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dragynkeep · 3 years

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Irish-American musician speaking. I just want to say a couple of things (a) i appreciate that other people are at least willing to criticise Jeff (even though i don’t agree that he was copying “ethnic” styles of music because that’s just bullshit and he was just going for a specific feeling, because that’s how music works) and (b) i really appreciate that this blog takes James' character seriously and not whatever the fecking hell the writers think they've done.

i did want to say that i'm really upset about it as a person with an autistic specturm disorder. i doubt the writers (bless their hearts) realised it, but the semblance they gave James is one of the hallmark signs of ASDs, especially in adults and young people. given the way they've always written him until the end of season seven, i really related to him and his struggles for a variety of reasons. i could get just as angry about the way they've portrayed military service (my dad is a similar ranking to the character and has been through some shit) especially given that a lot of people in my family have or are serving, but i get the sense that everyone sees how problematic that demonstration is. the former is a lot more subtle, and it honestly upsets me more.

and then there's all the bullshit surrounding Penny (they should have just left her dead or given Winter the powers to begin with for fuck's sake). firstly, i'm just going to come out and say that i've hated the way they've used vocal music to bash us over the heads with messages the last few volumes. Cinder's TWO (whyyyyyyy) songs in just that one episode this volume were basically narrating what was on screen which took away from the moments and the second one during her fight with her mentor was just plain bad. i thought those two were the worst we were going to get but apparently i was wrong and we get whatever the hell "Friend" is. (although i will say i bet the only reason they threw in that second song for Cinder was because Casey just had to get publicity for her shitty band). but look. i'm lgbtqia myself and it really (especially considering Penny and Ruby's intereactions) felt like queerbaiting/bury your gays but i'll set that aside. making Penny human (a) took away the only unique/interesting thing left about her character and (b) her death was essentially a glorifying suicide "for the greater good" which really slaps in the face of people who have honestly suffered from depression and suicide.

this isn't the first time that they've shyed away from trying to explore serious subjects, but it is particuarly gross because of the song. an earlier example of them doing this is with regard to "the path to isolation" when Casey felt the need to say Weiss has never cut and that she wouldn't do that. while that was (to say the very least) a bit uncomfortable for her to just drop that, it sounded like she just wanted to avoid talking about the subject because it's too dark. i have a lot of problems with Casey and her actions over the years, but i think it's important to note that SHE WROTE PENNY'S SONG. she is the one responsible for this, and she keeps talking about how great it is and how "humbling" the experience was. bitch no. you can't just take only praise and get mad about critisicism to the point where you basically recieve none anymore.

besides, Casey is pretty hard to understand because she STILL doesn't enucniate much when she sings so if she and her dad are going to keep being basically worshipped hand and foot by people while recieving no criticism even where it is due, then they shouldn't be in this or music. part of being a musician is that you SHOULD be critiqued by your peers and even by just casual listeners but that doesn't happen and they (but especially her) don't improve. by no means do i think Casey and Jeff are the worst of CRWBY, but they are part of the problems with tone in the storytelling and they should be critiscised for it more.

oh god this is a long ask & it’s like a month late, please forgive me.

yeah, my issue with the whole jeff issue was never that he was “copying” ethnic music, though there is a discussion to be had when that music comes from closed off cultures like my own & others & how that should be respected, but that this vague claim by someone who’s lied to push their headcanons before was using it to claim ruby & summer were romani coded when there has been anti gypsyism sentiment in crwby before via arryn’s sexualization of us. i simply don’t trust these white americans to write any gypsy ethnic groups’ stories with any sense of respectability & it was on a baseless headcanon anyways so. that frustration was easy enough to let die down.

i also have a lot of issues with how ironwood was treated, especially as a disabled person & some of the fndm’s insistence to treat this fictional military as a 1 to 1 representation of the flawed militaries in our world is just utterly frustrating. especially when they use that to justify theirs & crwby’s ableism towards one of the few disabled characters we had on screen. i don’t have a place to speak on any autistic representation or harm from ironwood or his semblance because i’m not autistic but i am sorry that you were harmed & upset by this portrayal of a semblance that isn’t even canon, because it features nowhere in the text explicitly. hell, ironwood’s va had to be told what his semblance was from a fan. all this harm & hurt & it’s for something that isn’t even featured in the story. ridiculous.

i’m really trying not to waffle on in this ask because it is so long already but yes yes yes. i agree with you completely, the way that songs are crafted for this world & featured into it most of the time doesn’t fit with what we’re shown on screen. weiss’s songs feature a patriarchy & go over the same arc like five times, as well as those lines alluding to self harm. jeff & casey can cry that they didn’t mean it that way but there are certain themes brought to mind with certain wordings & you have to be mindful of this when you write them; we had this same issue with people believing mercury was sexually abused by marcus because “i’m the one” featured the word defiled, which is most used in a sexual context. when we come to learn that it meant his soul was ruined by his father stealing his semblance, that still didn’t erase the sexual allegory & jeff should have been mindful of those types of themes when he’s writing these songs. often times it feels like the songs & the show are giving us two different stories & both give off different meanings & themes.

not being able to take criticism seems like a common theme in crwby, self admittedly from miles himself who said he “wants” to take criticism but doesn’t like it when “it’s done in a mean way.” that criticism has to be fair & nice, which is a solid sentiment, no one’s going to listen if you’re being an asshole but here’s the rub. nothing is ever nice or fair enough for them. they always find a way to turn even the most innocent of criticisms or questions into a personal attack & it’s pathetic. jeff & casey aren’t exempt from this. like you said, part of being a musician is criticism from your peers & much like you don’t need to be a chef to tell if there’s dogshit on your plate, you don’t need to be a writer or a rock star to tell when a story isn’t making sense or a song isn’t good.

& for fucks sake, i’m with you on them needing to enunciate better. i’m hoh, please jeff & casey, it’s hard enough for me to try & listen to songs that i want to enjoy without having to wonder what word you’re mumbling for this third rhyme in bad luck charm. fuck that song’s rhymes.

#rwby #rwde #owl.txt #answered #q #long post /#im so sorry it took me this long lmao #Anonymous

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curedeity · 3 years

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Gasher's Repose

Summary: Madoka does not battle, she has many other ways to pass the time though. And sometimes, she passes the time together.

Madoka wouldn’t call her engineering a hobby. At this point, it was more a prospective career. She still enjoyed doing it, but she could have fun doing more than a singular thing. And having a wide range of talents and interests was quite important.

Everyone wanted to participate in Battle Bladers. It was no surprise, they were all very competitive, and given the danger of the Dark Nebula organization, they’d want as many people they knew competing in the tournament as possible.

But that didn’t mean Madoka didn’t have objections to it.

Well, not objections so much as stipulations.

“Does this look good?” Kenta frowned as he flipped over the piece of chicken he was grilling under Madoka’s watchful eye. If Kenta was going to be traveling alone (because he was too stubborn to have Gingka babysit him) she sure as hell wasn’t going to be letting him eat dogshit the entire time.

