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marybeatriceofmodena · 1 year

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❤️ Christine Daaé

Honestly I would have added more but I had to stop at some point lmao

Rebecca Caine: She has a voice that can actually rival Carlotta's, and her Christine was every inch the romanesque, passionate heroine and you could totally see why the Phantom and Raoul were both in love with her. And she is PISSED in the Final Lair, and it's glorious.

Patti Cohenour: AN ACTUAL ANGEL. Graceful, kind, compassionate, airy, without ever coming off as a deer in the headlights, and with a golden voice to boot and a Think of Me cadenza of her own.

Julie Hanson: Look, I don't like Susan Kay's take on Christine for a variety of reasons. Julie Hanson took one look, removed everything about Kay!Christine that was annoying, gave her a nice little spine of her own while keeping the childlike quality which all culminates in a haunting finale where you can tell she'll be traumatized for life, and it takes the tragedy to another level.

Rachel Barrell: She felt very Victorian to me? Could be the looks since she has a very "Victorian" face, if that makes any sense. And if anything, I know people will disagree with me but I remember my first impression of Christine reading the Leroux novel was pretty much like how she portrayed her in the musical - yeah, Leroux!Christine was scared shitless, both at the situation and what she could end up doing or being forced to do, but she also had a backbone of steel, she had anger about the whole situation and wasn't afraid to show it, and she didn't take any shit from anyone. Rachel embodied that perfectly.

Kristi Holden: A dreamy but nervous Christine, who's still able to overcome her fear of the Phantom to give him the scrap of love he needed so badly in order for the good to overcome the bad, and who was somehow even better in the World Tour than in Las Vegas (and she was already quite good there).

Anna O'Byrne: Her voice can be a little all over the place, but she basically took the tormented side of Christine and upped it to eleven. And she's absolutely gorgeous to boot.

Samantha Hill: Not the strongest vocal-wise, but she basically thought every single gesture up to the last without ever over-acting, all the while being an adorable little ball of charm.

Elizabeth Welch: If I had to sum up her Christine, all the odds are against her, and she decides to be even kinder as a result. I wouldn't say her Christine is in love with the Phantom (granted, I haven't seen her with Jeremy Stolle yet and Hugh Panaro doesn't really lend to a more romantic take on the story), but it makes her kindness for Panaro's little asshole of a Phantom (affectionate) all the more poignant.

Valerie Link: Her Christine is an adorable puppy person who likes everyone and can be genuinely shocked and hurt when people are, say, mean to her (which makes Nicky Wuchinger pushing around people who are rude to her all the more satisfying, because, really, HOW DARE YOU)

Lauri Brons: Imagine if Anne Shirley was in Phantom of the Opera. That's it, that's Lauri Brons's Christine.

Lisa-Anne Wood: Another nervous Christine, who gets frightened pretty easily, is the shy side, but push her around, and she will let you know how much she DOES NOT LIKE IT, which gives for a nice little character arc.

Mary Michael Patterson: Subdued but with lovely facial expressions, she plays a Christine that seems humble, calm and shy at first but who has a backbone of steel if you poke her too much.

Tamara Kotova: Gorgeous voice, lovely facial expressions - she's basically the Russian Rebecca Caine in some regards, because you could totally see why the Phantom and Raoul would be as besotted as they are with her.

Emmi Christensson: She improved SO MUCH from the West End to Stockholm, intelligent and mature but with a nice arc of her own.

Meghan Picerno: I personally liked her better on Broadway than in the World Tour, where I was kind of meh about her, but her take-no-shit Christine worked pretty well with Ben Crawford's crazy ball Phantom (who I'll admit can be a bit of an acquired taste) and John Riddle's serious but loving Raoul. Plus, opera voice!

Sybille Glosted: I made no secret of how great the Copenhagen revival cast was, and she was no exception. Beautiful voice, detailed, thought-out performance that just tells a narrative with gestures, responded to her fellow actors instead of just going through the motions.

Holly-Anne Hull: So many interesting details I've never seen with Christine before, plus, she's adorable.

Kanisha Marie Feliciano: Beautiful, beautiful voice, and such lovely facial expressions that give her a bit of a cinematic quality - I could easily see her transfer well from stage to screen.

Send me ❤️ and a role in a musical and I’ll give you my favorite performers in the role.

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egcdeath · 3 years

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checkmate

summary: you’ve always refused to lose, and love was no exception. (gone girl-ish au)

pairing(s): ransom drysdale x dark!reader, a special mystery guest ;)

word count: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ because of heavy themes! faked death, framing of crimes, manipulation, alluding to sex, alluding to cheating, terrible relationship dynamic, very loose usage of the word crazy/psychotic, implied mention of self harm, brief choking & slapping (in a non sexual way lol), pregnancy trapping (idk if thats the right term), the reader is a very bad human being, overuse of italics *please let me know if i’m missing any warnings!

author’s note: this is my 2nd submission for @stargazingfangirl18’s 5k soft dark challenge, i decided to make the reader dark >:) but ransom is also not a good person. I used these prompts: “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.” & The town golden *girl isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks.

this is definitely the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, but blame @literate-lamb for making me write this because when i pitched this to her and said that i’d probably never write it, she enabled me.

okay that's enough from me. join my taglist if you want :D

“I know women whose entire personas are woven from a benign mediocrity. Their lives are a list of shortcomings: the unappreciative boyfriend, the extra ten pounds, the dismissive boss, the conniving sister, the straying husband. I've always hovered above their stories, nodding in sympathy and thinking how foolish they are, these women, to let these things happen, how undisciplined. And now to be one of them! One of the women with the endless stories that make people nod sympathetically and think: Poor dumb bitch.” Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

Your whole life, you’d considered yourself a competitive person. Constantly overcompensating for one thing or another, whether it was the chronic desire to achieve perfection that had been installed in you since you were a little girl, or your persistent internalized sense of inadequacy. You realized early on that it was much better for you to win than for you to lose, no matter the physical, emotional, or mental cost of the prize of perfection.

For the most part, this mindset worked out for you. You graduated as Valedictorian from your high school, neared the top of your graduating class at Harvard. God knew you earned it, all those tears you shed into overpriced textbooks, all the popping of unprescribed Adderall, and robbing yourself of the parties and social events that the rest of your peers gladly indulged in.

You were just different, which was why you gained a job nearly immediately after your exit from school, quickly climbing to the top at the Blood Like Wine publishing company after only a few years of being there.

And one night, at the party celebrating the release of A Thousand Knives when you laid your eyes on Hugh Ransom Drysdale, the grandson of your boss, you knew that you needed to have him. Rich, hot, a bit of an asshole. You deserved to finally complete your image, and that socialite flavored eye candy seemed to fit the part perfectly. Luckily for you, he was desperate. It only took a few tugs on your dress’ V-line, and a number of knowing smirks to find yourself being finger-banged in his family manor’s bathroom.

From there, you wormed your way into his life. Leaving belongings at his place as an excuse to come back, and offering booty calls in the middle of the night. Ransom must’ve been much more desperate than you originally thought, as it really only seemed to take one night of stroking his hair while he vented about his family to make him want to be with you. Men with mommy issues were always so easy.

Except, he wasn’t that easy. The longer you got to know Ransom, the more fucked up you realized he really was. He had no boundaries at all, became jealous and enraged at the drop of a pin, and occasionally told you things that made the hairs on your arms rise.

This of course all came to a head after the night of Harlan’s 85th birthday party. When the news broke of his tragic death, you’d immediately known it was the works of your Hugh. If your intuition wasn’t enough, his confession in the shower, where he’d demanded you take off your clothes to display that you were without a bug, certainly was.

You were completely devastated. The man that you’d invested so much into for years had thrown both his and your reputations down the drain in just a matter of hours. Of course, you felt bad for Harlan too. He was a good guy (when he wasn’t instigating a family fight).

Still, you showed up during the funeral in your best mourning clothes and dawning your biggest crocodile tears. You rubbed Linda’s back while she mourned the loss of her father, and the new truth about her husband. You played dumb when interrogated by some Southern private investigator, even giving Ransom an airtight alibi. You testified on his behalf in court with enough conviction to grant you an Emmy.

You’d gotten so far, devoted so much energy into him, that you simply refused to lose now.

To your friends, you’d seemed to lead a near perfect life. Dream job, dreamy boyfriend, dream bank account, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you just didn’t know what.

It dawned on you while sipping mimosas at the country club, Ransom playing tennis with his friends just a few yards away from you while Danielle showed off her brand new engagement ring, a .59 Carat Asscher Diamond, that if you heard her speak of again, would probably make you lose your shit.

You zoned out as she droned on and on about the shape, and how Matt proposed to her in their own private room in one of the most exclusive Parisian restaurants, instead focusing on how you could find yourself in the same position as that airhead next to you. In all honesty, you couldn’t stand the idea that someone was doing better than you, let alone someone in your own social circle. Dani got all the bragging rights of being engaged to the heir of some tech giant, being the first in your friend group to get eloped, and worst of all, Matt wasn’t even making her sign a prenup.

