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pelova4president · 4 months

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My muses

Laura Freigang x Sydney Lohmann x Reader

summary~ In which you fall for two German girls that are in a relationship with eachother. They’ve had their eye on you for a little while now and decide to make a move now you’re working with their national team.

Syd and Laura are bestfriends, everyone knew that. They roomed, sat and did basically everything together. They played for different clubs but that didn’t matter, they got to see eachother more than enough.

What most people didn’t know is that they are a little more than friends, girlfriends to be exact. They didn’t really try to keep it private but everyone just thought that they were good friends since they had always been like this.

When you moved from the Netherlands to Germany it felt like a big change, you were only twenty and, ofcourse you knew a few words and sentences but that was it. German sounds a bit like Dutch but it was still hard to understand all of the difficult business words, especially when they were talking so fast.

You’ve been a sports photographer for about three years now. It began with your love for women’s football. Watching your childhood club Ajax play week in week out, you wanted to capture it. After you realised your phone camera wouldn’t do the job anymore you bought a real professional camera, it had cost you a fortune and you had to work extra hours at the cafe you served at. But honestly, it was the best decision you’ve ever made. You tried to capture moments from your seat in the stands but that was hard when the bald men in the seats in front of you stood up at every exciting pass.

Eventually, you mustered up enough courage and mailed Ajax, asking them to get access to the field to photograph the players in action. A few days later you got a response back saying that they’d like that.

After capturing many more games you signed a contract with the club, not as a player but that didn’t matter.

That’s how you got here, signing a contract with the German women’s football team as media manager and photographer. You’ve photographed some of the players because some of the girls had played against Ajax. But this was all still very new to you, working in Germany and also managing the socials.

They also didn’t really bother to introduce you to the girls, you just had to start. Or well, that’s what you understood anyway.

The start of your new era began rather hectic. The German girls were going to Italy and Portugal for some friendlies. They would play against Iceland and England to prepare for the World Cup.

You were staying in the same hotel as the team and at dinner time you eventually met some of them. Sitting alone, Laura approached you.

“Hey, ich bin Laura, ich glaube, ich habe dich schon einmal gesehen.” (Hey, i’m Laura, i think i’ve seen you before.) she introduces herself. “Ich bin y/n, but uhh i don’t speak that much German. I’m the new media manager.” you say awkwardly. Why are you like this all of a sudden. “Oh sorry, i didn’t know but you’ve got an accent. Where are you from?” Laura asks you.

You tell her about your little journey, working for Ajax and photographing. Laura sits down at your empty table and you fall into a nice conversation. She apparently remembered you from a game she played against Ajax a few months ago.

Laura was telling you about her love for photography when a certain midfielder came crashing the conversation. “Laura, warum hast du mir diese Schönheit nicht vorgestellt?” (Laura why didn’t you introduce me to this beauty?) the girl said. Laura rolled her eyes at her, “Syd this is y/n, our new media manager and sports photographer, y/n this is Sydney my idiot girlfriend.” Laura explained.

You didn’t even know the girl but to say you were disappointed that she was taken was an understatement. You really clicked and thought that she was even flirting a little bit with you but you were just imagining things apparently.

Syd sat down on the chair on the other side of you and began to ask you things too. But she had other questions in mind. “So, do you have a girlfriend.. or boyfriend?” the midfielder asked you shamelessly. “Uh no, i don’t have a girlfriend at the moment.” you said with a red face trying to look anywhere but at the couple. The two German girls smirked to eachother and continued to pester you with questions.

The next day Laura and Sydney wanted to take you out for the day since they had the afternoon and evening off. Laura had promised you some beautiful views and good food so you couldn’t resist a night out with the two girls.

You dressed up and had done your makeup and hair. The two girls knocked on your door and when you opened it you saw both of the girls looking you up and down. Sydney licked her lips and greeted you, “Du siehst echt gut aus” (You look really good) and Laura did the same, “Du siehst so schön aus.” (You look very pretty).

They walked you to the black BMW they had rented and Sydney opened the car door for you. Laura sat in the drivers seat and Sydney in the passenger’s. Sydney connected her phone and r&b played on the background of your lighthearted conversation. At some point in the conversation they stopped talking English and switched to German.

“Sie sieht gut aus.” (She looks good) Laura said looking in her little mirror. Syd hummed, “Sie ist sehr schön. Glaubst du, sie mag uns?” (She’s very pretty. Do you think she likes us?). You were looking out of the window, listening to Frank Ocean when you heard Laura speak English again. “I think so, i guess we’ll have to find out.” and with that she parked the car and opened your door.

They took you to a very nice restaurant, the vibe was good and the food and company was even better. They kept flirting with you and now it wasn’t just Laura when she was alone with you, they both were and they both seemed to be okay with it too.

“What got you into sports photography?” Sydney asked you. “Well, i wanted to capture the moments and you know, the women.” you laughed, your face heating up. The couple laughed at your answer and Laura spoke again, “I get it, i’m surprised none of my teammates made a move on you yet, you’re a pretty girl.”. You were surprised but flattered by her words. “Oh thank you, the both of you look really good too.” you complimented them.

“Sie ist niedlich.” (She’s cute) Laura said to her girlfriend. The brunette gave her teammate a smile and looked at you again. “Yeah, you think so, liebling?” Sydney asked you, trying to get more out of you. “Yeah- well i mean you know, you’re both really attractive and sweet and stuff.” you rambled and they let you. Both of the girls giggled at your rambling, finding it quite cute how you got flustered so easily.

The night ended after some more teasing and a nice dessert. They walked you to your door and told you that they enjoyed their evening with you and how they’d love to do something like this again sometime. Sydney kissed you goodnight on your forehead while Laura kissed you on the corner of your lips. You wondered of she did that on purpose or if she did it by mistake.

laurafreigang posted on their story

y/n_y/l/n

liked by victoriapelova and 78.628 others

portugal📍, italy you’re next.

comments

viviannemiedema 😍😍

stanwaygeorgia got that portugal glow

sydneylohmann looking good 👀

laurafreigang touring with a good view

l0hmannbayernn wait but syd and laura were at that same restaurant too

↳ germany_w0men they’re probably friends i think since y/n works for the national team

You traveled to Italy with the team and arrived in the evening. When you stepped out of the travel bus Sydney approached you. “We’re going to the beach with the team, do you want to join us?” she asked you calmly. You accepted her offer and walked to the beach together.

Syd told you about the time she went to Rome with Laura and how they got lost and nobody understood them because of their German accent. It was so funny that your stomach hurt from all the laughing. “Syd! Stop, my stomach!” you giggled. “Okay, okay i’ll stop.” Sydney hugged you from behind, her hands on your stomach. “Better now?” she asked you, you could feel her little smirk. “Yeah, all better.” you hummed leaning into her.

Sydney took your hand in hers and with your fingers intertwined you arrived at the beach. Apparently there were boats for rent and you couldn’t resist, floating on the water at sunset, that’s a dream. Laura saw the two of you get on the boat and joined, not wanting to miss out on more quality time.

The three of you sat at the front of the boat, looking at the sun disappearing into the sea. “I’ve had my eye on you for a little while now.” Laura suddenly says. You’re a bit shocked and your first reaction is to look in the direction of her girlfriend who laughs at your motion. “We’ve had our eye on you.” Syd corrects her girlfriend. Now you’re even more lost.

Not knowing where to look you look into the distance. “What do you mean?” you ask just above a whisper. “We both like you, romantically.” Laura says for the both of them. You look up and Laura is staring at you expecting some kind of reaction. You look at Syd and she nods assuringly.

Laura took your face into her hands and leaned in for a kiss. Your lips met hers. You’ve wanted this for longer than you’d like to admit. Your kiss with Laura was hungry but sweet. When you disconnected your lips Sydney saw that as her chance. The kiss with the midfielder was a little more rough and longer.

Laura saw the state of you and couldn’t help but smirk at your swollen lips and messy hair. “I’ll take that as a ‘i like you too’.” Sydney said giggling and pulling a strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks reddened and you nodded furiously. The girlfriends laughed at that and Laura kissed you on your red cheek.

laurafreigang posted on their story

The next few days you photographed the girls at training, made content, went on little outings with the team and you even got to steal a few kisses here and there. Sydney and Laura were absolutely wonderful and amazing models, both of them are pretty, beautiful, sexy, everything honestly. You liked taking pictures of them, especially when they weren’t looking or after a game they’d won. But all three of you knew that after this camp you’d probably see eachother again at the preparations for the World Cup and that was weeks away.

sydneylohmann

liked by lynnwilms_ and 103.728 others

got the best photographers out there 🎞️

comments

y/n_y/l/n i got the best models out there

stanwaygeorgia tatted girl 👀

laurafreigang du bist sehr cool lohmann✌️✌️

jule_brand 😍😍

wos011 why did y/n comment??

↳ arsenalw21p they’re sooo dating

laurafreigang

liked by jule_brand and 118.620 others

best days away

comments

lena_oberdorf looking good

y/n_y/l/n mooi meisje 😍

sydneylohmann got the coolest gf

↳ gerwntfann wait they’re dating???

sophie.kleinherne 😍😍

giuliagwinn laura freigang things

chels3akerrr why did y/n comment?

You were going from club to club in the break since you still needed to get some work done. Syd and Laura texted and called you a few times and they had a few dates planned between the camps. It was nice, they were absolutely perfect. You loved them.

The time flew by and the team had to get ready for the World Cup. You knew how much this meant to all of the girls. For some it was their first and for others just another. There was so much pressure on them, their nation was a winning one and everyone knew it, you could feel it. Germany was in it to win.

The team ended on top of their group and won all the other games in the knockouts. Fighting for every goal they got into the final. The final against England, the nation they lost the Euros title to. They wanted payback.

When you arrived at the stadium it felt like a dream. The atmosphere in the stadium was magic, nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Fans from all over the world eager to watch the rematch of the Euros final. As the match continued, it became clear that it would be a battle till the very end.

With the score tied at 1-1, it got hard to watch the game. The seconds were flying by, and both teams were pushing themselves to their absolute limit. Lohmann, your midfield maestro, got past Keira Walsh and Georgia Stanway. Spotting an opening, she passed a perfectly calculated ball to Freigang, your quick forward.

Laura, known for her fast pace and clinical finishing, sprinted towards the goal. Millie Bright tried to tackle Freigang but just couldn’t get to her. With adrenaline running through her, she released her shot in the top bins. The stadium erupted as Germany took the lead in the dying minutes of the game.

Sydney flew into Laura’s arms, but Laura was searching for you. She knew you were there, capturing every moment through your lens. With one of her cocky smirks, she made her way towards you, with the high of scoring such and important goal she leaned in, planting a kiss on the camera lens. Her eyes meeting yours as she playfully winks at the camera.

The game didn’t last much longer. The extra time was over and the German girls ran towards eachother while the English girls sunk to the ground.

Your two footballers hugged eachother and you captured the moment. Nothing could top this moment you thought, atleast not for now.

The girls came running towards you and included you in their hug. “Saw what i did there?” Laura whispered in your ear. You laughed, “Yeah, couldn’t really miss it eh?”. The goalscorer poked you in your side and Sydney laughed at the two of you.

Things went really fast from that moment on, Syd and Laura asked you to be their girlfriend and you said yes ofcourse. You signed a contract with Bayern for when you weren’t working for the National team. That made it possible for you to see Syd almost everyday. As promised you had a date night atleast once a week with your girlfriends and Laura announced her signing. Both of your girlfriends were playing for Bayern and you couldn’t be happier.

It had all gone fast. You fell fast, you got close fast and you started dating fast. But in your eyes it felt like you’ve always known. You loved them and wouldn’t trade this for the world.

y/n_y/l/n

liked by daniellevddonk and 103.613 others

meine schätze

comments

laurafreigang finally learned some german

↳ y/n_y/l/n just for the both of you

jillroord you’re supposed to root for us not Germany 🙄

sydneylohmann you’re our WAG 😍

↳ y/n_y/l/n honoured to be your WAG 😘

wosogirll HARDLAUNCHH

lovef00tball i knew it!!

sydneylohmann

liked by jillroord and 271.624 others

thank you Australia and New Zealand ❤️

comments

y/n_y/l/n mijn lieveheersbeestje 🐞❤️

↳ sydneylohmann you were scared of it so i don’t take it as a compliment

jillroord loohhmaaannn ❤️

sam_kerr_ winnerrrr 🥇

laurafreigang we’re so sexy

↳ y/n_y/l/n you are xx

↳ sydneylohmann thank you baby

laurafreigang

liked by alex.popp11 and 212.427 others

australia with my mäuschen

comments

sydneylohmann you’re a rat

↳ laurafreigang awww you’re so sweet 😍

y/n_y/l/n you’ve charmed your way into my life

↳ laurafreigang it was the photographer rizz i think

↳ sydneylohmann no definitely the football rizz

sam_kerr_ freigang touring the world with her sidekicks

↳ sydneylohmann i’m not a sidekick!!

A/N the ending is a bit abrupt so there’s a chance that i’ll make a second part?? Thanks to @totaly-obsessed i think i’ve done pretty well with the german nicknames and sentences.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #laura freigang x reader #laura freigang #sydney lohmann x reader #sydney lohmann #gerwnt #bayern munich frauen #eintracht frankfurt frauen #engwnt #georgia stanway

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thelonesomequeen · 2 months

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As a blog that’s been around a while…..can confirm. Lol 🧜🏻‍♀️/ I like and have been following Chris' work since his fantastic 4 days but only started to be into gossip/his personal life since the pandemic, so I really didn't follow his past relationships much (just what I read in magazines). I have to admit I liked him with Jenny, I bought the - nerdy girl gets the hot guy, that's so cute - narrative they sold but had no idea at the time that the timeline of their relationship was so shady. Since you have been here for a while and followed both Minka and Jenny eras can I ask you what are the main things you think he is doing in this relationship that he didn't do in his previous ones (besides getting married, lol)? In the people's sma interview he said that his age and experience make him a much better partner now than when he was younger. From the perspective of someone that has been following his career and personal life for a while do you think that he was being honest when he said that and didn't say it just to look good?

From the perspective of someone that has been following his career and personal life for a while do you think that he was being honest when he said that and didn't say it just to look good?

No, I don’t think he was just saying that. I do believe that’s a true statement. Not because Chris specifically said it, but because I think it’s human nature for all of us to learn from relationships and grow as we move forward into the next relationship. Even if things don’t end well, I think there’s always something to be learned. For example—I had an ex who only ever wanted to discuss important topics via text. He was awful at conversation and communication in general. I hated having big conversations via text because I couldn’t pick up on his facial expressions or mood and it made it so hard to read where he was at on some things. We got into an argument at one point and I brought it up about how we constantly had miscommunication errors because we could never have face to face conversations and that bothered me. We ended up breaking up for various reasons, but a few years down the line he actually thanked me for that moment of calling his shit out because it made him a more present partner in his next relationship going forward. Even if things end poorly, I think there’s always something to learn about yourself, what you do and don’t want out of relationships/what you’re willing to tolerate or compromise on, or just how to be a better partner in your next relationship. Chris is much older than I am and if I’ve been able to learn that lesson from my interactions, I’m sure he has as well.

