. Period.

Now why do I say this? Before we get mired in the analysis, let me disabuse you of a particular frailty all-too common in modern criticism: this has nothing to do with my own memories or experiences with the film. Need proof? So, back in 1999, when TPM was released, I was 20 years old. Still living in my hometown. Still part of my family’s life. My mother and I had a plan to see the movie upon its midnight release. Not thinking she had the stamina to make a late night showing, I blazed it up with my pals before the event. Even dropped some LSD. So, when mother arrives at the cineplex, and I try to weasel out of sitting next to her, a rather tidy scene of pathos and aggression occurred. Long and short of it? I sat through my first viewing of this particular movie next to my mom, who was - perhaps rightly? - pissed at me the whole time. Better still, in the other adjoining seat a guy I knew back in grade school, though our individual paths had diverged geometrically after 8th grade (at the time I was reading Plato, trying to suss that out, while he was busy getting married, or brought into his father’s company as the heir apparent, so). I don’t recall what I thought was worse at the time; the movie or how I saw it. In any event, not altogether the best time I’ve ever had at the cinema.

Right. After that, until very recently, I, like most who have bothered watching these films, understood TPM to be one of - if not the - weakest of the bunch. Why? First there is an opening crawl discussing taxes and trade routes. Then there is the wooden acting and clumsy script. Racist stereotypes abound. Casting a nine year old love interest for a twenty-something queen. Jar Jar Binks.

Many felt that fame, fortune, the freedom bought by such things intoxicated Lucas, allowed him to create a movie with no oversight of any kind. Many argue that it was this freedom, this purely unlimited access to resources, buzz, final cut, that produced a movie, lightsabers notwithstanding, that had absolutely nothing in common with the first three. It is my observation that it is exactly these things that make TPM the true high-water mark of Lucas’ foray into that distant galaxy. Because, I would like to make the argument that TPM most accurately reflects Lucas’ vision of Star Wars, and, as such, makes it the perfect film in that series.

Before we go further I must speak a plain truth. Star Wars, whatever else it is now in the cultural milieu, is, at the heart, a cheesy Saturday B-matinee. It is not grand or profound. Does not probe the human condition or ask tough questions. Was built solely to entertain. It is fluff. Vapid. Lucas, as creator, knew and knows this. This fact is at the foundation of TPM’s greatness.

If we accept (and we should) that Star Wars has always been a goofy spectacle meant to kill a few hours and nothing more, then we begin to see the proof of TPM’s achievement. Did the fanfolk read more into the original trilogy than Lucas ever meant to be read there? Absolutely. Responding to this egregious mis-reading of his gift to Modern America, Lucas set out to set the record straight. Do you think a classically vague, and all too common, story about a gang of ragtag rebels against a tyrannical empire has a deeper meaning? Ah ha! Lucas retorts, well then feast on a trade dispute on a planet you’ve never heard of! What!? Taxes don’t get you hot and bothered? Well! What if we add a couple of completely competent, if lifeless, Jedi Knights to the mix (cheers to McGregor and Neeson though: the Jedi have never been better)! Watch them try and talk to a bunch of folks about other people’s problems! Watch as they befriend a cartoon’s cartoon that’s just there to keep the kids quite while the adults get serious about political machinations a world away! Did you like how alien and weird all those background characters were in the first three? Here are some more aliens that you can tell are aliens because they talk in a very alien way! No, Lucas seems to tell us, it’s not racist at all for an alien species to seem like a racist stereotype - because they’re aliens - and once again, there you fanfolk go projecting onto my work. Or maybe, like some actual human beings living on this planet, you took all that ‘force’ talk seriously? Great! Luckily it’s both religion and science (fatherless birth, Midi-chlorians) so whatever you want you crazy bastards! It’s my party and I call the shots, Lucas appears to be bellowing in every frame. Did you like how I did a ‘will-they, won’t-they’ romance before? Fantastic. Here is a tiny child macking on a grown ass lady. And she likes it. Oh, and I never really gave much a damn about spaceships, Lucas reminds us, just cars, really, so here are some space cars and a race because fuck you. Hold on, did you really dig that creepy villain with a narrative through-line last time? Here is a villain with none of that. Now watch as he kills your new favorite Jedi. And just in case it wasn’t clear enough, all of you who somehow think The Empire Strikes Back is a movie with coherent drama and heart, allow me to show you what acting can’t be. I will say though, that Lucas clearly loves his laser swords. Nowhere in the Star Wars cannon is there a better duel than Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan versus Darth Maul. I mean, there just isn’t.

And a lot of that might sound like snark. But it’s not. It’s recognizing Lucas’ genius in purely deconstructing his own masterpiece in front of, arguably, the biggest audience any movie has ever had. Yet, it’s not just the chutzpah needed to pull off such a feat that assures TPM’s place at the top of the pack. It’s that it is finally and truly the most pure representation of the vision Lucas had for this story. It at once tears down the shiny mirage of Star Wars in the public consciousness and restores that image with its hidden Platonic form. While it is true Lucas sold his story to Disney and is no longer in charge of it, a fact dictating that whatever happens next in the saga has nothing to do with his vision, for those six flicks that bear his indelible mark? Only one can truly claim the honor of representing Star Wars at its most Star Warsiest.

A fact that is neither menacing or phantasmagorical.

(For the record, I drew the above image back in 1999 before seeing the film)

[pickupthepen]

I’m Not From Here

I’m gonna be honest with you,

I don’t always like this life. I don’t mean my life, but the stark coldness of real life. 

The banality of it all can feel so pointless and awful. I was never able to tell which pieces of my psyche made me think this way, but, oh, the annoyance- I look around at everyone in the world, wondering if they’re playing out their roles and never questioning who they are and what they’re doing. Are they all on autopilot? Some righteous thing inside of me looks down upon people who place importance in what I would deem the lesser things in life, like diets and workout plans, like TV shows. I have very little patience for people that never talk about their pain, that never explore the corners of their own minds in a way that is more connected to the self than simply studying information in order to regurgitate political and scientific facts at dinner parties. All to seem like someone who is an intellectual, even in the rare instances in which they already are. 

I look around at the girls on my morning commute and wonder how many of them wake up, put on their makeup, buckle into perfect heels and wrap themselves in the same tan pea coats in order to match this city’s stylistic flare. I think to myself that maybe they’re trying to eventually find themselves in a relationship with a good enough man, to move into a modest home, have a couple kids and settle into life only to spend their days looking forward to this season’s Starbucks flavor or yet another version of the Apple Watch. I wonder if they’re drowning out an inability to know thyself, or if I’m projecting my own resistance to reality onto them and they’re really just happy droning along, asleep, reading the lines in their scripts about brunch, their boyfriends and overpriced pillows at West Elm.

I wonder why I have such a visceral reaction to their presence in my window into life. Perhaps I’m scared of caving toward complacency. Perhaps I’m terrified that I’ll give in, become like them, one among many, forgettable.