You blankly watched Ransom from afar, taking occasional sips from your sweet drink, while you thought of how you deserved all of that and more, and you were going to get it one way or another.

——

It didn’t take much to come up with something, your first and most obvious plan being to simply ask Ransom when he was going to propose to you. Of course, this wasn’t the first time you’d tried to approach him about this subject, you just wondered if maybe this time things would be different.

Panting heavily after a rather rough night in bed, you rolled off of your boyfriend’s chest and gave him a messy, yet sincere kiss. You knew your man well, and if there was any time to pop the question, it was in his post-nut haze.

“Baby,” you said breathily, “I wanna ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he responded casually, glancing over at you.

“When’re you gonna propose to me?” you hummed.

Ransom groaned and shook his head, rolling his eyes, “this is about Matt and Dani, huh?” he tutted, then extended a hand out to your warm cheeks so he could gently caress one with his thumb. “Thought we agreed marriage is just a piece of paper and it’s stupid.”

You huffed in response.

Of fucking course.

“I never said that,” you muttered, setting a hand on his broad chest. “Besides, it’ll be good if you get pissed and decide to like, kill your dad or something. Y’know, spouses don’t have to testify against each other in court.”

Ransom chuckled as if this whole thing was funny, like your feelings were some kind of sick joke to him. “You know my lawyers, babe. They could prove that bees don’t make honey. That bears don’t shit in the forest. I appreciate your attempt, though. This has been some really nice pillow talk.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, pinching his nipple in retaliation before turning your back to him and yanking the blanket onto your side.

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised that he was being stubborn, most of the time you felt like you were pulling teeth from the man. But that’s why you had a backup plan! You always had a backup plan. That’s what separated you from your boyfriend. Where Ransom was extemporized and impulsive, you were calculating and prudent.

Although you devised your plan that very afternoon while watching your partner backhand small green balls, you were going to need some time to get everything in order, to prove Murphy and his stupid law wrong in making sure that everything that could go wrong wouldn’t.

After all, love was a game. And you sure as hell weren’t losing to Hugh Drysdale.

——

You sacrificed too much to have your plans ruined by some trust fund baby with impulsivity issues. You deserved your dream marriage, the stability you wished you had as a child. You wanted the white picket fence, and everything that came along with it. Your desire to be the best, to be perfect was what drove you to poke holes in every condom in the box, what led you to draw liters of your own blood in hopes of staging a fake crime scene, to buy a cheap getaway car and burner phone off of Craigslist, and reach out to a high school boyfriend who you knew was in a position as desperate as you.

You planted seeds of doubt in your friends throughout the following weeks, feeding them lies about Ransom’s behavior, how you were afraid of telling him that you did in fact see two faint red lines on that damn plastic stick– only half of the statement truly being false–, telling them that he was behaving erratically lately.

It all was going without a hitch. Ransom didn’t seem to notice anything was off, despite your frequent visits to the bathroom and newfound affinity for true crime documentaries.

You almost felt guilty, knowing the world of pain you were about to throw the man into. Granted, he deserved the pain. You were in a relationship with a genuinely terrible person, and that person had made a conscious effort not to commit to you. You tried to make this easy for him, give him a chance to say a few words to you and slide a ring on your finger, but no, he always seemed to take the hard route.

You slept like a baby the night before you were setting your plan in action. You made sure to uphold the facade of everything being fine, making Ransom a nice breakfast before sending him halfway across town to the hardware store with an oddly incriminating list.

Once he was out of the house, you hurried off to the fridge in the garage where you’d been keeping a small stash of your own blood. It wasn’t pretty, but it had to be done. You poured the blood throughout the kitchen, splattering bits of it on the counters and cupboards. You poorly cleaned the mess, just as he would.

You put your next move in motion, falsifying a home invasion. You tossed over a table and some chairs, throwing books and photos onto the floor, but left some aspects slightly untouched, like an upright picture frame to give yet another hint that things were not exactly what they appeared.

You left a tiny blue post-it note on the nightstand of Ransom’s side of the bed, a quick and simple doodle of a ring along with the first initial of your name inked onto the tiny piece of paper.

With that, you were off. Technically missing, soon-to-be presumed dead.

----

The days following your disappearance had gone even better than you’d initially planned. Local news coverage had been all over you, search and rescue groups were assiduously looking for you, your parents had opened a tip line, and begged for you to get home safe on news segments. But the best part of it all was that Ransom had been briefly found himself in police custody, only to be released shortly thereafter. His past of an accused murder quickly made your disappearance even more of a national story, and you watched the whole thing unravel from the safety and comfort of your high school boyfriend, Andy Barber’s Newton home.

Of course, you fed him the same lies you’d given to your friends, and seeing the rather lonely position he was in, he gladly let you stay with him. You were absolutely having a hay-day with it all, dedicating hours of your day to watching Ransom slowly unravel. Maybe it was a bit sadistic of you to enjoy torturing your partner so much, but he needed to learn his lesson. You deserved better. You needed Ransom to rise up to your level, allowing you to finally complete your image. To let you two appear to be the perfect couple. Really, this was all on him.

Andy, for the most part, had been a good host. He was gone for the majority of the day, dedicating himself to his work while you lounged around on his dangerously cozy couch. Around two weeks into your stay, you were sharing a box of pizza in the living room with your old lover when something interesting on the television caught your eye.

Ransom, broadcasted on CBS, being interviewed on your disappearance.

You watched with wide eyes as Ransom begged for your return on national television. It was one thing seeing your mother plead for you to come back, the same woman who had installed such toxic behavior in you sob for your return, but Ransom. You’d never loved him more than in that moment.

“Hugh, if you could tell Y/N one thing, what would it be?” the interviewer asked.

Ransom turned, looking straight at the camera, directly into your soul, “Y/N, I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. I need you to come back safely, to see you, to hold you again. I’d give anything in the world for that right now,” he looked down, a tear falling down his cheek. “I can’t live without you in my life, I-”

His sentence was cut off by Andy grabbing the remote, and turning off the TV. You turned your head and frowned deeply at him.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked with a bit of a pout.

“I just couldn’t stand listening to him talk about you like he hasn’t treated you like shit for the past few years. C’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

Your blood boiled. Andy was once a means to an end, but now he was interfering. He was clearly much too selfish to see that you and Ransom were quite obviously soulmates. A match made in hell.

You followed him to bed regardless, curling up on what had been your side of the bed for the past few days, and staring at the wall until Andy’s breaths moved from a soft and rhythmic pattern to loud snores. God, those snores were obnoxious.

You slipped out of bed and to his dresser, grabbing two soft ties from the drawer, and daintily tying his wrists to each side of the bedpost.

“What‘re you doing?” he mumbled, instinctively yanking both of his wrists as he awoke.

“I’m going back home,” you whispered.

“You can’t be serious,” Andy huffed, tugging on the restraint attached to the headboard.

You shook your head, “I am.”

“I should’ve known. Why would you do something like this? Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in with the law?”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in when the world finds out that you kidnapped me?” you retorted.

This threat seemed to wake him up right away, “what about this was kidnapping? I gave you a nice home, fed you, I didn’t even make a pass at you. I didn’t do shit to you,” he hissed. “You think I can’t prove that? I’m a lawyer, for god's sake!”

You nearly laughed, “Okay, Andy,” you paused for a moment, “As a lawyer, who do you think everyone’ll believe? Someone who the world was on a wild goose chase for in the last two weeks? Or the man with a family history of violence? Must I remind you that your father and your son have killed people?”

Andy shook his head, face pinched in sorrow at the mention of his deceased son, clearly a low blow. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Swear to god that you won’t tell a soul what happened here,” you leaned over him, getting right in his face. “Or I promise, Andrew Barber, I will ruin you. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, or disbarred, or whatever the hell I decide to do with you. So keep your goddamn lips shut.”

You pulled away and he solemnly nodded, not bothering to put up a fight. You loosened the fabric around his left wrist and walked out of the room. You picked up the keys to Andy’s Audi on your way out, checking the time as you adjusted the driver's seat.

9:45 PM. Fatherhood really changed the man.

You pushed that thought aside and began your drive home, which turned out to be a surprisingly short trip. When you pulled up in front of your home, you were met with a slew of reporters outside of the house, along with a police car that seemed to be permanently camped there.

As you slowly got out of the car, a gasp, followed by a loud silence fell across the crowd. You limped for dramatic effect up the driveway as cameras followed you, and glanced back at them pathetically. From your peripheral view, you noticed the officers get out of their vehicle.

You finally got to your door, ringing the doorbell and waiting. You blinked harshly a few times, conjuring up the tears you needed to really make a spectacle of the event. After a few minutes, Ransom opened the door, eyes widening as he looked at you. He stepped out, and you wrapped him in as big of a hug as you could manage, genuinely missing his embrace. It was possible that you even let out a few real tears in the moment.