As for what’s different, I think that’s hard to answer from a public standpoint because the differences are probably more noticeable in private between those who personally know him. But from what we can see, he’s willing to be public with her. Posting the photo montage and scare video montage he did of Alba was something I never expected to see from him because he had never put a significant other on his social media like that before. The best Jenny ever got was her voice in a video of Dodger. He also brought her on the Vanity Fair red carpet with him and posed at an official/big industry event. Yes, he did take a picture with Jenny at the premiere of Secret Life of Pets, but that was so low key in comparison to an Oscars after party. I also feel like while it sucks to see him disappear on social media, I feel like he’s made that change to protect the people he cares about the most from his more rabid fans by limiting their access to him. He’s not as open about his whereabouts as he used to be back when he constantly shared IG stories or pictures from his life. And his willingness to travel for Alba. I always expected when he got married, the woman would really have to mold her life around him and where he wanted to be. But he’s taken trips back and forth to Portugal with her and they’re getting their own places there, so he clearly intends to keep doing that in their own space there. I didn’t expect to see that from him because there were plenty of times with Minka and Jenny when they needed to be back in LA for things and he stayed home in MA 🦎

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kayahforde-cs · 7 months

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The artist I have decided to research is Paula Rego, who is a Portugese-British narrative-based painter that explores magical realism, fairy tales, stories, and puts a different perspective on art history. Although she does not directly belong to any art movements or group of people, it is widely recognised that she is a Feminist, and she blatantly uses heavy topics surrounding women in her work. Minington (2022) notes that, through her work, Rego challenges centuries of art history, with women often being presented as passive, nude, nymphs and anonymous, and therefore, challenges this binary opposition that women are often portrayed as. She presents her female subjects as complex, and Rego fights and tackles the issue of the damaging binary throughout her work.

She grew up in Salazar’s Portugal, which was extremely patriarchal and oppressive towards women, and in 1988, she created a series of ten paintings for an exhibition in Lisbon. She named this series of paintings ‘Abortion Series’, which was a direct protest of the anti-abortion laws created in Portugal. These laws, and the fact that people were too embarrassed to vote, enraged her, and she poured all of her fury into her artwork for this series. Rego states that she purposely made the women in the paintings dressed as schoolgirls to shock her audience, despite there being no blood or gore. She does not want people to look away from the paintings due to any gore, so she did not include it. Rosenthal notes that Rego’s feminism ‘is not strident, and is firmly directed at the injustices that women still suffer’ (Paula Rego: the complete graphic work. P. 13).

Rego’s ‘Abortion Series’ (and her work in general) has been of relevance to my graphic media project because I, too, recognise that femininity is complex. It is not, what some would say, sparkles and flowers and love hearts. Instead, there is an unexplainable rage that comes with being a woman, even though it is often hidden away in order to maintain an perfect, feminine image in the public eye. As I have grown up around women, and by learning about the female through a copious amounts of different histories and cultures, I could see firsthand how difficult it is being a woman, and what it means to be a woman. I drew inspiration from Paula Rego’s message and her female heroines in her work to create an animation about the female rage, depicted as being hidden inside a beautiful, elegant box.

Bibliography

Rosenthal, T.G. (2003) Paula Rego: the complete graphic work. London: Thames and Hudson.

Showcase (2022) Paula Rego’s art and Legacy. Available at: https://youtu.be/xk7M-fdJc0Y?si=TK11KiWAxLbOA9fd (Accessed: 10 October 2023).

Tate (2021) Paula Rego. Available at: https://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/paula-rego (Accessed: 10 October 2023).

The Art Channel (2021) Paula Rego at Tate Britain. Available at: https://youtu.be/U1YtnAxJU_s?si=IIsNJ_rXg3gbKyKn (Accessed: 10 October 2023).

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sveniasblog · 1 year

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Sofia, January 2023

This little boat travelled all the way from Cascais via Kiev to Sofia.

I used to live in Cascais. The world can be so small at times.

Sasha, who is the father of my friend Anna's children, left Ukraine two months ago and - after spending time with the children - wants to relocate in Sétubal, Portugal. Its been a while that I've seen Anna, so I went to visit her today. She's working with FAR (Foundation for Access to Rights) now, acting as a bridge between refugees and the State of Bulgaria. She said that 70 children came to Bulgaria either with only one of their parents or alone and that her colleagues went to take care of them, but she couldn't, it was too much. She had tears in her eyes. This situation is so dire, when she called her boyfriend, who is a heart-surgeon in Odessa, to wish him a happy new year, there were air raids in the background. The fireworks for new year's remind her (as it must other refugees too) of the rocket shelling. How I hope and pray that this terrible war is going to end soon!

Well we had some delicious Ukrainian varenikes and Anna joined a self-advocacy group backed by UNHCR and other organisations with 15 other people from different countries to provide legal help for free to those who need it. She said that there was this man from Uzbekistan, who had been tortured in his home-country and landlords in Bulgaria had refused to rent to him, but they were able to help him and many other people. In this difficult time that's such a wonderful thing to do.

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ifyouwereamelodymeg · 2 years

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Dramione (non-)drabble prompt: Demeter

So, yeah, this went well past the 500-word limit I was using for the others. And I guess I probably could've been strict with myself and written a different version of it that stuck to the limit, but I enjoyed this prompt a bit too much to want to do that. I figured that since I'm not actually writing for the LDWS event, there's no real restriction on me, so I've gone gung-ho and written freely for this one.

Again, @simplifiedemotions is my darling and my dream for betaing.

Title: Mother

Prompt: Demeter

Rating: G

Words: 1560 (ha)

- - -

Helen Granger has lived an astoundingly ordinary life for the last thirty-eight years. Check off the boxes: a charmingly average childhood, an unassuming little dental practice in outer London, a two-up/two-down on a quiet street, and a lovely if sometimes slightly vague husband.

Totally ordinary, by all accounts.

The only thing she considers truly extraordinary about her life is her daughter, but then don’t all parents believe that about their children?

And if, over the years, Hermione has done a few things that have made Helen tilt her head — found ways into places no developmentally-normal three-year-old should be able to access, or reported a little too much kinship with Matilda Wormwood and her telekinetic powers — then… Well, just because one is unable to explain something doesn’t mean it’s inexplicable in the absolute. And normal is a spectrum, after all.

But the woman sitting in Helen’s living room right now…

Minerva.

She isn’t normal in the slightest.

- - -

When Hermione was eight, she started ballet classes. Helen took her to see Swan Lake at the Royal Opera House, and Hermione spent the next month pirouetting around the living room, transforming from maiden to swan and back again.

- - -

When Hermione studied Ancient Greece in Year Five, Helen assumed it would be Athena who caught her eye. But no. She came home from school full of questions about Persephone, bound to split her time between over- and underworlds.

“Why did she eat the pomegranate seeds if she knew she’d be trapped?”

“Why do you think?”

Hermione’s forehead creased in thought too thorough, too careful for a ten-year-old.

“Maybe she wanted to stay, but she knew her mum wouldn’t understand. So she chose to eat them. I think she wanted part of her life to be there."

- - -

During a family holiday to Portugal last summer, Helen and Hermione worked their way through the entire His Dark Materials trilogy together, squished up on a sunbed by the pool.

When they reached the parts about Lyra crossing a bridge in the sky, about Will stepping through a window in the air to find another world beyond, Hermione prodded her to read faster, desperate to turn the page and see what these strange new places might hold.

- - -

It’s a process, understanding that her daughter exists between two different lives now.

“She’s just gone off to boarding school,” Rob says. He always has been better at taking things in stride than her. “She’ll be back for the holidays, just the same.”

He’s wrong.

Every time Hermione comes home, term after term, she seems a little more torn, a little more stretched between the life she was born into and the one that she has to fight to be a part of — this world full of culture that Hermione didn’t grow up knowing, full of people who didn’t think to introduce her into their ranks with any real degree of empathy or provision for her lack of familiarity.

Full of shitty little rich boys with blond hair who call her names and tell her she doesn’t belong.

On the surface, most of the stories she brings back are glorious, all wonder and excitement, but Helen knows there’s more to it than that. She can sense the blank spots in Hermione’s tales where she’s letting details slip through the gaps, and with each one that passes, Helen feels like she recognises her daughter a little less.

How is she meant to understand someone who lives their life so divided, spinning out of reach through a world that she can’t touch?

- - -

Hermione’s sixteen now, and bad things are happening on the other side. She doesn’t say it quite so plainly, but Helen can read between the lines on this one, and…

And she can’t take it anymore.

“You’ll be in danger if you go back there, won’t you? Tell me the truth, Hermione, please!”

“I’m fine, Mum. Hogwarts is safe. And Harry needs me to—”

“What could that boy possibly need from you that’s so important?” Another silence that Helen knows is born from her daughter holding something back. She breathes deep and lowers her voice, gentler now. More reasoning. “If you just stayed here, if you didn’t go back to school for now, maybe you’d be—”

“Mum!” Hermione blanches. “I have to go back! I belong there.”

“You belong here.”

“Yes, I do, here too, of course, but I can’t just leave Hogwarts. I can’t ignore that part of my life.”

“Well, you ignore this part!”

Hermione recoils like she’s been slapped, face crumpling. For a moment they’re both frozen, as if someone’s immortalised the moment on some awful red-figure amphora — a moment of tragedy to rival the best the Greeks had to offer.

Then time starts up again, and the barest of movements is enough to send everything crashing to the ground.

“Hermione…”

“It’s okay. You didn’t mean it. I know. It’s… It’s okay.”

It’s not okay, though. They’ve shattered, too thoroughly to fix before Hermione departs for school the next day.

Through the term, her letters are stiff and succinct.

Christmas is a quiet affair.

And when she comes home for the summer, everything feels…wrong.

- - -

The Sydney sun is warm on Monica Wilkins’ face, and she can’t help smiling. This was a good move; things feel simpler here than they did back in England.

- - -

A year, a hidden war, and half a rewritten lifetime all pass by in a blink.

Her mind belongs to Monica, but, more and more, her heart is making its way back to being Helen’s.

She relearns her daughter through fresh eyes that have discovered how to see a life from two sides, and though she has no memory of how things were before, she has the feeling that it’s all a bit clearer now. She understands more, she thinks.

Because she’s Monica, and she’s Hermione’s mother, and the two don’t overlap. Not really. But that doesn’t mean that either feels any less true.

- - -

Christmastime rolls around again, the first they’ll be spending as a family since… Actually, the first ever, as far as Monica can remember.

They lead strange existences, all of them — fragmented but somehow not lacking in fullness for it. Less broken, more mosaic, made up of different pieces that never really touch but still form a whole, colourful, sometimes challenging, always beautiful picture.

They’re building it up, bit by bit, visit by visit.

And this time, Hermione brings a new piece to add to the image. There’s a man with her now, tall and pale and black-clad. Blond. A little sharp-featured, if Monica’s judging.

He seems uncomfortable, this Draco fellow. Nervous, perhaps? She can’t blame him; theirs is an odd family dynamic to come into, no doubt, and she can tell from the way Hermione explains the contents of their kitchen to him that he’s been a one-world man up until now.

But he’s trying — it’s clear in the way he endures Wendell’s well-worn lecture on the politics of the Australian Football League. God knows no one could sit through that for any other reason.

“The two of you are happy, aren’t you?” Hermione asks during a quiet moment, after presents and before dinner. Her face is scrunched up in a way that Monica understands without recognising. “I didn’t completely ruin your lives by sending you here, did I?”

“Oh, honey.” Their hands find each other. “Of course you didn’t. Look at us — we’re very happy.” A squeeze of her fingers. “Are you?”

Hermione doesn’t answer for a moment, her eyes soft on Draco where he sits across the room.

“I wasn’t expecting him,” she murmurs at length. “I mean, I had to figure out how to live between the two worlds, but he was so deep in his that for a long time it seemed like we’d never be able to understand each other.”

“What changed?”

“So many things. He reached out, and we met in the shallows. Both chose to eat the pomegranate seeds.” A laugh springs out of her, just unchecked enough that Monica might call it giddy, and her face shines wheat field gold. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

At the raise of her voice, the subject of their conversation looks over towards them. He’s bearing the expression of a man expertly harangued, but Monica’s motherly eye has been growing back in rather well over the last few months, and she doesn’t miss how things shift as he catches sight of Hermione’s smile: the flicker of a blink, like maybe he’s still a little stunned by her; the creasing of his eyes and the twitch at the corner of his mouth as he shakes his head in her direction before turning back towards Wendell.

A good man, Monica thinks. Awkward, taciturn, but good. Someone who’ll be there for Hermione when she’s off in that strange other space she inhabits. Letting her go is easier this time around than Monica imagines it’s ever been; once dinner’s been and gone, she waves the two of them away, just as any mother would, and it feels quite marvellously everyday.

Ordinary.

Of course, her daughter is truly extraordinary, but then don’t all parents believe that about their children?

She closes the door with a smile and makes her way down the hallway towards the kitchen. Maybe, if she’s lucky, Wendell will have already set the kettle boiling.

- - -

Previous prompts:

Zeus

Athena

Hera

Poseidon

Apollo

#dramione #dramione fanfiction #draco x hermione #mother #prompt: demeter #dramione last drabble writer standing 2022 #ldws 2022

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nwbeerguide · 2 years

Text

Something long overdue for sports-minded women is coming to Portland. Introducing Sports Bra. A bar owned by women and managed by women.

Press Release

PORTLAND, Ore. (March 28, 2022) — Female athletes are getting the long overdue support of The Sports Bra, the first and only sports bar that will only play women’s sports. Located in Northeast Portland, The Bra opens on Friday, April 1, with a mission to make great food and delicious drinks, and provide a space that supports, empowers, and promotes girls and women in sports and in the community.

The response to this game-changing business venture has been phenomenal and widespread. Young and old fans of female athletes are hungry for a place to watch and celebrate women’s sports. Since announcing the opening, owner and chef Jenny Nguyen has received crowd-sourced funding, donations of memorabilia, national news coverage, and social media engagement from Canada, Brazil, Portugal, the United Kingdom and Spain. The launch Kickstarter raised $105,000 over 30 days, which was more than twice its goal.

“When I first set out on this journey to open up, I had no idea the impact it would have on so many so quickly,” said Nguyen. “And we are just getting started.”

She added, “The statistics about girls and women dropping out of sports are staggering. Girls who play sports have higher self-esteem and a more positive body image. The Bra will be more than just a place to view women’s sports. It gives people a space to be together and celebrate. It can start with the viewing, and then expand to how that could grow into a larger movement.”

THE VIEWING

One of the main goals of The Sports Bra is to give the community a place to celebrate women’s and girls’ sports together. A large part of that is access to quality televised women’s sporting events. The five TVs will play women’s sports games being broadcast on regular TV, satellite or cable, and Just Women’s Sports for some additional limited programing. They will play Portland Thorns games and ATA Football matches.

When people walk into a traditional sports bar, they expect nonstop sports coverage, as there is 24/7 coverage of men’s sports. If there’s not a live game on, there’s a replay, behind-the-scenes or commentary programming. As of right now, that does not exist for women’s sports, as 96% of all sports media coverage on TV is of men’s sports. That means just 4% of all sports on TV is of women.

Nguyen added, “We aim to put that 4% on blast. If it’s on, we will show it. That being said, if it’s not on, we CAN’T show it. We’ve worked hard to develop a few partnerships with several sports media brands to bring more coverage than the measly 4% that’s out there, but this is just the beginning, and even with the added media, there’s not nearly enough content for us to show 24/7. We just want to put it out there that there will be times when there are not any games on TV, and when that happens we may choose to turn the TVs off. We think it’s not only powerful to highlight the 4% that is showing, but also to highlight what is NOT showing. The more attention we draw to viewers demanding women’s sports coverage, the more power we have as a community to push for change and equity!”

THE ORIGIN The idea for The Bra started in April 2018, when Nguyen and about a dozen of her friends wanted to watch the NCAA Women’s Division I Basketball Tournament championship game between Notre Dame and Mississippi State at a local sports bar. They grabbed a few tables and slid them together, and got the server to switch one of the televisions to the big game for them. They ordered food and drinks and proceeded to watch what would be one of the best games in NCAA history. When it was all over, they realized they watched the whole thing on a tiny TV in the corner of the bar with no sound on.

Fast forward to 2020, when Nguyen had been running her parents’ family business for a couple years, having left her position as a chef. Between the pandemic and the racial justice movement, the world was being turned on its head. It was a time of change. She had always felt a bit lost since leaving the kitchen but didn’t know what lay ahead. She felt she needed to do something more.