“Hm…” Madoka inspected the piece of meat. “5 more minutes and we’ll check it again. It should be lighter.”

Kenta sighed and slipped the piece back over letting it sizzle in the pan. He had agreed enthusiastically to the lessons, as Kenta was prone to do. His eagerness was always welcome, but Madoka could tell that the amount of time she had kept him cooking was starting to grate on even him.

It had started with her teaching him a simple recipe for pancakes, then how to properly prepare veggies, and now onto how to cook meat.

“When’d you learn to cook Madoka?” Kenta asked absent-mindedly as he kept his eyes on the chicken.

Madoka paused, the memory coming to her with frightening yet relieving ease. “Well my grandma showed me a few recipes, she really loved to cook,” Madoka reminisced, rustling through her shelves. “But I was pretty young so I didn’t learn much, it was only later that- Aha!-” Madoka pulled a book out of the mess. “-She gave me this family recipe book and I learned a lot from following the instructions in it.”

She passed the book to Kenta, who paged through it carefully. It was decorated with simple illustrations, and a few photos that Madoka believed her grandmother had taken. The pages were worn down from the constant use Madoka put it through, and the pages yellowed with age.

“Hey, you’ve made us this before!” Kenta said, his voice rising excitedly into an almost yell as he pointed at a cake recipe. Madoka leaned over his shoulder, nodding.

“That’s one of my favorite sweets to make.” Grandma had used to make it on her birthday, chocolate peanut butter cake topped with caramel coated nuts. That cake was the reason Madoka thanked biology every day for not giving her a peanut allergy.

“It’s one of my favorites to eat,” Kenta mumbled, and Madoka hid her giggle as a clearing of the throat.

“All the recipes in there are very good, tried and tested through my family for generations,” Madoka winked. “You can use the book any time if you want to try cooking something new, even I haven’t gone through everything yet.”

“There’s just so much, how am I going to learn to cook this all?” Kenta continued to flip through the book, only this time with a mounting horror.

Madoka hummed, quickly trying to think of words to dispel her young friend’s fears. “Well, most of it is just about learning the basics. Like most things, baking is just a combination of elements. I’m hoping to teach you some simple elements so you can apply them while you travel.”

Kenta nodded. Madoka could remember as a child how daunting that same cookbook had seemed, but that was so distant now.

Madoka laid her hand on Kenta’s shoulder, smiling down at him. “You’re doing great,” She praised. Kenta reacted well to compliments, and it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve some. He had patiently done what Madoka asked, and he was learning well.

Kenta immediately smiled. “Thanks Madoka!” He chirped.

Cooking was one of Madoka’s passions. A survival skill, but also a way to connect with others. She had learned so much about her family from this cookbook and now… well now she had shared it with Gingka and Kenta.

It was really fun.

Madoka sniffed, staving off happy tears. Her kitchen smelled of spice… and smoke.

“Fuc-dge!” Madoka swore, spinning around as she and Kenta frantically turned off the stove and tried to salvage the chicken.

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She cleaned everyone’s beys. Scanned them once more and updated the files she’d had on them. Cleaned her tools. Had her leftover pieces ready to be swapped in if a worse scenario happened during their next tournament battle.

Was there really nothing left to do?

Her eyes roved over the supply case once again, and another time. Maybe she should make them shine, just a bit more.

“No, bad Madoka,” She admonished her workaholic self, slapping the back of her palm lightly. “Just relax.” There was no more work left to do, and at this point all she’d be doing would be stressing herself out more.

Pulling out her computer, she hovered the cursor around, chewing her lip. There was still a while before night would truly set in, it was too early to sleep with the last rays of the sun still casting light. She didn’t really want to play a visual novel right now, too much reading. Finally, she decided upon a racing game, opening it up to the quiet sound effect of an engine revving.

Madoka smirked as she joined a group. The race track was slowly decided, a beginner’s course. Shame, she had voted for the speed track, it had some rather unique mechanics she had learned to abuse.

Coding was a skill that would take people years to learn. It was a slow process of building up equations and scripts until something came of it. Madoka was not a coder. Madoka had, however, gone into the files of some of her favorite games and maybe messed around with them a bit, just to find out exactly how the games worked.

Needless to say, she knew how to play.

Winning the first round was easy, as was the second and third. It felt cheap, in a way, to be playing against people who likely weren’t as experienced as her. But she didn’t have anyone else to challenge, and it’s not like losing should rob the game of its fun.

Besides, they seemed to be enjoying ganging up on her.

It felt like so long ago that she had met her new friends, when in reality it was only a year. In that year, however, she had become quite used to being startled. That’s why she didn’t even blink when Yu barged into her room, pulling Masamune behind, and flopped down on the bed beside her.

“Madoka,” Yu whined, tugging at her arm. “I’m bored,”

Yu was a very talented blader, Madoka had nothing but respect for his skill, her brain still echoing the time he had beaten Gingka. Yu was also a small brat.

“And?” Madoka hummed, lapping one of the players that had gotten stuck in a sticky trap.

“Masamune won’t play with me, he keeps saying he’s too busy.” Madoka could hear the pout in Yu’s words. She had been spending too much damn time with this kid to be able to recognize it this easily.

“Well, when you’re the world’s number one blader, you have to keep practicing all the time,” Masamune scoffed. Oh, to have an ego that large, Madoka wished she knew the feeling.

“Hm, you didn’t seem that busy yesterday when you were crying over a romcom, surely you can spend some time entertaining Yu,” Madoka pointed out.

Masamune spluttered, Yu yelled, “I wasn’t crying!” “I don’t need to be babysitted!”

Madoka passed the finish line and logged out of the server, watching the tourney she had just destroyed get added to her ever increasing win rate, Then she leveled the two with the driest glare she, tiredly, could muster. Masamune reeled backwards, realizing his mistake, and Yu slammed his mouth shut.

Really, this wasn’t abnormal or even a shock. They were all teenagers, with small attention spans and easily bruised egos. It was almost every day that an argument would break out over what to spend the day doing. Honestly, it seemed like the only thing they could agree on most of the time was beybattles.

“How about this, I teach you both to play a racing game?” Madoka offered, pulling out some extra controllers she had and passing them off.

Yu brightened immediately. “Oh yippee! Masamune, I’m gonna kick your ass!”

“Language,” Madoka chastised as she synced the controllers in.

“I’m number one, there’s absolutely no way I’m losing!”

Madoka would never beat either of these two in a beybattle. This was not a problem for her, and she had no issues admitting it. Both were talented in their sport, and she respected that.

But it did feel good to lap them in every single game they played.

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Madoka didn’t take up new hobbies often. This was more from a lack of time to continue even her old ones than lack of interest. Now, stuck travelling so often, she ended up having more time on her hands than she even knew what to do with.

She had to say, she never would’ve imagined herself learning to knit, yet here she was with a tutorial video opened in front of her.

“I think you’re casting them on wrong,” Tsubasa frowned as he glanced between her tangled mess and the instructions. He was having his own problems, but had luckily made it through the casting stage.

That didn’t mean he knew how to explain how he’d done it, Madoka was frustratingly coming to realize.