Your emotional embrace was interrupted by the man you recognized as Lieutenant Elliott, the same officer who’d been assigned to Harlan’s case.

“Ma’am,” he began, only to be shut down by you.

“Please, just let me be with my boyfriend,” you pleaded, crocodile tears streaming down your face as you spoke with the officer. You still needed time to get your story straight.

“Just give us the night, Lieutenant. We’ll come in first thing tomorrow morning,” Ransom added, furrowing his brows at the officer that he’d come into contact with far too many times.

He looked to his partner, who shrugged, then to you, “enjoy your night.”

Cameras flashed around you as civilians, journalists, and newscasters alike attempted to catch your attention. You grabbed Ransom’s hand and dramatically pulled him inside, insincerely attempting to hide your face by ducking and covering half of your face with your arm.

As soon as you were in the privacy of your own home, Ransom threw you against a wall.

“Why. The fuck. Would you pull a stunt like that,” he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes wild, and a hand around your throat.

You whimpered as he tightened his grip, rage clearly flowing through his system uncontrollably.

“Do you know what you did to me? You almost had me thrown in fucking jail. Do you understand that?”

You nodded weakly, “Ran,” you whispered, “the baby,” you glanced down at your stomach.

He paused, dropping his grip on your neck and staring at you in awe, “no…”

You nodded again.

“How…? You told me you were on the pill… You- you made me use protection…”

“Surprise?” you said weakly.

“You’re a psychotic bitch.”

“I’m your psychotic bitch. And no child of mine will be born out of wedlock,” you taunted.

“That’s what this is about?” Ransom laughed manically. “You did this all because I won’t fucking marry you?”

You didn’t even have to respond.

“I should send you to the loony bin right fucking now.”

“What happened to all those things you said to me on TV?”

“You’re fucking delusional. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. And you will. I’ve had to put up with you and your stupid little antics for way too long. How do you think I felt when you killed your own grandfather?”

Ransom scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you are so fucked up.”

“I’m the fucked up one? You killed your own blood in cold blood! You’re unhinged!”

“You faked your own death for attention, and got pregnant while doing it! Is that baby even mine?”

“The fuck are you trying to say, Hugh?”

“I asked if it’s even mine.”

“Really. You’re accusing me of cheating on you. That’s rich considering Mia, Layla, and whoever the fuck else. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous? You couldn’t have a normal adult conversation with me!”

“Are you kidding me? I asked you time after time to marry me and it was always some bullshit excuse!” you wagged a finger in his face as you spoke. “Oh, commitment scares me, oh, marriage is just a piece of paper, oh-“ you mocked his voice in a deeper tone before you were cut off by the sting of his hand against your cheek.

“Can you shut the hell up?” he growled at you as you held your own cheek, before you reached out and slapped him back, “I can’t believe that I’m stuck with such a deranged bitch for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe work on your vows a little, dear. I don’t think that those words are as charming to me as they’d be to the rest of our family and friends.”

“You can’t be serious,” he groaned.

“But I am,” you hummed, rubbing your cheek softly once again. “Look at how fast your life fell apart without me here. How quickly the public turned on you. Imagine how upset they’d be if you left me. I love you, Ran. I really do. You and I are perfect for each other, can’t you see that now?”

Ransom took a step away from you, pacing slowly in front of you. He ran a stressed hand through his hair, and took a long and drawn out breath, clearly at a loss for words.

“So when should we have the wedding? I’ve always wanted a Spring wedding, and I know it’s a little short notice, but I don’t want to be showing too much in my wedding dress,” you grabbed Ransom’s bicep gently, as if you were just having a regular old day with him, as if you hadn’t been choked and slapped moments ago. “But we can make it work. We always make it work, right?”

Your now fiancé stared vacantly at the wall ahead of him, giving you a slow, empty nod of agreement.

“It’s settled then,” you smirked. “I’ll start looking at venues. You find me a nice ring, okay Honey? One that puts all those other bitches’ rings to shame,” you sighed pleasantly to yourself, “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before hurrying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You heard a distant shriek of “fuck,” from Ransom, but you truly could not care less.

You hopped into bed, grabbing your laptop from its charger and promptly opening it. You couldn’t help but to smile at your own reflection on the empty black screen. This wasn’t how you imagined your engagement, but you did the impossible. You tied yourself down to Hugh Ransom Drysdale, he went down kicking in screaming, and you were likely in for a lifetime of cheating and resentment, but you did it nonetheless.

You finally won.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #dark!reader #ransom drysdale x dark!reader #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombey x you #knives out #knives out fanfic #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

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cloud9in · 3 years

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The Half of It

A Mc x Poppy fic inspired by the film

Summary: Bea, the town’s outcast is recruited by the school jock to win Poppy’s heart. But what happens when she starts falling for her as well?

Author’s Note: So this will be a multiple part series that includes scenes heavily inspired from the movie “The Half of It”. I certainly recommend watching it. My version will have different twists and a different ending, and definitely more angst. It will include mature themes as the story progresses.

Warnings for this chapter: Swearing. This is a good thing for now.

Chapter 1-

“Love is simply the name for desire and pursuit of the whole.”

- Plato, The Symposium

It is said that when one half finds its other, there’s an unspoken understanding. A unity. And each would know no greater joy....than this.

...Except this is highschool. And in my opinion, there is no other half. Maybe the other half is a paper on Greek God philosophy due at midnight. But make that four papers, including mine.

My name is Bea Hughes and let’s just say...this is not a very happy story. Well maybe some parts are, but you’ll have to read to find out. I come from a small town called Farmsville, and when I mean small, I mean really small. Except the highschool seems fucking huge, with never ending hallways and when you do somehow find the end, there’s usually two inbreds eating each others mouths off. Lucky for me I am the epitome of antisocial, reserved, an introvert, or whatever the inferior beings, aka every other senior, calls me when they think I can’t hear. But I hear everything, including that one time Bradley Denbrough, upcoming hotshot actor, or so he claims, found out about a crush a poor unsuspecting freshman had on him. Everybody knew what Bradley and his goons did to that boy, even the adults, but no charges were pressed. This town is as conservative as it gets, but no one knows of my secret. I carry this school on my back when it comes to having everyone graduate, but that’s all I am to them, a pawn. And that’s all I wanted to be, nothing more and nothing less. I preferred to be in the shadows.

***

...Except the mandatory Senior Talent Show forced Bea out of her hibernation hole. The thought haunted her as she sat in the dance studio, the last fucking place she wanted to be. Dance was so not a Bea kinda thing, but the blonde knew exactly why she granted herself the misery of picking the class. Poppy Min Sinclair, the golden girl of Farmsville High, the preacher’s daughter on a more serious note. She is...the most fascinating girl Bea ever laid her eyes on even if her boyfriend was a complete asshole who sermonized his duties as her future husband. Like seriously? Poppy has got to have some screws loose to date such a fake loser who plagiarizes all of his speeches at sunday church, and once literally begged Bea to write an apology letter to his father for him after completely upending their summer cabin. Except the blonde wrote the opposite of an apology, it went something like this…

Dear beloved donkey, I mean dad,

I am terribly sorry for inviting 20 hookers to the summer cabin. I have these strange impulses and you should at least be grateful I didn’t invite the big boss as well. His wife came though, in many, many ways. You should get the carpet changed.

Sincerely, your STD free son

It was safe to say that Mr. Denbrough had a near heart attack after reading it, and Bea did kinda feel bad, kinda. He never mentioned the letter to Bradley though, instead silently calling up the owner of Teopoli Catholic Summer Camp and essentially deporting the boy to Canada for the summer. No son of his would end up in hell was what the old man preached everyday from then on. It was the quietest summer Bea had ever experienced.

Being the towns outcast, Bea could have her fun when she so chooses to, but that didn’t pay the bills. In fact, the multiple essays that people paid her to write was her way of surviving and taking care of her mother. They weren’t very rich but Bea worked with what she had, helping her mother manage the farm, which included getting on her knees and wrestling the pigs. And that’s how she was gifted the name “pig girl”, stupid Bradley and his fake friends just had to wander too far and catch Bea in the act. She swore a remixed video of her hog calling surfaced the web at one point and that gave the blonde her five minutes of fame. Boy was it an awful time in her life.

Bea worked her mother’s previous job as station master or signalman for the trains that passed through, even if it barely paid her shit. The secluded feeling of sitting in that booth and having a moment with her thoughts was enough to give her purpose. Bea was fond of poetry and it usually helped her come up with song lyrics.