Social movements were pressing harder and further, people were learning and unlearning, and women’s sports were pushing forward and through. Nguyen felt that there was so much distress and upheaval in 2020, but also so much inspiration and reason to fight. Finally, she saw her place in the struggle and how she could do something meaningful. The idea of The Sports Bra was born.

THE MENU

The restaurant will not only spotlight talented female athletes, it will also showcase women in the food and beverage industry. The menu features standard pub food fare such as burgers, sliders and tots, as well as some of Nguyen’s family recipes like Mom’s Baby Back Ribs and Aunt Tina’s Vietna-Wings. Nguyen is sourcing ingredients from women-owned businesses: beef from Cory Carman of Carman Ranch, alcohol from Freeland Spirits and produce from Vibrant Valley Farm.

Click here for a press kit and images.

About The Sports Bra

Opened in April 2022, The Sports Bra is the first and only sports bar to only play women’s sports. Located in Portland, Oregon, the restaurant aims to make great food and delicious drinks, and provide a space that supports, empowers, and promotes girls and women in sports and in the community. thesportsbrapdx.com

#Oregon #Portland #Sports Bra #Food & Beverage #Sports Bars #Beer #Press Release

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newmusickarl · 3 years

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Album & EP Recommendations

As there is a HUGE amount to cover this week, I’m trying something a bit different with some slightly snappier reviews and a genre inclusion so you can head straight for the recommendation that matches your musical preference. There’s at least one album from all the key genres this week too, so hopefully a little something for everyone. Without any further ado then, here’s what’s good:

Album of the Week: Comfort To Me by Amyl & The Sniffers (Punk/Rock)

My personal preference from this week is the rip-roaring sophomore album from Australia’s own Amyl & The Sniffers. Although I was already vaguely familiar with the band’s previous work, I was still not prepared for the full throttle, smashmouth, rifftastic contents of this utterly brilliant record. As a result, this one hit me like a lightning bolt, thanks to the furious energy of frontwoman Amy Taylor and the mind-melting guitar work throughout.

From the off, absolutely nothing is held back here, as Taylor’s punk vocals and razor-sharp lyrics hit you in the ear like haymakers. What’s most surprising though is how the shredding guitar riffs that are littered across this record manage to sound so astonishing and impressive, yet at the same time as if the band are not even trying at all. It’s completely hypnotising yet everything is made to sound so easy and natural thanks to the sheer rawness of the music.

This one also already plays out like a greatest hits record too, with Guided By Angels, Security, Hertz, Maggot and Capital five of the best pure punk rock tracks to emerge in the last five years. Concise, in-your-face and no moment spared, this is a rock record the kind of which rarely gets made anymore. Without a doubt, one of the best of the year for its genre.

Listen here

Hey What by Low (Experimental/Alternative)

They may be 13 albums and nearly 30 years into their career at this point, but American experimental rockers Low show no sign of slowing down at this point. Still relatively fresh off the back of their hugely acclaimed album Double Negative, which was widely seen as the Album of the Year in 2018, Low are back yet again with another sonic trip into the weird and wonderful.

Now I must admit although a lot of people adored Double Negative, I personally was always a bit indifferent towards it. I appreciated the sonic textures and the heartfelt moments, but it never completely resonated with me like I know it did for others – one that fell into the “easy to admire, hard to love” category. That is not the case with this new album however, as with Hey What they seem to have further refined what they started on that record, creating an album that’s just as impressive but possibly more accessible than its predecessor.

Opener White Horses picks up pretty much where they left off under a tidal wave of soaring vocals and stunning yet unsettling distortion. From there you’ll once again be checking your audio equipment hasn’t broken, as Low playfully mess around with musical conventions and gargantuan glitchy soundscapes to great effect. This also allows the slightly sparser tracks like All Night, Don’t Walk Away and particularly Days Like These, to emerge out of this masterfully produced cacophony as some of the most haunting and stirring moments.

They may not have won me over with the last one, but they certainly have now – an outstanding album that leaves a lasting impression.

Listen here

Star-crossed by Kacey Musgraves (Country/Pop)

Golden Hour was another hit with the critics in 2018 that, much like the Low album, didn’t quite capture me. But again, just like Low, I prefer this latest work from country-turned-pop singer, Kacey Musgraves. With Star-crossed, Musgraves aims to craft her own Shakespearean tragedy, with all the theatre and the drama that goes with it.

The title track opener perfectly sets the stage as the gentle plucking of the acoustic guitar is suddenly surrounded by soaring, multi-layered instrumentation. It is all hugely cinematic and from there on in, Musgraves weaves her tale of heartbreak with plenty of catchy hooks, polished production and solid, heartfelt songwriting. However, the best moments are arguably when Musgraves keeps it raw, such as on camera roll where she takes something as simple as finding old photos of a lost lover on a phone and relaying back to the listener the pain that moment can bring.

In a year that’s already seen some brilliant pop albums, Musgraves stakes her claim with a well-crafted record built on a tried and tested concept. It’s a successful outing with more than enough great tunes and interesting instrumentation (see the jazz flute on there is a light in particular) to keep you interested from beginning to end.

Listen here

Enjoy The View by We Were Promised Jetpacks (Alternative)

Scottish indie rockers We Were Promised Jetpacks also released their stunning fifth album this week. This one pulls at the heartstrings from the get-go as the gentle waltz of reflective opener that’s Not Me Anymore immediately locks you into the record and refuses to loosen its grip until the very last note. There’s plenty of spine-tingling moments throughout too, such as the melancholic riffs of All That Glittered, the haunting sparseness of What I Know Now and the uplifting melody of I Wish You Well.

Listen here

Back In Love City by The Vaccines (Indie)

A band well adept at writing killer hooks at this point, indie rockers The Vaccines have also returned with their fun fifth album this week. Not too much to say about this one other than if you are a fan of their previous efforts the chances are you’ll adore this one too, as their music continues to deliver big riffs and anthemic choruses aplenty, but with more refinement and polished craftmanship at this veteran stage in their career. Highlights include the ultra-catchy title-track and the galloping, Western-stylings of Paranormal Romance, which comes across a bit like their own version of Muse’s Knights of Cydonia.

Listen here

Mother by Cleo Sol (R&B/Soul)

Fresh off her high-profile collaborations with Little Simz and Sault, singer-songwriter Cleo Sol has once again stepped out on her own, this time exploring themes of motherhood. Gracious, compassionate and quite moving, it’s a stirring soul record where Cleo’s soft yet powerful vocals take centre stage against a backdrop of minimal instrumentation. If you need something peaceful and easy listening, you won’t go wrong with this one as Don’t Let Me Fall, Promises and We Need You offer up the most beautiful moments here.

Listen here

The Melodic Blue by Baby Keem (Hip Hop/Rap)

There is a lot of pressure that comes with being Kendrick Lamar’s cousin, however you wouldn’t know it listening to Baby Keem’s assured debut album. Although it is admittedly quite hit and miss (first two tracks trademark usa and pink panties ironically leave a lot to be desired), there are enough high points here to make this record worth your time. The collaborations with Kendrick (range brothers and family ties) both strike a chord while the Don Toliver (cocoa) and Travis Scott (durag activity) featuring tracks also dazzle. That said Keem is arguably at his best when he’s riding solo, such as on the heartfelt issues and the Kanye West Love Lockdown sampling, scars.

Listen here

I’ve Been Trying To Tell You by Saint Etienne (Ambient/Electronic)

Crafted over lockdown, this tenth studio album from the London trio is a gloriously understated dive into modern British history, 1997-2001 to be precise. By using evocative imagery and samples from the turn of the millennium, where R&B and bubblegum pop dominated the musical landscape, they have forged quite a dreamy ambient record. Wonderfully creative and a fairly chill listen, it’s a fascinating reflection on a time when the world seemed a lot less complex than it does today.

Listen here

The Blacklist by Metallica (Metal/Various)

And lastly on the albums front this week, I have been promoting the various Metallica covers released as part of the The Blacklist project for several weeks now, but now finally the full album has been revealed along with all the covers yet to be shared as individual releases.

At 53 songs long, the tribute to Metallica’s classic Black Album is certainly not one to run through in a single sitting, however there is plenty of fun covers here to dip into and explore. In case you haven’t seen, amongst those offering their own versions of these classic tracks are: Miley Cyrus & Elton John, Phoebe Bridgers, Dermot Kennedy, Weezer, Biffy Clyro, St. Vincent, Rina Sawayama, Sam Fender, Flatbush Zombies, Portugal The Man, IDLES, Cherry Glazerr and many, many more.

Listen here

Tracks of the Week

Beautiful James by Placebo

I’m also over the moon to say Placebo finally released their new single this week, their first since 2016’s Jesus’ Son. Beautiful James shows that Brian Molko and Stefan Olsdal haven’t missed a step in their five-year hiatus, with this one centred on a typically instant chorus and some neon-soaked synths. A big welcome back to one of my all-time favourites!

Listen here

I Don’t Live Here Anymore by The War On Drugs

Although the first single from their forthcoming new album may have been more understated than normal, on this title track Adam Granduciel & Co. return to the soaring stadium-sized rock for which they are known. Undoubtedly one of their finest tracks to date, you’ll want to stick this one on repeat just so you can keep getting lost in those wonderfully atmospheric guitar riffs.

Listen here

Arcadia by Lana Del Rey

And finally, Lana continues the build towards her second album of 2021, Blue Banisters, with this latest single seeing her on typically vintage form as the song sounds as if it was pulled from another time. With distant horns and a gentle piano, it’s as stunning as any of her best recent work.

Listen here

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uncloseted · 3 years

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i related to effy an unhealthy amount when i was only 13 when i first watched it, but at the time i wasnt doing drugs, homewrecking, doing anything that young lol. however i was extremely mentally ill but undiagnosed, and so confused but i found solace in effys character because of how similar i felt to her. flashforward to being 20 now and im a nic addict/borderline drug and alcohol addict that forgets to take my prescribed antidepressants and antipsychotics. i cant tell you how many events of effys life have mirrored mine now 7 years later, both the pretty but mostly the ugly. it all feels like a joke to me, and the thing is of course it wasnt effy the fictional character that did this to me, it was the fact that i was genetically and epically set up to do this to me for as long as i existed and i saw myself in her too young. everyone ive ever met and started to befriend has fallen in love with me, has found me beautiful, and then seen my flaws and hated me even if they didnt tell me to my face. ive been a horrible friend and partner and im flighty and unreliable and destructive. i never saw effy, or a person like effy, find a happy ending and im afraid even when im at my manic highs i will never find a lasting happiness and will always accidentally self sabotage until i die. what im trying to ask is, how can i save me? i know its dumb to ask a random tumblr user but ive been following this blog since i was 13-14 and since you know effy through and through, you might know a little about me. its a long shot. (i’d also like to say this isnt a cry for help and im safe/not actively suicidal so i dont want you to feel like theres any pressure like that, but i did use this ask box as a free therapy session.)

I'm a bit biased, but I don't think there's anything wrong with asking a random Tumblr user at all. I'm happy to be a free therapy session when you need one, and I'm really touched that you've trusted me with your thoughts and feelings for so long. Hopefully I've been some help over the years 😆

Coping with mental illness can be really, really hard, but the good news is that with the right tools and support system, you can absolutely recover. It sounds like you already have a psychiatrist in your life, which is a great start. If you've having trouble remembering to take your medication, it might help to set calendar reminders on your phone, set up text prompts to remind you to take your pills, to link taking your pills with something else you do every day (like brushing your teeth or eating breakfast), or to reward yourself for taking your medication (for example, putting a piece of candy in your pill box that you can eat after taking your pill).

If you don't have one already, a therapist might also be a good idea. It can take a while to find the right therapist for you, so schedule a few appointments and see which therapist you "click" with. A therapist can help you work through any reluctance you might have towards taking you medications, as well as helping you come up with day to day strategies that help you achieve your goals and helping you work through the beliefs that you hold about yourself and the world that may be holding you back.

Moving on to talking about addiction for a bit. I strongly believe that addiction doesn't come from some type of inherent lack of willpower or moral failing, or even really the drug itself. It's the need to escape reality. And that's actually supported by scientific literature; most famously, the Rat Park experiment by Bruce K Alexander. Practically, we've seen that same thing in the aftermath of Portugal's decision to decriminalize all drugs. They took the money they were using to keep drug users in prison, and instead invested that money into reconnecting people who struggle with addiction to society. Their goal was to make sure that every person who struggles with addiction has a reason to get up in the morning and has a support system within the wider society. And it actually worked- injection drug use is down 50%, overdoses and HIV infections have massively decreased, and rates of addiction decreased as well. It's much easier to quit when you have something motivating you to keep going.

Why am I telling you all of this? I guess what I'm trying to get at is in order to recover from addiction, I think first people need to understand what the reality is that they're trying to escape. What can be done about those issues? Who's in your corner trying to support you, even if they're not doing the best job at it? Where else can you get the social support you might need? What are you passionate about? What would make it feel worth it to get up in the morning? I think instead of focusing on the drugs, or the alcohol, or the cigarettes, maybe we should focus on solving the root problems that make those attractive options. That's one of the reasons a therapist is a really good idea; they can help you figure out what those root problems are, and provide resources and tools to help you fix those problems.

In terms of practical, do it yourself advice for dealing with addiction, there are a couple things you might try. I did a whole post on evidence-based ways to set goals and follow through on them here, so I won't rehash it in this post, but basically:

Try to set goals that are specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time bound. For you, this might be something like "My goal is to have only one drink a day (measurable and achievable) for week (time bound) so that I can be more reliable for my friends (relevant)".

Instead of trying to quit something, replace it with something else. For example, "when I feel like smoking, I'm going to do ten minutes of learning Korean instead". Learning something new is easier and more exciting, and so new habits are easier to maintain that breaking old ones. Find a new hobby that you've always wanted to do or that's exciting to you, and try to focus your energies on that to distract yourself.

Identify any obstacles (such as environmental triggers) that you might run into, and develop contingency plans for working around them. This might be something like, "when I drink coffee in the morning, I want to smoke, so I'm going to switch to tea instead." If you can, get rid of all environmental triggers that might remind you of your addiction or trigger a craving.

Get someone else involved. Tell a friend about your goal and have them check up on you. Your fear of disappointing them will help you stay on track.

Put money on the line. Give money to a friend with the understanding that you'll get it back at a set date if you've achieved the goal you set. Tell your friend that if you fail, they should donate the money to a group or cause you really hate.

Write down the reasons you want to quit, and put them somewhere you know you'll see them. Whenever you want to engage in an addiction behavior, read through that list first.

For bonus points, add to that list your contingency plan for when you want to engage in an addiction behavior. These may include ways to redirect your attention or distract yourself until the craving passes.

76% of people who wrote down their goals, actions and provided weekly progress to a friend successfully achieved their goals.

You might also try an addiction recovery app, such as these, or doing Cognitive Behavioral Therapy worksheets on your own if you can't access a therapist right now.

There are also some things you can try in order to improve your mood. As much as I hate that this is true, consistent exercise has a huge impact on mood. If you can, try taking a 20 minute walk outside, 3 times a week. Other (boring) things, like making sure you're getting 7-9 hours of sleep a night and eating regularly, can also make a big difference in mood. Some of you might know that I'm a little bit obsessed with the free Coursera class "The Science of Well-Being". It has a lot of great evidence-based tips and tricks for how to build happiness, and I highly recommend it if you're trying to live a happier life. These include things like journaling, meditating, noting things that you're grateful for, helping other people, and having regular social interactions.

Finally, a few philosophical thoughts. One of the Four Noble Truths in Buddhism is dukkha. Basically, this is the idea that suffering is an innate characteristic of existence in our world. When I was younger, I never liked this concept, but I think now I kind of get it. It's impossible to be happy 100% of the time, and that shouldn't be our goal. Suffering is the comparison by which our lives gain meaning. But we can do our best to minimize our suffering and the suffering of others, and ride the wave of suffering when it does come. And each time we ride that wave, we can learn techniques to manage it a little bit better, and to make it easier the next time. We will sometimes sabotage ourselves out of fear, but we can learn how to do it less frequently and for the consequences to be less dire. We can learn how to forgive ourselves for our flaws and what we've done in the past, and learn from those mistakes so we don't do them again in the future. It's also okay to backslide, to struggle even after you've made progress. You're never back where you started, because you've always learned more and experienced more.

