#there r so many other comedians i like that he Almost reminds me of but. idk the way he does things is just unique

[sodafrog13]

finally got around to watching josh johnson's up here killing myself (actual title) and MAN i love josh's standup. i rly do hope i can go see him when he comes to my state in the fall

[joaquinfeed]

ABC’s of Arthur Fleck (fem!reader)

A/N: I’m not sure if this has been done before many times, so sorry if it’s repetitive. I saw this prompt list online and thought ‘why not?’ ALSO. I don’t know who to credit for the list. So, if you know…tell me and I’ll give credit where it’s due! :) 

A = affection (how affectionate are they in day to day life? Do they show affection publicly or keep that more in private?)

It’s no secret that Arthur is touch starved. He is always finding some way to show you his deep and meaningful affection for you. He’s not used to public display’s, and he likes to keep you all to himself, so he’ll typically opt for private moments over public ones. He absolutely adores playing with your fingers, placing soft kisses on your neck, or drawing patterns across your skin. He has to feel you to know that you’re really there.

B = best memory (what is the best memory they have with you)

Arthur finds something new every day that he swears will be his favorite memory. He cherishes every single moment with you, even the little arguments, because it all reminds him how much you love him. If he was forced to choose, he would say that his favorite memory is the first time he opened up about his mental illnesses to you. You, of course, were incredibly supportive and patient. He had never felt so loved before in his life.

C = cat or dog person (this is pretty obvious)

Arthur loves all animals, but he has always wanted a little kitten. They are playful, but not too hyper. They also don’t require as much care, and Arthur already has a lot on his plate. Although you’ve never talked about it, he secretly hopes you both will get a pet one day. 

D = dreams (what do they want to do in life?)

Besides spreading joy and laughter, his biggest dream has already come true. If Arthur could, he’d spend the rest of his life making sure that you’re happy. He wasn’t sure if he’d be a good father or not, but if a baby was something you wanted or desired, he would put every last inch of effort into making that a reality when the time is right. He barely believes that you love him unconditionally, let alone another little human. He would be grateful either way.

E = evenings (how do they spend their evening? Do they go out? Do they read?)

Arthur’s perfect evening would go like this: cuddle with you, cook you some dinner, practice his standup routine to see your pretty little smile, cuddle with you, watch the Murray Franklin show, and then cuddle with you. He couldn’t get enough of your arms around him, and if he had to save up a little extra money to buy a few more soft sweaters (just so you would lay your head on his chest), so be it. Let it be known that he’s also not opposed to spending the evening in the bedroom. He can always watch Murray another time.

F = first date (what was it like?)

It was a little awkward for the both of you. Arthur was still so new to dating, and he didn’t want to do anything wrong. Plus, neither of you are rolling in money, and so you just stayed in at Arthur’s apartment. He cooked a nice meal for the both of you, put on a Charlie Chaplin film, and introduced you to his mother, Penny. It was unconventional, all over the place, and different from what you were expecting. However, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. The night was very Arthur, and it only made you fall harder. 

G = giggle (what is their laugh like? What makes them laugh?)

He has different types of laughs. Some fill you with absolute adoration and joy. Others fill you with sadness and pain. His attacks come when he’s feeling anxious, dissociative, or under-appreciated. His beautiful, real laugh comes out while watching Murray, joking around with one another, and when he plays practical jokes on you. You taught him a few pranks because you knew they would make him happy, and boy did they. Switching sugar for salt is funny, but only the first time.

H = hugs (do they like hugs?)

He LOVES hugs. He likes ‘goodbye, I’ll see you after work’ hugs. He adores ‘we just had a fight, and I’m really sorry’ hugs.  He fonds over ‘I missed you so much’ hugs. He feels lucky to get ‘it’s okay, I’m here for you’ hugs. But his favorite hugs are ‘there’s no reason, I just wanted to be near you’ hugs. Yeah. He loves hugs.

I = instrument (do they play an instrument?) Arthur doesn’t play an instrument. When he was a child, he never had the time or money to learn. As an adult, he thinks it’s too late to try and get into the hobby. He figures he probably wouldn’t be very good at it. You assure him though, if he wants to try, you’ll find a way to make it happen. He feels music deep within him, and you know he’d be a wonderful musician.

J = joy (what brings them joy in life?)

You do. Nothing brings more happiness to Arthur’s life than you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you look at him. It’s all so overwhelming sometimes. Not many other things bring him to pure joy; Gotham hasn’t been kind to him. However, the city almost seems like Heaven when you’re around.

K = kisses (what kind of kisser are they? Shy? Passionate?)

It depends. When Arthur is feeling confident, he can take charge and definitely get caught up in the moment. His first priority is pleasing you. Early on in the relationship, he was incredibly shy. He felt like he would break you, or scare you away if he touched you too much. He’s come a long way, but he still has days where all he can give are small, timid kisses. Either way, you love them. 

L = love (how do they act when they have a crush)

Arthur doesn’t mean to, but he’s pretty obsessive. As soon as he set his sights on you, he knew he had to be near you. It took him awhile to get the courage to actually talk to you, but he admired you from afar quite a bit. 

M = memory (what’s their favourite memory?)

Again, Arthur loves every memory with you in it. His childhood memories weren’t exactly pleasant, and life before you was…difficult. He can’t wait to spend the rest of his life creating new memories with you.

N = no (what is their pet peeve?)

His biggest pet peeve is unkind behavior. Sure, he hates when people are so mean to him. Especially when he’s only been kind to the people of Gotham. But no. Unkind behavior to himself was one thing, but unkind behavior to you? It made him livid. If someone was rude, said a snarky comment, or harassed you in any way, he would furiously write his feelings down in his journal. So much so that his therapist asked when his joke diary turned into a Y/N diary. He just blushed at that.

O = occupation (what’s their dream job?)

It’s always been Arthur’s dream to be a comedian. Well, except for that one brief moment when he was a child when he wanted to be a pirate. But he doesn’t talk about that. He knows just how cruel this world can be, and he wants to spread love and joy as much as he can. What better way than making people laugh?

P = parent (what kind of parent would they be?)

Arthur would be a…nervous parent. During the pregnancy, he would be constantly afraid that you or the baby would get hurt. Not to mention, he’s read stories about women dying during labor. 

It terrifies him to think of that. 

After you and the baby were safely home, he would always make sure you both were happy and healthy. He often wrote his worries down about parenting in his notebook. A few of them being: “What if my kid thinks im as weerd as other people do?” “My baby mite have some of the same mental illnesses as me. Maybe insomneea.” Arthur also knows how bad he is at spelling. What if his child needed help with their homework? Would he be smart enough to do so? Would his kid be embarrassed by him? These thoughts often plagued Arthur’s mind. He kept it to himself for now though; he didn’t want to worry you.

Q = questions (do they believe in the super natural? Aliens? Anything along those lines)

Arthur doesn’t even know what’s real in the natural world around him. Or at the very least, he questions it quite a bit. He spends too much of his time trying to convince himself that you’re real; he hasn’t had time to think much about ghost or aliens. 

R = romantic (are they romantic during the relationship?)

Of course he is romantic. He gets discouraged by his gestures, and he wishes he could do more for you. He hopes every day that you’re not disappointed in him (you aren’t). He loves cooking you good meals, buying you flowers when he can, or taking an extra shift at HaHa’s in order to buy you a gift. He’s seriously considered selling his Charlie Chaplin movie collection to take you out to a fancy dinner. The only reason he hasn’t is because he knows you’d be upset if he did.

S = smile (what makes them smile without fail)

Is this even a question? YOU! When you’re smiling, Arthur’s smiling. The Murray show often makes him smile too, but he still loves you more. (You hope!)

T = together (how clingy are they? How long do you two spend together per day on average)

He’s pretty clingy. Being apart from you for too long makes him anxious. You’re the one who grounds him and makes him think positively. Without you, all he’s got is himself and his thoughts. Both of which, can lead him down a spiraling path. He prefers to be with you at any hour he can; if he could spend all 24 hours with you, he would.

U = unbearable (what habit do they have that’s unbearable? What habit do you have that they find unbearable?)

You love Arthur, but you hate how insecure he is. You’re patient because it makes sense, and you understand him. However, you wish more than anything that Arthur could see just how beautiful and amazing he is. You hate when he talks down about himself; after all, that’s the man you’re in love with. As for you, he likes everything about you. The only thing that irritates worry’s him at times is your need to make sure he’s okay. You’ve nearly fought people who are blatantly rude to him, and it upsets him to know that you could be hurt in the process. 

“I’m not worth it,” he’ll tell you. 

There’s that self-doubt again.

V = videos (do they take lots of videos or photos during your relationship?)

You don’t really take any videos; neither of you have the money to spend on a video camera. You do have a polaroid camera that you’ve kept with you, and you love taking pictures of Arthur. Pictures of his face are scattered around your apartment. Sometimes you’ll take pictures of yourself too and tape them where he can find them. It helps remind him that you’re real, and you love him.

W = wedding (what will the wedding be like?)

The wedding is small. Neither of you even expected to get married when you did. Arthur decided it was time to marry you, and so he asked. He saved up money for months to buy you a ring. The ring still wasn’t all that big, but you didn’t care one bit. It was beautiful to you. His speech was short and sweet, complete with nervous stutters and blushes. 

“I-I’m sorry I couldn’t buy you something better,” Arthur blushed, looking a little ashamed at the small ring he held in his hand. “But-but I wanted to marry you now. Or, I wanted to ask you. Shit! I didn’t- I didn’t ask you. Do- do you want to marry me?”

It was perfect. You both were so excited to marry one another that you couldn’t care less about the actual wedding process. That night, and way into the morning, you both surely had fun celebrating your love. 

X = eXtra (what’s an interesting fact about them that they don’t tell anyone about?)

The 1920′s silent film Treasure Island made him want to be a pirate when he was younger. He thought he would go on adventures, find treasure, and sail the open seas. As a kid, that looked like ultimate freedom. 

Y = yuck (what do they hate? Could be a food, scent, word, anything)

Arthur hates bully’s. He also hates when you shrug after he asks you something important about yourself. For example, all the times he asks what’s wrong, or why you feel insecure, or if you think you’re beautiful, and you shrug? Yeah, he hates that. He knows you might just need some time, but he doesn’t like to see you upset.

Z = zzzz (how heavy of a sleeper are they? How do they sleep? What mood do they wake up in? Really any sleeping headcanons)

Arthur is a heavy sleeper when he can actually fall asleep. Because of his insomnia, he has a hard time getting to sleep and staying asleep. You often find yourself awake with him, keeping him company or stroking his hair until he’s tired again. When he does get a few hours in, you try to be as quiet as humanly possible so you don’t wake him up. Arthur loves falling asleep with you tucked into his side, or he into yours. He has to admit, he’s never slept more peacefully than with you by his side.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp? Part 8. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you

A/N:  @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory thank you for reblogging! I notice every note and reblog you left me, babez! But I have a seriously hard time responding even to my own gf at the time, bcs I'm in the more depressed mood. Sorry.

Word count: 2 K 

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95

Read the rest here: Part One  Part Two  Part three  Part four  Part five  Part Six  Part seven

If you like to have your readings in order :):  H E R E  

The big evening finally came. Every one of you was in the backstage, listening to some stand-up comedian. He truly was hilarious.

It was simple - there was a hall full of people who had bought the tickets in pre-order. All of that money went to a charity. Then they could give more money if they wanted to the lady by the ticket station. After every show, the hall cleared out and people with tickets on the next show sat at the tables, ordered some drinks and waited for it to start. Some shows had twenty minutes, but there were other people, who had five minutes lasting shows as you were.

There were even people from the Marina present, those who were voted to take the check from Tony Stark himself as well. And they looked like they had a hella good time.

"I will sit next to you, would you mind?" - Deena said, already sitting down. You scooped a bit further to make some place for her ass. Then the both of you turned your heads to look at the guy performing. You both laughed. There was some singers, some bands, some other Charity workers - there was basically everyone. You even got a bit too excited when you saw Pepper freaking Potts sitting at the table in the back of the hall next to Happy Hogan.

Through the whole evening, you texted with Steve. You told him every of your itsy bitsy feelings and he was so kind that he has listened to you all the time. Meanwhile, girls have done your make-up and your hair, so you looked like a real lady coming straight from the forties.

May's hair was the hardest do make - she had a long, strong hair and she has a hell lot of them, which made it almost impossible to do. Yet she was now standing behind you on her high heels, looking definitely breathtaking.

Y/N: Never realizes that there will be so many people out here! I'm getting pretty nervous, handsome.

Steve: Do not freak out. It is going to be completely fine. We are here out with Bucky and Sam, pouring down some drinks. We are looking forward to your performance, girls. We truly do.