Song lyrics…

That she would have to sing at the talent show. A huge sigh escaped her lips as she slumped further into the ground, maybe hoping she could bury herself six feet under. It wasn’t that Bea hated singing, no she absolutely loved it. Playing her guitar at night and belting out lyrics that only resulted in her mother banging on the ceiling below in efforts to shut the blonde up. But the mere fact that she’d have to sing in front of the ruthless seniors rubbed her the wrong way. Something would go wrong, it always did. Bea was shaken out of her thoughts when Poppy crossed the center of the room, moving her hips slowly to the sound of Rihanna’s voice. The class chose a slow r&b song to choreograph today and of course all eyes were on Poppy.

If i’m your girl say my name boy

let me know i'm in control

Her silky blonde locks swayed as she danced to the beat, hands thrusting sensually along her sides. Bea stared in awe, almost like Poppy was the only one in the room and a spotlight illuminated every movement, every curve. Except she definitely wasn’t the only one picturing Poppy in that way. Carter, the school quarterback leaned against the railing, arms crossed and eyes trailing the rise and fall of her chest.

Got me wondering, I’m wondering if i'm on your mind

Bea sat up straighter but nearly lost her bodily functions when Poppy locked eyes with her before spinning away. It was simple eye contact Bea, don’t let it get to your head. You already have multiple lyrics inspired by Poppy offering the bare minimum in human interaction. She doesn’t actually like you. Poppy is popular and has the perfect life...and boyfriend, even if Bea heavily disagrees. Poppy was a bitch of course, but not a bitch bitch. Unlike the other wannabe mean girls, the blonde didn’t give Bea hell, well that was because the girl paid her zero attention. She seemed distant, off in her own world, or well in her parents world learning the strategies of business. Poppy was expected to follow in her parents footsteps and keep up with her reputation of being the richest in town, and of course a faithful future wife. So fun. But the blonde had other prosperous dreams of travelling and following her passion of music and dance. Highschool was her only outlet and she took advantage of it any chance she’d get. Bea knew this because she would ride her bike every friday night to the school and watch Poppy dance from outside the glass window. Maybe Bea realized it was kinda creepy, but she’s dumb enough to not realize her obvious growing attraction. I mean who pedals miles just to watch someone trip on their feet?

***

The sound of the bell caught everyone's attention and the teacher slowly lowered the music. Bea watched as Bradley approached Poppy and smothered her with kisses and praises. She rolled her eyes painfully, this kind of PDA definitely wasn’t it, she could have gone her whole life without seeing that. She walked silently through the crowd of kids in the hall, everyone was laughing and talking to their friends. All Bea could allow her mind to focus on was the very intimidating billboard of names a few feet across from her.

Winter Talent Show Sign-Ups (Mandatory For Seniors)

Bea glared at it quietly before signing her name on the sheet, sealing her inevitable fate. Through the hustle of students, Carter watched the blonde with a yearning look from afar. This should be great…

The next few classes were a blur and Bea eventually found herself getting up to hand Ms. Kingsley her paper. The older woman looked at her with a knowing glance as she took a generous sip of her coffee, which was 75% tequila.

“6 different interpretations on Plato? Colour me impressed Miss Hughes.”

Bea shrugs nonchalant, “yeah well would you rather read their actual essays?”

“Oh hell no.” Kingsley feigns shock as she looks at the stack of papers with a comical expression. She takes another sip, watching her younger, prodigy of a student carefully. “You know there are places outside of this godforsaken town where you can put your talents to use... Real use. I teach at Belvoire University occasionally.” Ina winks and slides Bea an application, studying her initial reaction. “It’s...in New York.”

“Damn right! The Big Apple.”

“Kingsley you know I have to stay here. It’ll be easier for me to manage the farm and be close to home”, Bea says confidently even though her body language displays otherwise. She predicted the big sigh filling her ears before it actually happened and it still managed to faze her. “Who ever said you had to do anything? What about what you want to do?” Bea doesn’t make eye contact with Ina, that woman could convince you to do just about anything with a certain look. “No we are not doing this. You can take your reverse psychology and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I’m outta here.” The blonde stomps out of the classroom, the sound of Ina’s chuckles still ringing in her ears.

“Hey! Everyone in this town fears God, but you know what God fears? My ability to hide a bottle of Don Julio in my left boot.” Ina pulls out the newly bought bottle and cradles it. “Come to mama.”

***

Bea rode her bike alongside the dirt road, Kingsley’s words on replay the entire ride. Maybe she did deserve to experience something more than what this town had to offer. But would her mother manage without her? Sacrifices, sacrifices. Bea was used to making those for her mother after her father’s death. What would her dad think of all of this?

“Hey!”

He’d surely smack Bea upside the head for the little antics she pulled occasionally. And then he’d buy her vanilla coconut ice cream and ask for every single detail of what happened as they sat and laughed together. That’s the kind of relationship Bea would have had with her father, she liked to assume so. She also liked to assume that she’d get home safely everyday without a scratch, but then there’s Carter.

“Hey wait up!”

The jock seemed to be running ridiculously fast and crashed right into the rear end of Bea’s bicycle, sending her face first into a mount of dirt. The initial impact was enough to boost the blonde straight back up like nothing happened and into a fighting stance, fists out and eyes wild. Very scary Bea. When she realized it was him...well it only pissed her off even more. “What the fuck Carter! You asshole!”

“I’m sorry Bea! Here let me help-”

“No! Move away! You- my bike- I…” Bea groans frustratingly, stepping away from the wreck as she tries to catch her breath. Carter watches her sheepishly, rubbing an envelope between his fingers awkwardly. After a few minutes of painfully uneasy silence he speaks up, “Okay...I didn’t want to ask you this way but I was wonder-”

“Oh, so you practically break my ass and now you want me to do you a favour? Real nice way of communication you have there Mr. Quarterback. What is with you and those freakishly large muscles anyways? Maybe it’s my fault I didn’t hear your avalanche built ass coming from behind.”

“Hey! They are not freakishly large!”

“I hate to break it to you Jackson but mine are significantly more appealing to look at.” Bea smirks widely, flexing her arm as best as she could. It’s a work in progress… just bare with her.

It didn’t take much effort for Carter to break out into a smile and look at her fondly. Maybe there was more to this girl than just being a human dictionary. Well that’s what people called her, and he maybe believed it at first.

Bea noticed the lack of response and shifted awkwardly, clearing her throat. “Listen, its $10 for three pages, $20 for three to ten, I'm not in the over-ten-page biz.”

“No..no I’m not here to cheat!” Carter blurts out. “But I’ll let you know if I do plan on- anyways. I uh..” He hesitates before handing her the envelope. “What’s this?

“Well you see it’s a letter..”

“Yeah but who writes letters these days?”

“I thought it seemed romantic..”

“And I thought women writing Jeffrey Dahmer letters in jail seemed romantic”, Bea says sarcastically, her smile dropping instantly after catching a glimpse of Poppy’s name at the top of the paper. It was like the blood stopped flowing through her body for a few seconds as her mouth went dry. This had to be the work of the so-called God everyone praised in this town, or it was one cruel coincidence. Bea wasn’t sure why seeing her name made her heart beat ten times harder, but it also wasn’t a necessarily uncomfortable feeling…

“I- I can’t help you.”

“But if you just add a few more words-”

“I’m not writing a letter to Poppy Min Sincla- to..to some girl for you. Letters are supposed to be authentic, from the heart, your own words, your...feelings.” Bea hurriedly turns to grab her bike, suddenly losing all interest in being social.

Carter was afraid this would happen. But he was stubborn. “But I can pay more for authentic!”

Too bad Bea was stubborn as well. “Just get a thesaurus...Good luck, Romeo.”

***

Bea sat in her room, strumming away softly at the strings of her guitar. Some of the keys were off but the old thing still worked, and that was good enough for her. She could hear the tv blasting downstairs, her mother most likely watching the news. There’s something about old people and news, were they secretly ogling the news anchors? Just like Bea ogled Poppy any chance she could. The blonde frowned to herself, her eyebrows crunching together in question. What so hard about writing a letter to Poppy? It’s not like it's coming from her. Well it technically is, but Carter is taking the credit and Bea never had a problem with people taking credit for her words. So why did this very thought prove to be such an inconvenience? Lucky for Bea, her mind drifted elsewhere when she heard a painful snap. Even if it wasn’t physically connected to her body, she felt a horrible ache. Slowly peering down at the guitar in her hand, Bea found that the neck of the guitar had miraculously split almost clean off, a splinter of wood just holding it intact. She wanted to scream but nothing really came out, except air of course. Much to her disapproval, this was definitely a result of her strength. Stupid muscles couldn’t contain themselves at the thought of Carter being with Poppy. Now how could that be?

But now she had no guitar. And no guitar means no strings to strum, and no lyrics to sing, and no talent to show at the talent show. Now she was in trouble. Probably because she knew that the only way to get the money to replace the guitar would be through sealing the deal with Carter. Oh fuck it!

***

“One letter. And enough money to buy a new guitar.”

“Deal!”