I know I've thrown kind of a lot at you in this post, and I don't expect you to try all of it or for all of it to work, but hopefully something in there is helpful to you. You can get through this. You can save yourself, but please, also remember to let others help save you. You don't need to do this on your own. And just like I have been since you were 13, I'm always here to give a free therapy session and to lend my support ❤️❤️❤️

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fructuyeux · 3 years

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CANADA-20 (xxx) COVID-19

3/13/2020 - 3/22/2020

By: Rayce R. Rayos

This undertaking was planned as a daringly creative escape from mounting internally & externally placed workloads, & was slated to take place during the UNLV 2020 Spring Break. In concurrence with the vacation was the ever-increasing, ever-diversifying socioeconomic fallout, mandates, & obstacles associated with the first global pandemic that I have experienced in my lifetime. I��d be remiss to not admit that the cheapened airline, lodging, & transportation prices were viewed as a silver lining in an otherwise hysteric & strange time in human history. The following account of the trip is intended to recount the experiences & knowledge gained (from what is remembered), and aid in the recollection of the associated photo-documentation conducted during.

DAY 1 - 3/14 - 7.5 miles

The outgoing flight 1224 from McCarran International Airport to the eventual destination of Niagara Falls, New York was delayed, unbeknownst to me, & so the trip began with a frantic drive to the airport with a hastened goodbye to my roommate & lovely daughter (who wanted dearly to join her father in Canada). The flight was delayed by an hour, & I made it on the plane.

A quick stop in Denver, CO was followed by a landing in Fort Lauderdale, FL. Upon landing, the Spirit Airlines attendant notified me that my flight to Niagara Falls had already left (to the complete fault of their flight coordination), & that I’d have to spend the night & following day in Broward County, 15 miles North of Miami. I was frazzled & upset to have started my trip with such a complication, but after the airline was able to change my ticket free of charge, I decided to extend my trip an extra day. So, I asked them to book my returning flight for a day later (3/20 → 3/21), to which they agreed to do for free, utilizing a COVID-19 flight disruption program. I booked a room at the Vacation Inn in the middle of the night, & recalibrated my trip schedule.

The following morning was a beautiful sunny day in South Florida, & after resting my luggage at the motel for the day (for a fee), I skateboarded to SE 17th Street, hung a right, & breezed through a few miles of million-dollar homes & yachts, over the Causeway Bridge, to what would eventually become Fort Lauderdale Beach Park. Full of families & largely free of fear, the beach was warm, sunlit, & vivacious. The locals were out in near-full effect, & I spent the entire day with the rays on my back, the water at my waist, & a respite of relaxation before ensuing madness. I even struck up a conversation with some fellow beachgoers as a result of my Kobe Bryant tattoo, & learned a good deal about quotidian life down there. I got a workout in on the beach equipment, & some peaceful serenity as I stared down the horizon beyond the Atlantic. I returned to my motel to acquire my bags & make my way to the airport en route to New York… Little did I know that a bar, Bimini Bay to be exact, neighbored my motel. I found myself entrenched in an environment eerily similar to that of the Huntridge Tavern, although this spot was half the size with raunchy anal porn playing on multiple screens throughout all of the 5 walls. Throwing brews back & chain-smoking with the locals to country music was a familiar feeling, & instilled in me further the universal nature of letting loose. That being said, I lost track of time & had to hightail it out of there via a gentleman’s Uber to the airport. Another flight ran after & barely boarded in the nick of time… My time in South Florida was as serendipitous as flight disruptions can be. The most lingering aspect of my time spent there was, indubitably, the sunburn that would come to stick with/on me for the remainder of the vacation. Perhaps the worst case of the sun’s kiss I’ve come to bare. Before fully coming to this realization, I’m on a plane to New York.

DAY 2 - 3/15 - 10.47 miles

Upon being alive on arrival in New York state at 2 AM in the morning, I resolved to sleep in the IAG airport for the night, especially considering my phone charger at the time had been severely out of whack. There I lay, curled on an airport bench in Niagara Falls for the night with blistering skin & a scent of fresh tobacco smoke (& ass). I distinctly recall wrestling with the time I should render myself awake, eventually settling upon 9:30 AM. It was at this time that I found myself the only visible individual in the airport terminal; no staff, no bags, no patrons, nothing. The unexpected isolation harkened memories of the film 28 Days Later. Once the drool was free from my chin, I hailed a Lyft to the American-Canadian border, specifically the entrance to the Rainbow Bridge; it was along this ride that my driver informed me that the American dollar was fairly strong against the Canadian dollar to the tune of 1 USD = 1.33 CAD (roughly). This would come to be an extremely welcomed caveat to the remainder of the trip, as most every purchase converted to about 75% of all prices quoted in Canada.

When the border was reached, there I stood as a man with his spirit & belongings intact, & began my trek over the bridge to a foreign land. With frequent pause, the majesty of the falling water on a brisk Spring day will play in my mind for years to come. Pictures were taken, deep thought was attempted, & it was a stark moment of gratefulness for the life I have been given. Next was passing through Canadian Customs at the north end of the bridge, & after being grilled for a moment as to my intentions for entering, the officer pointed me in the direction of the bus stop from which my Greyhound was leaving in less than an hour. From the Rainbow Bridge to the Whistleblower bridge 2.5 miles north, I was blessed with a walk of forced clarity as I hugged Niagara’s riverway with 75+ pounds of much needed possessions. I found myself doubting my ability to invite others with me on trips in the future out of a fear for unintentionally inflicting similar tasks upon them. Nevertheless, I made it to my Greyhound in time and rested on the ride to Toronto.

The recuperation was much needed. When I awoke I found myself in Canada’s largest city (& the 9th-largest in North America), Toronto, Ontario. Excitement coursed through my capillaries & once departing from the bus on foot, it was straight to my ‘Chinatown Guest House’ to set down my things & get on the go… this was not the case. A whole fiasco followed where I was unable to contact the host, thereby unable to access the place I had paid to stay for the night (& the night before, despite Spirit having different plans on DAY 1). The first two Torontonian hours were spent in a Chinatown chicken spot (Gdou’s) where I struggled to gain the cellular abilities necessary to overcome this debacle; I bought a new charger & charger port at the market center across Spadina. I grappled with frustration in a very real sense, but was utterly appeased to find that I had been sent an email containing the entry instructions from Booking.com. Relief rushed over me. I grabbed my bags, & hunkered down in a room with a wooden balcony & stunning view of Downtown Toronto to boot. I showered, shat, & escaped into the city heading South on Spadina. A brief stop at the famed ‘Graffiti Alley’ along with a trip to the marijuana grocer located me in the heart of the Fashion District, a sector largely reminiscent of Williamsburg, BK (as hip, although much smaller). After a lovely skate to the harbourfront I was able to catch the sun set behind a vast array of monolithic condos & headquarters. The sun was able to get quite low, however, after having nestled between two skyscrapers, & that shared scene on the pier between myself & just a handful of individuals was quite a sight. Heading south afterwards, I rolled by the Toronto Music Gardens, through Coronation Park, & through a series of railway tracks amidst arenas (BMO Arena), Centennial Park, Lakeshore Boulevard, & an array educational campuses. Once Dufferin Street was reached, I headed toward Little Portugal. On the way there I stopped short (per the advice of a local) & turned north up King Street. Halfway home I stopped at the restaurant Thai Place Too & enjoyed some steaming seafood Tom Yum fit with stimulating conversation from the waitress. I paid my bill, thanked those there, & pushed onward on King Street traversing a barrage of tunnels, city folk, & shopping centers. At this juncture I recall being bummed by the lack of nighttime activities, & decided to stop at a bar near my place for the night called Wide Open.

What was to begin & end as a night of the all-evasive ‘one brew’ quickly accelerated into a merry time of mutual drunkenness & fun. A couple dental hygienists befriended me at the bar, & not far to follow were a West Indian techy working for Google & an Irishwoman on her way out of town. My memories of what exactly transpired are quite shaky, but an unflinching enjoyment of that particular night at the bar lasts. I got home at an ungodly hour & crash-land in my bed.

DAY 3 - 3/16 - 7.53 miles

Similar to popping out of bed due to a frightening nightmare, “Where’s my fucking board?!” was the thought & simultaneous phrase that opened my eyes that morning. I was still drunk, so a hangover wasn’t an issue, but discovered a damn large lump on my right posterior parietal bone & a pool of blood in the sheets where I slumbered. I racked what was left of my brain as to where/how/why this injury came to be sustained, but to no avail. In hindsight, it’s consistent with braceless backwards fall, & vaguely recall attempting to ride my skateboard back home equipped with a BAC of full-blown ‘no bueno’. Nevertheless, the pain wasn’t of serious concern (although I had plenty of time to reflect on the very real possibility of me now having to operate in a concussed state). What was of concern was my skateboard, my iPod, & my eighth of weed that I had yet to dip into. I began retracing my steps and was welcomed with open arms by my beautiful black, four-wheeled bride waiting for me at the front doorstep- Check 1. I scooped up my board, got dressed & readied for the (likely music-less) day ahead, had a solid conversation with my father, & cleared my stuff from the house just in time to be 4 hours late for checkout.

In one of the more daring tactics employed on the trip, I stashed my big purple duffle bag (containing clothes & other non-essentials) & my backpack (containing my laptop, passport & other very-essentials) in the empty garbage bin to the side of the front door. This was a huge gamble, & one that would weigh somewhat on my conscience for the coming hours, despite heavy medication- re-upped on weed, Check 2. During my second trip to Graffiti Alley I encountered a bum in mid-tweak repeatedly pulling his pants up & down amidst a backdrop of beautiful art, & naturally this struck me as microcosmic of the whole of Toronto. The bar I had chanced upon the night prior didn’t resume service until 4 in the evening, & so I had a few hours to kill which were spent speaking with various loved ones & contemplating last night’s events as I bobbed & weaved a hangover. 4 o’clock rolls around & I walk into the bar greeted by a smiling bartender with an unclaimed red iPod. THIS WAS A PERSONAL WIN OF GREAT PROPORTIONS, & solidified my successful navigation through mindless debauchery abroad- Check 3. I felt the proverbial wind was once again behind my back, & opted to knock out the city’s landmarks North of Spadina Avenue, largely via Adelaide & King Streets until Yonge.

Post-modern magnificence a la architecture kept my chin up as I managed to dodge pedestrian after pothole after Porsche. Sundown was not far off & the gleaming beams reflected softly off the mirrored panels some seventy-five plus stories on all sides. A real embodiment of the term ‘hustle & bustle’ was laid out in front of me, complete with a citizenry whose diversity mimicked that of my own home a world away. The gritty attitude that I’ve come to associate with East coast cities (specifically the colder ones) was alive & well here, evidenced in reluctance to help guide tourists or even tell the time of day. I loved it, & judged it as genuine more so than anything else. It should also be noted that the music playing in my ears throughout my time in the ‘Six’ was exclusive to the stylings of Drake, a rapper native of the city with references to its contents (streets, sides of town where the pretty girls sleep, subpopulations, parks, etc.) found abundantly in his lyrics.

When Yonge was reached, I peered west to a ton of things going on, but elected to go east. This turned out to be a wise decision. After a few blocks I was greeted by the area of town most closely associated with the Toronto skyline & its historical foundations on the illustrious Front Street. Here is where I stood mouth agape with the enormity & incomprehensible complexity of the city on full view. I touched the base of the CN tower & spent a good amount of time in awe as it registered (despite the Stratosphere being superior in my eyes), traversed the Railway museum set just outside of Olympic Park, gazed upon the Rogers Center where the Blue Jays come to bat, & ended at the water of Lake Ontario at the sandy Harbour Square Park where some solid skating took place. After some time, the thought of my possessions having lasted (or not) in the trash receptacle all this time prompted me to retrieve them, & so back to Chinatown I booked it. The moment of truth arrived when I got off my board at 83 W. Sullivan Street, & lo & behold, my stuff was nestled just as I had left it some 5 hours before. Feeling giddy from the travel-savvy risks taken, I was on to grab dinner with an old colleague of mine who happened to be doing her post-baccalaureate studies there. T. & I, a former classmate at Valley High, met at what we would come to find as nothing more than another closed restaurant with a COVID-19 newsletter plastered on the door. We deliberated playfully on what we should now do, & after having happened upon the ‘T O R O N T O’ sign & all of its illuminated glory, a 6-pack of Stella Artois from the rather hidden LCBO in the mega-commercial Eaton Center became the night’s main entree. Polite exchanges with exceedingly conversational locals made for a nice segue as we awaited our second Lyft ride to the Harbourfront.

The Harbourfront Centre was largely uncrowded as temperatures dipped below zero (Celsius, of course), & after a brew-cigarette combo, it was in an instance that snow began falling from the blackened sky & onto everything in sight… including our unsheltered selves. It was as surprising as it was splendid (at least for a desert cactus like me) to have been outdoors somewhere prior to snowfall & then to behold its beginning. A few days prior, I had been notified that the ski lift an hour North of Ottawa whose mountain I intended to shred had been closed, & so, I found myself with a decision to make: stay in the Toronto area an extra night or board the bus I had booked & crashing in a twin-sized bus seat for the night & do who knows what in Ottawa… Motivated by the phrase, “What the hell are you going to do in Ottawa?” I chose the former & began searching for a nearby hotel room. My homegirl, sitting beside me, of course overheard, & more-than-kindly offered a guest room in her condo as a suitable place to rest my head for the evening. I accepted, & we whisked ourselves out of the snow to a 12th-story condo in the 95+% Chinese suburb of Markham, ON. An once-schoolmate was changed into a dear friend after having exhibited flawless hospitality in the form of whiskey, toast, toothpaste, a bed & sublime conversation. We jabbed & joked in Francais (with hers being superior to my own), & this was a much-needed introduction to everyday dialogue in the different tongue of the Quebecois whom I would spend most of the days to follow with.

DAY 4 - 3/17 - 4.38 miles

I awoke early in the morning after not being able to sleep too much due to my skin’s incessant irritation, as well as a pseudo-insomnia I’ve come to expect from myself when on vacation. To fill the time between my awakening & my host’s, I read as much of The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz as I could retain, ending with the last chapter left unread. As a result, the mantras prompted by the book that one is to agree with from within his/herself resonated with me. They are ‘be impeccable with your word,’ ‘don’t take anything personally,’ ‘don’t make any assumptions,’ & ‘always do your best.’ Fondly, I looked to these statements as a source of my second wind around this time, as the physical toll of my endeavors began somewhat to present themselves.

When T awoke, we engaged in parley for another hour or so before trudging to the neighborhood bus/rail station where she purchased my ticket & we ran goofily to make the train before the doors swiftly shut. During the train ride back to Downtown Toronto I was able to sit quietly in my thoughts, as well as get some business dealings out of the way via phone. The walls flanking the tracks were riddled in graffiti of both very high- & very low-quality pieces on fleeting displays. We were headed to Union Station, the hub for all non-automobile commutes in the metropolitan area, & second-largest transportation facility in North America, servicing some seventy-two million humans yearly. A stunning structure of Greco-Roman design with pristine pillars, it was a treat to walk the halls of such an obviously integral establishment. Soon we said our brief farewell & parted ways so that she could go to school & I could purchase a rail ticket to Ottawa, ON- set to leave later in the day.