I’ve always believed that quests for a grandiose, beautiful love and self expression in the form of magnificent art was the most noble thing we can do as human beings in this lifetime. I’ve wondered if it’s the Libra in me, although many laugh when I explain that the more basic nature in my desire to be adorned in the most glamorous and opulent elements of this world may be attributed to something arguably pseudoscientific. They tell me that the placement of the stars at the moment of my birth has nothing to do with why I am the way that I am, but every description of a Libra woman has always fit me, when it was done right. Whether or not it truly explains my nature, I’d rather live in a world where the stars and the moon have an impact on my spirit than to give full credit to an organized resume about the pragmatism of my becoming. That’s a choice that I’ve made for myself, and I reserve the right to take on whatever perspectives and outlooks on life that I choose. Doesn’t everyone? Do the tan pea coat girls deserve that as well? 

Maybe I really do live halfway in this plane and halfway in another. I don’t give a fuck about worldly banality. I like witnessing myself as a goddess. I like believing that there are ways to communicate with the universe, and I like being one with the trees and the rain, as sisters. 

And so, interestingly, believing that I've already been granted access to the beginnings of my ability to express and appreciate artwork, I’ve spent my entire adult life in search of an indescribable, beautiful love. A magical love. A love that feels like something, a love that can be written about, a love that is hung up there, with the moon and the stars. And I’ve come to realize that I’m willing to make an exchange on my reputation to find a love like that. I was willing to pursue women instead of men because I put true love above societal pressure to be “normal”. And I started following leads where I felt my heartstrings tugging instead of settling for potential partners that felt safe and “healthy”. Likely a problem, though- when I meet women who spark inspiration in me, I become completely submerged, I am untied. 

I am engulfed in the waves of fiery romance, and then, because these relationships often have no grounds in reality, and aren’t stable or safe, they inevitably end. When they do, I am thrusted back into reality, no longer toeing the line between realms. Suddenly, I see the world without its magic filter and it disgusts me. Then, I look at those girls on the bus and I hate them, and I desperately fear becoming like them, and terror takes me into its dark caverns as I worry that the universe’s will for me is to release the spiritual pieces of myself and fall into the tan peacoat army line. 

I become disgusted by my own reality that involves sidewalks in Mission Bay, slow progression in gyms, long walks alone in neighborhoods with houses that I will never afford and a familiarity with my bedroom that never seems to truly change at all, and the elements of day to day life dissolve into god damn insufficiency. I resent trash days and the dishwasher and Netflix and grocery stores and every human that wants to talk to me that doesn’t remind me of my spirit world. I am angry with them for making it seem like this plane’s vapid reality is the only one that exists, for arguing that it is and attempting to convince me that the true joys in life come from a friendship with it’s most boring moments. And so I embark on love again and again and again, perhaps in an attempt to escape myself, and definitely in an attempt to escape reality. And I beg whatever god there might be to not let reality be all there is. And I hate you for trying to pull me down toward Earth- I want the stars. 

Months ago, as I grieved the ending of yet another romance, I begged my friend Brynn, through tears, to not ask me to be less. She looked at me, perplexed and asked what made me think that anyone wanted me to be “less”, whatever that means. “Don’t ask me to change, don’t ask me to give up on this piece of myself.” I felt as though love would never stay if I were a spirit monkey from forest realms, and I came to believe that I must eventually choose between two roads that diverge- to be who I am, to wander the earth with freedom, but to know heartbreak countless times over, or to love modestly, to put on a tan peacoat and forego all the wonderful corners of my spirit realm. I incorrectly came to believe, probably from this particular mindset, that the Earth itself was asking me to give up my hunt for explosive love and grandiose art and to take my head out of the clouds. “But I like being in the clouds”. Brynn made herself clear as I went on- she was asking only that I walk away from any love when pain outweighs joy, when what is being taken from me outbids what is being given- something I could never quite do.

“Could they ever live together-” I asked, “magic and reality?” I really wanted to know if deep, grandiose, wonderful love had a place in the same realm as Netflix and laundry.

“I think so,” she answered.

As time passed, as my worlds shifted and I diligently sorted through which cracks in my heart needed to be healed from the inside out and which human beings from earth needed to be let go of, I caught a metaphorical glimpse of myself in the mirror- hunched and tired. I saw for the first time that disappointment is inevitable and that it’s not the fault of my lofty spirit that romances have ended for me. I also learned that it’s okay to be changed by these things, it’s okay to carry them with us like battle scars, it’s okay to talk to other people about them for our own comfort and for the benefit of shared experience, but it’s not necessary to become reduced by them, or to even consider that we must as a rule of thumb.

After yet another heartache, I didn’t want to be asked to be less because I didn’t want to be less. I didn’t want to willingly become a girl that was bruised and broken by her experiences- or rather a sad girl that let life minimize her, a girl that wasn’t more than having been abandoned by those she wanted to love. I didn’t want to hide in the shadows, away from the world, sinking into my own body simply because I couldn’t face standing up and fearlessly looking directly in the eye of the dragon, my future. I didn’t want to become girl that never glitters because I have known disappointment, never having taken time to appreciate and love all the happiness in my life. I didn’t want to be nothing more than my trauma, my sicknesses and the painful moments from my past. I wanted to be more than that, and I wondered if I could take a deep breath, stand back up, lift my skirt, and dip one foot right back into the spirit realm.

And so I did.

There are just some things about us that cannot be taken away, no matter what. 

I thought of those girls, sitting across the Muni aisle, eyes deep in a book about love. Do you want what I want, tan pea coat girl? Are you more like me than I think, or are you just as firmly planted in reality as I have guessed? I wondered how many of them have fallen into line unwillingly, questioning if a spirit realm exists, if there’s a way to access it, feeling stuck without a direction in which to move, and so, marching forward in their fixed position. I wondered how many of them have fallen into line unknowingly, how many are complacent, how many believe that there is nothing more, and so will never look, will never question, will never dive. I wonder if I used the word “complacent” just then to take a sword to the word “happy”, because I’ve been unable to see that “happy” does not have a ubiquitous definition.

Maybe they don’t want this. Maybe they don’t need to be like me. I don’t want to be like them, but I am already unlike them. And so, I released the grip on my righteous throne, because perhaps no one would be any better if they were different, not star women, not girls in tan pea coats, not you, not I.

Can you breathe, star woman? Can you just breathe? Can you write poems about lost love without standing on a soapbox about knowing thyself? Can you know sadness without begging to not become “less”? Can you wrap yourself in silk scarves and intricate patterns without arraigning staple fashion items and the women who choose to wear them? Can you let your light seep out of your cracks and shine onto others who might understand and feel the same, with little regard for those who don’t and can’t? Can you embrace the straddle between realms, and witness the divine birth of goddesses who have, until this very moment, been afraid to glitter without recourse? Can you please unbutton your blouse, and just breathe?

If you’re reading this and you think I'm crazy, I welcome you and I see why you may not understand. My deepest apologies to anyone who owns a tan pea coat. If you are like me, I’m sure you already know what I mean. If you want to be more like me, I don’t know, my friend, maybe you should try and be more like you.