Bea turns away with a sigh, completely ignoring Carter’s high five. Now all she had to do was write this letter, and pray that Poppy wouldn’t completely consume every fiber of her being in the process.

-------------------------------------------

End note: So how we feelin’? Carter and Bea Brotp??

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @zigxryanz @uselesslesbianfr @aleiramacaii @thedaft1 @alexlabhont @iamsimpforpoppy

#queen b #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #mc x poppy #playchoices #I couldn't come up with a unique title #throw some ideas if you have #do share your opinion on this #it is valued #oblivious bea is a pain in the ass #but certainly fun to write

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

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The Invisibles #1

If I had to pretend to know anything about art, I'd say this cover represents how pop culture can kill. Or will blow your mind. Or feels dangerous but it's actually pretty safe because the pin is still in the grenade.

What the fuck do I know about art and why the fuck am I assuming this comic book is going to be about art anyway?! Just because Grant Morrison wrote it and I happen to think Grant Morrison has written some pretty smart comic books? Well, I'm pretty sure he's written some huge fucking turds too! It's just that I haven't read any of them that I remember. Apparently I've read a few issues of this but I don't really remember it. I don't like to tell people that I don't remember it when they talk about how great it was because that's admitting that 22 year old me wasn't a discerning critic of his entertainment. At least I also can't remember the truly garbage comic books I was reading in 1994 as well! So it's possible I read this and thought, "I'm so smart because I understand what's happening!" Now I'm terrified to read it because I'm absolutely certain I'll think, "What the hell is going on in this comic book? I'm such a stupid asshole!" Oh boy. This comic book is forty pages long. Get ready for a review that explicates the first fifteen pages thoroughly while also digressing twelve separate times before quickly summarizing the last twenty-five pages so I can go play some Apex.

I can't say for certain this is a shot at Ann Nocenti but, thankfully, I can say it's definitely not a shot at me!

This guy is Elfayed. He's retrieved a mummified scarab from the desert believing it might be a sign for the mysterious bald man with too many face piercings and the endeavor he's currently on. Which is a mystery because Grant Morrison isn't going to let the reader understand the comic book on the first page! Sheesh! The second page doesn't help explain things but it does place the word "synchronicity" burning in my brain like a buzzing, blinking neon sign.

Get it? Mummified beetle. Dead Beatles. Boy throwing a Molotov cocktail. Pop culture and violence. I think I intuitively understand this comic book so 70% of the rest of what I say will be dick jokes.

The kid throwing the explosive is one of three members of a gang called the Croxteth Posse. Every youth in Britain joins a gang no matter how stupid and lame they are. It just proves how hard they are even if they never throw one Molotov cocktail or ever even get their genitals touched. The gang members run off into the night, past some "King Mob" graffiti which will be important later, yelling, "We are the boys! We are the boys!" Is that a thing lame youth gangs in London did in the 80s and 90s? Because I remember Lister and his posse saying that shit about being the boys of the Dwarf when they thought they were acting hard on some adventure that probably involved Lister fucking a future version of himself. The Croxteth gang are from Liverpool because Croxteth is a suburb of Liverpool. It shows how imaginative these youths are. I bet there are at least fifty different Croxteth Posses bumbling about at night destroying things. The bald guys name is Gideon (and possibly King Mob. Unless the antagonist is King Mob. I should probably keep reading to find out) and he's both young and old at the same time. He's probably some kind of spirit of the zeitgeist or something, Grant Morrison's Jenny Sparks. He's looking for a new recruit for his own gang since something happened to John-A-Dreams. He might have just died of old age because Gideon's other acquaintance, Edith, is now 95 years old and sulking in her mortality. He wants her to contact somebody named Tom to let him know he thinks he found their new recruit. I think it's probably the anarchist kid because I know how stories work. I'm starting to think maybe The Invisibles are a bit like the Upright Citizens Brigade. Their only enemy is the status quo. Their only friend is chaos. Except there will be less skits with people wearing giant papier-mâché cat heads and more ultra-violence. The arsonist kid's name is McGowan and he's smarter than he acts, according to his teacher who gives him the old "you're not fulfilling your potential and your friends are just dragging you down" speech. But what kind of an anarchist would McGowan be if he gave a shit about what his teacher thinks of him? Oh, that's right! He'd be a good anarchist if he really gave a shit and a bad anarchist if he didn't give a shit but he let the teacher's words affect him anyway. That's how anarchy works, right? The problem with anarchy is that it needs a few rules to make it work well but you can't enforce any rules or else you're not living an anarchic lifestyle. Here's my definition of anarchy from Places & Predators, my roller playing game: a philosophy where anybody can do anything they want without worrying about some stupid guard putting an axe in their head. But they have to worry about everyone else putting an axe in their head all the time because there are no guards. I should probably read The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin instead of all these stupid Han Solo and Lando Calrissian adventure books.

Oh, well McGowan's mother withholds love and affection and blames him for all the ills in her life. I suppose I can now forgive him for torching the school library, right?

McGowan heads out to sit in the cold and watch John Lennon have a conversation with Stuart Sutcliffe. They joke about being dead and it's funny because they are dead. Stuart even says he wants to die young which is doubly funny because he does. Ha ha! McGowan doesn't laugh because maybe he doesn't find gallows humor funny. But some weird creature that speaks some German does laugh. He's all, "Ha ha! They're going to die young! Oh ho ho! Such jolly fun! Now join with me, you dumb kid." He also says some German stuff that I can't make sense of because I don't speak German and I don't want to ask the Non-Certified Spouse what it means. I could use Google but I'm being extra lazy right now. McGowan tells the weird German tourist to fuck off because he doesn't care about anything. But you know what kind of people actually care a lot about everything? The kind who need to tell everybody that they don't care about anything. Only people whose feelings are super hurt say stuff like that. And maybe serial killers. Later McGowan decides to prove he doesn't care by suggesting he and his friends blow up the school. Not because he cares how they think they know everything and they want him to be just like them and all adults lack affection and sincerity. No, he just wants to blow it up because he doesn't give a shit about nothing, man. The scene switches to the bald guy who might be King Mob on an LSD trip. It's nothing like taking LSD but I'll pretend it's all metaphor and analogy and spiritual nonsense. In his trip, he sees a gigantic head of John Lennon. Mostly because the whole trip was to summon this head. It's a double page spread of psychedelic images and nonsense mixed with Beatles lyrics and album titles. Strange that Morrison fails to translate an acid trip involving The Beatles when The Beatles themselves have a song that I think most feels like and describes an acid trip. No, it's not "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"; it's "Strawberry Fields." If I had to state what my favorite Beatles song was right now, I'd say "Strawberry Fields" even though Magical Mystery Tour might be my least favorite (later) album (although now that I type it, I remember it contained "Penny Lane" and "The Fool on the Hill" and "All You Need is Love" and I guess I was wrong about Magical Mystery Tour being my least favorite album). I added the later because their early pop shit doesn't really resonate with me. I don't think I appreciate their music until after they've met Doctor Robert. Just listened to "Strawberry Fields" and now I'm crying. Fucking great song. While trying to burn down the school, McGowan is caught be his teacher. He gives his teacher a brutal beating and then answers a question he refused to answer in class, just to show he's both smart and violent.

McGowan's arrested and Hugh Laurie sentences him to hard juvenile labor.

I was speaking of acid earlier and I'd like to recommend the documentary on Netflix called Have a Good Trip, especially to people who have never done acid. It's enlightening. You might think that my favorite part was one of the crazier bits about hallucinations or one of the stories about how something odd always happens when on acid (it totally does) but I think my favorite bit is when the musician from Bikini Kill, Kathleen Hanna, tells the story about how acid made her realize that you didn't have to cross the street along the legs of the two triangles comprising the square intersection but can just cross along the hypotenuse. It's not that the idea is mind blowing or even close to an "A-ha!" shower thought; it's just that's the kind of mundane thought that seems like a fucking magic revelation when you're on acid. It's the epitome of the acid experience. LSD makes the mundane profound which is way more exciting than you might think. If you've never done acid, you might have fucked off to the comment section just now to point out that the universe is a wonderful and magical and profound place even without acid. And I fucking agree. But LSD makes everything profound. Every single thing you see or think combines with the fabric of the universe and it all becomes staring at the stars and wondering how it all fucking fits together. But you don't need space or infinity or philosophy; you just need LSD, a stapler, a bottle of water, and a Jack Kirby comic book from the early 70s. Dane McGowan is sentenced to ten weeks in a juvenile facility called Harmony House. It's where violent teenage boys aren't taught to stop being violent; it's where they're taught to use their violence to benefit the government! At least that's my guess. I like to pretend I know what's happening in the comic book as I write the review and then later I delete the wrong assumptions I made and replace them with lies to make me look like a Grandmaster Comic Book Reviewer! Actually, that last sentence was a lie. Normally if I get something wrong, I just write "Oops!" later and then tell readers to forget the terrible mistake I made.