I purchased my rail ticket to Ottawa for 6:30 PM & stashed my luggage at the bagging station inside the terminal, leaving me with 3 ½ hours to get the last of my rocks off in a city unique to itself. I went straight for Yonge-Dundas square after having caught a glimpse of the scene days prior, & once in the center I felt a likening to Times Square, both personally & perceivably. There was no better wayward idea at the time than to bust off some skate tricks in the center of such commotion, & was able to have a solid 15-20 minutes on the board before security (much like their American counterparts) gave me the good ol’ boot. Onto St. Lawrence Market I dashed, the bayside market most closely associated with Canadian grub. Here I tried peameal for the first time, & was left affirmed of Canadian courtesy, although the meal itself wasn’t anything to write home about. Yet another stop at Tim Horton’s for some pastries seemed in order before heading back to Union Station. Back at the staging port for my bus it was revealed to passengers that there was a 50-minute delay- just the break I needed to step out & smoke a potent bowl. When I did finally step outside after a few lefts & maybe a right, there in front of me stood the Scotiabank Arena where the Toronto Raptors (reigning NBA Champions) play their home games. To be frank, I was at the rear of the practice court, but nevertheless, happy to happen to be there. The train boards, takes off, & a long list of Canadian towns were slept through & bypassed in the dead of night. I hailed a lift from the Ottawa Train Station to my hostel for the night. The place served as the first jail in city, & had since been neatly converted into a hostel with guests sleeping in tight-fitting ‘jail cells.’ I was on floor 6 in cell number 613, the quarters of a long-gone inmate by the name of Angelo Villamino. I relished this opportunity to mix the excitement of historicism with the usually lull nature of lodging. The rest itself was subpar as my skin had begun peeling profusely during the day, & remained red hot during the night.

DAY 5 - 3/18 - 16.24 miles

Morning comes quickly & I am tasked to clear my cell of my things in a playful return to freedom. Breakfast was held in the dining hall of the jailhouse, aptly ascribed the ‘oldest dining hall in Ottawa.’ After replenishing my body, I held my bags at the front desk, & hurled myself into the city; I had a little over one hour to squeeze as much of the country’s capital into my memory banks as possible. I began by searching for the Parliament building (more like a castle) where the bulk of legislation for the world’s second-largest country (in landmass) largely transpires. No Prime Minister Trudeau or politicians in sight, as the effects of the Coronavirus pandemic amplified by the day. I believe this is the day that the Prime Minister of Canada closed the southern border to incoming Americans, followed swiftly by our President’s mutual refusal of incoming foreign travelers at the border. Admittedly, this was not of concern to me, as I figured (& thankfully was later proven correct) that a U.S. citizen would be permitted to come home. In hindsight, I perhaps predicted such measures being taken & allowed them to expedite my plans of getting to Canada before being unable to enter as an American.

Anyway… by Parliament I glided taking whatever pauses necessary to piece together how things came to be as they are up there from an academic perspective, but carefully preserving the right to take the utmost tourist-y photos (much like others do at 1600 Pennsylvania). A breathtaking building it was indeed, & that was just the view from the street! I continued along my path, circumnavigating the center of the city which took me to Victoria Island & into the province of Quebec for a brief moment (although I was not aware of the provincial border at the time). Like my time in Niagara, I elected to skate from a southern bridge to a northern one, the latter being Alexandra bridge over the Ottawa River. What a special moment this turned out to be as my wheels clanked over the wooden boards of the bridge, seemingly to the dismay of the townspeople. I was not the least bit concerned for this harmless transgression, as I had been otherwise captivated by my backside view of Parliament sitting atop its hill. It felt as if I had been transported to Transylvania, & the Victorian edifice gave me a sense of passion for human ingenuity. I made it back to the HI Ottawa Jail Hostel, aligned my belongings, & requested a ride to the Ottawa Greyhound terminal to catch my bus to Montreal. Here is precisely where Francais surpassed English as the primary mode of communication for the foreseeable future. The beloved Quebecois are very proud of their Francophone heritage, as it is the written language on road signs & nearly all signage everywhere (with a distinctive lower regard for English).

Arrival in Montreal occurred after the couple-hour bus ride. Immediately I was made aware of the foothold in normalcy that the French language commanded there, mainly because everything was in French (& not always in English). Outside the bus station, during my coordination with my Airbnb host, multiple homeless individuals approached me in search of loose change or a cigarette. This would be otherwise unworthy of mention had it not been for their guttural requests being in a language outside of English; I remember finding it striking to conceive a natively French-speaking bum whose domain I was now a guest in. My stuff & I made yet another march to the place I would come to call a temporary home- the apartment of Alix & Marion. I was mid-toke when my host, Alix, motioned to me to come to the stairs at the foot of the door & take my entry. A simple ‘bonjour,’ we greeted each other with, & I demonstrated to her that I would prefer to speak in her primary language in an effort to sharpen my own ear & mouth, to which she gladly agreed. The remainder of our exchanges over roughly the next 48 hours took place in Francais, with varying degrees of contextual & vernacular depth. The common Montrealaise person is a French-speaker with a veritable accent when they switch to English. As the old addage goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. I met this challenge to navigate a new cityscape & probe its peoples in an embracing way with occasional angst, constant excitement, & most profoundly with a thirst for knowledge.

My goods were locked away in my room, I had just showered, so I grabbed my board & set sail in search of the city’s lifebloods. Beginning in Chinatown (which usually tends to be either exactly or nearby places I stay in cities), I opted to head west in search of Le Plateau & Mile’s End, sections of the town celebrated for the globality & execution of their cuisinieres. Some poutine boeuf hache from Main Deli on Rue Ste. Laurent seemed the right call, & turned out better than my imagination had guessed. From Mile’s End southward I was bound, seeking to lay eyes upon L’Universite de Montreal. Little did I know it was set atop one of the many tiers of Mt. Royal at the city’s center. Getting there was rather trying, but the views of Quebec’s largest city at night from the campus, coupled with the exhilaration of board-bombing down the occasional hill, left little to be desired & much to be remembered. Further south of the University lied L’Oratoire de St. Joseph (St. Joseph’s Oratory), a Catholic-driven destination featuring towering stained-glass windows, a gathering hall for services that rivaled the most Mormon of Tabernacles, along with a balcony’s viewpoint all its own. After struggling to find the exit from the Oratory, I found it in my best interest to begin the journey back to my bed. A complete encircling of Mt. Royal park was supposed to cap the day’s adventure as night had already befallen hours before. Perhaps fate had other plans in mind.

My phone had been rendered useless at this point, & I had little more than my intelligence to rely on to get me back home. Unfortunately, my mental capacity had waned significantly over the course of the day’s doings, & over the next 2 or 3 hours I could be plainly seen wandering somewhat aimlessly from roadside map to roadside map. The outcome of being well off-track was spectacular, however. I cannot help but feel I got to experience the city in a different & daring light. Half of me wanted to return home, & the other half wanted to investigate each eye-catching facet; more often than not, I let the need to investigate prevail & tacked some formidable mileage onto the invisible odometer of my skateboard throughout the night. After some much-needed guidance from a man walking & a bus driver, I was able to piece together just enough of my surroundings to locate 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth. Before heading home, I stopped into an Indian restaurant called SpiceBoys, where I requested tandoori chicken with curry rolled into naan bread. The only problem was that their card terminal was unable to accept any of my debit or credit cards, & so, with one stroke of effortless Indian-Canadian kindness, I was gifted a hearty dinner for the night free of charge. With the help of daylight, the next day I uncovered that I had thoroughly explored Downtown Montreal (via Rue Ste. Catherine), the Red-Light District, the Quartier Latin (Latin Quarter), & the Quartier des Spectacles (Entertainment District). I crept back into the apartment, which creaked with every floorboard, into my room & resigned to fatigue.

DAY 6 - 3/19 - 8.64 miles

I remained asleep in my quarters for the morning’s entirety, having groveled thirteen hours through the mandatory regeneration of my body & mind. Near this time I had an extended conversation with my hostess in which I requested to place my bags there after check-out the following day & attached reasoning to the request… completely in Francais! She was more than accommodating. Awakened & thoughts of the night prior still scrambling my brain, I showered (peeling skin off myself for the vast majority of time in the water), clothed myself in some hot shit, & set out to cross the St. Lawrence River. The cartographic struggles that were now in the past (plus a charged phone) helped me immensely in getting to my desired destinations in the coming days. I set out southward on Boulevard Rene-Levesque seeking to hit Griffintown & St. Henri before taking the Wellington Street bridge over to the L’isle de Ste. Helene (St. Helen Island). The riverfront at Sq. St. Patrick was an intoxicating mixture of sights & sounds; inlaid with a frozen stream, industrious (sometimes abandoned) infrastructure, & graffiti/street art that seamlessly colorized a scene already full of vibrance made for a quite memorable portion. At the point where most individuals had turned back due to the icy paths & an increasingly disinviting ambience, I progressed under Highway 10. On a route I was positive few or none had taken before, I stood roadside at dusk having to think intensely upon my next move & if it was the correct one. Wrong ones were made, gloves were dropped, but in time & effort I was able to find Avenue Pierre-Dupuy.

For a handful of kilometers, I skated along the shipyard gazing upon the city that I had been so immersed in & with. I was trying to practice kicking & pushing in the ‘goofy’ stance, so that I could face the spectacles & not apartment complexes (to mild avail). Before I knew it, I reached Parc Dieppe (Dieppe Park), a park on the north tip of the Cite du Havre & the starting point of the Pont de la Concorde (Concord Bridge). I would begin crossing without giving myself the time to let fear fester. Cars sped by at a half-meter’s length as my wheels rolled over tidbits of gravel, & more present in my mind, over a large body of water. I recall taking a few moments of pause at the bridge’s midpoint to survey my surroundings, & beautifully dominating they were. Humbled I felt, truly. As if my existence equated to a ripple in the river below, & with my individual ripple I can become a hurricane, or mud. The end of the bridge was a comforting sight.

To reach L’isle de Ste. Helene was the goal for the day & having gotten off the east end of the Pont de la Concorde, I was finally there. A long walk up the eastern coast of the island awaited me & was met with a heart teeming with adventure. Here I had time alone. With no other humans nearby, I let my mind run wild with thoughts of the trip to this point & how, in the grand scheme of things, I felt I was at where I should be; perhaps not geographically as one’s physical station is usually inconsequential. But in my mental state I was home, & home alone at that. Onward & northward I strode through the Parc Jean-Drapeau, laying eyes upon the ‘Biosphere’- a spherical structure on the island meant to champion ecology. Trees & ice accompanied me on the brisk walk to the north end of the island. There, Pont Jacques-Cartier (Jacques Cartier Bridge) awaited me in all of its steel beam splendor. Thankfully, the lanes of traffic & the pedestrian walkway had a divider between them, as well as a protective gate on the side where one might otherwise go overboard. This was all I needed to hop back on my board & skate my weathered boots over the St. Lawrence for the last time. On the bridge there were workers toiling away & the dazzling light sequence of the bridge itself made for a surreal experience. In the distance I could see the bridge, lit in rainbow colors, that I had crossed merely an hour or two before this new bridge that served as my current vantage point. Thoughts on the ephemerality of my existence at large (exemplified by having been way over yonder ‘then’ & here ‘now’) & the absolute need for self-belief against a vacuum of chance pervaded my tiny brain. The Pont Jacques-Cartier provided a special moment in my life that I can attest to having been rarely duplicated before. For reasons beyond me, I shed a tear & smoked a bowl before getting off.

Once off, I felt my way through Gay Village & back down into the Quartier Latin where I stopped for dinner at a quaint, but busy, Napoli Pizzeria. The owner was Italian. The waiter too. Both spoke Italian, English, & French, but after a while a Mexican family of 6 on vacation from Monterrey was seated, & the working duo displayed their aptitude in the Spanish language as well, going so far as to tell jokes anecdotally. I grinned & shared in the aura of the exchange, although I likely resembled a dirty drifter in the corner. Coming from such worldly humans, naturally the smoked salmon pizza topped with capers & onions was not lacking in the least bit. So, I ordered a large box for take-out after munching away the smaller portion & took my leave. On the way home, I stopped at a Second Cup Coffee Co. location & had a brief verbal volley with the barista in request of a cheesecake. He complimented my accent when speaking French, & even likened it to that of a French person (maybe meaning not Quebecois), despite glaring difficulties in my comprehension & rebuttals. Riding an emotional (& literal) high during the descent of a simply remarkable day of jam-packed novelty & sensation in all forms (sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, introspection), I returned to the apartment for my last full night in the region.

DAY 7 - 3/20 - 2.42 miles

My time in Montreal was now nearing an end, & I began to hold thoughts of coming home in high regard. When the sluggishness of sleep washed away in the shower (insert skin peeling of the largest proportions here), I readied my luggage & cleaned my temporary room as best as I could to eliminate all signs of a horrific sunburn & accompanying cranial gash. With the green light from my hostesses to store my luggage in the apartment until the night’s 10:50 bus ride to Plattsburgh, NY, I was intent upon checking off the last few Montreal-bound goals that remained. This came chiefly in the form of a desire to reach the Mt. Royal lookout in order to take in the city-sphere from its namesake mountain. Originally, I had intended to skateboard there from the apartment, but after a few blocks of dousing rain, I called an Uber to scoop me up (after finding out that Lyft doesn’t yet operate in Quebec) & take me. The friendly Uber driver, Vincent, let me out at the drivable point closest to the Chateau Mont Royal, & didn’t hesitate to call me crazy for being there in such ferocious conditions. He pointed me in the proper direction which was aided by a fellow human headed toward the same spot as myself. Precipitation worsened as the half-mile March was underway, but it was worth every goosebump & raindrop once I reached the outlook.

A dreary backdrop of low-hanging, gray clouds & the smell of rain caressed the skyline’s perimeter in a way that rang true & imprinted upon me a stunningly naked Montreal. An intimate version of the city it was, gripped by the unknown like the rest of the world, yet resilient enough for entrepreneurialism to survive in pockets. Having already been to many of the places now set in my sight made the moment all the more fulfilling & full circle. A naive feeling of having ‘conquered’ the city laid bare before me was soon supplanted by the revelation of the realer self-conquest. Half-frozen water panging my face & wind gusts pulling & pushing without cease proved no match for the firmness I had found, in feet & fortitude. This was the quintessential culmination of the week I endured, & one one-hundred percent befitting of such a voyage.

I made my escape of Mount Royal with haste before my inadequate (but stylish) clothing proved a fatal error. Originally, I had the notion to return to Main Deli because my last meal there was so damn good, but in the moment I opted for Schwartz’s Deli across the street in the name of variety. A heaping steak sandwich slatted between two tiny slices of wheat with mustard proved to be the house specialty, & was served less than a minute after being ordered… It was alright. Homeward bound with a full stomach, I decided to walk into a store that I had held in the back of my mind after passing by my first day there, Cul-de-Sac. This place was happening! The owner of the store was gracious in her conversation as I browsed. I eventually confessed my inspiration(s) gained from her shop (& plans to recreate in a respectful, homage-paying manner). We spoke at length about various topics, from our being of parents, to our being of owners of similar retail operations, to her allegiance to Quebec & not the whole of Canada. In fact, she was the foremost messenger of the separatist mentality that the people of the Quebec province displayed, on their countenance & in their conduct. I purchased a few of the items in her shop, she threw me some good stuff for free, & we wished well upon each other at my exit. That was the last recreational stop in Montreal, & soon thereafter I retreated to the Quartier des Spectacles to acquire my things. I was graced with the time to charge my phone & rest my bones for about 45 minutes. It was during this time that a cherished exchange between myself, Alix, & Marion (a hostess with whom I’d only spoken with via Airbnb messaging up to this point) occurred. It had become expected that I was asked what I did with my day, & that is how the chat began. I explained the day’s travels, thanked the duo for being a source of comfort & ease at the beginnings & ends of trying days. I also thanked them for putting up with my butchering of their language (as each inhabitant of the apartment was from France) for the sake of practice, which they met befuddled & were quick to praise my ability to communicate/intonate in their complicated speech. They even went so far as to say that my speaking has a native’s accent & were super appreciative of my having taught myself over the last couple years. A mutual encounter I cannot help but feel it was, & I remain grateful for their pleasant & inviting demeanors. I climbed down the long stairwell of 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth once & for all & signaled for Uber to take me to the Longueil Metro.