Y/N: Yeah, looking forward to seeing me killing somebody else?

Steve: Stop it. You will be great. And you will not convince me otherwise. And I will be there to see all of it.

That made you smile. Steve was the mental and emotional support to you every step you made and every breath you took, just like in that The Police song. When you felt insecure about you looking fat, Steve reminded you of how blown away he was just with the way you looked in that costume. When you thought that your make-up and your hair is too much, Steve texted back that you'll be beautiful to him no matter how much you'll put on.

He truly was trying to make every one of your little insecurities go away and he was doing a great job.

"He's somewhere out here tonight?" - Deena asked all of a sudden. She and Val took some really sultry sapphic photos before that and you were sure that they'll be used when you'll recap your whole year on the office Christmas party. They both looked sexy as hell, Deena even went so far she had shortened her skirt and wear her super push-up bra to make her cleavage more visible.

"Not at the moment, but he'll be. Yeah." - You nodded with a shy smile of a nervous girl. It was so strange, knowing that Steve will be there, checking out each of your moves with his bros.

You never showed him your face, but daily life pics became a next step between for the two of you. When you were at work, you took a simple headless selfie in the bathroom mirror, at lunch you photographed your food and you also sent him a photo of you in your PJ, doing a routine movie watching with some popcorn and Coke.

Steve, on the other hand, was a serious piece of cake. You drooled and you didn't even realize that your mouth was wet all over from your own saliva.

To say that Steve was buffed as fuck was a serious understatement. He was ripped like a Greek god. Maybe even they were nothing on his body. His usual daily selfie was a mirror one with him having a white, usually sweaty t-shirt and grey work out sweats. There was usually a bottle of water included. Sometimes he snapped a quick picture of him getting ready. Once you even felt your heart-stopping because of the sight of his collar bones and shoulders in a work out tank top.

At that moment, you were ready to call yourself some good ol' ambulance, because your eyes were drowning at that sight. He was a guy with a naturally sweet nature, so huge and ripped and yet somehow he hadn't found a girlfriend to be with. You couldn't comprehend.

Before meeting him on WhatsApp, you didn't believe in fucking miracles - but here he was and he seemed to be into you. You were hella out of your mind.

Yep. You had gotten off because of those pictures. Once or twice. But that was not your fault at all. You were a woman, someone who had their specific needs. That's just how it was. And Steve seriously was someone who even Val found seriously attractive.

Girls from the office were obsessed all over you two - sometimes, Deena and Suzie sang that you're in love and you answered that you're not. Which obviously became a really dramatic I won't say I'm in love from Hercules. But yeah. Just to be honest, you were all over the fucking place bevause of him. Which happened never ever before. And you haven't even met that man at the time. It was really fucking weird. It felt like his face isn't important to you - you knew him. That's what mattered.

"Do you think you'll be able to see him? Like a sixth sense? It would be as exciting as the end of the Titanic." - Deena sighed dreamily. You frowned at that.

"If you think that the death of basically 60% of the passengers was exciting... You do you I guess." - You answered with a strange expression on your face. 

“Hey. You have that sexy hunk just waiting for every word you want to write to him and not each of us has the opportunity to have that. Some of us just develop a simple crush on Leo DiCaprio. Did you even see that little angelic baby in that movie? Jeez.” - Deena giggled. When she started, she was deadly serious, but in the end, she was laughing. 

But she was totally clear about her crush on Leo. She even had a collection of t-shirts with Leos face on it. But she was all truthful - not everyone finds someone like you found Steve. All it took was a couple of coincidences and there you were.

“But it's nice. Men like that remind you that gentlemen are not a dead thing yet, even now.” - She leaned her shoulder into yours, smiling all happily. - “But I am a bit jealous about all of that, not gonna lie.” 

Your head slowly bobbed and you leaned your forehead into khaki green cap masterly pinned into her hair with some pinnets. She was looking all good. 

And she was right per se. Steve was truly something the others could be only possibly jealous of. And you should be really, really glad for him

And your gratefulness was the thing that made you all nervous about him being present while you do a total asshat in front of anybody else. 

The time flew past you without you barely noticing. There were two other performers in the line in front of your office, and at the next moment, May was gripping your elbow and lead you to the moral hooray before you actually went to the stage. She was probably the best motivational speaker you ever heard, those men and women with courses were nothing on May Parker.

“Okay ladies, I am sincerely proud of you for not being afraid and actually doing all of this. I can't even express how happy I am that I found so many amazing women to do something like that with me. You're all looking flawless, pretty and lovely and I know we will nail the choreography because we worked hard almost every evening for the past few months, we will nail it. And now stand up and let's kick the others their asses!” - May yelled cheerfully. Every one of you clapped, those who had the need to express themselves louder, those cheerfully blew a whistle for May. 

You feel a little confident - nothing too much harsh, nothing too big, but at least you felt positive about yourself when you took your chair and walked onto the stage.

---

“Can you feel the tension in the air? Something's coming.” - Sam nudged Bucky's side with his elbow. Bucky just gave him an ice-cold look and took his another beer from Sam's palm. 

Steve made Sam take the tickets from the lady sitting behind the counter with all highschool girl nervousness - he was able to almost kill Sam when he joked about leaving the tickets on the counter. He was super nervous, super curious, almost not able to keep the feelings contained inside. 

Their small group walked into one of the back tables with a clear view - you tried to take the best places which will be basically on the distance of a stretched arm. It was also close to the bar, which was some great news for Sam. 

“Just jokin', Mr. Grumpy. I'm kinda curious about that girl. You plan on showing us or you will keep a secret?” - Sam sat on the other side of Bucky, taking a strong swing of his beer. 

“Probably a secret. It would not be fair for you to know her face before she knows mine.” - Steve giggled and crawled deeper into his hood. He was worse than Natasha when she was on her missions, just tried to keep his identity in secret, but that was extremely hard because of how enormous he was. 

“Like if birdbrain knew what intimacy or privacy is.” - Bucky said with an ironic tone of voice which made Sam frown as hell again. 

“Well excuse me, but I know today's world more than you two will ever have the chance to. Don't try to make me angry, 'cause you can lose your biggest guide just like dat.” - Sam said with all serious face, but every one of them knew that he's shitting them. 

Y/N: Okay, it's here. Wish me luck, cross your fingers, do whatever the hell you want, but enjoy it.

A text came just short second before all the lights turned down and Steve curiously wiggled on his chair with an expression of a small child. And at that moment, a serious load of ladies in forties female formal clothes came out of the curtains with chairs in their hands. And even tho he couldn't see the shirt you had under your uniform, at that moment, he exactly knew which one of them is you.

[drkoestersmithrpg]

AUG DONE YAY!!!  I’ll Post Tuesday Probably

“Don’t worry about it kid. Just ignore him.  He’ll get over you and we can all get back to normal.”

War Machine’s advice was not in the least bit helpful for the youngest Avenger on the compound who had become, and rightly so, more than a little alarmed by Mr. Stark’s behavior.

It seemed like ever since the Avengers had encountered real aliens from space, the so-called Guardians of the Galaxy, and learned about various planets, each with their own threats, and the threat of some Over-Alien that was setting out on a mission to massacre half of the universe, well, Tony had gotten weird.  

(Or maybe Tony had always been weird and Peter had never noticed before?)

No, actually, many Avengers had noticed it too.  Tony’s inappropriate humor had always been a feature, not a bug, but recently it had been dialed up to 11.  11? Try 69.   It wasn’t just that he was calling Peter “Underoos” again.  It was more.  Innuendos when people asked for facts.  Dirty jokes when people asked for opinions.  Double-entendres about the must mundane topics, to the point where no one could even ask ‘where are we going for dinner?’  

And all of them, every single one of them, seemed to be of the homosexual variety.

To the point that Peter was beginning to fear that his hero, his idol and his fantasy-mentor (and his real life mentor for years now) was actually a homophobe.

“A homophobe?  THE Tony Stark??  Nah kid, Tony is an unabashed Trisexual.  He’ll try anything….and he never made any bones about it….”

Both of them winced, both of them turned to look even though they knew Tony wasn’t in the room.  You couldn’t say the word ‘bones’ around Tony anymore, or any vaguely sexual word, including the word ‘it.’  That’s how bad it had gotten.

“Wait…..wait……are you saying….Tony is Bi?”  Peter asked, trying to look surprised.  Trying not to look overeager.  Trying not to look like a kid who had actually recently gotten some information and was desperate to confirm it.  Trying not to look like he had cornered Rhodey in an empty conference room just to ask this question.

“No,” said Rhodey.

Peter’s shoulders sagged.

“He’s a hedonist. Don’t worry about it kid.  Just ignore him.  He’ll get over you and we can all get back to normal,” Rhodey said dismissively, walking away, leaving Peter red-faced and gaping.

“Over me?”

“Over me??”

“When was I under him?”

    * * * *

 There were many theories about Tony’s new behavior, but Peter couldn’t find any that agreed with Rhodey….that it had something to do with him.

Fury blamed the Avengers state-of-readiness for over a year that resulted in absolutely nothing, no visit from the Ultimate Badguy bent on destroying half of Earth.  Stress made people cranky, seemed to be his theory, and Tony’s new tourette syndrome was just a symptom of that stress.

Bruce (not a common feature around the compound for the last year but very good for information when he was around) pointed out that Tony didn’t like crowds unless they were cheering for him.  “He doesn’t actually work well with others, he forces himself to work with others, thus all the grants and outsourcing, but it’s a lot of effort.  If he can’t got for 3 minutes without making a dirty joke, maybe he just needs to go back into hiding for a while.  We’re all hermits, after a fashion.”  Peter hoped desperately that wasn’t true (he didn’t WANT Tony to go into hiding) but he certainly took Bruce’s perspective seriously. He knew a lot about Tony.  And a lot about hermits.  

Black Widow would probably have the best explanation for Tony’s odd behavior.  Analyzing human behavior was her job.  But Nat wasn’t talking.

So Peter soldiered on. He was the only Avenger who went to training and attended meetings in full costume, mask on at all times.  The story was it was to protect his secret identity.  The truth was, the mask covered all facial expressions.  Tony’s obscenities, no matter how constant, still took him by surprise.  Under the mask, no one could see him blush.

Because truth be told, so many of those inappropriate jokes seemed to be aimed at him.

Most Avengers seemed to agree that the new Rated R version of Tony Stark corresponded with the visit from the storied Guardians of the Galaxy.

But in Peter’s mind, it also seemed to start the same day he turned 20 years old, and bragged, in Tony’s hearing, that he had celebrated with a special party in Boystown.

He had done it very much on purpose – it had been part of his plan.  

Only the results were not….good.  Almost overnight Tony was x y and z. [every bad guy needed a good fucking, every x ato to they y, every complaint from Peter indicated he needed to get laid.  Tony had always joked about everything, but now the jokes were not only gay-related, they were downright hostile. Peter had never heard the word ‘faggot’ on the Avenger’s compound before (the entire compound, Avengers and military alike, knew Caps’ “Language” rule) and he heard it out of Tony’s mouth that very night.  It was Peter’s birthday dinner in one of the compound’s dining rooms where Tony had asked for a ‘real drink for me, not some faggoty ass waterdawon drink.  We’ll save that for Pete.”  

(That was the day Peter realized his life would be better if he just kept the mask on at all times.)

Finally, after a great deal of soul-searching about his Get Tony Stark Into Bed plan and weather or not he even to be in the same room with that man, he cornered Nat and Rhodey (the two people he considered the best informed) and demanded answers.

“Kid…you’re smart. Don’t  let him rile you up.”  That was Rhodey, who seemed a little hostile himself.  He clearly did not want to be having this conversation.  

“But that’s what I don’t get….why is this about me?”

Rhodey and Nat exchanged a look.

Then Nat looked at him, and seemed to make a decision.

“Parker, you announced you were gay, sexually active and legally of age all in the same sentence.”

Peter wished, for a moment, he still had his mask on.  Apparently he hadn’t been as subtle that night as he had thought.

“So….wait…..are you saying this is him….flirting with …..me?”

Nat shrugged.  “Little girls get their ponytails pulled by boys who have crushes on them every day.  They learned to live with it.”

“No they don’t” Peter countered.  “My friend MJ had her hair pulled by a boy in 3rd grade who said he like liked her and he got sent to counseling.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes and said murmured something about Millennials.

“Gen Z,” Peter pointed out, raising a hand.

“Exactly – Gen X jokes are going to sound wrong to Gen Z ears…..”

“Wrong?  Half of what comes out of his mouth could be considered sexual harassment in 50 states!”