This is the plot to every young adult dystopian book ever written: "Society says conformity is good. But one young spunky individual with weird hair won't submit and will save the world!"

Sometimes I feel the only people touched by stories about the individual refusing to be a sheep of the status quo are people who tend to be sheep of the status quo. To rely identify with the hero in one of these stories, the reader needs to have though of themselves as part of the status quo and felt the need to participate in some activity that would prove that they weren't. Instead of, you know, just being themselves and never actually giving their place in society a second thought. I find odd people who are inspired by a story that tells the reader to be themselves. How is that inspiring unless you never really knew that was an option? And how could you fucking not know it?! But then again, Heathers is one of my all-time favorite movies and I suppose that's got a similar message about being oneself. But it also has murder and some seriously great lines of dialogue and Christian Slater blowing himself to bits.

Oh, remember where I mentioned this comic book was basically screaming "synchronicity" at me and that I understood it on an instinctual level after page two? Grandmaster Comic Book Reader!

The leader of The Invisibles (man, I wish the comic book would just tell me that the bald guy with piercings is actually King Mob already) decides to infiltrate Harmony House to make sure their soon-to-be new recruit, McGowan, is doing okay. I'm sure he'll find he's fine because he's not buying into the whole "be a soldier of the status quo" bullshit being fed to the young boys at the institution. It's easy to be against a Headmaster who thinks arguments like "Liberals love freedom but do they want people to be so free that they can steal their VCRs." But will he be able to stand up against the techno-brainwashing and the influence of the mystical creature running things from behind the scenes?! Probably but only with help from the Upright Citizens Brigade. I mean The Invisibles.

It's surreal that this is the way we thought of controlling the populace in the 90s: turn them into content sheep without any anger or frustration. And yet the exact opposite of that is true: control them by making them angry and frustrated at as many lies and half-truths as you can.

The big twist reveal isn't that the boys' brains are cut up and messed with; it's that the boys genitals are removed as well. Yeesh! Now I'm angry and frustrated! I'm totally against this Harmony House bullshit. Is this actually happening red states?! Horrific! King Mob (yes, they finally reveal that's the bald guy's name) rescues Dane from Harmony House while shooting a bunch of people (including the Headmaster) and blowing the building to bits. It's a good thing we learned the real antagonist was some dick-eating creature called the King of Chains. Dane McGowan isn't ready to join The Invisibles which King Mob was ready for. He had a tarot reading earlier that said the kid was going to have to be put through the wringer first. So he leaves the kid in London and disappears, just so we all know why they're called The Invisibles. I guess Batman is a member? The Invisibles #1 Rating: B+. This issue was forty pages long and it felt like it used every page to move the story along. It's insane that that's one of the greatest compliments I can give a comic book. Way too many writers just fill their scripts with nonsense because they don't have a real plan for their story. I know everybody espouses the idea that a good comic book story should teach the reader something new about the character. But unless learning that Superman can punch something harder than he previously thought he could, or Batman is super resilient and can take a ton of punishment for five issues before rising to the occasion through pure force of will, most comic book writers really don't put a lot of thought into themes. Sure, sure. This sort of feels like the mystic super hero version of Catcher in the Rye which might be why I stopped purchasing it after six issues. Although it's just as likely that I stopped purchasing it at six issues because my infrequent visits to the comic book store made me miss Issue #7 and I just gave up on it. It's not bad and it's put together well and as a young 48 year old who thinks the man can go fuck himself, I'm totally into it's message about being a unique individual! Anarchy rules!

#The Invisibles #Grant Morrison #Steve Yeowell

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lucyreviewcy · 5 years

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Made in Chelsea - S1 E01

Oh that’s right, this is happening. I can’t remember what prompted this, but a couple of days ago I decided to check how much Made in Chelsea is still available on All4. Guess what, great news guys - all of it. Seventeen delicious seasons. I’m making it my weekly challenge to deep-dive into each episode hoping to find some enlightenment in this absolute masterpiece of constructed reality.

As a disclaimer: I don’t just want to underline that there are elements of this show that are pure trash. Yes, Spencer Matthews’ hair makes him look like the bad guy from an episode of Columbo. Yes, Millie Mackintosh’s inability to open her mouth enough to enunciate a word drives me nuts. Yes, the storylines ache with forced twists and endless shock hookups. All of the above are true, but you don’t need me to tell you that any more than you need me to tell you the sky is blue.

Made in Chelsea is fantastically interesting for a lot of reasons. For one, it has managed to run for seventeen seasons across the last eight years. Why? Some of the greatest British TV shows of all time have had chronically short runs, so what makes MIC so enduring?

Secondly, as it chronicles the lives of the super-rich, the show is 100% built on aspiration and jealousy. Something I often like to mention to MIC haters is that the show borrows most of its conventions and characters from Jane Austen, or for a more recent example, Richard Curtis. The characters are all financially comfortable enough that all they have to focus on in life is who they want to marry. Coupling and uncoupling is central to the society of the show. Imagine a world where all that mattered was who you were putting your lips on (a lyric stricken from the John Lennon song because it just didn’t scan properly.)

To push the envelope even further, I have to point out that these characters operate outside of the boundaries of the real world. They’re not restricted by anything - money can open any door to them, meaning they can travel anywhere, do anything and never worry about staying afloat. If you want to get fancy, Made in Chelsea is a peek at the peak of mount Olympus, and it turns out all the gods are doing is shagging and drinking G&Ts. So... pretty much what they’re doing in the Greek myths but with fur coats instead of Golden Fleeces.

My third reason I love MIC is that this show is a gosh-darned time-capsule. In the first episode, everybody’s favourite posh-boy-cum-human-shark Hugo makes a few passing references to Facebook. Made in Chelsea was born at a time when social media was in its infancy. Nobody is talking about Instagram followers or influencers yet, and Cheska’s Girl About Town blog is treated as some strange glamorous novelty. As if blogging is this amazing cool thing. It’s not cool now Cheska. Everyone has a blog. I have three blogs. Shut up about your blog.

My point is that the media landscape over the last ten years has changed, and with it our concept of what is a desirable lifestyle. A show built on aspiration is a brilliant chronicle of what we thought was cool when it was made.

Having said all of the above, I should probably mention that I also bloody love Made in Chelsea and at the very least my Mum will probably enjoy this blog. Here’s what I thought of episode one.

Episode One - “I’m just hot and I feel like shit.”

A classic Spencer Matthews quote to get the ball rolling.

After an excruciating Blade Runner-esque voice-over from Caggie Dunlop episode one starts at a party in a bar, thrown by nineteen year old (shock horror she is so young to me now) socialite Amber Atherton to promote her jewelry line. Noteworthy moment number one is that most of the characters in the show have jobs, because we no-longer aspire to somehow be so rich we don’t need to work. These are people who really are so rich they don’t need to work, but they all have jobs based on their “passions” or “creativity,” except for Spencer who is a stock-broker because he was born that way and it isn’t his fault.

Amber is the epitome of cool, even eight years on. She’s wearing barely a lick of makeup and dressed like a trendy off-duty archaeologist. Tensions develop between her and big-haired, fake-tanned Cheska, whose blog is considered “offensive” by Amber and hat-princess Rosie. Made in Chelsea is definitely a show which pits women against each other, but that is OK because I don’t get my lessons on gender equality from anything broadcast on E4. (Oh, wait... Gilmore Girls... Never mind.) Both Amber’s pared-down minimalism and Cheska’s full-blown fakery are popular aesthetic choices nearly a decade on. If anything, these style choices are demonstrated in ever more extreme ways by beauty vloggers going all-out on heavy contouring while Pinterest pushes endless “no-makeup makeup” looks at me. Amber, Cheska - there is no need to fight! You are both valid in your style choices.

There are several incredible moments in this episode, but to list them would take more words than anyone is willing to read on the subject - so I’ll be brief.

1) The moment when Spencer’s (in a relationship with Funda) asserts that he and Caggie will “probably hook up at some point” is followed by the lyrics “and the love kick-starts again...” because, you know, what is more romantic than a man suggesting that even though he’s in a relationship he’ll probs bang you some time. Thanks Spenny, you classy.

The whole exchange between Hugo and Spencer is actually brilliant because it establishes, from the off, that Spencer is a walking satire of bro-culture. Later, we even see him cut between sensitive, nerdy Francis as he tries to woo the Cagster after her “gig” (as an aside: we don’t see her sing a note but that somehow adds to the magic.) This moment is literally the uber-masculine Gaston-type kicking every character Hugh Grant played in the 90s in the balls. Perfect, it’s good to know where we stand.

2) The Charles Dickens/Jane Austen/A. A. Milne debate. This moment, a discussion between Binky (brilliant, loveable Binky) Cheska and Ollie, is iconic. Binky can’t remember who wrote Winnie the Pooh, asks if that was Charles Dickens, then says “Oh, no, that was Pride and Prejudice.”