Best wishes.

[violetsystems]

#personal

New York is probably good enough for some in terms of “putting yourself out there.”  They say if you can make it there then you can make it anywhere.  I’ve made it a habit every two months for the last year or so to explore it in the same meticulous fashion.  Same flight.  Same brands.  No sudden movements.  On a dimly lit viaduct off flushing I see the abyss reflected back at me.  Someone across the street wearing the same shoes.  What you put out into the world comes full circle.  And yet things still remain moderately the same if not worse.  New York has given me a lot of perspective in my adult life.  For years people have made me feel like I’m not good enough at so many things.  The idea that I can simply walk down the street and exist seems important enough to people out East.  Here there’s always some sort of judgement or validation that needs to be attached.  You can get trapped in a constant cycle of proving yourself to the wrong people.  Which has never been the case down here where I write the script constantly that nobody pays attention to.  In a lot of ways I see this as better not worse.  I’ve been as far as Tokyo, Seoul and Shanghai by myself.  There’s reasons I wouldn’t travel back alone right now.  When I travel by myself to New York people seem to gradually understand my motivations better.  I can’t help what I’m dragged around by or wander into.  I also am not as clued in as people hallucinate me to be.  Nobody texts me at all.  I have friends but I wouldn’t say any of them are close enough to know any perspective of what I do.  I find people don’t listen or tune out which is why I maintain these kind of love letters to the void.  I figure if you really liked, loved or appreciated me you’d want to know what I’m thinking.  I’m a fairly transparent person to a fault at times.  There are times when being open and honest has gotten me manipulated or worse.  My life is what it is and I make it so by working on it.  The people I lost contact with I question if I ever really had any with to begin with.  This space and writing in it has been the only really emotional contact I’ve had with people for years.  I’d be lying to you if I said I wasn’t isolated and alone most of the time.  I’m also not that depressed about it.  I’ve stayed fit by exercising in my home.  I made 14k gold in World of Warcraft from a random drop on the auction house.  I still suck at Hearthstone but enjoy losing anyway.  More so than playing card games in public for various reasons.  Every time I leave the house back home it’s like some weird aggressively social pressure to perform.  Everybody wants me to share my attention, my opinion and how I feel then punish me for it.  I’m used to that game and the rules kind of suck.  I’ve been doing that week after week for I don’t know how long on the internet here.  I wouldn’t say I feel punished.  I do feel included.  I do think me sharing my perspective does a lot of things.  I think you could get what I’m about at the very least.  Enough to be comfortable around me in public.  So realistically I’ve been putting myself out there for years at this point.  What’s different?  What’s changed?  And why am I not good enough for some people?

Money probably.  It seems like people with money think they can do whatever they want.  I’ve listened to too many Fugazi albums at this point to think otherwise.  I’ve worked for a non profit since the dinosaurs were first wiped off the planet.  I’ve had so many little side hobbies and art projects that weren’t good enough for people.  Wouldn’t make enough money to pay attention to.  I’d be more bitter if I hadn’t succeeded more in other things.  Since I quit the gym last year I’ve made so much more progress on my health.  I look way better than I ever have.  I’m still the same person inside if not better.  And yet people want to pop out of a portal of yesterday and catch up suddenly again and again like an infinite crisis.  I’m used to talking to people in New York.  I don’t really get nervous in street conversation anymore.  I don’t have any expectations on it.  I’m not trying to set someone up or weave myself into somebody’s inner circle.  I’m trying to connect with my people.  And my people are in the moment.  There was that meme with the Shiba the other day that hit me hard.  If you enjoy the time you wasted then it isn’t a waste of time.  If all these years have inspired me to become who I am now why would I regret it?  It is rough and thankless for sure.  Everybody knows how much less sensitive I am about all this now.  I’d argue I’d have to be inevitably.  The streets are like a catwalk to me that I greet with a cold, dead stare at times.  That’s what I feel in my head anyway.  And then people smile at me gently for no reason.  Like they know.  And my eyes soften a bit more.  Money is just money.  People like myself work very hard for it.  I work very hard trying to spend it more wisely.  I’m not sure I will return to New York until my birthday next year.  Not that I can’t afford it.  More so because I have enough clothes at the moment and would like to rest and stay warm.  Home isn’t a terrible place to be outside of work.  But people with money can be extremely invasive anywhere.  Look at how much they pry into my life looking for something darker to prove.  That’s how it seems these days anyway.  I don’t know that any amount of money will change the trajectory I’m on.  I do think about moving to New York often.  Then I think about commuting there instead.  I could always make more money.  I could always be in a place that understands me more and expects less.  Everybody in the Midwest needs to be connected.  Families, money and politics.  Chicago is one of the most corrupt cities in that respect.  And then there’s more to Chicago we’ve come to realize.  More importantly there’s me sitting at my kitchen table every Saturday morning typing love letters out on my surface.  Thinking about how I’m going to spend fourteen thousand gold in isolation over the next few months.  Who is living the dream now?  I’ve farmed gold since beta with the best of them.  I also nuked my account at the first expansion.  Oh how the mighty have fallen.  Bowing to the corporate whims of Hellish Blizzard.  Maybe that’s why Fugazi never made another good record.  The system is rigged to fail.

When I talk about keeping it real these days it’s much more in the Sega Bass Fishing tradition.  I’m not trying to start a maritime revolution or anything.  Unless you are talking about putting power back into the hands of those who don’t traditionally have it.  When you talk about a movement it’s always implied with me.  I walk alongside these concepts because I believe in them.  Freedom for all.  And people test mine in the process.  And I start to realize Freedom in America isn’t really free.  People are always trying to sell yourself back to you at a higher price than you can afford.  Make you doubt your path into the unknown by shaking your confidence and resolve.  Negging your plans if you share them out loud.  Standing in your way out of jealousy and worse.  People have tried to hijack my narrative so much that I’ve given up on whole sections of it.   Nobody cares about my music.  If they check in it’s to comment about my haircut not my artwork.  It’s vapid as fuck.  Like I’ve become some hyper intelligent Ken doll imprisoned behind a firewall for the better.  I realized a long time ago people won’t let me be me.  People want control over everything.  They have brands at stake.  Legacies to build.  Family empires and flows of cash to maintain.  Small little circles that have no vacancy unless you have something to offer.  And when my haircut shines back into the spotlight the same meat market mentality shows its ugly face.  Nothing has changed with me.  I still love the same people deeply in ways you will never know.  No one ever cared to read into that other than here week after week.  And in some ways my feelings towards it were allowed to grow in a very quiet way.  I’ve carved a really genuine spot out of chaos where I can speak what I feel.  People can twist it in whatever way they want in their Utopian vision for society.  But the simple fact is that I do not feel included out there.  So why do I feel so included walking by myself alone down Flushing every two months.  Imagine if I would have believed all these things people project onto me.  That I’m not good enough.  That I’m weird and a failure.  That there’s something about me that someone can’t put their finger on that bothers them.  So they want everybody to keep tabs on me just to be sure.  Someone who has never spoken two words to me or worse.  And then there are people out there who I understand care deeply with a simply click.  I don’t have to shake them down for proof.  I already feel the love there.  You have to have real love in yourself to notice it reflected back to you.  Real unconditional love is difficult.  But anything built on anything less is doomed to fail.  I don’t necessarily feel doomed at all.  Granted Sega Bass Fishing is an extremely challenging game.  So is running a mile under eight and a half minutes.  You know where to find me when you need me.  Just putting it out there.  Love.  Imagine putting more of that into the world.  I don’t have to imagine my love for you.  <3 Tim