“Parker!”  That was Rhodey again.  “I’ve seen these hyperfixations before.  They go away.  Aren’t you supposed to be intelligent?  Be intelligent.  DON’T fall for him, DON’T let him talk you into bed.  Just wait for it to pass over.”

“Let him….talk me into……”

“Kid, don’t do it.”  That was Nat.  “If Pepper Potts couldn’t tame that mess no one can.”

Nat gave a nod to Rhodey, who took it as a cue to exit, leaving the two of them alone together.

“Look,” she said gently. “No one will tell you to your face, but we’re all looking forward to when you leave for school again.  Tony will tone it down after you leave.  And if you stay away long enough, he’ll just get over you.  

“I can see what you’re thinking, Peter, and you don’t want to do this.  Tony has always been a comedian.  This is just a new routine.  You think if you let him talk you into bed, this will get any easier for you? You’re Gen Z, you talk about your feelings.  Tony just talks in one-liners.  

“It’s hard work dating a comedian, kid.

“It can’t end well.”

  * * * *

Tired of walking around with a mask on daily, and lonely for his friends (who knew the difference between flirting and Hostile Work Environment) Peter took Nat’s advice and left early. Back in New York he spent his weeks before the semester began researching the psychology of humor, and the sociological limitations of being gay in the 80’s.  It was eye-opening.  Also appalling.  

But the psychology of humor was very interesting – Peter read that when a group, any group, laughed together, the individuals would indistinctly glance at the person they felt connected with. The article suggested reading room to ‘learn who is secretly sleeping together’ but in general the article dealt with office culture and social hierarchies.  Still, the tidbit was confusing.  

Every time the group laughed together, Tony always seemed to be glancing at him.

But the longer he spent away from Tony the more the offensive jokes faded in his memory and the more he remembered just how bad his crush on the man had become (and exactly how far he was into his detailed plan to get into Tony’s pants.)  

He wasn’t expecting to actually run into the actual man in New York any time soon, but within a week he did.   The Avenger Parties at Stark Tower seemed to becoming more frequent, it seemed to Peter.  At least this was the 2nd one in 2 months. Peter wondered vaguely if it was a ploy to make him hang with the Avengers with his face showing – he was invited to attended these things in suit as “Mr. Stark’s intern.”  

Walking into the party he felt, very suddenly, unarmed (more specifically, unarmored.)  He had relied so much on his mask to hide his face whenever Tony was inappropriate.

That’s why he silently determined to just avoid Tony altogether.

 Chapter 2

  Tony stiffed at the sight of Peter holding a glass of wine.  It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself (or Peter) that Peter was now of age.  It still struck him as wrong.

But not as wrong as Bruce’s arm around Peter’s shoulders.

He had already passed them once, talking a mile-a-minute with Bruce and Dr. Cho about the tech behind the cradle.   He couldn’t begrudge Bruce and Peter their shop talk (although the double twinges of jealousy took him by complete surprise.  He and Bruce had been so long ago, it seems.)  

Mostly, he was just irritated that the kid seemed to be avoiding him.

But now – oh this definitely was not right.  

He couldn’t be caught staring, so he made his rounds, taking in furtive glances at the two across the room. He must have been mistaken about the arm, Peter and Bruce and some other tech guys were just talking now, and it looked perfectly normal.

Then he lost sight of them.

Then he caught them again, standing by the window alone.  

They weren’t talking shop, that was certain.  Bruce had his arm on Peter’s back, was leaning over, was speaking directly into his ear.  Acceptable in a crowded room, but they were far away enough from the crowd to make Tony see red.

Especially when Peter grinned, ducked his head, then turned and said something into Bruce’s ear.

What Bruce said next made Peter laugh and cover his face, and that’s when Nat appeared in front of him and said “Don’t be jealous.  

“They’re talking about you.”

She turned her head to ignore his gape.  She pretended to scan the room as she spoke.  “Not that I care, Tony, but if you really want to hook up with a Gen Z you are going to have to clean up your act.  Reinstate Steve’s “language” rule.  Poor kid thinks you’re a homophobe.

“What…..me?”

He respected Nat’s intelligence, so when she looked at him that way, he took it seriously.

“New generation, Tony. They don’t care what you DID 20 years ago, all they care about is what you’re doing now, and what you’re doing now is recycling gay jokes from the 80’s.  He honestly thought you were mad at him.

“Just…go…flirt with him like a normal person.  Take him on date.  He’s into you – he’s quizzed everyone who knows you about your sex life.”

   * * * * *

 Peter left the party grinning from ear to ear.

Even though he never actually spoke to Tony that night.  The man disappeared from his own party, but no one thought that was particularly unusual. Nat, at least, seemed to think that way. She gave him a warning look when he asked after the man, but when she spoke, she was gentle.

“Consider the perils of dating a comedian, Peter.”

“Yeah you told me that.”

“The Millennials way is to exchange facts about emotions.  Comedians just exchange one-liners.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Peter said, but he couldn’t help but smile.

He went downstairs to the car Tony had waiting for him, smiling all the way.

He had found out a LOT from Bruce that night, information he needed, information he intended to use.

But that wasn’t the best part.

“Consider the perils of dating a comedian” he said to himself as he raced down the stairwell to the garage.

The litany of inappropriate humor wasn’t an attack or a slight, it was a sign of interest.  He could identify the intent, while simply ignoring the actual language.  He didn’t have to speak Tony’s language, he just had to understand it.

“Consider the perils of dating a comedian” he whispered to himself when Tony’s driver took him home.

“Consider the perils of dating a comedian” he murmured to himself as he lay on his bed in his dormroom that night.

He went to bed with a smile on his face.

Because all he could think was…

………… “I’ve got a chance to date Tony Stark.”

[ottofreycinet87-blog]

Western Music Historical past

Contemporary folks music refers to all kinds of genres that emerged within the mid 20th century and afterwards which were related to conventional folk music Starting within the mid-twentieth century a brand new form of popular folks music evolved from traditional people music. Lounge music refers to music played in the lounges and bars of hotels and casinos, or at standalone piano bars. Typically, the performers embrace a singer and one or two different musicians. The performers play or cowl songs composed by others, especially pop requirements, many deriving from the days of Tin Pan Alley. Notionally, much lounge music consists of sentimental favorites loved by a lone drinker over a martini, although in practice there is rather more selection. The time period may also refer to laid-back electronic music, additionally named downtempo, due to the reputation of lounge music as low-key background music. First, bradleykavanagh7.wikidot.com I see lots of people saying, properly this is only a small segment of music. There may be plenty of good music being made right now!" Perhaps so, however that wasn't the purpose of the post nor the video. The video discusses how fashionable music right this moment is not very good, and how most of what frequently makes the top 40 is homogenized crap. Both jazz and classical symbolize just 1.4% of whole U.S. music consumption a bit. Nonetheless, Classical album sales were larger for 2014, which places Jazz on the bottom of the barrel. An ideal instance of Tubby's deft touch for reverb is current on the observe Dub You Can Really feel." Listen for the reverb on the snare — it's the classic spring reverb boing" impact common in dub music. Learning to play a musical instrument can usually be costly so purchasing around is a good suggestion. The typical value of studying a musical instrument in the UK can fluctuate anything from £15 to £40 depending on the tutor, the area, the instrument and the extent of expertise, and naturally can typically be much more, particularly in areas resembling London.

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[mfmagazine]

Patrick Fabian

Article by Ricky Tavi

Photo by Josh Madson

Patrick Fabian is likely one of those actors who seems to have been in so many movies we’ve seen so many TV shows we’ve watched and so many adverts we’ve listened to. And yet because his performances and characters are so diverse and convincing, it just hasn’t seemed necessary to remember his real name.

But Patrick Fabian may not be able to avoid the personality spotlight too much longer. As the season of his current CMT sitcom, ‘Working Class’ just ended, he’s looking at another critically acclaimed success to add to his nearly 20 year acting resume.

Patrick spent some time with us and allowed us to discover something of the real life personality behind the brilliant list of stage and screen characters that this fine actor has so often brought to life.

Our interview reveals a man of humor and humility. He gives us a glimpse of his Working Class co-star Ed Asner - is he easy to work with? – And, with a big smile, drops a hint about the most famous screen character he’d welcome the chance to portray. Read on to discover the fascinating background to one of Hollywood’s better kept secrets – Patrick Fabian.

In your 18 year acting career you have appeared in just about every performance medium possible – stage, movies, TV, voice-over, adverts…..the list seems endless. So starting with the most recent, and where today’s buzz is, please divulge something about the new CMT series, ‘Working Class’.

This has been a great experience and a ton of fun to do. It's a smart, funny sitcom that'll get the whole family laughing; it's a real traditional show in the vein of "Roseanne" & "Everybody Loves Raymond". If you haven't tuned in, now's the chance to see what all the fun's about.  And there's gonna be some kissin'!

Do you think you were an easy choice to portray your character?

Well, I run Parker Foods and am the boss of Melissa Peterman and Ed Asner's characters, so clearly, someone in casting thought I knew how to order people around! That, and wear Armani well. I think I can bring a bit of humor and good nature to the usual traits that bosses possess.

I read somewhere that you are happy to be thought of as a ‘working class actor’. If so, are you bringing ‘real life’ to your part – albeit the show is not intended to be taken too seriously?

The show is meant to make people laugh, we're not solving the world's problems, you know? And being a working class actor, for me, means that I get to do a wide variety of roles and situations, and that I'm fortunate enough to work fairly consistently. Although, let's be clear; if you need me to be a Star, I'm open to that.

Ed Asner, one of your co-stars in ‘Working Class’, is known for his real life advocacy of the ‘common man’. What special energy do you think his outlook on life has brought to the show?

Ed's a man of his word and certainly backs up his beliefs with his actions and I respect him for that. His acting experience and skills are totally fun to work with and I've learned a lot from watching him. He's not afraid to fail in life or work.

Comments from your colleagues in the show talk of the fun and good humor that has made the production work such a pleasant experience. With so many seasoned actors are you all able to stick to the script? Is ad libbing allowed?

I can easily say it's been one of the easiest sets to work on; we laughed all the time. And that tone is set by Melissa Peterman; she's a shining light and considering the crazy schedule we were on, that's no small feat. And Melissa comes from improv, so she's wonderful on her feet and can ad-lib all day long. The writers' wrote us great material and they weren't averse to our going off the rails: we were all looking for the funny.

As an actor you’ve portrayed the deadly serious to the comic. How do you classify yourself primarily – if you do?

I think it's all about the point of view you bring to any particular role, and how that fits into the whole, you know? I'm fortunate to work in both serious and comic worlds and I like it like that. However, if James Bond ever opens up..........

Where do you have the most fun? In theater or movies?

They all have their charms, (and frustrations), but I definitely have a soft spot for live theatre; it's where I learned my craft and the immediacy of a play and it's interaction with an audience can't be beat.

All reports are that you have a great sense of humor. Could you ever imagine yourself as a stand-up comedian? Ever tried it?

I have way too much respect for stand-up to try it. I need writers. Wildly, talented writers making me look good. Daily.

As a serious actor, has Shakespeare featured much in your stage experience?

I got my Equity Card at the Shakespeare L.A. Festival years ago playing Moth in "Love's Labor's Lost". Shakespeare under the stars at the John Anson Ford Theatre in the summertime. A wonderful experience and I would kill to be at the Festival in New York City's Central Park.

Ever played Hamlet? Would you want to?

No I haven't. And yes, given the opportunity, I think every male actor would love a crack at it.

Your career has given you the opportunity for a lot of travel. Much time away from home. Now that you are a parent – congratulations, by the way, to you and your wife, Mandy Steckelberg, on the birth of your daughter Abbey Ray – will you be earning fewer frequent flyer miles?

Well, they say have a baby and the world will provide (or something like that) and so far, that has been the case, although most jobs have kept me local. I thought it would be great to get a series in New Zealand or Europe for a few years while Abbey Ray's still a wee one. But my wife has been wonderful about the work when it does take me out of town. Many of friends have managed it all, so I imagine we will too; we should be blessed with such problems, right?

What are some of your favorite place around the world?

Wandering the old streets of Barcelona, the Playhouses of London, NYC's Central Park, Muir Woods just over the Golden Gate Bridge and Will Rogers State Beach in Santa Monica, Ca.

You are one of the hardest working and most experienced actors in today’s industry – and yet you manage to avoid the excesses of the paparazzi. How do you balance keeping a private life with the demands of your work to be in the spotlight?

Well, going back to what a 'working class' actor is; I'm familiar to a lot of people because I've been in such broad spectrum of venues, but I don't necessarily stand out as one particular role, one that the paparazzi or public is that enamored or obsessed with, so I get the benefits of being known, but without the downside of being crazily sought after. (Again, if you need a STAR, however......)