“What are sides even? What are directions?” She mourned as she unknotted her abomination.

Tsubasa shrugged, getting started on his second, lumpy and uneven row.

It had been agreed upon by the entire time that they’d switch seats every time they traveled. As well as some of them could get along, if any of them spent too much time around the same single other person, blood would be shed.

This time, it was Tsubasa’s and Madoka’s turn to hang out, while the other three snored away across the aisle.

“Maybe crochet is easier,” Madoka grouched.

“I would fear trying to do anything like this with only a single needle,” Tsubasa replied gravely, his gaze full of fear as he pulled through another stitch.

Madoka frowned, “I’m pretty sure crochet is more complicated than that.” It would have to be, wouldn’t it?

Tsubasa shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.” And Madoka couldn’t disagree with that statement.

They had both decided to start easily. Madoka would be making a new scarf for Gingka. While in Russia, she had learned that his normal scarf, with all it’s length, had no volume or actual protection against the cold. It was an insult to scarves that she intended to rectify. Tsubasa was planning a small pouch to replace the old one on his belt, though she suspected he’d be better off buying a new one until he got the hang of knitting.

Not that she could say any better for herself…

“I’m going to be giving Gingka the lumpiest, most lopsided scarf in existence,” Madoka announced, finally finishing casting on. Yes her yarn had begun to fray, but at least it was on the needle now!

“If it truly looks that awful, you could always give it to Director Ryo,” Tsubasa deadpanned.

Madoka saw her opportunity and swooped in for the kill. “Unlike you, Director Ryo hasn’t practically adopted me yet, so the gift really would be coming out of nowhere.” Madoka… honestly didn’t know that much about Tsubasa, or many of her friends. It was always nice in moments like these to tease them about what she did know.

Tsubasa spluttered and Madoka set down her knitting so she could cover up her laughs.

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Being a mechanic for beys, Madoka really should’ve known more about astrology. It was always strange to remember that even Gingka knew more about constellations than she did. She wasn’t completely ignorant, but comparatively she was lacking.

Yuki had lived his whole life revolved around the stars, learning to draw lines from brilliant dot to bright light every night. He was an actual expert among their group, and on the nights they camped out he proved it unintentionally.

It didn’t take much to convince him to set-up a telescope at the hotel they’d be staying at for a few days.

“So, the fall constellations should be out right now, do you know which ones those are Ms. Madoka?” Yuki asked, fiddling with the telescope as he tried to angle it just right.

“Yep, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a refresher,” Madoka smiled at the younger boy.

Yuki nodded, launching into an explanation Madoka only understood half of, because at some point he’d decided to go into the science behind the expansion of stars. It was quite interesting though, listening with one half of her brain, and looking up towards the tapestry of the sky with the other.

He was so excited, and Madoka let herself get swallowed in that enjoyment.

#beyblade #beyblade metal fight #beyblade metal fusion #madoka amano #gashers repose #fanfic #fanfiction #no romantic relationships #just some found family bonding #sharing of hobbies!!!!#swearing

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slovenlyrecordings · 6 years

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A ton of reviews just in courtesy of Terminal Boredom (they still hate 10" records):

ANMLS s/t LP Chilean street punko's who love to shout together - a lot and often. Reminiscent of 80's Spanish language boot-stompers Cicatriz, Eskorbuto and the like, but with added filth-blown guitars that are left tryna' cut through layers of amp cone dust and a seeping to the surface 70's rock cockpunch. The hardcore leanings and gang vocals calm a tad as the sides play on and I'm starting to hear echoes of John Reis riffage in the aptly titled "Instrumental" and the flip's opener, "V'amanos De La Ciudad". Thanks to "Pirata" they practically give you an Oi anthem at the end. Sort of a shock to see Slovenly head in this direction, as I'd expect the band to hook up with Lengua Armada, Sorry State or some other stateside stable of cellar dwellers. Is Ruleta Rusa still active? These cats should team up with them for a US stretch. Either way, I have no real knowledge of international hardcore (outside of Italy), so I'm gonna' shut up now and let you dig in on your own.(RSF)

The Cavemen "Nuke Earth" LP "Nuke Earth" is the third time these sleaze-Zealanders have been found rifling through the rubbage bins of garage shock past to toss a full platter. The best tracks within float to the surface - kinda' like pull tabs or smoke butts floating in the fetid water of a gas station squeegee bucket - and scramble about, attempting to create something along the line of a budget-punker's K-Tel collection. These cavemanish boys crank things off with "Lust For Evil" a tune that's got one boot planted firmly in the Oblivians camp and the other can be found kicking the 'Tards squarely in the gonads. Leather-jacketed riff warriors, hopped up on CPC (get it?!) and unleashing dueling leads and hostile vibes aplenty. "Janey" lightens things a tinge with some boozy balladry and organ rottens the rock during tunes like "Batshit Crazy" and "Concrete Town" in a way that could bring both Lost Sounds lovers, Spits fanatics and tattooed MCD car-show greasers lovingly together for a sock hop. Duster-huffers will rejoice to the dum-dum Dictator clunk of "Chernobyl Baby" and "Thug" which reeling in a meaty Gizmos/Penetrators spew. "Dont Wanna Hang" strips veneers in guitar frazzle and New Bomb Turk velocity. It's like having the Las Vegas Shakedown start up again, right there on your very own turntable! The parts may be aftermarket, but there's gonna' be some paunchy yet pleased turkeys around these forums real soon. (RSF)

ぐうたら狂 Gūtara KYŌ s/t 10” Damn, this here is a firecracker! What lies within these grooves are obliterated Teengener-ized riffs, and demented psycho-wails, all walloping upside the punk velocity of something akin to prime 80's Gauze. "Drive" got a lead that's reminiscent of a garage slop take of an old Soundgarden tune (I'm dead serious!) and it's pokin' out of a deteriorating Stalin bootleg. "Daydream" and "It's Gotta Be You" ride along hardcore gallops, rendered futile due to some of the gnarliest production filth since Tim Kerr was knob twisting. The shining light in all this scree would be the soulful belter "Romance" that kicks off the flip. This gold star doom rocker features strained crooning and a truly putrid solo that's - of course - blown all to snuff. It wouldn't feel outta' place on that 'Tokyo Flashback' sampler at all. Fo' real tho' - this platter could clear the sinuses of the most jaded of High Rise fan. Hell, Gutara Kyo is good enough to make me overlook the fact these songs are pressed up on the lamest of all formats (the dreaded 10") with a goddamn dumb 45 hole. Hey Pete, knock it off! All snark aside, I'd still tell folks to buy this, even if it was only available on floppy disc. Scum Stats: 100 copies pressed up on red and black splatterwax.(RSF)