I had arrived at the bus station with plenty of time to spare, having somewhat learned the errors of my ways. I was serious about not wanting to cut anything close with such little time left for my returning flight home. I waited patiently at my gate for my bus to arrive & whisk me away back to the states for my 2:59 AM flight out of Plattsburgh, New York (Upstate). Sadly, the bus’s arrival time came & went, & at the mention of the ticketing booth agent, I waited another 45 minutes for it. Having received no notification of cancellation from the bussing company, no accurate updates on the whereabouts of the bus, & minute after minute shaving away from takeoff time, I was forced to call an Uber to pick me up from the metro station & take me to the border- this cost one-hundred Canadian dollars. We stopped at an ATM, grabbed some snacks, & finally Ridaha & I were on our way. A fruitful & insightful chat aided us along the drive, & I was able to disentangle much French from this nice Tunisian man. An hour passed & we arrived at the U.S. border.

As the car pulled up to the border, U.S. Customs agents ordered repeatedly for my driver’s documentation. A brief argument between an unsuspecting Ridaha & an extremely serious officer took place. The very odd circumstances were eventually explained, Ridaha was directed to make a U-turn & head home while I exited the vehicle, grabbed my bags, & headed to the border patrol substation. It was there that I was informed that I would need to call a cab (as Uber wasn’t functioning in this particular location), but to complicate matters drastically, the taxi services weren’t doing the ‘border run’ that night. My heart fell into my stomach, & I had entered a phase of worry that I had yet to reach at any point along the trip. Thankfully, one Officer Burdette walked me to the West Service Road behind the U.S. Border Patrol & Customs Champlain Station & pointed in the direction of the nearest place still open- a Peterbilt truck stop about a half mile down a pitch-black road. He also made it a point to mention that if I attempted to hitchhike on main Highway 87, I would be arrested. This oh so tangible road brought with it intangible emotion after emotion as I grappled with triumph & failure, each still hanging in the balance. It had become very important outside of my own ambitions for me to make the plane & get home, & I was purely keen to not have loved ones worry about my wellbeing any longer. A frantic mixture of skating & speed-walking got me to the Peterbilt stop, & by the grace of God, the taxi company agreed to send out a driver for me & get me to the airport from this largely equidistant pick-up point. While I waited in freezing temperatures in an Eddie Bauer peacoat on the side of the road at the smallest hour, another group of U.S. Customs agents spotted me & sought to question my being there. They asked for identification & reasoning to which I was forthcoming. They wished me well & left.

Thirty minutes later, a portly man of sound intelligence & world view taxied me to the Plattsburgh International Airport (after having stopped at an ATM for cash to pay him). I entered the empty airport at 2:30 AM for my 2:59 AM flight with the driver’s assurance that I’ll be able to get right through TSA & onto the plane. More than sadly, he was mistaken. The Spirit Airlines attendant had vacated his post thirty minutes before takeoff to aid the onboarding crew, as per policy, of course. I rushed up to the barren TSA line & inquired about my chances of getting on the plane. They responded that the flight door had already been closed, & that it was now an impossibility for me to board. Needless to say, it was now impossible for me to get home on time, too. I felt I had fallen just short of a buzzer-beating victory that I had already affirmed to those who had expressed concern. I had begun to list the many variables that could have gone differently to get me on to that flight: 1) why didn’t my bus in Longueil show up or even notify me of cancellation? 2) why didn’t I deem the bus ride a lost cause sooner & get an Uber sooner? 3) why did we have to stop at an ATM so off-route when leaving Montreal? 4) Couldn’t they have held me & my driver up a bit less at the border? 5) Why couldn’t the taxi agency send someone a half-mile further than where they would eventually come to pick me up? 6) Why did this portly man with a good view of the world have to drive the speed limit? Would he have driven faster if I didn’t entertain his subjects? 7) Why the fuck does the agent at the airline counter leave the counter thirty minutes before a flight is scheduled to take off?

When the airline attendant did return, he was sympathetic to my cause & willing to help find a solution. Employing a similar program to the one used at the beginning of the trip, he was able to book the exact flight for the following day free of charge. This eased me greatly. Questions & doubt lingered, but I soon picked my chin up & hopped in another cab headed for the America’s Best Value Inn. This would be my impromptu safe haven on this frigid Friday night, & I checked in at 3:30 AM.

DAY 8 - 3/21 - 0 miles

Today is my sister’s & my aunt’s shared birthday. I wished dearly to be home by now next to my daughter, & to begin decompressing the week’s peaks & valleys. Yet, here I sit in the lobby of the cheap motel I spent last night in. I’ve been in the same chair since 1:15 PM, & it is now 12:49 AM (with the exception of a few bathroom/water breaks & a brief standing up to accept ordered wings & garlic bread). This unexpected & obligation-less window in time was spent formulating this transcript of a vacation I can confidently say will come to prove formative as life presses on. One not soon to be forgotten, nor the lessons gained therein forsaken. My flight to Las Vegas via Fort Lauderdale, Florida & Dallas, Texas is due to leave in a couple hours. With my lack of punctuality deeply ingrained, I resolve to close this memoir in saying that the constant struggle with mortality across Earth & in minds amidst these troubling waters was on full display in every city & each individual’s expression. Death and Disease on the tongues of the media & man the world over, but life itself (outside of the biological & inside of the metaphorical sense) is to be explored & discovered lovingly… never to be shied away from or merely sustained. With our collectively restricted circumstances reaching a fever pitch in what people can & cannot, should & should not, will & will not do, I resolve to digress & remain profoundly thankful for love, safety, health & home.

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disaster-fruit · 4 years

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@portu-cale I had to delete the post with your ask bc it was huge and for some reason the “read more” wasnt working!

portu-cale-main asked:

“could you expand on pindorama? and maybe her relationship with brazil? i’m really intrigued by the character :o (but only if you want to ofc!!)”

alrightt, I’m gonna admit I’ve been VERY reluctant about taking about pindorama, for a few reasons, but mostly because it’s really hard to find trustworthy information that isn’t playing into the colonialist narrative that is still very present in our national identity as a whole (if you read a little abt indianismo…. That shit is still very present). And when it’s not that, is all very vague and talking about ~the natives~ as if they were just one big homogeneous group with not much of their own history.

I also don’t want to go too deep into to anything too dark or “angsty”, not to ignore those ugly parts of our history, but because I feel it would be very disrespectful to make those tragedies (which are still being carried out by our government) the center of any hetalia discussion. And well, I might fuck up and end up playing into everything I’m trying to avoid, and if this is in anyway offensive, just let me know and I’ll delete this post and go further educate myself.

This is also gonna be an even longer post than usual (its 3 pages long...), since it’s gonna need a lot of historical explanation even for my fellow Brazilians.

My main source here is chapter 6 of the book “1499: O Brasil Antes de Cabral”, by Reinaldo José Lopes.

Ok, let’s talk about the lady.

First things first, she old. She’s at least 3000 years old, probably older! She grew up in southwest Amazon (around modern Rondônia) with her nine siblings, and while some of them remained there, others started to expand their territories through the forest. All of them also had plenty of children. The way I see it, since there was no sort of political unity between the different tupi tribes, each had their own tan and were the children of ones like Pindorama and her siblings, that represented many different groups that, though politically separated, had strong cultural and linguistic similarities. It’s kinda like I see Mama Greece existing while Sparta, Athens and all those Ancient Greek cities existed too, but in a much larger scale. So Pindorama represents what would eventually be all the tupi and tupi-guarani groups in the coast, and of Pindorama’s children, most of them were also Guarani’s kids.

Pindorama and Guarani expanded to the southeast and the east coast together, always hating each other and fighting but also constantly having children together lol. Sisters? Enemy-lovers? Bitter exes? Frenemies with benefits? All of the above? I don’t know, but these two ladies had children pretty much all around the territory (what I’m referring to here is all the different Tupi-Guarani groups), and if you ask me, they otp.

Pindorama is, first and foremost, a warrior. The tupi were, in general, very belligerent groups, that had war as a major part of their culture, and that was in part what made them expand through such a wide territory even without any kind of centralized state or hierarchy. And they had a very different view of war compared the Europeans – war was not meant to completely eliminate their enemies or as means to access land and resources, but as part of a perpetual cycle of revenge that ennobled ones that participated in it - it was cultural more than material. So Pindorama was just constantly watching her children fight each other and she was like…. Good for Them. She was also constantly fighting someone (usually Guarani lol) and was really, really good at it.

Despite that, she was also inclined to trading and had a lot of good commercial relationships with many others, going as far west as the Andes! She was both a warrior and a businesswoman, so yeah, terrifying. She was a skilled river navigator – not as much as the Aruak, but still pretty good – which also helped both with the expansion and with trade. She’s an extrovert, who can talk in front of a lot of people easily and captivate whoever she met, while also scaring the shit out of them.

So yeah, that’s Pindorama. A warrior, a businesswoman, a mother, a rival-lover, she really did have it all. And when Portugal arrived, she at first assumed he was just another one to trade with – and that was it, for the first few decades. And when Brazil ~appeared~ there (in whatever way nations are born idk), she took him as another one of her many children, no really a surprise here either.

For some time, she raised Brazil, but she soon understood that kid was not like the others. First, he was not just her child or her child with Guarani, but apparently also the child of that dude that would come every once in a while from the sea (again I don’t know how nations know who are their parents or other’s parents since there’s really no biological birth going on…). And as time went by, she also started noticed more and more of her other children dying more and more every time, while Brazil kept growing stronger and healthier every day. She put two and two together – that child and his father were trouble, and not the good kind.

When it comes to her relationship with Brazil, it is complicated, to say the least. She was more present in his childhood that Portugal, she taught him her languages and stories and how to survive in that land, but she also never trusted him, and was hesitant to be around him. As the years passed, she learned it was safer for her and her other children (who are not really Brazil’s siblings btw) to just keep going deep into the forest and avoiding Brazil and Portugal whenever they could, but always fighting back when needed. When it came to the battles, she actually had advantages compared to Portugal at times – gunpowder in the 16th century was pretty shitty, while for example the tupinamba had arrows as long as 1.60m that could pierce through their armor. But fighting meant exposing the people to getting sick, and the moment they realized that, they started avoiding it more. Still, I think its plausible to say she probably tried to kill brazil and Portugal a few times.

As much as I like to joke about brazil having mommy issues, I really don’t want to blame her for being “a bad mom” when she really was just doing what she had to do to survive and resist and to protect her real family against an enemy she couldn’t defeat. Also, Brazil has a great deal of blame here. When he was a kid, it really was just Portugal who pushed Pindorama away and against him, but after independence he really failed to fix things when he had the power to. As I talked about in the last post a little bit, he tried to get close to her again, but not because he wanted to make things right, not because he was ready to listen to her and respect her, but because he wanted an identity for himself that was separated from port, and though he could find it in his mother. But he wasn’t listening to her for a moment or seeing her for who she was, he wasn’t trying to get to know her, it was all about himself (as it always was in the empire).

I think Pindorama, better than anyone, can see how Brazil and Portugal are similar in their worst traits, and she can also see through every single one of brazil’s warm smile in a way no one else really can. Not for a moment his talk of reconnecting with her fooled her. Needless to say his attempt to get close to her, completely misguided and selfish, didn’t made things any better between them.

To this day, there’s a lot of bitterness between the two. Pindorama (fairly) resents brazil for all that he and his father caused and his failing to recognize his own flaws and mistakes and works on them. Today, they still mostly avoid each other. They do have their tender moments, sometimes, but Brazil has a lot of growing up as a person to do if he ever wants to fix their relationship.

Well… this is very long. I apologize if I said anything offensive or played into any harmful stereotypes, and if I did, please let me know.

#hcs #ask #as much as i like my brazil angst and all that.... when it comes to pindorama i kinda just want to talk about the 2500 #years before that were she was just being a awesome warrior lady with her enemy girlfriend taking over the continent with their 40 children #is that too much to ask???

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maximumphilosopheranchor · 4 years

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Hello!Can you give information about philip ii’s court and people that surrendered him in general?

Hello!

Sorry for the delay. I was pondering a lot drafting my answer how to respond to your question the best because firstly it’s too broad a matter to deal with it here, and, secondly, Philip’s biographies I have read don’t provide as much detailed information on the court under Philip as I would like. Also, I have to say - I haven’t done with reading about Philip and this is something I look forward to learn more about in future.

Anyway, here’s what I gathered. It covers the order after Philip’s return to Spain in 1559.

“The ‘court’ in Madrid had several functions. At the centre was the king, served by his household. There were satellite households, of the queen, the Infantas, and other immediate members of the royal family. Their combined personnel, adding on the staff in the stables and the guards, amounted to a small army. The theatre of their activities was the enlarged and reformed Alcázar [the royal palace, formerly fortress]. The king as chief actor brought three other spheres of activity into this scenario: the functioning of government, the management of diplomacy and ritual, and the direction of public entertainment. Fixing the king’s residence in Madrid gave for the first time in Spain’s history a permanent location for all these functions. (..)

Since the adoption of Burgundian ceremonial in 1548 the size of the royal household had grown enormously. The main component was the king’s household, divided into five main units: household, kitchen, chapel, stables and cellar. Each unit was headed by a nobleman in charge of its administration. The household guard formed an additional unit. Other immediate members of the royal family had smaller households, all financed by the king. The most drastic innovation of these years was the large and expensive retinue which Elizabeth Valois brought and insisted on maintaining, although many of the servants were sent home a few weeks later. The Venetian ambassador felt that it was because ‘the Frenchmen were very ill-dressed, dirty, careless and disrespectful’. Elizabeth’s demands inflated the queen’s household into an entity almost as large as that of the king. (..)

The king’s court in his last dozen years suffered from a lack of social gaiety, due in part to the king’s poor health, in part to his absences and travels. But for the first twenty-five years of the reign there was no lack of vitality. (..) Three factors explain the vigorous life of the royal circle. Most nobles took the court seriously; the queens contributed enormously to social life; and the king himself had an active interest in music and entertainment. (..)

No European court could exist without a client nobility. The Spanish nobles continued to have immense military and economical resources, but these were threatened by rising costs and a high death-rate among heirs. The court offered hope, because it presented the chance of employment and influence, as well as contacts which could lead to marriage. For those who liked such things, there was also the life-style, a welcome relief after the monotony of the provinces. As Madrid grew, more and more nobles gravitated there. ‘It is terrible,’ the king commented, ‘that they all want to leave their estates and become residents of the court.’ A courtly society came into existence, with its own special rules and, later, its own literature. The court of the king, like the courts of the great nobility, was a theatre not only of ritual but also of entertainment, leisure and diversion. (..)

The contribution of the queens to court life was fundamental. Elizabeth of Valois from the beginning tried to reproduce the gaiety of the Renaissance court she had left behind. She enjoyed parties, masked balls, buffoonery, spectacles, outings to her palaces, and picnics. (..) In jousts, she played the part of liege lady to the three young court princes: Don Carlos, Don Juan of Austria, and the prince of Parma. It gave them a romantic scenario which in turn influenced their chivalric ideals. Elizabeth also contributed to the cultural life of court by her love of music, plays and art: she extended her personal patronage to Sanchez Coello and to the Italian Sofonisba. Anna’s [Philip’s fourth wife] role was more subdued and coincided more closely with that of Philip. In the absences of the king’s court, the queens had their own social life in Madrid. Anna loved comedies. In February 1571, she ‘enjoyed herself in the apartments of the princess [Philip’s sister Juana] at a comedy that she ordered to be performed there. At four in the afternoon the Infantas [Philip’s daughters] went to join the queen and enjoyed the play as though they were much older.’