You’ve been active in the union movement on behalf of stage and screen actors and others in the entertainment industry, and have held union elective office. Could you imagine a political career in the future?

I've really enjoyed my experience on the SAG Hollywood Board; it's a great reminder that you need to have personal responsibility for what goes on in your Union, or for that matter in your City, State and Nation. As much as I would be interested in a political career, I think working with a baby, a chimpanzee and Screech in a single episode of "Saved By The Bell: The College Years", disqualifies me.

It’s difficult to imagine now, that as an actor you’ve ever found yourself ‘resting’. How difficult is it to sift through the offers and scripts to find those that interest you? Are you very selective?

I love to work. And the next job is always the one I'm interested in finding out about. Different jobs rear their heads different ways; this past year has included Commercials, Low-Budget Films, 1/2 Sitcoms, Hourlong Guest Spots, Live Theatre and VoiceOver: I've been wildly fortunate and love to stay busy.

When you are ‘resting’ at home, what do you like to do for R & R?

Take walks with the whole family. (wife, baby & the two dogs) And cooking is very relaxing.

What musical preferences? Are you playing Mozart for your daughter?

I love Rock & Roll and 80's Hair Metal, but there's room in my head for lots of different things. We play a kaleidoscope of music for Abbey Ray; I hope she takes to it, but you cannot force it. (So far, Rock-a-Bye Baby: Pink Floyd is a big hit!)

What movies have you enjoyed recently?

Loved "The Social Network", "Inception" and "The Awful Truth"(Cary Grant)

Your character in “Working Class’ dresses exceptionally well for a grocery store manager! An anomaly of the storyline? Your stage and screen characters have provided just about every costume statement that could ever be made! What styles reflect your personal comfort zones?

Only on television does a store manager sport Theory, Donna Karan & Armani: What a great business! I love comfortable, horse-riding clothing; Robert Redford around 1974. And the 'Swashbuckler' wardrobe from "Xena" will be hard to top.

Can you give an idea of where you see your career progressing over the next few years? Maybe the next James Bond? Could you ever imagine living elsewhere from LA or is that almost a necessity that comes with the work?

Did you say Bond?  I'd love to spend a chunk of time in New York, albeit with a steady gig. But I love Los Angeles, its home for me and my family now and I wouldn't have it any other way.

It’s clear that you are a man with an active social conscience and also a man of letters – graduate of Penn State & California State Universities. Do you have any words of advice to young actors and performers starting their careers in today’s entertainment industry?

It's the greatest business when's it's all working; and absolutely devastating when it doesn't. Don't take it or yourself too seriously. However, learn your craft. Go to school or take class, and take IT seriously.

[thattarotgirl]

Explaining The Death: Jonathan Tucker's Major Craddock in Westworld

I had had many reasons to intensely dislike TV series Westworld – which I still absolutely do – and only one reason to watch its second season. And so, I started the show again – for Jonathan Tucker. At this point, I’m fairly sure the only thing starring this wonderful man I wouldn’t watch would be a snuff film.

Somewhat morbid humor? Appropriate, given the fact that this post isn’t about how I got my imaginary degree in Tuckerology.

It’s about HOW TUCKER’S WESTWORLD CHARACTER, MAJOR CRADDOCK, REPRESENTS ONE OF THE MAJOR ARCANA ARCHETYPES – THE DEATH.

Interestingly, it’s the second time Tucker plays the Death. The first one was not too long ago, it was on Justified, and the name of the masterfully played (do I really have to add this bit, though?) character was Boon. Check it out, check the whole series, thank me later.

First of all, I have to warn you that I’m going to take my own, admittedly narrow perspective on the archetype. But I highly encourage you to familiarize yourself with other interpretations of this and other archetypes of the Major Arcana. Ultimate raison d’être of this blog is to inspire discussion about the archetypes we are influenced by, because by understanding them we can better understand our own inner mechanics.

So, what is the Death?

Let me start this by stating that the mainstream is full of examples of the Death. Here is just a handful off the top of my head: The Joker, Ramsay Bolton and Joffrey Baratheon from Game of Thrones, the Comedian from Watchmen, Alex from A Clockwork Orange, Mr. Blonde from Reservoir Dogs, Mason Verger from Hannibal, Simon Adebisi from Oz, Moriarty from Sherlock, Negan from the Walking Dead comics, Pavi Largo from Repo! The Genetic Opera, as well as Bart Curlish from Dirk Gently, Gazelle from Kingsmen, Mindy from Kick Ass, Elle Bishop from Heroes, and many others.

Can you already tell what do all these characters have in common?

“Murderers”? “Psychopaths”? True and true.

The Death is the embodiment of aggression, a creature that almost entirely consists of spontaneously directed destructive force. These power and aggression replace almost all the movement of the Death’s soul, all its values and feelings, just as acts of aggression become the Death’s responses to all possible life situations.

The very term ultraviolence was introduced to us by one of the Deaths.

And don’t get me wrong: The Devil, for example, can scuffle-torture-murder left and right, too, but it does it for self-assertion or self-expression, for fame, for money, in a fit of rage; killing without thinking about any gain is a prerogative of the Death. It tortures and murders not only to protect itself, to avenge or to earn reputation – the Death primarily does it to alleviate the boredom of being, so to speak. This is why the Death usually makes violence the basis of its professional activities, meaning that most of the Deaths are criminals, soldiers, assassins and so on.  

And, as any sadist, the Death always attaches great importance to the process of torturing/raping or killing. Snapping somebody’s neck, for instance, the Death would enjoy every part of it – the grabbing, the snapping, the crack, the limpness of the dead body in its hands etc. – all the different stages, the materiality of taking a life.

The Mage in low development, on the other hand, would appreciate the fact of its victim’s suffering as a result, but not the process of inflicting this suffering. The Deaths are fundamentally different from all other archetypes in that respect and others.

And where do these vicious creatures come from?

Usually, the Deaths do not choose to be the way they are – and this is one of the traits that help to distinguish them from, for instance, the Chariots – in most cases, the Death is a result of transformation of the Devil, the Justice, the Moon or the Star after being thoroughly frayed by fate. The damage and abuse it suffers frequently takes physical form – it’s not uncommon for the Deaths to even be symbolically or not so symbolically murdered (the Joker and his fall into the vat of chemicals is a classic example) and resurrected (and I’ll have to get to that again later).

Sometimes the Deaths are simply born under a bad sign, but then it’s usually due to some kind of medical/genetic experimentation or something in the same vein.

And it is true for our Major Craddock, too. He was created and programmed into being who he is.

And who is Major Craddock again?..

An android, or a host, as they call it in the universe of Westworld – essentially, an artificial creation designed to mimic a human being. They are used in the Westworld park as part of storylines, or narratives. They are there for the guests’ entertainment. So, Craddock plays the part of a military officer working for the Confederados. He is a first-generation host created in the Argos Initiative by Arnold Weber and Dr. Robert Ford, making him one of the eldest hosts in Westworld, maybe even outdating the park itself.

The first time you see him actually doing something is when the gang of Dolores Abernathy approaches him and his men because they want to join forces with their troupe against an unclear human force.

From the scene of their interaction you can probably remember some of the following details:

— Major Craddock’s stare of a mad dog, which you probably were as unprepared to see in  Tucker’s eyes as I was.

— How unmoved, almost entirely unimpressed Major Craddock is by the death and the rebirth of buried Lieutenant Dunleavy, as he coldly describes “three ounces of Mexican lead in his belly” and accepts the idea that his Lieutenant has been brought back to life with a simple “indeed”, which you can interpret not only as a lack of curiosity but perhaps also as weak emotional attachment to his soldiers, who absolutely deserve it for the lack of any individuality. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

— Something you could probably call hostile hospitality on Major’s part – I mean his eerie, almost theatrical politeness, which wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking that the man isn’t disrespectful and provocative.

— Maybe a couple of other things, such as Craddock’s sharp tongue, macabre humour, fluid movements, or how appetizingly he ate.

— Finally, the fact that Craddock refuses to accept the deal and states the only partnership that would happen would be the rape Dolores and Angela by him and his unit:

Craddock: “My final decision is which of you to keep for myself and which of you to throw out there for my men.”

In other words, demonstration of the dominant position by means of threats of violence.

Here you have it, ladies and gentlemen: the Death bingo.

Oh, and then Teddy shoots Craddock after his statement, but Craddock is brought back to life by a captured Technician. Spoiler alert, I guess?

I’m going to broach everything mentioned, but for now, I want to concentrate on the “eerie politeness”, because the Deaths in high development are almost always characterized by this insincere courtesy, and that for a reason I can explain to you.

In short: the elements Jung calls shadow and persona aspects of the psyche are swapped over in the Death.

Every other character than the Death, including very aggressive specimen, even the Devils, have socially acceptable Dr Jekyll (the Persona) and a repressed, socially unacceptable Mr Hyde (the Shadow) in them. For the Death, the Shadow is its normal, default state, because the archetype doesn’t have the same social needs as other archetypes. It simply doesn’t need to hide its feelings and desires in order to look “normal” – it doesn’t tolerate social conventions.

So, typically, the Death is a 24/7 Mr Hyde. It does have a thin coating of the Persona, but it only uses it on very special occasions, to deceive or to – paradoxically – appear even more intimidating than it already is. This is why Craddock’s attempts to be silver-tongued may cause you discomfort – in these moments, he is a crocodile smiling at you.

Importantly, all of this doesn’t mean that the Death is always a cutthroat that only thinks about torturing animals, burning buildings down, raping women and murdering men. Not at all.

Almost all of the Deaths are able to control themselves to some extent, but this control is carried out by the Animus, not by the Persona. How is this different? The Animus isn’t a social suit, meaning that it isn’t used to appear to others, it’s a personal moral fiber, something close to a codex that prevents the Death, who sees itself as a warrior, from turning into a butcher raping and killing everyone around.

Does this mean that the Devil’s transformation into the Death happens after its acceptance of the Shadow as the terminal state of its personality and almost full rejection of its Persona? Yes, it absolutely does.

By the way, the Persona of the Empress is the Anima, and that’s why the Death inevitably gets into conflict with the Empress as soon as they get in contact. Would you like to guess who Dolores is (confess, she reminds you of Cersei Lannister)?

So, yes, the fact that Craddock joins Dolores’s group as they arrive at Fort Forlorn Hope, where Craddock’s commanding officer agrees to help Dolores in the morning to defeat the incoming security force, shows us another aspect of the Death.

Even though, the archetype is mostly independent, it usually is guided or influenced – sometimes directly, by the Emperors and the Empresses, the Mages and the Hierophants, but more often by the mediators, like the Hanged, the Justices, the Devils or the Towers. (Left to itself, the Death either indulges in debauchery or spends whole days planning ideal crimes/operations and perfecting its murder skills, waiting for someone who will suggest a proper victim to appear.)

And in that respect, the Deaths, generally speaking, fall into two categories – those who end up aligned with the forces of order and those who are, as the Joker puts it, “agents of chaos”, respectively.

How are they different?

The Deaths on the side of order are ideal warriors and guardians of law, because they channel their destructive energy into annihilation of all those who they are told to kill. And the Deaths execute these orders for a two-fold reason:

First, their leaders symbolically embody their parents, since they take responsibility for their actions, which the Deaths greatly appreciate (I’ll get to it in a moment).

And second, the system they serve provides them with the concept of an enemy/victim, thereby relieving them of the need to choose their victims on their own. The Deaths are generally infantile, and many of them can’t or don’t want to – sometimes without realising it – make their own decisions. This makes them ideal objects of manipulation – they are loyal and sufficiently stupid.

The Deaths that are taking the side of the chaos usually become leaders/subleaders themselves, because it is much easier to destroy the world together with your henchmen than to try doing it in splendid solitude. Very interestingly, the henchmen of the Deaths are often marked by them (uniforms, masks, obligatory scarifications etc.), like zombies are marked by signs of decomposition, and thereby represent the extension of the Death’s physical influence.

(And the Deaths from the second category are usually smarter, there are even geniuses among them e.g. Moriarty from Sherlock or the Joker. These Deaths also tend to be more popular due to the disturbing combination of sadism, intelligence and cheerful attitude (we’ll get to that, too) – Negan from the Walking Dead would also be an example of the Death that is a loved strategist).

Is this true for Major Craddock? It is.

His troupe is shown as a splinter group, a gang with him as its leader. They do not appear to be motivated by any ideology, murdering, raping, marauding – in short, embracing outrage as normality. They’re just having what they hold for fun, like a pack of hungry wolves or perhaps rather mad dogs.