Hand & Leg s/t LP Greek duo doing their best impersonation of that gluey/Krauty/fuzz-buzzy sound that the French has dominated for the past decade. This co-ed bass and drums act strips their music down to the bleached bone, leaving the sorta' repetitive weed-wacker chops and threadbare beats that Wire fans should froth over. Standout tracks like "Dogshit Country" lighten the low plod load a smidge, letting the high strings shine as if Godheadsilo was taking on a Volt tune. "Bloody Hole" closes us shop in a full two minutes of tone drone and irritated wail before the "song" proper takes flight within a spattered cacophony of pie-plate thwack and chanted vocals. Soothing to one's skull as This Heat. Dig yer feet in the sand, people. Scum Stats: 100 on clear vinyl.(RSF)

Häxxan "The Magnificent Planet Of Alien Vampiro II"" LP Nasally Israeli psych-boogie, for the moderne youth market. The press release mentions playing with Ty and them Fuzz comparisons are pretty on point in these here grooves. They also trot out bratty, childlike pop tantrums that should speak to the Burgerooligans that follow these updates as well. What you mostly get on this is quiet/loud dynamics pushing out a Black Angels/Frijid Pink hybrid. There's quite a bit of local flavor in their guitar pyrotechnics, so world-beat freaks and psych aficionados should perk up. Most of it makes for a fine fried background rock, but nothing is really sticking to my maw. A couple of tracks do stand out - "Circle Of Quantum" and "Snakes In My Hair" - both nearly seared my eyebrows off like the best moments of C.A. Quintet "Trip Thru Hell" with swirling, woozy leads and vocals lost in the arid desert wind. The whole ride is easy to digest and makes for decent afternoon accompaniment, but gotta' say I wanted more like those two aforementioned tracks. Better than the countless Ty & Dwyer clones we've had to weather so far. Better than the King Gizzard knock-offs to come. Let's just be happy today.(RSF)

Νόμος 751 (Nomos 751) s/t LP Electroshok-rockers that clatter along like a Grecian Metal Urbain. Drum machine robot riddims and twisted rockabilly riffs fighting against various space trash splatter and the occasional Spits-take on skate punk. There's a Grande Triple Alliance vibe rippling underneath that's hard to shake as well as more than a couple nods in the early Red Mass direction I use to enjoy (long before that act stank it up with Mac Demarco's hair-footed guest spots). I should ramble more about the tracks involved, but my janky-assed computer's 'bout to crash for yet another twenty minute interval - so I'm just gonna' go pogo about like some metaloid mutant instead. Give 'er a go!(RSF)

Proto Idiot "Leisure Opportunity" LP How the hell did the Hipshakes connection escape me?! Proto Idiot is way less Oblivian and way more Adverts than the 'shakes ever were. This here's a jagged pop-gone-puke to tunes like "Better Way Of Life" and "Angry Vision" - the sorta' stuff Jaytard did solo and that Useless Eater kid slung about. Comparisons to Devoto-era Buzzcocks seems apt, and there's a tad of 'Chairs Missing' up in here too. Honestly, either this is a love letter to the entire UK punker past catalog or I'm just an asshole who thinks so 'cuz of the English accent. Hey - it's the GG King Of The UK! Still, I'm perplexed that I never knew the Hipshakes were related. I'm bad at this game. I'd way rather party with this Proto Idiot than those stuffy shirted Protomartyr's out there. Good Fun. 'Nuff said. Scum Stats: 100 on green vinyl.(RSF)

Subsonics "Flesh Colored Paint" LP In this time of reunions around the corner for every wang-dang-doodle of a band that falls under the Budget Rock blanket, it shocks me to no end that Atlanta's Subsonics have never even given up. I've evidently been in the dark for nearly a decade (Sorry Slovenly/Sorry Subsonics.) as "Flesh Colored Paint" is their eighth full length. The band continues to do what they do best - muggy southern stomp filtered through Marc Bolan flutter and a Cramps-ian cha-cha heel strut. This sorta' glitter shimmer fits snugly nestled in the crotch region, somewhere between American Death Ray, Danny & The Darleans and so on. They've always been in my peripheral and I've witnessed them bring quite a solid live revue in my times, but they've never seemed tough enough to break me during my boozy-fueled heyday. NOW - on the other hand - being older, wiser and actually warming up to the voice of Brian Ferry - this stuff is pretty damn sharp! I'm fully locked down on the track "Begging Hands" here, which proves beyond any doubt that these swingers are as big of fans of Radley Metzger's 'Score' skinflick as I am. Elsewhere they beat on the traps like a Black Time light, less set on grate and more on the grind. "Die A Little", "Cold Cold World" and "In The Black Spot" ride in the Velvet's lil' Reed wagon, possibly playing at the wrong pitch. "I Must Be Poisoned" and "I'm The Most Popular Boy In Town" are cut from the same girl group worship and sequenced catsuit that Kid Congo stitches together with his Pink Monkey Birds. "Permanent Thaw" fires off that Black-Angels-Death violin scrape along its woozy train track clack and tunes like "Why Should Anybody Care At All" feature squirrelly, ragged soloing, as if front-mouth and string-slinger Clay Reed was dry humping his gee-tar on the studio floor (and chances are, he did). A good party platter for the red eyed sect. Now while we're at it, let's wax up them early WorryBird CDs!(RSF)

The Monsieurs "Deux” LP Knowing how much I loved Tunnel Of Love - one of the finest bombastic blowouts to cross my blurred vision in the early aughts - I feel like a lamestain for sleeping on this act for so long. Well, I fixed that over the past few months. Here I am, warming by the fire during this wintry bluster and ingesting another fine Andy MacBain release. Between this stuff and the Andy California EP, he's keeping Slovenly's Gladiators on the garbage rock radar (not that they ever really fell of it in the first place). The opener "Burning Flame" and "I Will Run" are straight up crash/bang shards of garage violence and if you said to me these were lost Tunnel Of Love tracks, I wouldn't argue it one bit. Things chill and take pop-ier turns within tunes like "Suburban Girls" and "At The Hop". Not saying cutesy levels of pop, but there's a definite whaff of catchy albeit retched perfection ala' Nobunny or Ramones girl group grabs. The femmes on deck keep Andy's cock-swingin' machismo at bay, adding great touches of Toody-esque back ups, forceful fuzzed power chords and abusive can bashing. "Get Right Get Ready" is rears a Karp riff and shoves it, clawing smack into the face of some delirious Dollrod slop. That's not a bad place to be - crawling around in a metallic Danny Kroha muck. Wrapping this fast lil' fucker up is "My War", which brings all the above elements to a broil, splattering about like a scorched Love cover turned beat-punk brat psych and going gloriously wrong. A wooly ride. Will ride again. Scum Stats: 100 copies on orange.(RSF)

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junker-town · 7 years

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NFL Dad: Watching Week 2 with sick kids and a barfing dog

Every week, one intrepid dad watches RedZone with two young children in his apartment. This week: broken bones, a fever, and dog vomit — many of which are metaphors.

My daughter broke her clavicle last week. It’s a common injury for young children, not just Tony Romo. She fell out of a chair a few minutes before we had to leave for her second day of preschool, and I didn’t think it was a serious injury at the time. “We have to go! Can’t miss the second day of school!” was my thinking. I should be an NFL team doctor.