Look its funny to watch rich people get confused by literature, OK?

3) This is my final point but it’s a biggie. The show uses one of my favourite absolutely nutso sexist tropes: “Woman refuses to have sex with her significant other while he is all gross and sweaty ERGO she is a stick in the mud and no fun at all.”

For another prime example of this trope, see Julia Louis-Dreyfus in National Lampoons’ Christmas Vacation.

This trope is utterly mad, but again - at least the show is spelling out where Spencer stands. He’s an asshole. The show is telling us that he’s an asshole. And yet for some reason our protagonist whose full name I presume is Cagoule Elizabeth Dunlop, is pursuing him.

What?

Why would anyone pursue a guy who makes it clear from his first entrance into the narrative that he’s a walking catastrophe of stereotypical masculinity and misogynist values???

And here we come back to Jane Austen, and the basic fact that Mr Darcy is a GARBAGE PERSON. He’s straight up rude to Elizabeth and we know he’s sexist because it’s the past, and yet for some reason...we root for them. I’m genuinely interested to re-watch this narrative unfold, because surely the show doesn’t expect me to want Caggie to get with Spencer? Right?

There we have it, the first episode of Made in Chelsea unpacked for you like a backpack at the end of term, full of hidden treasures, trash and merits you had forgotten about. Tune in next time for more lukewarm takes on telly.

#made in chelsea #retrospective #review #from the start #all4 #2011 #media studies #jane austen #caggie dunlop #spencer matthews #mic

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samanthasroberts · 6 years

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8 Software Features That Would Make Real Life Awesome

If you’re anything like me, you spend most of your time on the computer because it’s way easier than real life. Literally everything in a computer is easier than its analog counterpart. Email is better than snail mail, YouTube lets us watch people get hit in the balls without having to endure whatever asshole is currently hosting America’s Funniest Home Videos, and word processing programs let us type without revealing what grammatically inept morons we are.

Wouldn’t it be great if we had the same conveniences of a computer in reality? Here are the features I think we could use the most.

#8. Copy/Cut/Paste

I’ve worked exclusively with computers for well over a decade, because I’m clumsy and therefore a danger to myself when doing real-people jobs, and I get frustrated easily with repetitious tasks. Whether it’s flipping burgers or making a brick wall, the act of repeatedly picking things up and moving them is a pain in the ass.

In The Real World …

You could select an object and then just copy, paste, repeat. A job at Taco Bell would be a lot more bearable if you made one taco before lunch and just pasted it, hot and fully wrapped, over and over again for every customer.

“Or you could give me a Ctrl+Z to undo working here …”

Stores would save a bundle simply reusing the same product over and over, and you could save even more buying one of those build-your-own six packs and just pasting the good ones forever. Even more practically, you could make copies of your more valuable organs for when you inevitably destroy them with all of the cigarettes, Big Macs, and vodka you copied over the years.

The cut function might be even better. You’d never have to do any heavy lifting again. You could just cut and later paste things wherever you want them to go. Imagine a world in which strained backs are a thing of the past. Carrying loads of laundry up and down the stairs would be as easy as walking up and down the stairs — which is a challenge for me because I’m terribly out of shape, but you get the general idea.

Though carrying a complete bedroom set on a clipboard might prove to be tricky.

Destroying evidence would be as easy as cutting an object, then cutting another. Just like the joke that was originally here but accidentally copied over, it would never be seen again. Those hundreds of beer bottles from that binge you pasted over the weekend? Cut and then lost seconds later when you copied that McNugget into the full 20 you now need to fight the hangover.

#7. Saving Progress

Do you have any regrets? I do. I’m divorced, I’ve gotten speeding tickets, and I once got hit in the junk by a piece of wood that flew out of a table saw. So I have some experience with looking back on moments and reflecting on how it would be super to have not done that, because I still cry when I pee sometimes. (Divorce is rough, folks)

On the other hand, I have zero regrets with any video game I play, because I save as often as possible, whether it allows quick saves or has save points. For example, there is no regret for your character in Alien: Isolation when you accidentally attract the creature with your running and it kills you, because you saved the game and can go back and not do that this time. Unfortunately for your underwear, that doesn’t undo the racing stripe you just forged in terror turds.

A better bowel loosener than Metamucil or a draft notice for Ted Nugent.

In The Real World …

Wouldn’t it be great if we could save the day when we get up in the morning? Or just before a big interview? Or before asking the custodian if he was propositioning you with his eyes or just has a weird tic? All that regret could be undone with a reload. It would be like Edge Of Tomorrow, except you don’t have to get shot in the face or run over to undo your most recent screwup.

“Shit …”

Had an awesome relationship, but fucked it up over a stupid misunderstanding? Reload. Blow through a red light? Reload. Got drunk and put peanut butter on your genitals to make friends with the dog? Reload, but gross. You can reboot your life, but you can’t scrub a soul clean, pervert.

#6. Piracy

Before anyone screams, I know, piracy is bad. It can and has murdered the careers of indie developers and writers, because rather than paying for their product, people just shared it for free, and free doesn’t buy food and WiFi. On that note, a lot of people are A-OK pirating things from big companies. Raise your hand if you paid $7,000 for that copy of Photoshop you use to replace celebrities’ heads with dicks. I thought so.

Fact: Only two legitimate copies were ever made, both in 1997.

In The Real World …

Now that we’ve cleared that up, think about a world in which the poor and downtrodden could have lobster mac and cheese because someone made some at a fancy (possibly schmancy) restaurant, then made a bunch of free copies to share. That wouldn’t even impact the restaurant, because it’s not like Ol’ Hobo Gus was going to eat at the Four Seasons but “fuck it, free lobster mac.” And what if simple things that add up in life could just be duplicated from what the Haves have to make life less shitty for the hardworking Have Nots? Trips to the food bank would be a snap, and you could drop off Costco-sized boxes of Q-tips or actual fresh food instead of that canned garbage that people who can’t afford a can opener are always offered.

True, but would we really want to have to sit through this PSA before every meal?

Granted, some people would take advantage of this and use it for Teslas, Blu-ray players, and 96-inch TVs that would go perfectly in my living room. Now, these pirated copies will probably have some built-in problems just to fuck with the thieves, but honestly, that’s an extra layer of hilarious I think the real world could use right now.

#5. Bookmarks And Shortcuts

Bookmarks are already a thing. Remember those pieces of poster board you shoved into your pre-Kindle so that when you went back you didn’t have to remember what page you were on? That’s actually exactly how we came to use the term “bookmark” for webpages.

In The Real World …

Condescending history lessons aside, the basic idea behind bookmarks and shortcuts would be amazing in the real world. Imagine being able to snap right back to where you were in line after running to the bathroom, regardless of how many dick nerds stole your place for the new Star Wars movie.

Although autocomplete will lead to awkward questions as to why you went to the strip mall while your husband ended up at “Mammary Lane.”

More practically, you could make a shortcut to the responsible groceries you always “forget” when shopping. A shortcut to where you parked at a mall or concert could save valuable hours of your life that could have been spent doing something other than wandering and crying quietly.

#4. “Invisible” Setting

One of the main reasons socially inept people like myself evolve into Howard-Hughes-like hermits who collect cats and cereal boxes until A&E has to intervene is the fact that it’s hard to go anywhere in society without socializing. Leaving the house almost always means someone is going to say “hello” or make eye contact, and that is just too damn much human interaction for some of us.

Even if you’re not a shut-in, there are some people you’d rather not interact with who can’t seem to read the “get fucked” look in your eyes and insist on speaking to you.

This is why chat programs have an “invisible” setting. Because sometimes you have shit to do and don’t want to be bugged by employees, former friends, or that mall Santa who’s been following you for years.

In The Real World …

Just think, you no longer have to feel guilty as you try to avoid eye contact with a homeless person despite the wad of cash in your pocket. You could get that cucumber and variety box of condoms through the self-checkout without feeling watched. Go on, I won’t judge.

That virgin olive oil isn’t going to stay that way for long …

It would also make life much more bearable for the self-conscious in the world. I’m someone who can trip over nothing on a linoleum floor, so walking down a concrete sidewalk with seams has caused more than a few completely unnecessary stumbles when people were looking. There’s nothing I can do about that, because there’s no therapy for clumsiness, but it would be awesome to fall because your feet are stupid and not have witnesses.

On the downside, shoplifting would be super easy. But come on people, don’t be assholes.

Pirate that shit.

#3. Pausing

If anything on this list is a superpower I would bathe myself in toxic chemicals to get, this is it. The best part of watching a movie, listening to a song, or playing a video game on a computer is the ability to pause it at any time for any reason.

Like that much needed change of underwear and vodka shot after this.

In The Real World …

The ability to pause life would make time management meaningless, since procrastinating would only consume non-time that you’d essentially have an endless supply of. Impromptu naps could happen at any time with no repercussions. No matter how crazy/important/fast-paced your job, you could just drop everything and run to the can at any time (but still wash your hands, stinky).