The king’s sisters also played a crucial role. When the empress Maria came to reside in Madrid, she contributed powerfully to the prestige of a city which, during Philip’s absence in Lisbon, had no king. She set herself up in apartments in convent of the Descalzas, where she periodically put on musical entertainments. All visiting dignitaries to Madrid were obliged by protocol to make a formal visit to the empress before calling on any other official.

(..) In his youth as well as during his years abroad, he [Philip] had delighted in jousts and tourneys. The Amadis of Gaul was one of his favourite books (he later approved it as a set text for his son Philip when the latter began to learn French). Whenever possible he presided over tournaments at court. (..) The essential feature of the ‘court’ in Madrid was the royal household. If the king was away, he took most of his household with him. This turned the Alcázar into an empty shell, populated only by its staff, some government officials, and the household of any remaining member of the royal family (..) Practical factors, such as the sheer cost of moving around the kingdom, were beginning to distance European rulers from their subjects. Complex ceremonial further helped to isolate the king. Philip was deeply concerned for his people, but had little effective contact with them. He felt that his accessibility on feast-days, which he tried to maintain all his life, was adequate. (..) As often as feasible, he had his lunch ‘in public’. But this involved no more than lunching (alone) in one of the large reception rooms of the Alcázar, where members of the court and public might see him. (..) He made a rule of being accessible to private petitions while going to or from Sunday mass and deliberately walked slowly, so that people would have a chance to catch up with him.”

Henry Kamen, Philip of Spain

As you can see although Philip had made Madrid the capital city in 1561 he didn’t reside there permanently. He traveled considerably within his Iberian realms and moved among his country palaces which he improved, rebuilt or built - the Pardo, Aranjuez, Valsaín, also known as El Bosque de Segovia, and later, of course, El Escorial where he spent much time after 1571 - and which were located not far from Madrid. In his far distance journeys through the Iberian peninsula the large part of the court went with him but to his country palaces he usually took with himself a small entourage.

“Although Philip made Madrid his permanent administrative capital in 1561 he spent less than half his life there. He resided in his Aragonese lands for several months in 1563-4 and 1585-6, with a shorter visit in 1592; he toured Andalusia in 1570; and in 1580 he left for Portugal and spent three years away from Madrid. Teofilo Ruiz has stressed in A king travels that these long, slow royal progresses involved immense preparation and lavish urban spectacles that often left the king exhausted, and that each of them was ‘inextricably linked to the exercise and experience of power’. At other times the king travelled informally, moving rapidly between his country houses with a small entourage and sometimes alone as he tried to escape the bustle of his court, because ‘tranquility’, according to a Venetian ambassador in 1565, ‘is His Majesty’s greatest entertainment and relaxation’.”

Geoffrey Parker, Imprudent King: A New Life of Philip II

Beside Philip’s wives, sisters, and children at his court in various time periods lived also other his family members: Philip’s illegitimate half-brother Don Juan of Austria, Philip’s nephews Alessandro Farnese, the Duke of Parma, and Arch-Dukes Rudolf, Ernest, Albert and Wenceslas.

On the men who surrounded Philip at the beginning of his reign.

Philip’s closest friend and one of the most important advisers was Ruy Gómez de Silva (1516-1573). He was a Portuguese nobleman and had served Philip’s mother as a page. He and the Castilian nobleman Fernando Álvarez de Toledo, the Duke of Alba, were Philip’s most influential household officers. According to Patrick Williams:

“Technically, his power-base derived from his office of sumiller de corps [court officer in charge of supervising the dressing and undressing of a king and everything to do with the royal bedchamber], in which capacity he controlled the working of Philip’s household, but in reality he owed his political power to his personal relationship with the monarch. Philip had come to trust Ruy Gómez’s judgement and recognised that he needed his moral and practical support as he entered into his kingship. It may indeed have been to prevent Ruy Gomez from exercising too great an influence over Philip that Charles had placed Alba and Gómez in equally strong positions at the head of Philip’s household – Alba as his mayordomo mayor [chief officer of a household] and Ruy Gómez as his sumiller de corps. In England the two men began a struggle for influence that continued until Ruy Gómez ’s death.”

Patrick Williams, Philip II

Apart from this and other posts Philip also created Ruy Gómez the Prince of Éboli and Duke of Pastrana.

Philip’s the second perhaps closest friend after Ruy was Luis de Requesens (1528-1576), the son of Philip’s governor Juan de Zúñiga and his wife Estefanía de Requesens both of whom Philip held in high regard. Unlike Ruy Gómez who was 11 years older than Philip Luis born in 1528 was almost of the same age as Philip and they grew up together, he was Philip’s chief page. He never acquired such power as Ruy Gómez but Philip relied on him greatly and entrusted him important missions which often included controlling the behaviour of someone whose judgement Philip doubted. Philip created him the Grand Commander of Castile and he served Philip as a diplomat and soldier, as lieutenant general to Philip’s half-brother Don Juan suppressing the Morisco revolt, as viceroy of Milan and the Governor of the Netherlands (1573-76).

Among Philip’s personal confidants were also Gómez Suárez de Figueroa, Count and later Duke of Feria (his first representative to Elizabeth I), and don Antonio de Toledo.

Beside Ruy Gómez and the Duke of Alba important statesmen at the beginning of Philip’s reign (not counting those he left in the Netherlands) were: Philip’s secretary Gonzalo Pérez, Francisco de Eraso, secretary of the Council of Finance, Bartolomé de Carranza, Archbishop of Toledo, Fernando de Valdés, Archbishop of Seville and Inquisitor-General, Philip’s confessor Bernardo de Fresneda. During the 1560s a very influential figure was Cardinal Diego de Espinosa whom Philip appointed a member of the council of State, president of the council of Castile and Inquisitor-General. As very important government figures during the second half of the 1560s emerged Philip’s secretaries Antonio Pérez and Mateo Vázquez who was also Philip’s chaplain.

If you have means or access I recommend you to check Maria José Rodriguez-Salgado’s article 'The Court of Philip II of Spain' in R. Asch and A.M. Birke (Eds), Princes, Patronage and the Nobility: The Court at the Beginning of the Modern Age, c.1450-1650 and The Courtier and the King: Ruy Gómez de Silva, Philip II, and the Court of Spain by James M. Boyden.

#Anonymous #ask #Philip II #Philip II of Spain

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prorevenge · 5 years

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Bully Creates His Own Revenge

This ones a bit long but please stick with me because it's a good one...

So here's the basics, when I was a kid my dad was in the service, U.S. Navy, and so we moved around a lot. Because of this I was always the new kid over and over again, meaning I was constantly the target of would be bullies and this made me fairly introverted and distrusting of other people by nature. In the waning years of my father's military career he decided he would take his family back to his home town and do some recruiting until he retired. So away we went to the family farm built by my great grandfather.

If anyone has ever found themselves moving to a small town suddenly then you are well aware of what I mean when I say that the locals were very small town minded. For those of you who don't know, the small town mentality is basically thus, "if you're not from there, born and raised, then you don't belong there." A lot of small town citizens are closed off and want nothing to do with outsiders.

So there I was, not only the new kid but introverted and an outsider....bully magnet. For the most part I tried not to let it get to me but I did have some bad days and got into a few fights, always in self defense though. And eventually as people grew up most of the other kids matured out of trying to be a bully and began to just leave me alone. Especially once they found out who my great grandfather was...something about one of the four founding families...I don't know...I never really cared that much and besides those people had shown their true colors by treating me like crap for years by that point...but that's a different story. This story is about a kid we'll call Mike.

You see Mike was the only one who never seemed to grow out of trying to be a bully. He would daily track me down and tell me how worthless I was. That I was just some dumb farm boy who would never amount to anything and would always be a loser. He would walk up to me randomly and say things like "I know you're going to be the one who shoots up the school someday, and when it ends with your suicide I'll be the one cheering". He had some issues. At one point I arrived to school to find he had painted the combination on my locker with toothpaste. A lot of weird stuff like that.

Anyways we get into our senior year of high school and I've long since been doing my best to ignore him. His not being able to get a reaction out of me seemed to really upset him and even his friends started saying his seeming need to find me everyday to simply be a jerk was bordering on the creepy and obsessive. And then all of a sudden the verbal abuse stopped one day a couple months from graduation. I assumed he had finally just given up but that wasn't the case.

A couple weeks later I walked to the end of of our LONG driveway to catch the bus and found that our mailbox had been run over. I didn't think anything of it at the time other than that it must have been some drunk. I get home later that after noon, take some photos of the damage just in case and then fix the mailbox, new wooden post buried onto the ground. I finish my other chores and homework and relax the rest of the evening. Next morning I go to catch the school bus and the mailbox has again been run over. I get home, photos, repair it, chores, homework, relax. It happened again the next day and again the day after that...this went on for two weeks only stopping on the weekend. My parents had reported the smashing of the mailbox but there was no evidence as to who the culprit even was so nothing was done about it.

I finally have enough of digging out broken post and replacing them and so...The Revenge

I get up early on a Saturday and head to the end of the driveway. I dig a 2 feet by two feet wide hole 6 feet straight down and filled the hole with fresh cement and in the center placed a ten foot section of the old farm house' original cast iron water pipes, sunk 6 feet into the concrete. I filled the rest of the 10ft cast iron pipe with concrete as well and mounted the mailbox on the top. Mind you I looked into how far from the road the mailbox needed to be for safety reasons and attached ample amounts of reflectors.

Monday morning comes and I notice the mailbox post has all sorts of scratches on it but otherwise it's fine. I get to my final class of the day, creative writing, and am in the middle of a story outline for that week's project when a friend of Mike's comes in, we'll call him Steve.

Steve sees me and freaks out.

Steve: Do you have any idea what you did to Mike's car?! OP: I didn't do anything to Mike's car?? I don't even know what it looks like. Steve: Your little stunt with the mailbox totaled it! He had to get it towed into town at 5AM this morning! (small town. Auto garage is DEFINITELY closed at 5AM) Steve: He's gonna sue the [FRONK] out of you! (Censored for RSlash, just in case) OP: OK but you are aware that deliberately hitting and/or damaging a mailbox is a federal offense right? Steve: What are you talking about? OP: You don't actually own your mailbox. Legally it belongs to the Post Office so destroying a mailbox is destroying government property making it a federal offense. Steve: So what? He'll get a little fine, but your gonna pay! OP: Oh No...hahaha..It's actually a $250,000.00 Fine or up to 3 years in prison per offense for vandalizing a mailbox, and since it's happened 10 times in the last two weeks that translates to either a 2.5 million dollar fine or up to 30 years in prison.

Steve just stares at me for a moment and storms out. At that point I pull up the federal statute on the computer I was working on and Mike comes in insisting that I'm making that who thing up. So I show him the law and he freezes.

OP: You can take me to court and I might have to pay a small fine and maybe even tear down the mailbox...but your life would be over. Mike: Maybe but you can't prove I did it ten times! OP:Actually I took photos of the damages so I can prove it was at least ten times... But even if I couldn't $250,000.00 is till A LOT of money...much more then your car is worth I'm sure. Would you really bankrupt yourself or even get yourself sent to prison to force me to pay you a grand or two for the car?

Mike stormed out of the classroom and never bothered me again.

The Best part was actually the domino effect this created. You see Mike didn't have enough credits to graduate on time. Wasted to much time trying to be a Dr Phil case I guess. I heard through that small town grapevine that he was eventually shunted over to adult programs by the school. Without his car, which was totaled, and unable to afford another (his mother bought the 1st one and refused to buy a second when she found out how he totaled it) he couldn't get to his classes and was eventually tossed out of school due to attendance problems. Without a diploma or GED he couldn't get into even a community college nor find proper work. Not having access to gainful employment left him living with his mother in a trailer, living off her and the occasional odd job he gets.

Meanwhile I'm now married with a child and living in beautiful subtropical Algarve in the south of Portugal in Europe.

Mike if your out there reading this I only have one real question....Just how did that Mailbox taste?

(source) story by (/u/ThorsHammer0999)

#prorevenge #by /u/ThorsHammer0999 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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ofshiraz · 4 years

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ANYA CHALOTRA, ZEYNAB SHIRAZI, 23. ❝ ⤚⟶ EUROPE, 1458. thanks is given by the WARD OF THE FIRST CONSORT OF PERSIA, ZEYNAB SHIRAZI, from PERSIA. they are at best ARTISTIC, and at their worst ALOOF. whilst abroad, their ambition is to FIND INSPIRATION IN THE CULTURE AND PEOPLE OF EUROPE AND AID WITH PERSIA’S DIPLOMATIC AFFAIRS. SHE seems to remind everyone of ANYA CHALOTRA & A STARRY NIGHT SKY, AN ABSENT-MINDED GAZE, POEMS WRITTEN IN THE CANDLELIGHT. ❞ penned by DEDE; UTC+2, SHE/HER, 19. ❞

all hail zeynab shirazi, the persian poet who kind of tagged along! her stats are here if you want them, and you can find the basics, her app and some plot ideas below!

need to knows.

unlike most of the characters we have here at crowns, zeynab isn’t actually a noble or royal. she has, however, been raised as part of the persian shah’s court since she was a teenager, as ward of the first consort, firouzeh, and playmate and later companion of shahzadeh khanoum khadija.

she was taken in by the consort mainly because of her talent for poetry, which is her main contribution to the court’s prestige and what she occupies herself with generally. zeynab also has a keen interest in mysticism, which is very much visible in her writing, and is secretly practicing zoroastrianism, an ancient religion fairly common yet not official in persia - on paper, though, she’s muslim.

she’s recently had some major internal conflict going on with the persian court getting all ‘choose your side’-y between firouzeh and ghazala, but not only - not even a year ago she fully found out women are supposed to bleed monthly and she... doesn’t, so she’s quite worried and thinks something is wrong with her now. fun!!

zeynab’s kind of just the family weirdo, lurking in strange places and scaring the hell out of everyone. she might seem like an edgy recluse, but she’s a sweetheart deep down, i promise. she just likes sitting and thinking for hours a until someone yells in her face and she snaps out of it.

application.

what current conflicts does your character face? the imperial court has continued becoming increasingly divided as of recent, between those standing by the shah’s first wife, the consort firouzeh, and others, favoring the newest addition to the royal household, the shahbanu ghazala. while it may not have been as outwardly visible as one would expect, given her calm, aloof demeanor, zeynab has been affected by these growing animosities as much as any other member of the family, which she may not be by blood, but has functionally been one for years now. of course, she has been undyingly loyal to firouzeh, the woman who took her in to live alongside the shah’s family in all the luxury they can provide, after her father, a rather wealthy merchant hailing from the delhi sultanate, who in his later years settled in persia after marrying a woman living in shiraz, had fallen ill during the plague and was dying, about to leave her alone with no means to practice her art or perhaps even survive. but after the shahzadeh, her closest friend, has turned to ghazala for guidance, zeynab finds herself torn between the woman she owes everything to and her closest companion in life.

expand on this character’s connections with two other roles. the persian shah’s first wife, the consort firouzeh, is the person without whom zeynab would not exist. if she was alive at all, which can be considered somewhat debatable, she would certainly not have grown up to be the woman she is now, and she’s fully aware of that fact. she loves and admires the consort as if she was her own mother, and is endlessly grateful for the life firouzeh chose to provide for her. but almost as important to zeynab as the consort herself is her daughter, the shahzadeh khanoum khadija, the single closest friend she has ever had in her lifetime. whenever she thinks of the world as lacking understanding of her person, khanoum is always exempt from this kind of opinion; zeynab considers their souls and minds to be connected, and would never do anything that could possibly harm her companion; which has brought her much distress as of recent with the growing internal conflict at court.