So she’s in a sling for Week 2 of the NFL season (and for the next four weeks) while my son happily toddles around the house. Just kidding! My son is battling a 102-degree fever and an ear infection. Ha HA! Let’s watch some football!

EARLY GAMES, FIRST HALF

— In Pittsburgh, Sam Bradford is a late scratch due to his knee rejecting last week’s touchdown implant. Case Keenum will start, and if I had a bookie I would put my salary on the Steelers today. Instead, I move Adam Thielen to the bench on all three of my fantasy teams.

— I make five picks against the spread every week for Team OddsShark in the Las Vegas SuperContest. After a disappointing Week 1 (1-3-1), my picks this week are the Eagles +5.5 at the Chiefs, the Bucs -7 versus the Bears, the Broncos +2.5 versus the Cowboys, the Seahawks -14 versus the Niners, and the Lions +3.5 at the Giants.

I’m not sharing these picks publicly so that I can be held accountable as some kind of “expert.” It’s more to explain my rooting interests as the day goes on.

— The Pats score the RedZone Channel’s first touchdown of the day when Tom Brady lofts a pass for Rex Burkhead, capping a 10-play, 75-yard drive. It’s gonna be a long game for the Saints.

Hey, remember when the Saints were awesome at home? Now it’s just a place for them to score lots of points in a loss. The Patriots miss the extra point. I’m not too concerned about it affecting the outcome of the game.

— Not that I’m looking for silver linings, but my daughter is the ideal kid for convalescence. She’s enamored with books, and her linguistic learning is superior to her physical development. The day after her injury, she spent four straight hours on the couch, just sweating through the pain while my wife read her dozens of books.

Eventually, my wife cued up an episode of Sesame Street for her, which is a big deal since the only TV my kids usually see is whatever football they can absorb on Sundays. I didn’t think she retained any of that episode until this morning, when she picked up the menu from a local donut joint, held it up to her face, and went, “OM NOM NOM NOM NOM.” Cookie Monster has staying power.

— The Saints kick a field goal to cut the Pats’ lead in half. An Eagles drive stalls in the red zone and they settle for a field goal. Lots of field goals early. TOO many. I DEMAND TEEDERS IN MY PEEPERS.

— While Rob Gronkowski hauls in a 53-yard touchdown, my daughter is sitting next to me with her own keyboard. She knows the alphabet song and recognizes the letters in her name, but putting them together to make words is still in the distance.

I adjust the font on my notes document to a much larger size and type out her name and her brother’s name, saying the letters aloud as I type them. “Now Mommy,” she says. I type MOMMY. “Now Daddy.” I type DADDY. She says aloud the names of friends who’ve visited recently, and they get added in 48-point font.

All movie dialog for credulous aliens is written by someone with a toddler.

I highlight different names and quiz her: “Who’s this?” I say. She gets most of them wrong, but is fascinated by the highlighting, which she calls “blue tape.” This is one of my favorite things of living with someone with a solid base of English but almost no context for the world: highlighting is blue tape, Aaron Rodgers is the Yellow Man, and jerseys are “number shirts.” All movie dialog for credulous aliens is written by someone with a toddler.

— Tom Brady throws a touchdown to Chris Hogan on an illegal pick play that is so obvious, even your dimwitted, distracted columnist sees it. The referees pick up the flag, though, and Brady has his third touchdown of the first quarter.

Tom Brady has now thrown touchdowns to three different white guys.

— Matt Ufford (@mattufford) September 17, 2017

I’m loathe to be one of those writers who embeds his own tweets into his column, yet here I am. The response to the above tweet got every kind of reaction imaginable in America in 2017. There were genuine #MAGA responses, ironic #MAGA responses, people jokingly calling Brady racist, people accusing ME of calling Brady racist, people who pointed out that the feat was accomplished without Danny Amendola and Julian Edelman in the lineup, and people who were mad online that this was the “analysis” I had to offer.

Three thoughts on this:

If you have a visceral reaction to Tom Brady throwing touchdowns to white guys, I strongly recommend amending your worldview.

Really, I just felt bad for people who have Brandin Cooks in fantasy.

Twitter remains a cesspit of humanity.

— Joe Flacco’s arm-punt pins the Browns deep in their own territory. It’s impressive work: the pass is overthrown into double coverage. He sucks so hard.

God, that feels so good to type. Not a joke about whether he’s elite, just “Joe Flacco sucks and the Baltimore offense is eye poison.” Yeah, yeah, he had one good playoff run that led to a Super Bowl win. That makes him half as good as Eli Manning, and that dude sucks too.

— Drew Brees throws a short touchdown to ... Coleman? Who is Coleman? DAMMIT, BREES. Why must you always spread the ball to thirteen different receivers? Just run up the stats with Michael Thomas and Coby Fleener like a NORMAL elite quarterback would, you pyramid-scheming pygmy.

My theory: Brees has been in the league for so long that he’s like an adrenaline junkie who should have died in a stupid stunt years ago. “I CAN’T FEEL ANYTHING UNLESS THE RESERVE FULLBACK SCORES.” The next time RedZone clicks over to the Saints offense, Brees targets Ted Ginn on an end zone fade on third down. (Do I even need to tell you the pass is broken up?) THE MAN IS PERVERSE.

— Mike Glennon, previously seen fumbling the ball to his former team, throws a pick-six to put the Bucs up 24-0. I have closed the book on “Mike Glennon Revenge Game” and opened a file for “Mike Glennon, Buccaneer Sleeper Agent.”

— A dry affair in Kansas City spring to life: a Darren Sproles fumble leads to a Chiefs field goal just before half, and the Eagles appear unlikely to respond with barely any time on the clock. But Carson Wentz’s long pass down the sideline bounces out of cornerback Terrance Mitchell’s hands and into Zach Ertz’s arms. Ertz sprints into the red zone and gets knocked out of bounds with just enough time to attempt a field goal.

Andy Reid calls timeout, icing Philly’s make. The second attempt sails wide, and the Chiefs enter the half with their lead intact. UGH. I hate it when icing works. If the refs can’t blow the whistle before the snap, the kicking team should choose whether the kick counts. What’s one more bad rule in the NFL’s thousand-page refereeing handbook?

— “I falled off a chair.” That’s how my daughter describes her injury, but it’s also a nice metaphor for the first 90 or so minutes of hot, wet garbage on RedZone. Three of eight games have zero touchdowns at the half: KC leads Philly 6-3, the Titans have the same lead in Jacksonville, and the Panthers are up 6-0 at home over the Bills. HOLD ON, FELLAS. Save some of this dogshit football for Thursday night!

SECOND HALF, EARLY GAMES

— Blake Bortles throws an interception, his third turnover. The Bortling is upon us! #PoopinBortles

— The Vikings attempt a fake punt — with their punter throwing — from their own 35. And what are they supposed to do? Hope that Case Keenum wins the game for them?

The Marine Corps instilled in me some adages about hope that I believe in to this day, even as I grow soft and old. One is “Hope is not a course of action,” which is something judgmental captains usually tsk-ed at lieutenants whose plans that didn’t account for every possible outcome. But my preferred saying is “Hope in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.”