Dolores sums up this important characteristic of the Death in the following quote:

Teddy: “These men are animals.” Dolores: “These men are just children. They don't know any better. They need to be led. We don't stand a chance against the men coming for us if we're fighting alone.”

She uses a key-word I’d like you to remember. “Children.”

Mental age of the Death is always approximately ten-twelve years, which explains not just their easy relationship to violence but also a number of other of their typical characteristics – above all their inability - and usually unwillingness - to build a family or sustain a partnership (which is perfectly fine when you are talking about a reflective individual, but here we certainly aren’t).

Moreover, the Deaths are sexual deviants – paedophilia, bestiality, incest, you name it – everything that can certify perversity and lack of understanding of the concept of intimacy can be found here.

Roughly speaking, the Death is a preceding evolutionary stage of the Devil and the Mage – whereas the Mage is an adult with adult emotions, adult social standing and overall adult psychology, and the Devil is a typical teenager, the Death is a cruel and merry child.

And this easily explains why two possible negative transformations of the Devils are the Emperor and the Death – both of these archetypes are violent, but whereas the Emperor is a superhuman, the Death is an animal. To become one of them, the Devil has to get rid of everything humane in it and learn to see in people either ants below its feet or food. This evolution is a direct consequence of the resolved conflict of “the awkward age”: either you become an adult, or you regress into a child stage; either you reflect on your power and use it consciously or turn it into the defining element of your behavior. And like a naïve child it is, the Death hates to be tricked by heartless adults. At Fort Forlorn Hope, the Confederados are soon revealed to be mere pawns, as Dolores only needed them to distract the security force: once they are no longer useful, she has Wyatt’s followers brutally murder them. Craddock angrily vows revenge, so Dolores orders Teddy to execute him and his men: however, after Craddock taunts Teddy for simply following Dolores’s orders, Teddy lets them escape.

Just look at what he says:  

Craddock: “I been watchin' you. We ain't so different. You and I are both triggermen to tyrants. Except me, I know what I want. But you ain't even sure about that termagant you take your orders from. I look at you, and what I see is pathetic.”

Isn’t it the kind of devaluation a child would use? You may be pointing this gun at me, but you’re still a chicken! Na-na, na-na, boo-boo, we get it, Major. Alas, Teddy doesn’t. Most likely, he doesn’t understand whom he is dealing with here.

And right now you might be wondering whether you can identify the Death by looking at it.

There is no such thing as "prototypical appearance" when it comes to the Deaths, but many of them look racy, wear extravagant or simply expensive clothes (“Westwood!”), have prosthetics, bear scars etc., or can be vaguely attractive.

There are many characters of very specific appearance among the Deaths: they can have physical abnormalities (both innate and acquired) and various types of biomodifications or simply eccentrically approach their image. As a rule, this specificity is connected to their becoming of the Death – it can be both the reason of the transformation into the Death (e.g. a catastrophe leads to irreversible physical and psychological changes of the character) and the direct consequence of it (i.e. the Death changes its appearances as it enters the new phase of its life). I would say that it could be partially true for Major with his uniform, too, if we assume that it was the war which had made him what he is.

And right now you might be wondering whether this bit was an excuse to insert here a gif with Craddock shaking down his coat… I shall let you be the judge.

Next time we see Craddock, he takes the Man in Black and Lawrence hostage when they come to Las Mudas. He brings them to the church where the townspeople are being kept, and the Man in Black tells him where the town weapons are stored. But not before Major kills the town representative, because he – Craddock – isn’t doing any deals.

Craddock: Now, me and my men here have a long journey ahead of us. We need food, whiskey, and ammunition. You people have some village elder who can speak for you? Make some kind of a deal? (GUNSHOT) (ALL MURMURING) I ain't interested in makin' fuckin' deals. You understand?

Probably inefficient?.. Not for the Death, who operates on intimidation. I bet, Major Craddock could threaten and kill these poor townspeople all day. Because, you see:

Craddock: We know you motherfuckers are rebels. So you’re gonna tell me where the fuck you hid your weapons, or you’re gonna die. Lawrence: The second we tell him he's gonna kill us all anyway. But you know what? It is very likely that Lawrence is right, but it isn’t necessarily so. Despite what you might be thinking now, the Deaths aren’t complete strangers to nobleness. Don’t raise your eyebrows, let me explain: they like to challenge and to accept challenges, to find worthy opponents – a victory over an equal or even a superior opponent results in ecstasy of the usually unemotional Death. And this is why sometimes the Death is able to respect an interesting opponent suggesting a one-on-one combat, which, however, probably wouldn’t prevent it from hurting the relatives of the said opponent... Because the Death has its own way of assessing such things. For instance, it can find the murder of a waiter for a spilled tea understandable and condemn a genocide. I’m going to talk about the reasoning behind it later.

Now I’d like to turn to the two defining attributes of the Death apart from sadism – in every sense of the word, including sexual sadism.

First one is its amorality. Even if the Death develops its own moral system, the core at the center of that system becomes the mirror image of the public morals. Many of the Deaths do, indeed, understand the concept of “forbidden”, but this knowledge in the end only tempts them to violate the prohibitions. Most of them, though, aren’t interested in comprehending the concept of moral at all. Take, for instance, Bart from Dirk Gently: she is a holistic murderer, who kills because the universe compels her to. It’s not a part of her job to question why she has to do what she has to do.

Importantly, this factor defines not only the Death’s behavior but its whole way of life – the choices the Deaths make and what these lead them to.

The second defining attribute is gaiety of the Death. That gaiety shouldn’t be mistaken for optimism – the Deaths are rather pessimistic, but at the same time they find evil funny; not to mention the fact that, in many cases, typical manifestations of gaiety, such as smiles and laughter, can express almost any emotion when it comes to the Death. That perverse gaiety also often becomes an important attribute of the Death’s exterior – the Comedian and the Joker probably are the most striking examples for that, – and in combination with vigor and vitality (children are usually very energetic), which are also quite characteristic for the most Deaths, it gives us the archetype that by murdering, raping, torturing, and committing acts of terrorism for its own amusement brings about irreversible changes in the cosmographic picture of its world.

In other words, even though the Death per se is a weak occult figure, it compensates for it with its physical influence on the environment, often becoming one of the most important figures of its fictional universe in the process.

Also, many of the Death are approaching the position of a trickster in their worlds, but due to their primitivism they rarely realize the potential of this possible cosmographic role.

In many ways, it resembles the modus operandi of The Wheel of Fortune – another very physically influential archetype.

And another archetype once played by Tucker, hm. Matthew Brown was the most memorable cameo of the second season of Hannibal, I guarantee you. And it makes sense to give these physical characters to a very physical actor (and person), when you think about it: the way the man moves on camera, almost aggressively at home in his own body, all the tiny nuances of his intimate interactions with the props that are basically creating an additional layer of dialog and of the characters themselves… Isn’t it the best way to breathe life into physical archetypes and simply a wonderful approach to acting? I know, I know, you aren’t here because of my degree in Tuckerology. It’s just hard to talk about the man without professing love.

The next thing Major Craddock does is shooting a bartender balancing a glass of nitroglycerine on the back of his hand after the man successfully does for him what he has been told to. Irony or sadism? It’s the same for the Death. You are recalling Ramsay Bolton torturing Theon Greyjoy, aren’t you?

It is worth noting that since the act of murder is perceived by the Deaths as the act of domination over the world, and basically is their biggest source of pleasure, many authors like to stage the battles between the Deaths and the Hermits, who endure great moral suffering even when committing violence in self-defense.

The fact that the Death doesn’t find it shameful to find pleasure in evil and laugh at the absurd and unbearable lightness of being (yes, it sort of is this existential, we’re getting there) may make you think that there isn’t anything holy to the Death at all, but – and the Death has this in common with the Mage – usually something is. It’s just insanely difficult to find, since even the Death doesn’t actually realize it sometimes. Again, think about a very cruel child, who despite everything still is a child and loves, for instance, some TV character or other figure.

And since we are talking about what the Death might like or love, the Deaths usually have a narrow circle of interests, which predictably includes drugs, weapons (Remember the impressed look on Craddock's face after that demonstration of a blaster? Even if you don't, here I have it for you:

), explosives, violence, sex (rape), terrorism, but also – and this is where it gets interesting – quite often it likes dancing and music, which seems to appease their inner predator; it frequently likes childish activities or things associated with childhood (Simon Adebisi blowing soap bubbles!), animals, with which the Deaths subconsciously feel a certain kinship, games, competitions, fights, sports, food, and clothes.

Also, it usually is quite indifferent to money - again, like a child, who doesn’t understand the value of it; this is one of the traits that help you distinguish the Death from the Wheel of Fortune, who is an avid fan of making profit in all sorts of manners.

But of course there isn’t a thing that the Death generally enjoys more than tormenting people and putting them into uncomfortable situations, which Major Craddock demonstrates by forcefully dancing with Lawrence’s wife in front of him.

Yes, you'll have to believe me that in this particular instance dancing with Jonathan Tucker is actually intended as torture.

Maybe an interesting connection to a deeper meaning of the card of the archetype is that the Death doesn’t discern between age, race or sex, just as actual terrible misfortunes can potentially happen to everyone. However, being an expert sadist, the Death can and usually will make use of those characteristics of its victim that make them especially vulnerable, be it physical or psychological vulnerability.

For all the reasons discussed above, the Deaths are usually lonesome. The primitiveness of their life philosophy, together with aggressiveness that gives them a dangerous reputation, eventually isolate the Death from the normal people almost completely. Sometimes leaders or quasi-leaders, such as the Mages and the Devils in high stages of their development, the Hanged and the Justices, seek their assistance, but even then they tend to distance themselves from the Deaths in personal interactions.

The young Deaths – usually in their lower stages of development – do not pay attention to this zone of estrangement around them or even like it, seeing it as a confirmation of their value and uniqueness as a source of danger for everyone, including potential allies.

But the older Deaths often suffer from loneliness and try to build a circle of friends but fail almost always.

This loneliness, which is usually a symptom of entering the phase of high development (in which the Death realizes its emotional and social inferiority), can change the Death very much. This is, for example, what the Comedian was going through when he found out about the plan of Ozymandias and realized that he can’t understand a mass murder of those who aren’t his enemies or prey (“We know you motherfuckers are rebels!”). This is when murder becomes barbarity in his eyes, and instead of perceiving it as a joke, he asks: “I mean, what’s funny? What’s so goddamn funny? I don't get it. Somebody explain... somebody explain it to me.”

The Comedian’s isolation indicates the same thing Jake Gallo’s search for life reference points, the tragic nihilism of Ares or Grievous’ perfectionism do – the Death only suffers from its inadequacy.

In other words, golem wants to become a human, but it can’t, because it isn’t designed to play that role. Even if the Death is capable of loving or feeling anything at all, it still looks at the world from a perspective of a blunt metal object: here is me (or mine) and there are them, the enemies, who I/we have to kill. Not to kill to save a world or get something, simply because they are the enemies.

And speaking about what else can hurt the Death: Physical world is very important to it, it craves for contact with it, so, blindness, paralysis or amputation would be enough to destroy the Death’s personality.

But what leads to the actual downfall of the Death? One could assume that it is stupidity or excessive cruelty that leaves the Death without any companion-in-arms in a difficult situation. But no, actually.

What exactly killed Major Craddock?

Remember the “I know what I what” bit? It was this assumption. Because it’s the incipient ambition that usually kills the Death.

We cannot force ourselves to be kin to what is unlike us, and since the Death is a blind branch of the archetypical personal evolution, it is confined to itself. (The Deaths usually do not evolve, but can acquire some resemblance to the Mages with age and certain intellectual growth.) The Death can’t be anything better than an assassin (serving order) or a bandit (serving chaos). The Joker understands it: “You know what I am? I’m a dog chasing cars. I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it! I just do things.”

Major Craddock, on the other hand, doesn’t (didn’t...) seem to realize that the aspirations he connected with an unknown place called Glory, which he was hellbent on making his way to, resulted from the desire to become more than he is – a thug on the side of the losers (the Confederados), an artificial being, a mad dog, lost without someone holding its leash. Someone who never had the free will to decide what he wants to be but was forcefully put into being. I told you it’ll get existential!

Instead, Major thinks that he is the active subject that chooses his fate and was chosen by death, becoming its herald and champion:

Craddock: “Death is an old amigo of mine. I died just recently, in fact. But death can't bear to lay claim on me. So it sent me back here to do its bidding. Because I do it with such goddamn style. I've served death well. And in turn, it'll be watching over us as we cross these lands.” Right after that The Man in Black explains to him: The Man in Black: “You think you know death but you don't.”

Given the fact that Craddock is the Death and decided to identify with death after years and years of inflicting violence, you could argue that The Man in Black is basically saying here: “You don’t know yourself, boy”.