[mothermaidenclone-blog]

Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets or Chatbot’s Scriptwriting Debut

Credit where credit’s due, Luc Besson knows how to make a good looking film. Also, this was the first film I saw in 4DX and it was a cracking choice - the anti-gravity and space battles were undeniably just pure fun. Unfortunately however, we don’t seem to have come far from a sami-naked, love-struck Leeloo. Admittedly, no one was actually wearing bandages as an outfit, but some of the costumes weren’t much better and the female characters’ motives were just as unfathomable. Last whinge before we get stuck in, the script was incomprehensible  - I felt like I was watching a film written by a Turing Test; nobody’s conversations made any sense and the reasoning behind what they were doing or saying often seemed nonsensical.

*Valerian spoilers follow*

The main female character is Sergeant Laureline (Cara Delevigne) and pretty much the first we see of her is her bikini-clad backside astride Major Valerian (Dane DeHaan) in a weird sexy wrestling match, in which he aggressively asserts, “you’re attracted to me.” A very stressful scene of him doggedly chatting her up follows, which set the tone of their relationship for the rest of the film. I couldn’t have told you if they were a couple or not, their interactions were so fraught, confusing and confrontational. The only time they made sense was, tragically, when Valerian was asserting his dominance; “you stay on back up, I’ll take the front line”, or giving his permission; “all right, give it to them” - like all the decisions are up to him and they’re not a team. Although this is reinforced once again and arguably unnecessarily through his higher military rank.

Equally unfortunately but on the opposite end of the spectrum, the parts of Laureline’s script that actually make sense are derogatory female stereotypes such as, “he ruined my dress”, “I have to take you shopping with me” and, perhaps worst of all, “pretty butterfly” as she follows a small, glowing creature and is immediately captured. Which highlights another theme of this film; women being knocked out. What message is that sending out, that women are easier to handle when they’re unconscious?

This power dichotomy and gender disparity is further reinforced through costume, the main offender being what I assume was their standard military uniform. The top halves were fairly egalitarian but where Valerian had pragmatic trousers, Laureline had a khaki miniskirt like she was from an early 2000s girlband video, an effect which was exacerbated by the enormous diamond earrings which completed the look. It was difficult to compare Laureline’s uniform to that of any other women - perhaps she was just stamping her individuality onto it (although that somewhat defeats the point of a uniform) - as there weren’t really any other female soldiers, or not any with huge amounts of screen time at least. This is reiterated by their superior’s dismissal, “gentlemen, lady” - lady in the singular.

Despite the lack of women in the military, they do exist elsewhere in the film. Princess Lïhio-Minaa (Sasha Luss) is introduced at the start, with very little dialogue, as a caring and happy character, who is obliterated to serve as motivation for Valerian, whom she inexplicably choses as a vessel to house her soul. The society to which the princess belongs seems egalitarian, it is run by both and emperor and and empress and they appear to worship some sort of feminine form of nature. It’s the shame the whole planet is exploded to smithereens before we even meet the main characters.

The other prominent female character is Bubble (Rihanna). The name alone tells you everything you need to know - vapid, pretty and insubstantial. Bubble is some sort of erotic performance artist who is indentured to Jolly the Pimp (Ethan Hawke). She is unique in that she is a shapeshifter, but the way that this talent manifests itself it that she can become whatever kind of woman the man she is performing for desires. As such, both Valerian and the audience are treated to a very long and suggestive burlesque-style dance, showcasing a multitude of revealing costumes and feats of flexibility. Even when Valerian presents her with a means of escape (through serving him instead) she still shows an almost Stockholm-Syndrome-like sickening level of a desire to please. She subsequently uses her superior alien powers to escape with Valerian, infiltrate an enemy encampment, rescue Laureline and then fight a small army on their way out. However, when everybody escapes down the garbage chute (classic), Bubble is randomly dead when they get to the bottom. Her own explanation is, “I must have been injured during the fight” - even she doesn’t know what happened to her! She’s just left in the rubbish and it’s the worst.

Overall, the woman in Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets are crude stereotypes when they even make sense as a character and pure nonsense the rest of the time. Their motives are unfathomable or shallow and they are subject to objectification, sexual harassment, imprisonment, violence and, at the extreme, murder/genocide at the hands of men. But the special effects are lovely so have a few drinks or mildly concuss yourself with a blunt object and you’ll have a great time.

And now for some asides:

Compensating for something with your clip on gold chest plate there, Clive Owen?

Rihanna’s death was the actual worst, but if you can choose how you look when you die then why the fuck not Nefertiti?

Can films just not be this long anymore? Mans got shit to do.                

[genocidershodan]

Someone on this Star Trek group posted a thread “Name 8 things you thought was wrong with the new Star Trek movies and explain why”.

A lot of you have probably heard me mention that I really hate Into Darkness, but I don’t know if I’ve really talked about why.

Everyone's got their opinion so here's my version.

Basically, Beyond was great, and 2009 was ok. It failed at Star Trek but at least was able to be a good space adventure film. My big problem lies with Into Darkness, which fails miserably at being Star Trek, problems carried over from 2009 and amplified, and fails miserably at being a film.So for the purposes of this exercise I'll focus on Into Darkness but boy oh boy is there so much more than this.

1. MILITARY EMBLEMISM IN MAH STARFLEET. Not much more to say really. It's pretty self evident, the grey uniforms everyone has with the shoulder ranks. Starfleet is not a military organisation, and Gene Roddenberry wanted to completely disassociate Starfleet from military. In designing the uniforms he wanted them to not be recognisable as any type of military uniform, and the command structure of Starfleet is modelled after the Merchant Navy instead of any military.

2. A PORTABLE DEVICE THE SIZE OF A SUITCASE THAT CAN WARP KHAN FROM EARTH TO QO'NOS. This is the dumbest world breaking device I've ever heard of. I don't need to even describe how much this breaks the Star Trek universe.  And the only real function this can seem to serve is so they can have Klingons which leads me right into...