Anyway, good on Mike Zimmer for not going quietly into the Case Keenum night.

— In Jacksonville, Derrick Henry thumps it in from 17 yards out for a 16-3 lead, and the Jags have no chance to get back in this game unless they score two defensive touchdowns

— Dalvin Cook scores 26 yards out, but he’s ruled down at the half-yard-line upon review. Fullback C.J. Ham vultures the touchdown. ZIMMER!!! I regret saying anything nice about you! Go shit in your hand, you fake-punting turd.

— Chris Hogan comes up two yards short on 3rd and 9, and the Pats kick a field goal out of politeness. It’s not like the Saints were gonna stop a 4th-and-two. This one’s over.

— Hey, the Bears are in the red zone! Down 29-0, they’re the only team with no points yet today. We join them on 2nd and 10:

Josh Bellamy immediately drops a pass. The announcers note that it’s his second drop of the drive.

Kendall Wright drops a pass on 3rd and 10.

The Bears go for it on 4th:

Mike Glennon throws a five-yard crossing route to a covered receiver on a fourth-and-10 down 29 points in the fourth quarter. It didn’t work

— Bill Barnwell (@billbarnwell) September 17, 2017

This concludes Chicago Bears RedZone Theater. There will be no refunds.

— A Carson Wentz pass deflects off a helmet and gets intercepted, setting up KC with a short field. One of the things Bill Barnwell and I talked about on his podcast while previewing Week 2 was that Wentz’s tendency to make difficult, highlight-worthy plays masks his inaccuracy on garden-variety throws for an NFL starter. This would be a good example of that.

Kansas City will turn that possession into seven points, with Travis Kelce taking a shovel pass and leaping a defender to score a touchdown pass.

.@TKelce just jumped 5 yard line... And landed in the END ZONE. WOWOWOWOWOW. #ChiefsKingdom #PHIvsKC http://pic.twitter.com/TasZHdfqNS

— NFL (@NFL) September 17, 2017

This is a lot more like the Alex Smith touchdown pass I’m used to than the ones he threw in New England in Week 1.

The Chiefs now lead by seven with the fourth quarter more than half gone, and I’m certain my bet of Eagles +5.5 is hopeless: they’re too hapless on offense to score a touchdown, and they’ll forego any chance of a field goal that would earn them a cover. Woe is me, the first person to know less about football than Vegas bookmakers.

— My daughter (or as my wife calls her, “f***ing FDR in bed over there”) has a severe Rear Window vibe going. Since breaking her collarbone, she has:

worn pajamas all day on Friday;

worn sweatpants all day on Saturday;

only changed out of pajamas after noon today.

And yes, I stand by my reference to a 1954 film rather than acknowledge her very obvious predisposition to follow in her father’s blogging buttsteps.

— I have a lot of notes for the stuff that happens in the Bills-Panthers and Cards-Colts games, but zero inclination to give give them any kind of context or analysis. Oh, J.J. Nelson caught a long pass against Indianapolis? ALERT REUTERS, THE FANTASY OWNERS MUST KNOW.

— My son wakes up after 3-hour nap. He immediately starts housing the macaroni and cheese he was too tired to eat at lunch. After shoving three forkfuls into his mouth, he lets his jaw hang slack, and the pasta tumbles out of his mouth and into the catch of his bib. He switches to the cold pouch of vegetables and fruit.

When we only had one kid, the pre-made pouches were an issue for my wife and me — too much cost, too much waste. We blended up organic concoctions like beets and raspberries for my daughter. But two kids? POUCHES AHOY! I have 12 minutes a week to myself, I’m not spending it making hipster baby food.

Even in small doses, the Browns are too sad for my tastes. And I like Bon Iver.

— The Browns, despite getting meaningful snaps from Kevin Hogan while DeShone Kizer was sidelined earlier by a migraine (surely not football-related!), have the ball in the red zone and the chance to make it 24-17 with more than 11 minutes left. Kizer, though, throws a pick in end zone.

I root for the Browns for approximately five minutes a week while watching RedZone, and it’s STILL too sad for my tastes. And I like Bon Iver.

— The Panthers are up 9-3 (woof) with a minute left, but the Bills are driving. Tyrod Taylor is moving the ball well. The Bills let clock burn instead of using a timeout. On 4th and 11, an open Zay Jones lays out for the catch at the 1-yard line and … drops the ball.

It a brutal way to lose. But also: maybe score more than three points before the final drive?

— Kareem Hunt scores another TD, this one hard-fought in heavy traffic, and that should do it for the Eagles.

bae caught me scorin http://pic.twitter.com/IPSVczIc1N

— SB Nation GIF (@SBNationGIF) September 17, 2017

— My next note is simply “Carson Wentz is trash,” but I no longer remember the context. You’ll have to take me at my word.

I suppose this is unfair to Wentz, who’s only in his second year. But I’m sorry: my notes are my notes, and what I write down while possibly distracted by my children and/or seven other games happening concurrently is etched in stone. The man is ginger cheesesteak feces, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

— Hey! The Bears are on the board with 1:43 left. RED LETTER DAY. Who scored? I don’t know, don’t care, and wouldn’t remember if you told me.

— Bortles TD to Hurns! Garbage time is Bortles time, baby! Use the transitive property!

The greatest QB in NFL history is "Blake Bortles down 27 points."

— Frank Schwab (@YahooSchwab) September 17, 2017

Bortles was 11-of-25 for 89 passing yards the entering 4th quarter. He went 9-of-9 for 134 passing yards in the final period. #Vintage

— Mike Kaye (@mike_e_kaye) September 17, 2017

— The Cards are backed up on their own 12-yard line with just under three minutes left with the game tied 13-13, but a long catch-and-run takes them to almost midfield. They are DEFINITELY winning this unless Carson Palmer can throw a back-breaking pick.

But no, they punt. And Colts can’t do anything either; they punt back. The specter of overtime is terrifying. The NFL shortened OT to 10 minutes this offseason, but the REAL solution is one they’ll be too chickenshit to ever make: let a tied game at the end of regulation just be … a tie. Save overtime for the playoffs, when you actually NEED a winner.

I’m serious. I don’t understand why so many Americans (a) think every sporting contest MUST have a winner, and (b) consider this attitude part of their national identity. Is it because our wars keep going to overtime?

Anyway, another successful kicker icing (UGH) leads to overtime, but thankfully Tyrann Mathieu immediately intercepts Jacoby Brissett, setting up the field goal that ends this horrific game.

— Nelson Agholor’s first catch of the day is a meaningless touchdown with 8 seconds left that pulls the Eagles to 27-20.

But then Philly recovers the onside kick! There’s a chance for the Chiefs to blow a 14-point lead in 8 seconds! This would be EXTREMELY Chiefs-y.

Alas, the Hail Mary is tipped out the back of the end zone. I realize that if the Eagles had made the 30-yard field goal at the end of the first half, they would have covered. (*shakes fist at sky*) GAMMMMMBLINNNNNNNG!