And what about what happens then? Well.

The Death has the tendency to escape death for quite some time. Yet when it does die, it’s usually a very horrible way to go: being eaten alive by your own dogs, falling from a great height. And now we can add a nitroglycerin cocktail to this list as well.

And honestly, thank goddess. As much as I love Jonathan Tucker and his characters, the series was painful to watch for me personally. And now I can't wait for City on a Hill, wondering who Tucker’s next archetype is going to be, because the man certainly has an intuitive grasp of these things.

So, this is it. Thank you for you attention and let me know what other Tarot archetype you'd like to learn more about!

[askeddie-kaspbrak-blog]

((Mun: Alright the second oneshot which is follow up to the previous one is done which you can find and read here c: While this one is probably not as extravagant as the previous one this one is mostly just fluff more than anything. I found it to be adorable tho. Enjoy <3 ))

Eddie was in his bed as he heard the shower in the bathroom turn off. Richie was in need of a shower and so he went and did. As long as Richie was close by, Eddie felt safe. Though he couldn’t close his eyes as his full concentration was at the door. His heart pounding fearfully he could practically hear it in his ears besides the white noise of the ventilation in the bathroom. Many “What if’s” had been plaguing his mind. Making his paranoia even worse. It was bad enough that he kept questioning if everything in the hotel room was clean enough. He has heard many times from other people how traces of another’s semen can be left behind or any other bodily fluids that are left unattended by the staff. Eddie didn’t even want to look under the covers to spot potential stains. The thought of it made him want to vomit. This was going to be a very very long night, he thought. A long sleepless night.

The light had turned off in the bathroom and Richie stepped out, still drying his hair with a towel. Having to only wear his pajama shorts.

“You gotta appreciate these hotel bathrooms. Nothing says like ‘welcome to Derry’ but have our hoity toity shitter decors and bodily wax build up around the bathtub rim. A classic.” Richie cockily remarks, walking towards the bed.

“Don’t remind me.” Eddie said with agitation. “It’s bad enough that we have to sleep in these filthy sheets. I hate it.”

“Awww, but that’s all part of the Derry experience, Ed’s. It’s not that bad.” Richie threw the wet towel across the room and climbed into bed.

“Yes it is.” Eddie mumbled into the pillow.

Richie could only roll his eyes. He crawled under the covers and huddled next to Eddie. The scent of clean waft off from Richie and into Eddie’s nose. It was welcoming and it gave Eddie the safe reassurance he needs. Richie’s skin was still slightly damp, but it really didn’t bother Eddie too much. It gave his skin a rather nice shimmer to it.

“You haven’t changed at all, Eddie. Probably a lot more paranoid than you were when we were kids.” Richie states, running his hand onto Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie sighed contently, sinking his light pink cheek into the hand. He felt as if he were home. The gentle aching sensation in his heart. God, how he had missed all of this. He had missed Richie. Far more than he even realized.

“The same can apply to you, Richard. Your mouth seems to continue run after all these years.” Eddie smiles, nuzzling against Richie’s hand.

“Naturally.” Richie replies.

Eddie could only chuckle as he scooted closer to Richie. Sliding his smooth hand across Richie’s chest. It was almost covered in thick hairs. All scattered with some grey hairs peeking here and there. A classic sign of aging. Even after all these years. Richie still looked to be in his prime. Even if after all the stress of being a comedian, he’s still got his charisma. It was practically Richie’s signature personality.

Richie purred softly, feeling Eddie’s fingers being gently tangled in his chest hairs. Eddie’s fingers had the feminine touch. Gentle, curious, and careful. It had shined his innocence perfectly.

“Eddie …..” Richie whispered of what almost sounded like a moan.

God, mother would NEVER approve of this. That’s why it felt so good. Years and years of being pushed back, he can finally be this close to someone he knows that he could trust. It made his heart pump rapidly.

“You’d be the first that I have really done this. I felt like it has been years since I’ve ever had this kind of intimacy.” Eddie said, his hand sliding up to Richie’s jawline.

“It has been years.” Richie corrected with a little smile, moving his head to where his lips meet Eddie’s hand. “Call me crazy, but … I’m fallin’ for ya all over again.”

Eddie let out a whispered giggle, covering his mouth with his free hand only covering a little bit of his wide smile.

“You would be the first.”

“Only this time, I’m serious.”

“Oh? You? Serious? Richard Tozier, serious? You are just full of surprises.” Eddie said in a posh like voice. “Are you sure it’s really you, Richie?”

From that, Richie gave Eddie’s little nose a bit of a playful pinch.

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the smartass here, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Well, what can I say? You have been a rather ‘bad’ influence on me, and don’t call me that.”

Richie tried his best to not burst out laughing, so an ugly snort was the only sound that he could manage to spew out of his mouth. It was contagious enough for Eddie to laugh. He was so cute. His laughter was like pure bliss in his ears. This, was what he really needed.

“Admit it, you love it.” Richie said, one of his legs intertwining with Eddie’s.

“Oh my god your legs are hairy.” Eddie squirmed a bit from the ticklish feeling on his legs.

“Oh, sorry there, Ed’s. I don’t exactly shave my legs. Feelin’ yours is as soft as a baby’s ass. God damn.” Richie shrugged, “Not that it's bad to get in touch with your feminine side.”

Eddie could only roll his eyes and just caught on that Richie was already half way of being ontop of him. Did he mind? Not exactly. Was it a bit surprising? Very much so. Even if the room was dimly lit he could see Richie’s ice-blue eyes perfectly. So much life was inside of them. Happy and carefree. One of the many things that he admired about Richard. How in a situation like this happening, he still manages to display an optimistic attitude. Eddie loved him for it in fact. He loved him so much.

Eddie didn’t say anything else except to brush a lock of hair out of Richie’s hair. The silence between them beginning to grow made their hearts skip a beat. With the tension rising, Richie lowered himself to have their foreheads touch and noses practically inches away from each other. Eddie’s breathing was becoming more apparent, his eyes drooping.

“R-richie …. I-I ….”

Tozier could only smile. Slowly closing his eyes before he could softly place his lips ontop of Eddie’s. As suspected, they were soft and well taken care of. It made him feel slightly embarrassed of his chapped lips due to him biting them out of stress. He heard Eddie letting out a soft whimper, which made him back up a bit.

“A-ah shit, sorry.” Richie apologized.

Eddie shook his head.

“No, Richie. You just surprised me is all. When I think about it, in this current position, it was to be expected. I’m a horrible kisser.” Eddie smiled sheepishly.

“Could’ve fooled me. You have very soft lips, Ed’s.”

As if Eddie’s face couldn’t get any redder.

“Beep beep, Richie.”

“Only saying the truth.”

Richie let out a victorious chuckle before scooting himself down to where he can lay his head down on Eddie’s shoulder. The only sight that he could see of Eddie was his neck and chin. Not a single dark hair was in sight. It was all well shaven and clean, probably smooth too. Richie couldn’t help himself but to place a few kisses from the neck to the jawline. Eddie started to squirm again along with letting out a few uncontrolled whimpers and giggles.

“R--Richard! Y--Your m-mustache! Beep beep!” Eddie kicked his legs, laughing.

“At least I found a way to make you laugh if my jokes don’t work.” Richie grinned, nuzzling against Eddie’s neck.

“You’re such a kid sometimes, I swear.” Eddie catched his breath, wiping the tears off from the corners of his eyes.

“You love me though”

Eddie blinked. After a few seconds of being quiet, he placed a hand on Richie’s hair, stroking it softly. What was he ever going to do with him?

“Yeah. I suppose I do.”

[notesfromthepen]

Million P1us

A Million P1us

They ignore us because they can.

I've been in prison going on seven years now. I started getting serious about writing when I came down. At first it was just about expression; an attempt to hold onto a little bit of freedom in a place otherwise designed to kill such things. A few years in I started writing about the shit that was happening in here. Figured, somebody should do it.

I wrote about corrupt officers, nonsensical policies, the cruelty of solitary confinement, the censorship, corruption, and the dangerous parole process. I wrote about the slave wages and the financial fleecing of inmates and their families. I wrote about the benefits of good time and Michigan's failure to offer positive reinforcement to inmates. I wrote about everything I saw, the ridiculous, hilarious, and serious alike. I wanted to give a full voice to this experience. Something deeper than stereotypes.

And then I realized that none of it mattered if no one was reading it. So I started a Facebook page, well Mama C started a Facebook page. I connected with amazing people, but it was clear Facebook wasn't the best platform. So we took what little money we had and started a website. Mama C, the saint she is, learned how to put it all together. And finally, a few moths ago, we entered the Twitersphere (they should bring back the electric chair, just so they can strap me in for writing Twitersphere). This is where the magic happened (can you be electrocuted twice?). In a few short months I linked up with so many like minded people, interested and passionate about what was going on in here, which inspired me to push even harder. After every new piece, I felt the sense of relief that comes from getting something off your chest. But whenever I'd see something written, or said about prison reform or mass incarceration, this responsibility, almost a guilt, would settle on me. I was getting good at pointing fingers, but I wasn't offering any solutions. I figured I'd try to put everything I knew together in a single, comprehensive, piece about the American prison system— to see if that would get rid of the feeling for good.

I spent months writing this pain-in-the-ass tome and, when it was finally done, I felt genuine relief. Everything I knew about the fiasco of incarceration was distilled down to single, coherent, piece of work. Dare I say, I was even proud? I was proud…but I was even more relieved.

Now it was time to get it in the hands of people who could actually make some change. Prison reform, after all, is the ONE bipartisan issue in the county.

With magnum opus in hand, Mama C tracked down all 110 Michigan State Representatives. She sent them each their own personal copy, along with a plea for the reinstatement of good time, and an open letter offering assistance. Twitter friends & the Facebook family sent links and messages to the Governor's office all the way up to federal lawmakers. There was even this amazing degenerate, who also claimed to be a famous comedian, who took notice. And he helped spread the word.

Not a single politician responded.

If this ex-telemarketer and procrastinating, but excellent author, who claims to know Joe Rogan, can't get any of the powers that be to listen, then what chance do the rest of us have?

ZERO. The answer, as it stands now, is zero.

And then I got to thinking.

I've always had love for the underdog, the oppressed, the voiceless. And now I was one. I wasn't surprised at the inaction I seemed to inspire in the political landscape. More often than not, these "leaders of men" do the RIGHT thing, only as often as it is incidentally attached to what they're FORCED to do.

They IGNORE us because they CAN.

Which got me to thinking more; what if I was IMPOSSIBLE to IGNORE?

At first it was just this funny little day-dreamt hypothetical; what if a currently incarcerated inmate had a MILLION PLUS followers on social media? What would that look like? The possibilities cascaded. It felt like a paradox, an impossibility, a glitch in the matrix—for an inmate to have that power.

The first thing I thought was, the system couldn't allow it. Then I wondered if could they stop it? Sure they'd try, but what could they actually do? Any attempt would likely back fire. It's a 1st amendment issue. The biggest strength we have at the bottom, is how little we have to lose. 

The fact, that this impossibility wasn't actually impossible, was hypnotic. I couldn't stop thinking about it—about what it meant.

Corruption rarely survives the light of day.

An inmate with a Million P1us followers on Twitter, for instance, would be like one of those nanny cams for the prison system. Knowing you're being watched will significantly curb a babysitter's urge to beat a kid into submission. Trust me, the first severe beating of my life was at the hands of a "baby sitter." I was so young I don't remember but Mama C says my whole face was swollen, that I could barely open my eyes. Then again I am half Asian, with baby eyes like slits, you ever think of that mom? Maybe this case of child abuse was just a simple case of racism. In any case, if ol' Rocky Marciano (he was Italian) had known there was a camera, he might've just let me cry myself to sleep without out the vigorous use of the five-fingered sleep aids.

Over share?

The point is, that without the ability to covertly fuck us over, they'd be forced to stop fucking us over, or at least cut back significantly. Politicians could no longer simply throw us away and ignore our pleas without repercussion. They could no longer anonymously give contracts to these abusive corporations who price gouge the hell out of us, while filling their campaign coffers—at least not without a Million P1us witnesses. From the lawmakers down to individual employees, they'd finally be forced to practice what they've been hypocritically preaching for decades: Personal Accountability.

It was fun to think about, but I wasn't actually going to do it. It was just something to think about during the commercial breaks of Rick & Morty. Just another game of "What If?"

Right?

My mischievous side disagreed; it absolutely loved the idea—wouldn’t let it go.

I'd be trying to watch TV and it'd chime in with shit like, "Why not? What are you scared of?" And the little bastard wouldn't shut up about Kim Kardashian. Kim this, and Kim that. "Kim snaps her fingers and people walk out of prison."