3. A PLOT DRIVEN ENTIRELY BY CONTRIVENCES BUILT AROUND MAKING AS MANY REFERENCES AS POSSIBLE. There's nothing of substance here. It's a revenge story. There's no character arcs, dropped plot threads, nonsensical series of events. During my first viewing of this movie I found myself continually asking "What are you doing? Why are you going there? What is happening?", and 90% of the time the answer is because the plot says so. And the whole thing is jam packed with vapid moments and shout outs. Urgh, why did they copy the kirk/spock hand on glass scene without understanding why it was such a powerful moment. But they screwed it up by reversing the script. (I suppose they thought it was a twist). It's so much more meaningful that Spock put his Vulcan salute against the glass first and then Kirk puts his hand against that, but they fucking screwed it up.And then they just pull a rewind and bring him back because they decided to, for some ungodly fucking reason, test the blood on a bloody tribble. What the fuck is a tribble doing just sitting on the enterprise having random blood tested on it for fucks sake? How the fuck could Khan from the 1990's help starfleet build more advanced ships? Why did they bring back Leonard Nimoy just so he could tell Zachary Quinton that Khan is not a cool guy. god damnit I hate this fucking movie.

4. CHARACTERS STRIPPED DOWN TO THEIR POP CULTURAL OSMOSIS This is usually the hardest to discuss because to be quite frank there's not a lot to most of the characters. Like nothing much is explained about Chekov's history other than he's Russian. Scotty was the Scottiest Scotsmen that drank Scotch. Uhura was calm and friendly and among the most affectionate members of the crew. But I guess the writers now decided she needs to be a sassy black lady. Spock is now struggling to deal with his human side, and also his unemotional tranquility seems to have translated into some kind of meanness. Kirk? What have they done to you? You know back on the show he was poetic, passionate, professional. He was a very by the book captain. Did you guys know that back in his academy days he was much more akin to a bookish nerd than a jock? He even had an upperclassmen who regularly bullied him.

5. THE USS VENGEANCE This is the stupidest design I've ever seen. Why the fuck is it so big? It's designed to be operated by a skeleton crew and even by 1 person. It's so needlessly big. What the hell is it so big for? All that is doing is providing a larger target and larger surface area that requires maintenance. And it's mostly all just empty space. Why isn't it in a smaller compact design allowing for maneuverability where all the components are more tightly packed together with no weak spots like a real Starfleet warship (see Defiance)Why is the bridge now a weak spot from both the top and the bottom?

6. KHAN NOONIEN SINGH'S ETHNICITY Yep, there we go, why won't you cast Indian actors for Indian characters?

7. THE TREATMENT OF WOMEN Come on guys. If a TV show from the 1960's treats its female characters with more dignity and respect than its counter part made today, you've got a problem. Into Darkness doesn't even pass the Bechdel test. Where's Janice Rand? Where's Christine Chapel? Oh and they totally just decided that she only became a nurse because she was one of Kirk's past conquests. Blah. It seems kinda telling that the female uniforms don't have rank bands. 8.THE WHOLE MARKETING REGARDING KHAN.You know, this one kind of sticks as a sore point for me. Because I was one of those few people who said "No, it's not Khan." in the lead up to this movie. I was actually quite convinced it was going to be Gary Mitchell. And I don't really know why everyone was so sure it was going to be Khan. Maybe I'm too naive and actually believed them when they said that it wasn't going to be him. But I went through the evidence and found more to indicate that he wasn't Khan than that he was. (like his ethnicity, but that's a dead horse now). I remember thinking "If it turns out to be a twist that he was actually Khan, that would be the stupidest thing ever." And then I saw the movie, and the reality was so much worse.

[inthehouseofflies-blog1]

♖ (modern!Lucy, WSW!Don, CoC!Torleik, CoC!Kon, CoC!Lisel) // ♞ (Midyan, Modern!Don, WSW!Lucy, CoC!Damian, CoC!Christoph) //♟(Modern!Gideon, WSW!Mary, CoC!Eve, CoC!Claus, CoC!Viviette) // ☂ (Modern!Mary, Velius, CoC!Viktorya, CoC!Eudora) // ♨ (Modern!Eli, WSW!Wallas, WSW!Julien, CoC!Louis, CoC!Viala)

♖ for one of my muses guilty pleasures //

Lucy (Modern)I think she loves reality television. She knows how incredibly scripted and empty it all is, but she can’t help but get sucked in on a day off and binge watch entire seasons of it. Lucy would also never admit it, but on particularly lonely nights, she reads them while taking a long bubble bath.

Donovan (HP)Guilty is the key word here and it makes this very hard. I think one of the things he does that he isn’t too proud of but absolutely enjoys, is sitting for hours on his bedroom floor while looking over all his medals, photos, memorabilia, etc. of his glory days. He knows it’s pathetic, but he likes to remember that at some point in his life, he was somebody.

Torleik (CoC) It’s not incredibly different or unusual in Arvidor, but for Torleik, taking time to admire the beauty of the trees and unique greenery of his land is definitely something to be ashamed of. Not that he’s ashamed of admitting that Arvidor is vastle beautiful and even that kind of beauty isn’t lost on someone like him, but that he wasn’t actively being productive. That’s what he’d be ashamed of.

Konstantin (CoC) Oh, Konstantin has about a thousand. Everything he loves is a guilty pleasure. From sucking off his cousin (LOL)  to spending twice the amount of time getting ready that normal Vollstachtian men do... Konstantin is constantly in a state of guilt. And his relatives don’t exactly make it easy for him. After all, this is the land of fire and steel and here he is fussing over the exact placement of the ruffles on his cravat and bitching his twin sister up and down for her heinous taste in men.

Liselotte (CoC) I think she certainly feels and does regrettable things, but I’m not sure she feels guilty for any... From wishing she was dead (to be with her parents), to forcing Raphael to spend time with her when it clearly bothers him in some way, to defying her uncle at every turn... I don’t know that what she enjoys, she feels guilty for. Huh... I’ll have to think more about this one, because I feel there’s something I’m forgetting. OH, you know what... she does take pleasure in having Killian’s attention, but also feels guilty for wanting it because of their first “disagreement”. I think some part of her knows she should loathe him for that but... I DON’T KNOW. Confused child, confusing me.

♞ for something that my muse wants to do //

Midyan (Main) More than anything, he wants to return to the under realm with Miryam and return to doing what they were born to do. However, he’d never admit that the toll the mortal world is taking on him is very, very real. And he knows Miryam is enjoying their banishment, and would never force her back with him. He knows they may soon come to an impasse and it keeps him up at night.

Donovan (Modern)Oh man, he’s so motivated now that Bailey is in his life. Donovan was content to his shitty, pathetic life. Even on the path to recovery from his alcoholism, he wasn’t exactly excited about it. But with Bailey... now he wants to get a good job, get a nicer place in a good part of town, make it comfortable for her... for them. He wants to build a life for them; he sees his future only with her or he doesn’t have one at all.

Lucy (HP)She wants to live outside her identity as a squib. Even though she’s more valuable than ever, she wants to be valuable for more than just that. I think, sometimes, when she’s tired at the end of her shift, she wishes she had someone to curl up next to. Thank God for Rhea, because sometimes a best friend is exactly what she needs (and they have similar struggles about being known for something that isn’t them as a whole), but Lucy has never been loved outside of that. It’s am empty part of herself she doesn’t know needs filling just yet.