LATE GAMES, FIRST HALF

— Forget Cowboys versus Broncos. Ignore my Seahawks in their home opener. The only thing I care about is Miami-Los Angeles. Dolphins-Chargers. CUTLER VERSUS RIVERS, HELL YES BABY. It’s exactly like Marino versus Fouts, if all their arm talent was transferred to their faces.

The Chargers have failed to fill an MLS stadium that’s half the size of the smallest NFL arena, and ... is there a hot take here? Did we not see Dean Spanos brazenly screw over San Diego to move the Chargers 100 miles north to a city that already didn’t want the LAST team that moved there?

Carson, California has all the charm of the docks, minus the ocean breeze.

Do y’all know where Carson is, by the way? It’s inland from Long Beach, so it has all the charm of the docks, minus the ocean breeze. Its main draw is an IKEA. Remember the exurban factory blight-hole from the second season of “True Detective”? Carson’s not exactly that, but it’s not NOT that, either. No Angeleno is just gonna drop in on the Chargers this season.

— In Oakland, Marshawn Lynch is back doing what he does best: making the most interesting 3-yard carries in the NFL. The man just inflicts pain on a defense. On third-and-one, he bursts through line, breaks a tackle, and picks up 13 yards.

It’s his first game playing for his hometown team in front of his hometown crowd in the last season they’ll play in his hometown. I hope he scores a hundred touchdowns.

But on first-and-goal from 2, Derek Carr throws a fade to Crabtree. He pulls down the jump ball, and the box was stacked against the run, but I’m still sad for Lynch. In the other room, my daughter is crying, and I want it to be about the Raiders’ play-calling.

— There’s not much you can do about a broken collarbone besides put it in a sling and wait for it to heal. But a sling is a choking hazard for kids, so the doctor recommended that we pin my daughter’s pajama sleeve to her belly at night.

This is an excellent technique, if you want your child to sleep in a bed with open safety pins. After two nights of her thrashing her arm free, we let her sleep unrestrained. She chooses to lie on her injured right shoulder. I’m convinced this will deform her.

— FLEA FLICKER! I love flea flickers, even if the defense never bites on them quite the way I wish they would. This one isn’t all that impressive in terms of results, but check out the hustle Lynch puts into pass blocking after he pitches it back to Carr:

Flea-Flicker Alert! #RaiderNation http://pic.twitter.com/rSEx6IYAsw

— NFL (@NFL) September 17, 2017

This is gonna be a Marshawn Lynch propaganda column every week, and I’m not sorry about. I’m more enthusiastic about Beast Mode here than I am about my own children.

— Russell Wilson has converted three third-and-longs and a fourth down on Seattle’s first drive, but the Seahawks stall out a few yards from the end zone. The telecast has already shown a LOT of Pete Carroll working his gum furiously. On third-and-goal, Doug Baldwin swats away what might otherwise have been an interception. Seattle kicks a field goal.

— Emmanuel Sanders scores a touchdown on a ball perfectly lofted past three defenders to put the Broncos up 7-0.

Defenders everywhere. But it doesn't matter. This @TrevorSiemian to @ESanders_10 TD pass... #BroncosCountry http://pic.twitter.com/HOdRWX0Ztj

— NFL (@NFL) September 17, 2017

— I have to care for my son while my wife and daughter go next door to borrow a cup of flour. C.J. Anderson breaks three tackles to explode for a long run. Want more details? Sorry, my son has wandered into the other room, holding the baby monitor to his ear like a phone.

— A Bobby Wagner interception leads to another Seahawks field goal after another Seahawks stall in the red zone. Did Jimmy Graham get an end zone target? No, why would they do that? Wilson DOES throw a third-and-goal pass to Tanner McEvoy, though, who drops the touchdown. And it’s easy to see the Seahawks’ logic: at six-foot-five, McEvoy is shorter than Graham, but also not as good.

almost like tanner mcevoy hasn't caught 20 total passes since he left high school

— Field Gulls (@FieldGulls) September 17, 2017

I’m not one of those fans who roots for coaches to be fired. That’s why I want all of the coaches responsible for Seattle’s offense to be dropped into an active volcano.

— Lots of red at the Coliseum in support of Washingto — wait. No, sorry, those are just empty seats. Lots of empty red seats.

— I will probably never say this enough (in this space or in real life), but my wife is the hero of this column, of Sundays, of my whole life. If you put me in charge of two toddlers for a day, I will throw them bricks of pre-made food until help arrives and I collapse across the finish line.

But here’s my wife, holding our 16-month-old in one arm while she helps my daughter (herself one-armed) make individual pizzas with the other. There are not enough arms for this work. I take my son and put him in my lap while I type.

He’s fussy from being sick, so I hold him in my arms and cuddle him. Washington is up 10-0 and driving at will, but my son is staring into my face from four inches away. I am definitely breathing in his death-virus. His bright blue eyes are light near the pupil, ringed by a royal blue on the outside, like my father’s. He stares and I stare back, lost in the moment. He lets out a low, rippling fart.

— Disregarding petty things like rooting interests and outcomes, Jay Cutler is my favorite player in all of football.

Jay Cutler slinging a Hail Mary 20 yards out of bounds cracked me up http://pic.twitter.com/erbIPVVkQf

— Mike Renner (@PFF_Mike) September 17, 2017

He just gets me.

— Hey, Marshawn Lynch gets an actual carry on first-and-goal! It goes for zero yards. Crap, here come the end zone fades.

But no! Lynch gets the ball on second down, too. He’s hit immediately, and somehow breaks two tackles in the backfield to gain a yard or two.

On third-and-goal, the Raiders hand it to Lynch again, and he bursts up the middle for an easy score. FEED THE BEAST, YOU CRAVEN PASS-HAPPY COSPLAYERS.

— Even though it’s time for dinner and his bath, my son, groggy with exhaustion, goes down for a nap. My daughter rejects her pizza because part of the crust got stuck to the pan. All of her food must be WHOLE. You should’ve seen the tantrum I weathered because I cut her sandwich in half once. You could have seen it; it happened in public.

— Jimmy Graham is helped off the field after an apparent knee injury. On one hand, I’m stricken with concern. On the other is all of the world’s sarcasm, packed more densely than a neutron star. “Well gosh! Now he can’t do all that nothing for the Seahawks offense!”

Luke Willson, next up on the depth chart, immediately gets three targets. By the end of the game, my molars will be smooth like a stone shaped by the ebb and flow of millennia of tides.

— Carlos Hyde breaks off a 61-yarder to put San Francisco in the red zone, but c’mon: we know this won’t be a touchdown. Michael Bennett sacks Brian Hoyer on 3rd-and-six, and eschews his usual hip thrusts to raise a fist in protest.

Michael Bennett celebrated a sack against the 49ers with a raised fist. http://pic.twitter.com/J46niolm4G

— SB Nation (@SBNation) September 17, 2017

My daughter, now eating her pizza, raises a black power fist in solidarity. She’s gonna turn out all right.