personality. zeynab is considered strange and even somewhat eerie or disturbing by most of the persian court, and perhaps quite rightfully so. she doesn’t usually enjoy talking much, oftentimes favoring absent-minded glances and lurking quietly in corners over real interaction with others, causing many a scare for the other inhabitants of the shah’s household. however, when engaged in a civil conversation, she will act predominantly friendly, if still seeming a tad detached from the situation and real life in general. she considers herself an observer more than anything else, generally taking more interest in quietly drawing inspiration from the world around her than taking decisive action; however, there are certainly exceptions to this - she will act in defense of those she loves most, predominantly firouzeh and khanoum khadija, and has developed somewhat of an interest in diplomacy as of late, knowing that despite never having any actual hand in ruling the country, she needs to help strengthen diplomatic ties, secure alliances and gain influence amongst the europeans as much as everyone else in the royal court over the course of their stay in portugal.

poetry. the most important reason zeynab even lives as part of the shah’s household and has access to as much wealth and luxury as her heart can possibly desire, is her rather extraordinary talent as a poet, which she began to exhibit as quite a young girl. her father taught her to read and write, and she began creating her own writings by the early age of twelve. she has undergone some dramatic shifts in her favoured topics before the present day, beginning with mere depictions of the world around her, and currently settling on matters of the human soul, visions of the future and mystical concepts.

mysticism. the person who introduced zeynab to the concepts of mysticism and spirituality was her father, bringing with him the gods of his homeland in the delhi sultanate. while her own country, persia, was dominated by islam, which zeynab is also formally a follower of, about two years ago she found out about the existence of zoroastrianism, the religion of, as the muslims around her call it, fire worshippers, and the ancient faith captivated her in an instant; she has been secretly reading about it and practicing it while simultaneously hiding that fact from everyone else at court ever since. topics of spirituality often feature in her poems.

plots.

fellow artists. characters who also write poetry (which would be preferable, but it could potentially be other art forms as well) and are willing to discuss their craft! zeynab really wants to get to know the way europeans do their literature, and potentially mix some of that into her own works, so a partner who could share their art with her would be ideal! (open to any character who does art of any kind, preferably written)

guides. persia is a hell of a lot different from europe, and someone who could show zeynab how it all works would be much appreciated! i imagine it could blossom into a great friendship. (open to all european characters, preferably christian-european)

romances. it would be very interesting if the person zeynab took an interest in (preferably a mutual one) was someone high-ranking or even royal; she’s in a strange position where she has all the markers of status except actual status, so it would surely create a lot of ~drama~ and conflict! (preferably male characters).

dislikes. as mentioned already, zeynab isn’t technically a royal and a noble, or doesn’t even hold an official function of any kind, and yet she still is here in lisbon and represents the persian empire along with the other court members. that could probably rub some people the wrong way, and i’d love to explore how that goes! (open to all non-persians)

a father figure. while the consort firouzeh functions as a second mother of sorts to zeynab, at least in her eyes, she still has no one to at least try to make up for the tragic loss of her father. i’d love to see someone fill that missing spot and become something of a surrogate father to her! (male characters, 40+, preferably not persian)

fellow lovers of mysticism. our girl zeynab is big into superstitions and the spiritual side of life, and it would be great if she met someone who’s equally interested in all that, but maybe from a different cultural perspective? some great cultural exchange could happen there. (open to all non-persians)

#crhs.intro #i. i died to the animal state and became a woman ─ introspection.#x. truly to him is our return. ─ misc.#cw infertility

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grimelords · 5 years

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Hello I finished my July playlist a week ago but when I went to post it tumblr was down, and then I just plumb forgot! Anyway, here it is - properly sequenced this time for a very special listening experience that seamlessly delivers you from disco heaven to black metal hell and everything in between. Also I’m thinking of making these playlists a tinyletter that people can subscribe to that comes out on an actual schedule, rather than me posting them at a random time weeks after they’re finished. Is that something you’d be interested in? Who knows. Check back next month! Anyway, here goes:

listen here

Stay Away From Me - The Sylvers: You know when you’re listening to a song and the sample is super hot but the rest is just ok, so you think to yourself well why don’t I just listen to the original instead? That’s what happened to me with Final Form by Sampa The Great. That song is good but it’s also kind of not doing enough to convince me not to just listen to this super hit by The Sylvers instead. A fun thing with this song is to try to count how many instruments you can hear because it is surprisingly densely arranged for some reason. There’s a xylophone back there going off if you listen.

Sizzlin’ Hot - Paradise: The same thing happened with this song and Sizzlin’ by Daphni. I think they were going for an Armand Van Helden style distillation of the pure essence of the song, sampling the hookiest part and speeding it up and thickening up all the percussion and all that, which can work amazingly but for me it just made me want to hear the original and so I have been all month. What’s so good about being alive now is that in most cases it’s just as easy to access music from 2019 as it is to access music from 1981 where an original copy is apparently going for $1000 on discogs. Every day I thank god for inventing mp3s and putting them on the ark.

Manaos (Canzone) - Fabio Frizzi and Crossbow: I forget how I came across this, I was going through random Fabio Frizzi soundtracks for some reason. I just love the concept of a disco song about escaping from vicious assailants. Funkily singing ‘God help us, if they catch us we all are gonna die.’ as spears fly past you.

Holding On - Julio Bashmore: I think this is one of my favourite pieces of sampling ever. The way the vocals in the background are cut they don’t even sound like vocals. They just a strange contextless textural sound that works so well before eventually revealing itself as vocals in the run before the drop. It’s just so good.

Weight Watchers - Parallel Dance Ensemble: First of all I love this disgusting bass sound. It sounds like two different indistinct bass lines playing at the same time and they both drowned. I’m also mounting a change.org petition to bring back this kind of extremely naff Tone Loc flow, it rocks.

Dance - ESG: I found this incredible band while I was looking for the rapper ESG and I’m so glad I did. Their song UFO is one of those songs that’s been sampled so many times you think of it as more of a sound effect than a song, like it comes preloaded on a drum machine everyone has or something, but it’s also a good template for ESG’s sound. Every ESG song I’ve heard so far goes like this: a straightforward beat that doesn’t change for the whole song, a functional bassline that doesn’t change for the whole song, and good old fashioned simple lyrics about dancing and having a good time that sound more like schoolyard clapping games than anything. It doesn’t sound like much but over the course of an album it adds up to this incredible sort of hypnotic post-punk funk that I cannot get enough of. It sounds like kids who have 1 idea making a whole album out of it because that’s exactly what it is and it’s great!

Crave You - Flight Facilities: I love how elementally simple this song is. The vocals are hypnotising enough so everything else just quietly supports it. The only part that stands out is the thick bass synth halfway through which makes the short sax solo at the and all the sweeter, a tiny little cherry on top.

You - Delta 5: Get a load of this band bio: “Initially inspired by the success of local heroes The Mekons and Gang Of Four, Leeds, England’s Delta 5 later emerged as one of the key figures of the feminist new wave. Formed in 1979 by vocalist/guitarist Julz Sale, fretless bassist Ros Allen and bassist Bethan Peters.” Just going to gloss over them having TWO bass players before they even have a drummer?? Absolutely amazing. I love this song because it’s such a specific, targeted fury. Imagine being the loser at your girlfriend’s gig when she launched into this one for the first time. ‘who’s got homebrew with lots of sediment?’ oh fuck that’s me ‘who took me to the Windham for a big night out?’ oh fuck that’s me ‘I found out about you’ oh FUCK

Siren - Gong Gong Gong: I love the way the bass works in this, just looping and layering different variations of this noisy, stationary riff on top of itself - steadfastly staying in the exact same place the whole song and growing in power the whole time as it sits in its stubbornness.

Changes - Antonio Williams and Kerry McCoy: This came up on my Discover Weekly and I completely fell in love with it, then I realised it’s Antwan and Kerry McCoy from Deafheaven which is extremely intriguing collaboration and fell in love even more. The vocals are so good. The pure broken-hearted anguish, and the super blunt delivery that progresses to straight up yelling by the end of it combined with the Radio Dept type instrumentation is just so powerful. This feels like it’s a song that could really be a life-changing piece of catharsis for everyone in a 5k radius done live.

Fuck A War - Geto Boys: Absolutely in love with the conceit of this song: rapping a whole song down the line to the army drafter. The incredible part being of course that Bushwick Bill would be able to dodge any draft easily, being as he was both a dwarf and blind in one eye.

God Make Me Funky - The Headhunters: I found a lot of great songs going through the samples list for We Can’t Be Stopped by Geto Boys and this is one of them. I have so much love for any song that takes its time like this: nearly two minutes to set the scene and somehow taking deadly seriously the very funny lyrical idea of desperately praying to god to PLEASE make you funky. The way this song escalates is also amazing, moving from a hot groove that sits in place to a full-on saxophone meltdown that feels like god placing his finger on your forehead and saying ‘so you want to be funky, do you?’ in a scary voice.

Use Me - Bill Withers: Fortunately and unfortunately, because of how this song was in Anchorman and because I’ve seen Anchorman one million times I can’t listen to it without hearing the noise Ron Burgundy makes when he sees Veronica in the first few seconds. Anyway, this song is so horny. The part where he has to explain to his bro how good this shit is? Doing all kinds of weird dom shit like ‘getting him in a crowd of high class people and then acting real rude to him?’ Weird. And the escalation into the claps at BABY! is amazing, he’s just going off powered by horniness and god bless him for it.

America! I’m For The Birds - Nicolas Jaar: Unbelievably, the deluxe edition of Sirens is possibly superior to the original. It’s a whole new tracklist, new songs interspersed throughout rather than the usual ‘three new songs at the end’ and it really gives it a whole new feel. This song is my favourite of the new ones and it’s a song I had in my head for a solid week. A perfect song to sing to yourself because the lyrics are so indistinct that you just end up mumbling pleasantly exactly like he is.

Cable Guy - Tierra Whack: I’m finally catching up on Tierra Whack and everyone’s right: she rocks. The sheer restraint in these songs is amazing, they just get in and out with only the good parts and no bullshit. It reminds me a lot of To The Innocent by Thingy which is one of my favourite albums for the same reason - the economy of the songwriting just serves to amplify the feeling of it. They both have this total irreverence in the lyricism where the songs are kind of about nothing but they’re so short and heartfelt that you dig for the feeling underneath it.

No Drug Like Me - Carly Rae Jepsen: I’ve previously written that what I love the most about the Carly Rae Jepsen is how horny it is and I’d like to double down on that sentiment here. I love how slow this song is, it’s the perfect tempo between danceable and ‘fucking’.

Con Calma (Remix) - Daddy Yankee, Katy Perry and Snow: I’ve been on a european holiday for most of this month and I would like to report that across Spain, Portugal, Czech Republic, France and Germany this is the absolute song of the summer. It is completely inescapable and personally I can’t get enough. Informer is one of the greatest and strangest one hit wonders of all time (it’s also canada’s highest selling reggae song of all time and Snow is thusly named because he’s white) and I’m psyched to hear it reworked by Daddy Yankee like this. Katy Perry being on the crossover attempt remix isn’t a good sign for her new album but she kills it so maybe that’s all that matters.

Chase The Devil - Max Romeo and The Upsetters: Here’s the other half of my short lived dub phase from the end of last month. This is a good example also of how completely beguiling lyrics can still be so effective. I have no idea what he means by putting on an iron shirt but it rhymes and he’s saying it with conviction so I’m nodding!

Glass - Bat For Lashes: The new Bat For Lashes songs have got me revisiting Two Suns which is an all time great five star album and this is my favourite song from it. Maybe the most powerful opening track of all time, it does as much worldbuilding as most fantasy novels do in 1000 pages. In fact almost every line in this is a viable fantasy novel title. A Thousand Crystal Towers. The Hand Of The Watchmen. A Knight In Crystal Armour. A Cape Of Rainbow. The way she sings ‘to be made of glass’ is.. incredible. I love Natasha Khan and I cannot wait to see what she does next.

Unsquare Dance - Paddy Milner: In searching spotify for other interpretations of Unsquare Dance after getting obsessed with it last month I came across this absolutely bonkers version. It’s maniacal, it feels like you would be physically and mentally drained by the end playing it because I am just listening to it. Need a little lie down.

Gimme Some Skin, My Friend - The Andrews Sisters: My girlfriend has turned me onto The Andrews Sisters lesser known hits recently and this is the best one: a song from when high fives were a novelty that those wacky blacks over in Harlem town were inventing. Extremely odd but an undeniable banger. The thing about The Andrews Sisters is one of them was an absolute force of nature as a performer and the other two were complete wet blankets and it’s kind of funny they were together as a group for their whole career because anyone with eyes can see where the real star is. The way she sings ‘baby’ at 1:25, and that whole run really, is absolutely amazing and so much better than this extremely dumb song deserves.

Kids On The Run - The Tallest Man On Earth: The piano sound alone in this is just so beautiful. This song could be about anything at all and it would still make me cry, and luckily for me: it basically is!

King Of Spain - The Tallest Man On Earth: Good song I had in my head the whole time I was in Spain. It’s incredible that his voice is so good. It feels like if it was even the tiniest bit different, slightly rougher or tinnier he would be completely hilariously unlistenable but instead he’s amazing. Plus the fact that he leans into it with the purposefully lo-fi trebly production is just so confident you can’t help but love it.

Romeo And Juliet - The Indigo Girls: A great cover I wasn’t aware of before that I heard in this great documentary Wildwood I was watching https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOWxnh012J0. The way she absolutely flies off the handle and nearly tears the song down around her near the last chorus is pure power and I love people who can do that in an acoustic song without it feeling overblown, just getting totally swept up in it and taking everyone along with you.

On The Bus Mall - The Decemberists: Definitely the number one song about gay teenage prostitutes who love each other and are optimistic against the odds.

White Fire - Angel Olsen: This song feels like a piece of dark magic. It feels like a 4am moment of clarity, speaking everything true in a five minute monotone and then instantly falling back to sleep with only a dim memory in the morning.

Glass Eyes -JW Ridley: JW Ridley is a genius and I cannot wait to see what he does with an album. Every song he puts out seems to be better than his last. The central melody in this is just beautiful, and the whole thing has so much space in it it feels so much longer than 3 minutes. It’s like a song you can live in.

Nullarbor - Floodlights: I love how rough this song is, and driving across australia because you’ve got nothing else going on and want to rattle your own cage is a Huge mood.

Made Too Pretty (Audiotree Live Version) - As Cities Burn: I’m so glad As Cities Burn are back, because it means they get to do good shit like this Audiotree session where they absolutely killed it.

Dirty Hearts - Dallas Crane: I think I’ve put this on a playlist before for exactly the same reason: it’s a song I wake up with in my head fairly often for some reason and it’s a very fun slice of pub rock that doesn’t overstay it’s welcome.

Ruin This Smile - The Number 12 Looks Like You: Did you know The Number 12 Looks Like You have reformed after 10 years away and haven’t missed a step at all?? I’m salivating. This song is as good as anything they’ve put out before, and feels like it fits somewhere between Mongrel and Worse Than Alone which is fantastic news for me who always loved those a lot more than their earlier more explicitly grindcore stuff.

Nutrient Painting - Yellow Eyes: A special thanks to my friend and yours Powerburial for linking this song on his twitter. There’s something about the guitars in this song, in almost every riff, where it sounds like they’re playing backwards somehow. Like the structure of the melodies is backwards. It doesn’t make sense but that’s what it sounds like to me and it’s very disconcerting.

Jejune Stars - Bright Eyes: I think this an underrated Conor Oberst era, when he became a sort of buddhist for a while and wasn’t sad anymore but just observed earth from outer space instead. I also love the instrumentation of this song, Bright Eyes and blast beats a match made in heaven. Also the strange sample about pom’granite at the end is one of my favourite things ever. A very strange album to retire the Bright Eyes name on but a very good one too.

At The Bar - Dirty Three: When I was overseas I was thinking about cultural music, and Australia’s place in the world and things like that. I ended up thinking about Dirty Three who I think along with The Drones make the most distinctly Australian sounding music to me. Just the vastness they manage to conjure from such straightforward barebones instrumentation is incredible.

listen here

#Playlists

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