Damian (CoC)He wants to marry Aniah and return to the man he was before at the same time. He craves his status, his reputation, his attitude being returned. And honestly, if she says yes to him, it will all flood back. He’ll be stronger, actually. Far more charming; more in control; a better player on the grand, political stage that is court life.

Christoph (CoC) Christoph wants to bring his old pal back. He wants to get Rafael back to his old self (just short of the arrogance which got him cursed, of course) and he wants all his cousins to be happy again. He wants the old life back with all its fun. None of these politics and new dangers at court. He’d also like for Vollstacht to embrace Kiya because honestly, look at that face. Come on, now.

♟ for something my muse admires

Gideon (Modern) Alice. He absolutely admires her strength. She can smile even in the worst circumstances. She has the kind of resiliance that he believes is rare and massively valuable. Before, it may have been a struggle to get it out of him, but he would readily confess it to her now. Maybe soon, of his own volition, when they’re in a hospital room and a baby is on the way.

Mary (HP) Neil. God, she thinks so fucking highly of him. There is no better man in her eyes, no better way of being. Aside from how hard he punishes himself by working until he’s damn-near dead, Mary absolutely thinks he is the ideal human being. Kind, generous, strong, intelligent, honorable, courageous, loyal, loves his family. She could go on and on about how many things there are to admire in Neil Lockewood. She absolutely feels that everyone is his inferior.

Evelyn (CoC) I know it says “something” my muse admires and not “someone” but AH WELL. Evelyn is a pretty... vapid, self-centered thing; admiration is hard to find inside her selfish, little heart. For Umbra Lui’s sake, she calls her orphaned and prematurely-crowned cousin “leftovers.” lmfao If she admires anyone, it would be Malakai. He’s handsome, wealthy, a successful king at a young age. I think she would admire Afasa if she ever crossed paths with the man. Wealth, power, and a face worth swooning over; that’s what Evelyn admires.Claus (CoC) Those in power who do not abuse it. Caldreus is a good example. Though Caldreus often causes eye-rolls so hard that they hurt, Claus is a firm believer that he is a very good king who has never used his power unless it was for the good of those whose lives depend on his decisions. Ambition for one’s own-self and one’s own alone is abhorrent.Viviette (CoC) When one sticks to their guns. She can always find some admiration for a person who, even against all odds or rebuttal, remains steadfast in their belief or cause. Those who backtrack, who correct themselves even with good reason, are not well-liked by a queen who cannot be told anything other than what she already thinks.

☂ for something my muse wants to protect

Mary (Modern) Bailey. In any of her modern verses, no matter what her situation is, she wants to protect Bailey and whatever makes Bailey happy. For example, with the whole issue of Don being too old for her (and the last person her parents would want her with): Mary immediately offered shelter from the storm. She wants Bailey happy because Mary knows that out of everyone in the world, Bailey deserves it most. Mary would throw down everything to protect her best friend. NOT HAVE FEELINGS FOR. Because Lord knows that if any kind of authority got wind of it, or if those relationships were made public... all hell would break loose, and Mary might just kill herself.

Velius (Main) Himself. Looking out for number one, always. Whatever he wants, loves, admires, needs, etc., Velius comes first.

Viktoriya (CoC) Gael and Giselle, her adopted family. She owes them so much, and although her mere existence is an insult (as her true identity is bound forever with tragedies that befell them both), she would give anything (or do anything) to see them safe. 

Eudora (CoC) Her last family member, Zosime. While Eudora has a large heart, there is no one who consumes it more than her big sister, Zosime. Eudora only ever wants to see Zosime happy and healthy, and anyone who would jeopardize that would be met with (probably futile) resistance.

♨ for something that relaxes my muse

Eli (Modern) Pot. Honestly, getting high. Xanax sometimes, but mostly he likes to smoke. Alcohol is more of a party choice. Oh, and “Friends” (the show). Pot and “Friends.”Wallas (HP) He loves to sit and read magizoology books with a large cup of hot English breakfast tea in hand. A good pair of pajama pants, soft robe, and we’re in business. Absolute bliss.

Julien (HP) Laying in bed all day with his little wife. At least, he’s going to make her his wife as soon as the smoke clears and they won’t be bothered. But yes, nothing is more relaxing than laying naked or semi-naked in a tangle of silky sheets with her. They could just talk for hours, or say nothing at all, instead passing time by tracing delicate shapes with their fingertips on each others skin. Julien just wants to be with her, be comfortable, and not be bothered by the world outside. Before Bailey, he liked to smoke, to take an assortment of mild wizard drugs, and look at paintings.

Louis (CoC) Cooking, gardening, cleaning. I imagine servants have gotten frustrated with him many times because he insists on doing things himself. After a hard life of combat, court life, and protecting princesses from all that is out to get them... domestic life is sweet, quiet bliss.Viala (CoC) Gabriel time. When he can afford to sit with her in her tower, Viala is most at ease. She likes to lounge around and hum little tunes while playing (and most times, successfully tangling) his long, dirty blond hair. She likes it when he tells her stories, when he talks to her about the comings and goings of the court she doesn’t often get to visit.

[theliterateape]

Ripe for Indoctrination and Thirsty for a Glass of Ice Cold Kool Aid

by Don Hall

It happened my Junior year in high school at a stadium concert in Western Samoa.

The conversion had been a long time coming. I was a bit of an intentional outcast among the more popular kids in my Where-the-Fuck-Are-We? Kansas high school and, being a typical teenager despite my ingrained belief that I was fully non-conforming and different than this cast of Heartland Rednecks, finding inroads to the cool crowd was definitely on my mind.

Krystal Good (name changed because I’m not a complete dick). She was the captain of the cheerleading squad and president of the school’s chapter of the FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes). Turned out one did not need to be an athlete but you had to be a Christian or at least be open to the relentless witnessing and Bible studies. The thing is I wanted to fuck Krystal. She was untouchable but hung out with that FCA crowd.

At one point, I randomly asked her how to join. Her reaction was effusive.

“Oh, Don. I’m so happy you’re asking. You would be such a powerful witness for Christ.” And she held my hand for a moment that, in my head, was instantly underscored by some awful Christopher Cross song. I was hooked.

Remarkably, as I started attending, I mostly listened and kept my built-in skepticism at bey. I wasn’t there to antagonize the Believers — I was there to get a finger into Krystal’s cheerleading panties. Once I understand the language and the right things to say, I went in for the facade.

I was a True Believer in Getting Laid Through Profession of Non-Existent Faith.

Meetings were almost always the same. Krystal would lead an opening prayer that was designed to remind us all of our supplication to the Lord followed by what could only be called vapid confessionals: each of us had to relate a couple of sins we committed during the week and how we repented for them.