I did my best to remind my mischievous side that I'm not Kim Kardashian.

It reminded me I'm more of a Courtney anyway. And that Snooki, Guy Ferari, and half the cast of The Real Housewives all have a million plus followers.

I wondered how my mischievous side knew this but I didn't.

It said, "The whole point of prison is to silence us. Why not grab a megaphone and be louder than we've ever been? Ariana Grande:67 mil, Justin Beiber: 107 million followers on Twitter."

It was a good point.

"Ralphie May, Channel West Coast, Grumpy Cat..."

I don't know how accurate the research was.

All I'm trying to do is take a shit when I hear the subtlest voice say, "We've been waiting for this our entire lives. We are literally MADE for this. The ultimate thorn in the side of authority—of oppressive, corrupt, authority! An epic middle finger to the entire system."

The constant interruptions are starting to get to me but at this point I'm still unsure.

And then my mischievous side, that rebellious little bastard, says something undeniable, something it knows will kill every excuse I could ever muster. Slowly, fully aware of what it's doing, it says, "J-E-R-E-M-Y R-E-N-N-E-R has FIVE MILLION followers!"

And just like that, I'm in. My mischievous side wins for the first time in a long time.

I tell myself, if all these people have figured out how to get a million plus people to follow them, just so they can sell spanks, talk about their next hair color, or just BE a displeased cat, then what kind of coward would I be not to take a shot. Even if it's an air ball, or whatever clunky sports metaphor you'd prefer, if it means the chance to expose corruption & abuse, the government waste, inhumane practices, family separations, and the mass incarceration of those with mental illness, addicts, black, brown, and poor white people, not to mention the chance to knock Jeremy Renner off his high horse, and make the occasional poop joke...then I have to try.

I mean why can't it be done?

If we can rally enough rebels & misfits, the bleeding heart liberals and the stone cold conservatives alike, these conscientious men and women, Millennials, Baby Boomers & Gen-X'ers, to take a few seconds to tune in, then we'll have done something that has never been done before.

We'll have created a blueprint for other inmates and underdogs to fight for change, to show that redemption is real and that you can affect the world around you, even if you're actively being stepped on, if you work hard enough, think outside the box, and reach out to a few friends, who reach out to a few friends, and so on and so on until you become impossible to ignore.

Plus it would be hilarious, for politicians to have to take into consideration the opinion of a convict they'd all but thrown away...And most important of all: to stop Jeremy Renner from using Jeep commercials to force us to listen to his shitty band.

The goal is to get to a #Million P1us followers before I'm released. Which, if nothing changes, gives us 'til 2025.

We can do it.

In a world of click bait and countless distractions, this FOLLOW and SHARE can be your little contribution to prison reform and ending mass incarceration, a small, but not meaningless, drop in the bucket that gives you something to pat yourself on the back about. I'll take it. Or maybe you're just a rebel who's looking for another middle finger to stick in the air. Maybe you're a troll that thinks it'd be hilarious. Or maybe you're just tired of the same old meaningless bullshit on the news, Twitter, and social media in general. Whatever your reason, you'll be a part of giving a MDOC inmate a REAL chance at grabbing the world by the ear, and letting it know what's actually going on in here.

You already know I can't do this alone. If successful, this will be OUR achievement. Anyone who throws in will be a part of this absurd and exciting movement, and together we'll loom larger than we do alone.

I hope you're in.

We can't live in a world where Grumpy Cat has 1.6 million TWITTER followers, and Jeremy Renner is strutting around like he's the cock of the roost —but a convict on the forefront of the ONLY bipartisan issue of prison reform, with a saint for a mother, an amazing group of friends, and a real penchant for subversive, often ridiculous, writing— can't muster up Million P1us people to pay attention. Whatever God you believe in will not likely spare such a world for too long.

Ok, so: inspiration, outright begging, guilt tripping and fear mongering; ticked all the boxes.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention; most important of all; it's actually a really GOOD Twitter account, on its own, regardless of it being about some convict writer.

So there's that as well.

Please link, share, mention, follow, or whatever you think would help. You already know groups and people that I'd never think of who'd be worth reaching out to. Oh, and CONTACT me...I want to know who you are, and what you think. I'm serious about this being OUR project.

Your friendly neighborhood convict, Bobby C. 

'til next time, appreciate the small things...even the annoying ones.

#MillionP1us

[are-scared-of-revolution]

The N-Word and How To Use It

It's what blacks have always done since we hit America's shores: we take what's given us and we find a way to make it our own. By Bennie M. Currie

N-I-G-G-E-R. I'll never forget the first time I accidentally used that word in mixed company. It was 20 years ago at the University of Missouri, and I was engaged in lighthearted chitchat with Kent, my white roommate, when I casually called him a "nigger."

For a second I'd forgotten that I was not among my black friends in my old neighborhood in Saint Louis, where calling a buddy "nigger" was synonymous with calling him "brother" or "man." It was just another way to talk cool, using a word that had become a part of our vocabulary long before we were aware of all its varied meanings and usages.

I was barely conscious of my accidental utterance, but there was nothing casual about Kent's reaction. His eyes widened, and his body flinched as though he'd just absorbed a boxer's jab. Then he snapped to an upright position on the edge of his bed, narrowed his eyes, and pointed an index finger at me. "I'm not a nigger," he said, his tone implying that he thought I was a nigger. He never actually called me a nigger, but the mere suggestion was enough to put me in a fighting mood.

"Do I look like a nigger to you?" I shouted.

"But you just called me a nigger," he replied.

"Well, that's different. You can't call me that. Not ever."

Fortunately, our dorm mates stopped this exchange before I could throw a punch at Kent, who probably thought I was nuts. Actually I was simply too angry to realize that I was the one at fault.

By calling Kent a nigger, I'd exposed him to what my old neighborhood friends called a "black thing" he didn't understand. The "thing" is the love/hate relationship many black people have with "nigger," one of the most complex, perplexing, and emotionally incendiary words in the American lexicon. And to be truthful, black people are hardly unified in their understanding or usage of this piece of slang.

There have been times in my life when I've felt very comfortable using the word, but I've also struggled with its usage. And now that I'm a parent I cringe at the notion that my two children will someday have to try to understand what these six letters mean to them, their friends and foes, and the larger society. While my wife and I are readying ourselves for questions like "Where do babies come from?" I know that none will be more vexing than the first innocent query about the N-word.

I could take the easy way out and tell our kids that "nigger" is a bad word that good boys and girls should never use. Or maybe I could recite the old "sticks and stones" adage and tell them it's a name that can never hurt them. But neither tactic is likely to work, especially the second, since I don't believe it myself.

If my kids are destined to be introduced to a word born of racial hatred, then their parents should be the ones to do it. But television, the Internet, the school playground, and other competitors for our kids' attention may get to them first. Or a dictionary.

Last February Kathryn Williams, curator of the Museum of African American History in Flint, Michigan, was asked by a little boy, "Am I a nigger because I'm black?" She told the naturally curious child that a nigger was any ignorant person, then advised him to look up the word in the dictionary for reassurance. The kid paged through the venerable Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, where he found that "nigger" is a term for "a black person--usu. taken to be offensive." With only minor revisions, this definition has existed for nearly half a century.

This was a shocking revelation for Williams, who started a petition drive to pressure Merriam-Webster to revise the definition. Her campaign gained momentum last September, when Emerge magazine ran a brief article about it. Since then, scores of people have joined her, many of them contending that the current definition inaccurately explains the meaning of the word. Some of them also believe the racial epithet is undeserving of inclusion in a dictionary and want it deleted altogether.

I know why Williams and others like her are upset. Being called "nigger" by a white person or a white-run institution is a slap in the face for many blacks. It evokes thoughts of the sorry legacy of slavery and the racism that haunts the nation. And it hurts. When I checked out the definition in my own copy of the Collegiate edition I felt stung--particularly since I knew that dictionaries are almost as ubiquitous as Gideon Bibles.

I don't believe the publishers of the collegiate edition meant to offend anyone. Most likely, they were simply reflecting the confusion that stems from the paradoxical usage of the word among Americans of all hues, cultures, and generations.

Since my dorm-room experience, several whites have told me of their own struggles to understand the term--and to understand why a word that was used for centuries by white people to disparage and dehumanize their black slaves and today is a chief element of hatespeak (witness the Nigger Joke Center on the World Wide Web) is cool for blacks to use but taboo for them. They ask, How can any self-respecting black person stand to use it? Why do black kids call each other "my nigga" in such endearing tones, privately as well as publicly? Is this a "self-hatred thing"?

I say no. It's what blacks have always done since we hit America's shores 400 years ago. We take what's given to us, or thrown at us, and we find a way to make it our own. Blacks melded African rhythms and European music to create jazz, this country's only original musical art form. We took the parts of livestock whites didn't care to eat--intestines, tongues, ears, and feet--mixed them with our native African dishes and conjured up soul food.

In the same manner, blacks took the loaded term "nigger" and disarmed it by making it a household word. In fact, we went on to embrace it by using it to spice up poetry, rap lyrics, and many a comedy stand-up routine. A case in point is Paul Mooney, a comedian and writer (Saturday Night Live, Good Times, and In Living Color). He doesn't just use "nigger" to accent his stand-up act. It's often the focal point of his jokes. In one bit he complains about the flak he catches from whites who sometimes object more vociferously to his liberal use of the word than do many blacks. "Make that nigger stop saying nigger. He's giving me a nigger headache," he jokes. "Well white folks, you shouldn't have ever made up the word. You fucked up. I say nigger 100 times every morning. It makes my teeth white."

Chris Rock, who currently hosts a weekly HBO talk show, is another funny man at peace with his use of "nigger." While my grandmother has never heard of him, she and Rock assign a similar meaning to the term. The hot comic told B.E.T. Weekend magazine he uses it to describe "a certain kind of black person who wallows in ignorance and likes being ignorant." During a recent HBO special, Rock expressed this point of view with these one-liners: "Niggers react to books the way vampires react to sunlight." "Niggers always want credit for something they should be doing. 'I take care of my kids.' You're supposed to take care of your kids!" "Black people don't give a damn about welfare reform. Niggers are shaking in their boots."

Rock, who used to lampoon CBS anchor Bryant Gumbel for "talking white," recently apologized publicly for using such a label. But he doesn't plan to cut "nigger" out of his act anytime soon. "I'll stop when niggas stop," he said. "Niggas robbed my house, robbed my mother's house. Black people didn't do that." He adds, "I would love to have no reason to use the word. I'd love for it to be obsolete."

Richard Pryor, one of Rock's role models, was at the height of his legendary career in 1982, when he vowed never again to use the word to refer to another black person. He said he'd had an epiphany during a visit to Africa. He didn't see any "niggers" in the motherland and realized that blacks there had no need to use the word. Pryor shared his pledge with the audience during a stand-up routine that was later released as a feature film, Richard Pryor Live on the Sunset Strip. The statement inspired lots of blacks to make the same vow.

I haven't made that pledge, but before I saw Pryor's film I never thought twice about why I used "nigger." I'm less comfortable using it now, but because of my lifelong cultural association with the word, I can't foresee total avoidance. Because my kids have a different culture, I've never used it around them, and I don't intend to.

Since my kids aren't going to grow up hearing "nigger" under our roof, the question still remains: How should I explain this word to them? There's only one way to do it--candidly and carefully. I'll tell them that the word is a national shame and at times a painful reminder of their ancestors' struggle for freedom. And I'll explain that the term has a history just as relevant as Jim Crow, the Revolutionary War, lynching, or Watergate, which is why forcing a dictionary to delete it would be a mistake, would be censorship.

Meanwhile the people at Merriam-Webster are busy mulling a revision of their definition of "nigger," according to spokesman Steve Perrault. He wrote me via E-mail that it's too early to pinpoint when or if a change will be made, but he assured me the issue will be resolved before the dictionary's next scheduled major update, in 2003. "The problem for us is that it's not simply a matter of changing one entry," Perrault said. "If we revise our treatment of the offensive word, we also have to revise our treatment of the many other offensive words in the dictionary. That makes it a fairly major undertaking, and our feeling is that we want to be sure we're getting it right."

Sounds like a good idea. But does this really require much deliberation? I don't think so. The third edition of the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language already has it figured out. Its definition of "nigger" begins with the words "offensive slang...used as a disparaging term for a black person." As an illustration, a quote from James Baldwin follows: "You can only be destroyed by believing that you really are what the white world calls a Negro."

This interpretation seems fair and accurate to me. It's even suitable for the eyes of a child. And it may even enlighten a confused college kid or two.