— Todd Gurley hurdles over a defender; a few plays later, Jared Goff dumps it to Gurley on a blitz for 28 yards. I write “these teams are trash” even though they’re both far more entertaining than MY trash team, which has allowed San Francisco to get back in the red zone after the Niners got a huge play by running a draw play on third-and-12.

This sport is bad. The Niners and ‘Hawks go into halftime tied 6-6. I think about taking the Seahawks -14 today. “Maybe the defense will score a touchdown,” I lie to myself.

LATE GAMES, SECOND HALF

— I’m facing Jay Cutler in fantasy (it’s a deep league) and I can’t bring myself to root against him. But then, I never root for Cutler’s success or failure: I only root for him to be himself, and that is all he ever is, and that is why he’s never disappointed me.

Devonta Parker makes a tremendous catch down the sideline to set up first-and-goal, and then Cutler is himself. He overthrows a receiver in the end zone, then gets sacked on third down by Melvin Ingram (The Chargers lead the league in Melvins). The Dolphins kick a field goal to take the lead.

— Oh hey, Broncos and Cowboys! It’s the first quarter in this game after a weather delay. Forgot about y’all for a while there.

— Cordarrelle Patterson gets a handoff for the Raiders on 3rd-and-1 around midfield, and he takes it to the house. With his braids and visor, he looks like a very tall and disappointing Marshawn Lynch who is slowing down before the end zone. If Lynch did this, I would celebrate his swag. But it’s Patterson, so I chalk it up to him being a lazy draft bust. I’m an enlightened fan!

— Trevor Siemian gets sacked and fumbles, and the Cowboys recover inside the Denver 5-yard line. What happens next? My neighbors borrow two tablespoons of olive oil, my son gets up from his nap, and my daughter out of the bath running around naked. (Dez Bryant scores a TD, I think.)

— My son is mostly a nonverbal little chimp, but when I ask him, “How’s the pizza, buddy?” he responds, “Good.” I glimpse a future where he’s not communicating by pointing at things and grunting at me, and one of the million tiny weights of parenthood is lifted from my shoulders.

— With Eddie Lacy already a healthy scratch for the Seahawks, Thomas Rawls starts the second half on bench. Chris Carson looks good on three straight runs, and if you have any Seahawks on your fantasy team, I can only remind you: you did this to yourself.

— Jalen Richard scores for the Raiders on a 52-yard rush. I’m happy for them, but I also have an interest in Marshawn’s fantasy success, and these waiver-wire dildos are feasting on the defense that Beast Mode wore down. I DEMAND SATISFACTION, SIRS.

— Another Todd Gurley hurdle (GURDLE), this time for a TD:

Be careful out there, folks. Todd Gurley might be hurdling you as you read this. Head on a swivel!

— My son is walking around, now using a Wii remote as a phone. My daughter throws Magna-Tiles, earning a timeout. NEVER THROW MAGNA-TILES. They are Daddy’s most cherished toy. Seriously, I could build Magna-Tile structures for HOURS if we just had some more of them. Each individual square is like $30.

— Crabtree catches his third touchdown (the Raiders’ sixth). There are still 12-plus minutes left in the 4th quarter, but you know the saying: the game’s over when Marshawn dances on the sideline.

— RedZone has stopped showing Niners-Seahawks altogether, and I respect the decision. I follow the play-by-play on Twitter. Russell Wilson sails two throws on a 3-and-out. I close Twitter.

In the other room, my wife is reading Someday to my daughter, a book with such an emotional punch I sobbed the first time I read it to her — just ugly-crying, gasping for air. My wife and I can now read it without losing our faces, but it still makes me feel like I’m missing out on valuable family time. I pause the TV so I can help with bedtime.

— 7:14 pm: Kids are in bed, and I’m about 25 minutes behind realtime. Emmanuel Sanders catches his second touchdown, and my wife is lying down on our new shag carpet, looking at Instagram. Every day after the kids go to bed, we look at our phones for 10 minutes before engaging each other.

Regarding the Broncos, though: Trevor Siemian is … good? He takes what the defense gives him, throws it away when there’s nothing there, and distributes the ball well to his weapons.

— Cody Parkey puts the Dolphins up 19-17 with 1:05 to play. Rivers is gonna throw a pick, isn’t he?

Not to start, at least. His first pass is a “bullet” — please note the sarcasti-quotes — to Keenan Allen for a first down, then he finds hunter Henry, then Melvin Gordon, then Allen again. Keenan Allen is such a good route-runner; he’s a ton of fun to watch when he’s not inju— (*Allen loses his legs in a freak combine harvester accident*).

What happens next is perfectly befitting a Jay Cutler-Philip Rivers game.

What happens next, in the game’s final seconds, is a comedy of errors perfectly befitting a Jay Cutler-Philip Rivers game. I refuse to hash out the details, but the gist is this: the Chargers try to blow the game with a stupid decision, but the Dolphins bail them out by calling timeout. So Younghoe Koo comes out for the game-winning kick — and for once there will be no icing, because the Dolphins can’t call timeout twice in a row.

And a week after missing a kick that would have sent the game into overtime, Koo ... misses another kick. Oh no. Oh my darling, flipping boy. DON’T CUT HIM, THE FIRST KICK WAS THE LINE’S FAULT.

Scott Hanson, usually happy to direct the viewer to the next bit of action, takes the time to LAMBASTE both teams, saying they’ll both regret their “debauched” decisions. Hell yes. 10/10, best game of the day.

— With the Seahawks (ugh) trailing (UGH) 9-6 (UGH!!), Russell Wilson runs for a first down on third-and-one. There are 10 minutes left in the game and it somehow feels over? Or maybe I just want it to be over? I crave the end of this game and/or the sweet kiss of death.

Touchdown, Seahawks! Wilson evades a hungry pass rush on third-and-seven, rolls to his left, and finds Paul Richardson in the end zone. It’s Seattle’s first touchdown of the season, and it only took them an hour and 52 minutes-plus of game time. Certainly this is a Super Bowl contender, and not a critically flawed team.

Blair Walsh misses the extra point. Niners trail by three. Of course.

— A Jonny Hekker fake punt! The Rams may not have Jeff Fisher around to call the all-fake-punt offense, but they still know who their best player is.

Wait, why am I watching the Rams? I hit fast forward.

— Jamaal Charles gets a carry for the Broncos, who are cruising at altitude. It’s still weird to see him in a Broncos uniform. There should be government subsidies to pay star running backs to stay with their defining teams.

— After a Niners three-and-out, Chris Carson picks up a couple first downs on the ground, and the Seahawks are going to kneel this one out.

My dog starts gagging over the rug. NO! The whole reason we got the new rug is because she barfed on the old one too many times. As she horks, I chase her away from the rug, and she vomits on the hardwood floor instead. She’s a Rottweiler mix, and even as 65-pound dogs go, it’s a lot of vomit.

But I’m thankful, I guess. Cleaning a liter of dog barf off of a hardwood floor instead of out of a shag carpet approximates what I just what went through with Niners-Seahawks. God was a little heavy-handed with the metaphor, but I can at least appreciate the timing.

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