“I cheated on my algebra test. I felt really guilty so I went out of my way to be nice to [INSERT ONE OF THE THREE BLACK KIDS IN SCHOOL].” “I lied to my mom about being at practice because I was playing Dig Dug at the Circle K. I promised God that I would be honest next time.” “I felt really angry at Mr. Telfer and wanted to kill him. I guess I didn’t kill him so that’s OK, right?”

At which point, once we had all told our stone-skipping sins (we rarely got into drug-taking, drinking, or sex because, hey, that’s personal and between me and Jesus...) it all devolved into a standard high school gossip session complete with Mountain Dew, Taco-flavored Doritos, and fudge brownies that one of the girls made in Home Ec.

Despite my efforts to cozy up to Krystal, it was never to be. She really was untouchable. On the other hand, my newfound faith became an entry point to many lesser desired vaginas so it wasn’t a total waste.

Close to the end of my Junior year, I was encouraged to audition for a touring mission group called The Continental Singers. Effectively a proselytizing show choir with a six-piece band, the bonus was summer travel. That summer the group was going to Fiji, Tonga, New Zealand, and the Samoan Islands. Plus, we got paid a stipend and had free housing and food.

I put on my best On Fire for the Lord attitude, answered all the questions right, played a few bars on my trumpet and I was in.

What I didn’t realize was that I was now going to spend my every waking hour for three months with True Believers. A few of them spectacularly hot young women. This was going to be a challenge to keep up the pretense and not expose myself for the poser I had become.

Early into the summer, my rooming partner, Steve, started to catch on. When my guard was down, I didn’t seem that Christian in his opinion. Sure, I had all the right answers but got quickly bored with too much dogma and talk of the Bible. Word sort of spread and the indoctrination became a bit heavy-handed.

The show we performed went like this:

Band played an overture

The ‘show’ was an originally written version of Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat but with different music and some really terrible dialogue. Turned out a lot of it was verbatim from the Word of God so I’m assuming God can write a bestseller but not a musical.

Following the show (about 45 minutes in length) our director would come up and do a “Come to Jesus, Won’t You?” sermon followed by an opportunity for anyone in the audience to receive the call, embrace the love of Christ, and publicly commit themselves to God.

The last part was always eloquent and a bit relentless. 

“You know in your heart that you are a sinner in need of redemption.” “Man is born in sin and must accept the saving grace of our lord.” “Jesus died to fulfill the Law of the Old Testament. Confess your sin and it will be washed clean.” “How about a couple of bucks once you’ve joined?”

OK. That last line was more implied than stated but the last section of the night was a prayer and offering plates passed around by the cast while the band played inspiring tunes adagio. People came up in droves to publicly admit they were permanently stained with sin and receive the acceptance of the rest of the herd.

We were mostly free during the day and we would go out in teams to recruit audience members for that night. The teams shifted around and almost every day I was gently nudged toward the idea that, while I was a Christian (wink wink) it was a beautiful experience to re-affirm my faith publicly.

Every day for 45 days or so this message was pounded into my soft adolescent brain and often by these stellar looking women of Christ. The Kool Aid was looking mighty tasty and I began to question whether my resistance to the whole thing was merely my sinful ways fighting back. It was as if they’d heard my objections a thousand times and didn’t need me to say them out loud to pitch their liturgical woo.

Mind you, this was long before smartphones and I was thousands of miles from home. I felt isolated but only because I simply couldn’t intellectually buy into the party line. I missed American food, my car, my friends, television, movies, and books written by living authors without the agenda to convert me to religion. I missed masturbating and saying ‘fuck’. I missed being myself.

One night at a show in Western Samoa in August, as the director was making his emotional pitch, when he asked if there was anyone who wanted to commit themselves to Christ, he looked directly at me. Three or four of the cast members followed his gaze and looked at me with smiles that said “We understand. Take the leap. We approve.”

And I drank the Kool Aid. All of it. In one weepy gulp.

I was dubbed “Born Again.” And I believed it as firmly as I had previously disbelieved.

From that point, I was in the freaking club. Knowing that soon we’d all be back in various states around the country, the talk was that our friends wouldn’t understand but it was our responsibility to show them. I was told that anyone we couldn’t get to see the power of Christ was a poison that we should cut out of our lives. Friends, family, anyone. Either with us or against us with no wiggle room on it.

When I came home I had heard the pitch so many goddamned times it was like a script filled with buzzwords and catchphrases that I could recite with gusto.

Some five years later, the magic wore off. While my mom is the kind of Christian who truly tries to judge no one and feed the poor, too many I encountered were not. She and the people I’ve met through her are the kind of True Believers you read about and by whom you should be inspired (that’s not me being partial to my mom - she started a Food Bank in a closet of a church that has now grown to serve four counties in rural Kansas). Most were either wearing their Jesus Bowling Shirts each week or worse — the kind of Christians who teargas a group of peaceful protesters so they can walk across the street to pose with a Bible and then make a campaign video about it. You know, the pussy-grabbing kind of Christians.

What happened during those five years are stories for a different time but the result of this conversion and the later coming to my senses is this: I know cult-think when I hear it. When it rears its head, I’ve been there.

Faith is a very personal thing. Like watching a Marvel movie or reading the 1619 project, it requires a certain suspension of disbelief. It can be a salve in the human experience as we are creatures born to existential crisis. Turns out, we need something to hang onto beyond our own survival to thrive as a species. It can also be used as a bludgeon for power and cultural control and has often in history been exactly that.

I understand how easy it is, seeking the approval of others, to agree to a guilt that isn’t yours to bear out of a sense of belonging (or to get laid). Of confessing sins you don’t feel at all responsible for but do anyway because that Kool Aid is delicious, ain’t it? The reward of feeling like you’re accepted by the crowd, that you are, indeed, a voice for the word of...whomever is selling the most potent elixir, is comforting.

One of the hallmarks of a cult is that it tries to cut you off personally from anyone who sees the world differently than they do. When you see people urging others to completely cut off their friends and families over an issue, it's a cult. Anyone selling you the idea that you are “born in sin” based entirely upon inclusion in your race, gender, sexual preference is pitching a cult mindset. Any concept that creates a circular maze of proof (If you admit you’re a sinner, you’re a sinner. If you deny you’re a sinner, you’re a fragile sinner) is offering you an ice cold glass of Kool Aid.

Remember that there are, like, fifty different flavors of Kool Aid but they’re all just sugary water with food coloring.

[schlockvalue-blog]

Schlock Value, Issue #2: Jersey Shore Shark Attack (2012)

Step over Speilberg and fuck off Jaws, your shit may be all classic and shit but bro, it ain’t got the abs this bitch is packin’.

An underwater mining exercise sends shockwaves through the water and calling a bunch of red eyed albino sharks of constantly changing design out of a cave barely dick deep in the waters off the coast of Jersey Shore, calling out like a proud stay at home mom that dinner’s ready, and Italian and silicon is on the menu.