[jeremyhechtsblog-blog]

Land of the Loud

Disclaimer: Don’t be fooled by this blog post, this was a rare day. Rarely do I get high. However, I am high off life every day. Continue reading.

Thursday

It’s 4:00 am. 

My alarm clock is ringing at what seems like an unnaturally loud level. I hit snooze. I try to go back to sleep for an extra 21 minutes because my phone alarm is set for 4:21 am - but I can’t sleep. So I just lay in bed and envision my day as I often do. 

Finally I get up.

It’s my first day at Power 106. If you’re unfamiliar with Power 106, It’s LA’s #1 Hip-Hop radio station and has a listenership of 2.8 million people weekly. All of the best hip-hop artists and personalities have at one point stopped through the Power studios.

I have been dreaming about working at a station like this for my whole life. I used to fantasize about what it would be like to ask my favorite artists the questions that I have always wanted to ask them. Today that dream becomes a reality.

My shift begins at 5:45 am.

I wake up, spread my crunchy peanut butter onto my challah toast that my mom sent over from Winnipeg, and fill up my water bottle. I turn on the new John Mayer album and semi get in my feelings before 6:00 am. I run in the rain to catch my Uber, which is parked a little past my apartment.

I remember when I was in my basement in Winnipeg I would imagine what it would be like to listen to “Far Alone” by G-Eazy while driving down the freeway in LA and looking at the palm trees thinking to myself, “damn. I made it.” Now I wouldn’t say I’ve made it, but I feel like this moment deserves that song.

I arrive at the station in Burbank at 5:20 am and I’m the first one there. I wait until 5:45 when the program director comes to let me in. I meet the other intern working that day. His name is Connor and he is a really dope dude. Reminds me of my buddy Austin MacKay from back home.

J. Cruz peeks his head through the studio door where I’m setting things up for the day with Connor and Jeff, the program director.

“Good to see you again my man.”

Every new intern has to prank someone and the station records the phone call to play on air the next morning. I prank call my brother and tell him that he has to smuggle weed across the boarder for me in order to give to T.I in return for backstage passes, meet and greets, and a “big booty b*tch.” My sister joins the call and shuts the operation down. But it makes for an extremely entertaining segment the next day. You can listen to it here:

https://soundcloud.com/user-123505586/problem-in-studio-cowboy-prank-calls-friday-5-new-r-u-down-more

 After a shift that seemed to fly by because I was extremely engaged in what I was doing, I’m invited into the radio studio room for a meeting about the Migos interview happening tomorrow morning. If you are unfamiliar with who the Migos are, they are an Atlanta based hip-hop group. They currently have the number one song in the country after actor rapper comedian screenwriter and director Childish Gambino / Donald Glover shouted them out in his Golden Globe acceptance speech saying that their song Bad and Boujee is the greatest song ever. Quavo, Takeoff and Offset are the three members. They also created the dab. Yes, the dab, the dance move that your grandma sometimes does.

I’m asked to write down notes from the meeting, but I also have a real seat at the table creatively. I am able to put in creative input, suggest questions, and provide my own insight. I write down as many questions as I can possibly think of and ask my friends Jared and Ian what they would want to ask the Migos.

Friday

4:00 am. My alarm clock seems to be ringing a little bit less loudly today. I get up out of bed almost immediately and put on my already pre-picked outfit - which is laid out and folded on the ground with all of my accessories and things that I need to take.

My Uber Driver’s name is Juan Cruz - J. Cruz. I can’t make this stuff up.

LA rapper Problem comes into the studio at 7:30 am and I ask him how he keeps his Air Force One’s so clean.

“You just gotta start gliding more man” * laughs *

His manager interrupts and says

“That and you have to have 78 pairs like Problem does.” * laughs *

We jam out to his new song “All Year” and kick it in the studio for a bit.

“Pleasure meeting you man. Goodluck with everything.”

The Migos interview was set to take place at 12:00pm. But it’s raining - and in LA when it rains, the whole city shuts down. It’s similar to the first snowfall of every year in Winnipeg. Except for it happens every single time that it rains. So they were late. Plus like I always say to make myself sound cooler when I show up late - “sorry I’m on rapper time.”

It’s 12:41 pm and I’ve taken my place in the studio. We are blasting “T-Shirt” by Migos through the studio speakers – which knock heavily - and we are all patiently awaiting for the 3 boys from the A to arrive. Cruz is wearing a big ass fur coat inspired by Migos’ T-Shirt video. There are bottles of champagne and Coronas in the middle of the studio.

I really have to pee but I don’t want to lose my spot for the interview. I go pee anyways because I figured it was going to be a long rest of the day. I also haven’t eaten anything since the 3 eggs I had at 4:45 am – which were surprisingly easy to eat at that time of day. It’s like a post bar meal from Sals.

 I get back from the bathroom and all three Migos are walking in with an entourage of about 8 people. I don’t get starstruck very easily and I’m not starstruck by them, but I can say that they look like rockstars. Chains glimmering, sunglasses on, and the smell of weed potent before 1:00 pm.

“Jeremy can you go get them?”

“What’s up? You guys can come into the studio now!”

Cruz says “this is our interns’ first interview! One of them is from Canada”

Quavo looks at me. He is wearing a jean jacket, sunglasses, a yellow hat and has diamonds all over his pinky fingers. 

“What’s up Canada? I got a plug out there. We gotta get Canada a blunt”

We’re midway through the interview and I have never been more second hand high in my life. As they say in Cali, it was very loud in that room. You could “hear” it from the end of the hallway. The rest of the interview seems like a blur to me now. But I know that some of my questions were incorporated into the conversation, which was dope.

I can’t even see straight at this point. It’s not even 2 in the afternoon. The Migos just freestyled for what seemed like an hour straight based on a kid’s book called “Llamma Llamma, Red Pijamas” and it was hilarious. A lot better than I can make it sound in writing. I’m losing it laughing.

“That was the greatest interview of 2017. Historic.” Says Quavo.

I go get a picture with them and all of them are still smoking in the picture. Luckily I am wearing a hat to cover my face.

I thank their manager for a good interview and thank Jeff, the producer at Power for the opportunity.

“We will see you next Thursday!”

I joke to Cruz that next time we will book off the whole day for Migos so they can freestlyle for the whole day as I’m walking out of the building.

I go to the lunch room to get my pasta and I eat it standing up. I still feel really high from just being in that room so I know I have to leave. My friend Connor – the other intern - lets me out the back and I click the button on the elevator.

As soon as I turn around, guess who is behind me?

You probably guessed right because there haven’t been that many people mentioned in the story so far. It was the Migos and their entire entourage of 8 extremely large men, including their head of security.

“You going down?”

“Yeah are you guys?”

“Yeah man.”

“Is there room or should I take the next one?”

They all pile into the elevator into what is definitely the heaviest elevator that I have ever been a part of.

“Get in bro.”

They push me into the middle of the elevator. Now let me just paint the scene for you.

So it’s me – a small Jewish white boy with a backpack on smelling like I just came out of a dispenscery and really lost because I haven’t eaten since 4:45 am – and 8 massive dreaded dudes surrounding me. I almost get pushed into Offset but I luckiy keep my balance. I am face to face with Offset and Quavo and Takeoff are right in front of me as well. Imagine facetiming with your friend and looking at their giant face on the screen - that’s how close we are.

“Thanks for coming. That was a great interview!”

I didn’t really know what else to say but I know I sounded stupid. Offset stares at me with a blank face through his ruby tinted sunglasses and doesn’t respond. I get kind of worried so I shut up. Then he nods and says

“Yeah man that was a real one. It was fun.” while staring into space.

I get pushed off the elevator into the third floor of the parking garage. I have to go down three more levels to get to the main floor.

I always see signs in numbers, and I look at my phone. My phone reads 2:27 pm and it’s at 17%. It doesn’t make sense really to you, I know, but to me those numbers mean “stay.” And plus my brother told me to rap for them.

Takeoff is standing by himself and the others went into the van.

“Hey man can I get your advice on the music business quickly.”

He stares at me blankly. Looks me up and down.

“You make music?”

“Yeah, can I rap a quick 16 for you?”

He doesn’t answer.

I rap anyways.

He pauses and looks at me. He reaches his hand out for a dap.

“That was really dope man. For real.”

“Thank you. Any advice for me?”

“Just keep going.”

“Well I really appreciate your time bro. Thank you and it was nice meeting you.”

At least that’s how I imagined I would say it in a normal mind-state, but it was probably something like that. I start walking away.

“What - you’re not even gonna walk with me to the car bro? Come walk with me. My car is that way.”

Who am I to turn down that offer.

“Man you got a good thing going.”

“I know I’m a white boy in hip-hop so I know my place.”

“No man, that’s your thing. It’s unexpected. But it hits even harder because of that.”

“So just keep working and roll with that?”

“Yeah just keep going. Matter of fact, let my man get your number.”

He yells at his man “yo, come get my boy’s number!”

He takes my number and Takeoff says

“What’s your name bro?”

“Jeremy”

“Nice to meet you Jeremy.”

We shake hands (like a legitimate handshake. It was incredible).

I walk back into the elevator and accidentally go back up. Luckily I didn’t go all the way back to the office. I go back down to the main floor and walk out.

I facetime Justin and as I’m in the middle of the story of what just happened because I’m still in disbelief - and need to tell someone in case I forget it and think it was all a dream - my phone dies. F*ck.

I’m in the middle of Burbank with no phone and no car. I walk up to a Starbucks and they don’t have a phone charger. They also don’t have any Vanilla scones. I’m rattled. I tell the guy working that I just met Migos and he tells me he is a videographer. I grab his email. The closest phone charger is at the hospital across the street.

I walk all the way into the ER room and find a phone charger. I smell terrible. I probably look terrible. I plug in my phone and start eating my cold pasta. I have a talk with an older lady sitting in front of me about how reliant we are on our cell phones and how I try to be present. She is from Minnisota so she knows the cold.

“Everyone shuts down in the rain here. But in Canada the snow is way worse, so this is light.”

“I’m from Minnisota so I know exactly how you feel.”

“What’s your greatest piece of life advice.”

After she stopped and thought about it for a while, she said

“Just keep moving. If there is a brick wall, just find a way through it or ride the wave around it.”

So an 80-year-old woman in the ER room and a member of the Migos just gave me the same career advice. Life is amazing.

Friday Night

John has free tickets to a comedy roast battle show hosted by Roast Master Jeff Ross and with guest judges Snoop Dogg and Anthony Jeselnick.

We get there after picking up two of John’s lady friends. Great girls.

We finesse our way down to the front of the stage in classic LA style and have a great view of the performance. Snoop Dogg starts lighting up his classic blunts – it has always been a life goal of mine to smoke Snoop’s or Wiz’ weed. I don’t know why. Even when I had never smoked in my life.

I remember being in Gladiator studios in Winnipeg with my guys Rawg and Purdy listening to the final mixes of my second mixtape “Freshman Orientation,” and they were smoking from a bong. Rawg said, “yo, you wanna hit this?”

“Nah man I’m good.”

“What if Snoop passed you the blunt?”

“I would hit it!”

“What I’m not famous enough for you?” We laughed about it. But it was the truth.

The crowd started to chant “pass that shit.”

Snoop passes the blunt into the crowd and it makes its way right in front of me before burning out. I get oddly excited.

Then I forget about the dream of hitting Snoop’s weed and but someone taps me on the back and hands me a joint.

“Is that Snoop’s weed?”

“Yup.”

John takes a picture of it and I take the last hit left in the joint. I felt high just from that.

We go to Roscoes chicken and waffles and cap off a day that still feels like it’s lasted a lifetime. Life is amazing.

Lessons:

Stay True To Yourself:

I think I got too caught up in the moment and did some things that I may not have otherwise done if I wasn’t in the environment of stars. I should trust my instincts a bit more and be true to who I am. Believe in who you are because that will always be enough. Don’t fall into your environment, create your environment.

You’re in the Right Place for a Reason

I really can’t be mad at anything that happened though because it all lead to another amazing place. I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Trust the process like I always say.

Believe in Yourself and Your Dreams

Cliche. I know. But if you can imagine it then it really can happen. I used to dream about this sh*t. And now it’s my reality. If you can picture it in your head, it really can happen. Once you know that secret, life it really fun.

It Could All End Tomorrow - Appreciate Where You’re At

Sometimes I just need to take a second to appreciate where I’m at in life because I know how blessed I am to be having these experiences. It’s true - it could all end tomorrow. So I am so thankful. I pray every night before bed and thank God and I wake up every morning and thank God. Take a minute to keep yourself humble. 

I think I have enough stories to last a lifetime now. But the movie keeps on rolling. Thank you for reading. I’m still waiting to wake up