This shit kicks off with as much patience as the cast has for keeping their shirts on — introducing the lip pouting cast with not a shred of subtlety. Winks and nudges all around as the filmmakers elbow you in the ribs for the next fifteen minutes, proudly spouting quick “Aye? Aaaaaye?” The lead Gueidette of this motley crew rocking up early with a license plate reading “Nooki”. Subtle is hardly the name of the game though, it’s all on display — literally — as the dude are muscle bound and the chicks ‘muscles’ less bound…“Aye? Aaaaaye?”.

Nooki kicks off confronting her skeezing ex-boi, “The Complication” (Aaaaaye?) the night after what this white suburban boy can only assume was a maaaaan rager bro. Red cups ahoy. Setting up a Boiz vs Bitches dynamic that spans most of the film. The Complication and his boiz Donnie and Balzac just want to enjoy waxing each other up, flexing all day and solving their need for some “serious A.S.S.: Alcohol, Sun, and Sex”. A noble venture. God speed boiz. The babes on the other hands are all about gettin’ their independent girl power on, proving they don’t need no man. Jersey Shore Shark Attack, tackling the big issues. Herein lies one massive fucking fuck up of the film. Not a single one of the Jersey Shore ripoff characters gets turned into chum by the horde of sharks turning their shore into a buffet. Let’s just rip that bandaid off early. See now, who the fuck is watching this not hoping to tune in and see Guido mince meat sprayed across their screen? The film makes a blatant attempt to humanise the meathead parade that makes up the cast of characters so I guess it’s aiming for cinema loving Guids out there (is that an actual thing?) but it’s also so incredibly obvious that it’s a piss take at the same time, poking fun at every aspect of Guido party life that its real life, shark-less) TV counterpart that you’d think it was giving every hater of the show their dream of seeing a Snooki wannabe get ripped apart from ass to the tip of her overly styled hairdo. Dear movie, MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND! This isn’t “The Misunderstood Souls of The Jersey Shore: A Lifetime Channel Special Edition” it’s JERSEY FUCKING SHORE SHARK ATTACK. Get with the program. Gimme silicon tits flying left right and centre! Is that too much to ask for?

Apparently so.

The shark attack portion of the title ain’t left for late though (thank fucking christ) as possibly the only pale skinned Italian in the entire cast — clearly some dude with a bad accent, a wife beater, slicked hair and given a cigarillo for a prop to complete the flawless and totally convincing transformation — gets offedby the freshly uncaved albino snappers while fishing in a dingy maybe two meters from the shore in. Why the asshole needed to be in a boat is a question for the screenwriter (I’m sure it had nothing to do with plot convenience).

The whole beach is going off in preparation for the arrival of the films token…*ahem*…‘celebrity’ cameo — former NSYC ‘not Justin Timberlake, one of the other guys’ guy, Joey Fatone. An excitement you better get used too because the film crams itself every ten minutes with a quick reminder in case you forgot you bought it in at least partial hope of seeing the NSYC alumni get his ass chomped by a bad CGI shark at some point. Spoiler alert, he does, almost immediately after being introduced (late) in the film. So we might not get Snooki or any of the 28 collective abs in the film gets chomped, we at least get that. Gee golly gosh.

The film spends a large portion of its early part half occupied with what it assumes is a ‘story’, trading blood and guts for a power struggle between the ever partying Guids and the sweater vest wearing, double collar popping, four syllable speaking, private school yacht club douches across the way. I swear, if Jersey Shore Shark Attack weren’t one of the best titles you could ever see staring back at you; in some distribution house somewhere out there, someone would have suggested releasing the film under the title of Guido’s vs Yuppies vs Sharks…not bad…I might have to copyright that. The good guys look like the musclebound bro bad guys from any other film and the bad guys are portrayed as assholes because they don’t want to listen to club music every second of the day. So, again, who the fuck is this thing supposed to be for? Cause I’m on Team Shark here. It’s hard to get behind walking wannabe cannon fodder with single digit IQs who use words like “drowneded”. You’ll be praying the whole cast gets their arses ripped out their mouths the moment they step on screen, and that they take the script with them.

The battle of the sexes enters a ceasefire when one of the many disposable and interchangeable bronzer snuffing pieces of cannon fodder washes up on shore. In a feat of literary originality, the mayor refuses to shut down the beach and The Complication’s father — the local Sheriff — doesn’t believe his son, seeing his actions as further proof of his disappointment in life — gee, wonder if that’ll resolve itself by the end of the film. Subplot ahoy. It all leaves our main pack of Guidos to take it upon themselves to hunt down the pigment deprived sea evil using fireworks and protein bars as bait. They also try to steal one of the ‘bad guy’ yuppies yachts “because he’s a douche” before Balzac fumbles one of the fireworks and blows the whole thing up (tell me again why we’re supposed to like these guys?).

At its core Jersey Shore Shark Attack is a Guido love story with a mayoral conspiracy giving the old reach around and wrapped up in just enough shark attacks to give its title enough credence. Everyone’s more pre-occupied with their own shit and getting occasionally distracted by a corpse or two. The climax of the film only comes in the midst of the customary blood letting beach side massacre when the head of the Yacht club tries to pull one over on the Guids by seducing Nooki and convincing her to join him and the his botchi loving conga line of talking pastel sweaters on a yacht out at sea for a party. The Complication reaches his character arc and realises he loves her (oh and y’know, that they need to take care of the sharks once and for all) and rounds up the Ab Club, stealing another boat and heading out to play cockblock while armed to the teeth with automatic rifles (and, I assume, more protein bars. After all; “Nothing’s going to resist 25 grams of power packed peanut butter crunch.”)

They shoot, pout and even nose kick the sharks on their way to rescue the yuppies and Nooki onboard their boat — which, of course, is broken down out of phone reception range — before returning to shore to save everyone from the shark attack which apparently a trained police department could handle on their own. Not enough protein in their diet I suppose. It all ends with hugs, cheers of “GUIDOS! GUIDOS!”, mended father son relationships — even though The Complication is still no less a party and gym obsessed meathead who will never leave the Jersey Shore. But hey, he does make peace with the yuppies, even though they just tried to revenge bang his girlfriend and gave off the impression that there was a roofie or two in her future if Plan-A went sour. But hey, water under the bridge right?

Jersey Shore Shark Attack is about as intelligent a parody as the dense fuckers it’s populates itself with. Every ounce of self aware writing makes you wonder if they themselves got the joke because other than The Complication and Nooki, the rest of the characters assume the completely pointless position reserved for cannon fodder to give people expecting some kind of delivery on the title and yet not a single person you want to see die actually dies. Hell, only once is any of them vapid “wait, what’s her name again” characters in any peril. The only other time anything happens is when Nooki’s trapped in the sinking boat, with a shark ripping its way through the hull, at the end of the movie in a scene replicated in damn near every other shark movie ever made and trust me, you’re rooting for the shark to get just a liiiiiitle closer. Just one more inch. Just rip off a leg! Just one goddammit. ANYTHING!

Drunk with a group of friends and a shameless love of self flagellation and if nothing else you’ll probably get a kick out of screaming at the screen for everyone to die. *Sigh* the love of communal hatred.