Work in fast food? You could spit in some asshole’s food for being rude, and literally no one would be able to tell. Not that I endorse that kind of thing. You could also rob a bank just by waiting for someone to open the vault and walking in. But I recommend just using it for napping and meeting deadlines at the last minute, unless you’re a terrible person.

There’s a reason we called this the greatest superpower of all time.

#2. Search Engines

Search engines are more than just a convenience in the modern world. They’re necessary to find a job, a cookie recipe, or personal information about that person you have a crush on and can’t seem to get a lock of their hair to sniff. But in the real world, it would become the single most indispensable tool anyone ever devised.

Way more than whatever the fuck this is.

In The Real World …

You’d never lose another set of keys, or your phone. You wouldn’t have to ask anyone where the condoms were at the store (see: invisibility, self checkout), and you could “image” search that person you kinda recognize and knows your name so you don’t look like a dick when they say hi. Combine it with the bookmark feature and you could dominate on Jeopardy or emotionally brutalize the stupid on Wheel Of Fortune.

Otherwise known as the University of Phoenix of game shows.

If you were ever lost in the wilderness, you could look up which mushrooms you could eat for fun, and which ones you could eat for food. Or maybe search where you are and not get lost in the first place.

You could also become the world’s most hated “um, actually” guy by immediately debunking the bullshit everyone around you spouts. But hey, self-righteousness is it’s own reward, right? It’s what fuels Facebook.

#1. Muting/Blocking

If you’ve ever used Twitter, these are indispensable tools for not being bothered by people who insist on “debating” you by spamming up your timeline with endless tweets, blowing off those “See Why I faved You” religious accounts, and, most importantly, keeping unruly dicks from so called “movements” from sea-lioning you with bullshit questions because you happened to share an opinion they disagreed with.

The new universal symbol for “asshole.”

In The Real World …

Wouldn’t it be great to never again have to hear those annoying people working the kiosks in the middle of the mall?

No! No one wants your stupid copper head-octopus thing, and you smell like a cologne ad from the 1970s.

You could permanently avoid people you’ve had a falling out with. Or you could block or mute other things, like tabloids in the checkout line or anything on daytime TV that isn’t Twilight Zone reruns.

Even better, women could mute or block catcallers. Imagine a world in which cutting shitty people out of your life was as easy as clicking a button. Of everything in this list, this is the one that would allow people to take back their lives from assholes and do some real good. Hell, how much heartache and pain could we all have avoided in the ’90s if we could just block Columbia House?

“You can buy 15 puppies for just a penny!” “Must … ignore …

As with blocking on the Internet, people will call you a coward and claim that they won life if you block them. And just like blocking on the Internet, they’re dead fucking wrong, because your life now contains one less annoying cow pie of a human. And we could all use fewer human cow pies.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/8-software-features-that-would-make-real-life-awesome/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/04/08/8-software-features-that-would-make-real-life-awesome/

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adambstingus · 6 years

Text

8 Software Features That Would Make Real Life Awesome

Wouldn’t it be great if we had the same conveniences of a computer in reality? Here are the features I think we could use the most.

#8. Copy/Cut/Paste

In The Real World …

“Or you could give me a Ctrl+Z to undo working here …”

Though carrying a complete bedroom set on a clipboard might prove to be tricky.

#7. Saving Progress

A better bowel loosener than Metamucil or a draft notice for Ted Nugent.

In The Real World …

“Shit …”

#6. Piracy

Fact: Only two legitimate copies were ever made, both in 1997.

In The Real World …

True, but would we really want to have to sit through this PSA before every meal?

#5. Bookmarks And Shortcuts

In The Real World …

Although autocomplete will lead to awkward questions as to why you went to the strip mall while your husband ended up at “Mammary Lane.”

#4. “Invisible” Setting

Even if you’re not a shut-in, there are some people you’d rather not interact with who can’t seem to read the “get fucked” look in your eyes and insist on speaking to you.

In The Real World …

That virgin olive oil isn’t going to stay that way for long …

On the downside, shoplifting would be super easy. But come on people, don’t be assholes.

Pirate that shit.

#3. Pausing

Like that much needed change of underwear and vodka shot after this.

In The Real World …

There’s a reason we called this the greatest superpower of all time.

#2. Search Engines

Way more than whatever the fuck this is.

In The Real World …

Otherwise known as the University of Phoenix of game shows.

#1. Muting/Blocking

The new universal symbol for “asshole.”

In The Real World …

Wouldn’t it be great to never again have to hear those annoying people working the kiosks in the middle of the mall?

No! No one wants your stupid copper head-octopus thing, and you smell like a cologne ad from the 1970s.

“You can buy 15 puppies for just a penny!” “Must … ignore …

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/8-software-features-that-would-make-real-life-awesome/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/172738198392

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viralhottopics · 7 years

Text

A Definitive Ranking Of 2000s Rom Coms

Although people who peaked in high school like to act poetic about how great the 2000s were, they werent actually any better than the present day. I mean, it was a time when Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake wore matching denim outfits in public and nobody carted them off to an insane asylum.

But Im prepared to make a concession on two points: 1) At least we werent under the administration of a sentient slime mold wearing a bad wig. 2) The 2000s were a golden age for romantic comedies, mostly thanks to Judy Greers tireless efforts to play every heroines best friend. Plus, only like half the jokes were sexist, and there was about an 80% chance pre-pretentious Matthew McConaughey would show up.

Obviously, a betch has to be picky about her rom-comssome are shitty in a good way, but others are best avoided in case someone catches you watching them. To guide your Netflix viewings, here’s a totally objective list of 00s rom coms. If you disagree, which Im sure everyone will, please note that Im not actually forcing you to watch these movies; Im just saying that if you regularly watch any of the bottom five, you have terrible taste.

14.

is considered a modern classic by two groups of people. 1) men in their late 20s with a crush on Natalie Portman and a thriving quarter-life crisis and 2) 8th graders in 2004 under the assumption that any movie that features a Shins track in its soundtrack is automatically deep. To everyone else, its a film about self-absorbed white people whining about their lives until theyre magically fixed by the power of mixtapes. There are approximately a zillion issues with this film, beginning with Zach Braffs complete lack of expression and ending with the fact that you cant cure real depression by listening to The Shins, no matter how clearly superior the soundtrack is to anything else in this film. Worst of all, though, is the fact that Natalie Portman played a manic pixie dream girl so obnoxious I still dream about strangling her character sometimes. Padme deserves so much better.

13.

Im not saying romantic comedies have to make much sense, but s plot is mystifying. Matthew McConaugheys parents are tired of him living at home, so they call in a lady high class escort (Sarah Jessica Parker) whose job is literally seducing men into moving out of their parents basements and unceremoniously dumping them. Because that’s plausible, and not at all fucked up to force your son to fall in love with someone you’re paying. Ridiculous premise aside, you know a movie is terrible when famed nicegirl Zooey Deschanel is the best thing about it.

12. Monster-in-Law

In case you missed this one, and for your sake I hope you did, is about Jane Fonda inexplicably being terrible to Jennifer Lopez, who walks a lot of dogs and is engaged to Fondas son. That right there should tell you all you need to knowI cannot think of one movie that JLo was in that was anything above mild torture, and we’re supposed to root for her character why, exactly? If my son was engaged to a full-time dog walker you can best believe I’d do everything short of actual murder to put a stop to that bullshit.

11.

Im told some people love this movie, but Jesus fucking Christ, is it possible for the two main characters to be any more appalling? Here you have two assholes manipulating the shit out of each other and just generally acting psychotic, all to win a stupid bet with their friends. They really should call it “How To Act Like A Psychopath And Lose Your Dignity.”

10.

Not gonna lie, I fucking adored when I was an impressionable preteen. It had time travel! Mark Ruffalo! A makeover scene! Years later, the movie is still fun to watch, even if it is way too obsessed with the 80s, but the jokes are more cute than funny. Also, why would anyone allow their 13-year-old child to go to a sleepover hosted by a 30-year-old? That is … questionable to say the least. Not to mention Jennifer Garner’s character does a reverse transformation from a betch into a nicegirl and dumps her hot pro bf in favor of her formerly fat friend. Blah blah, true love, I don’t give a fuck. Tenth.

is close to being wrapped in cutesy narration, but it’s far superior. For one thing, it reintroduced the world to Joseph Gordon-Levitts dimples. For another, it manages to be a fairly realistic depiction of a shitty millennial relationship without being super fucking depressing. But thats also kind of the problemrom coms arent supposed to be realistic, theyre supposed to be clich and feel-good, and I don’t care what you say, Summer is a thot. I have literally stayed up at night mapping how she could have possibly met someone worthy of engagement a mere 118 days after she broke up with Tom, and only six days after attending a wedding as his guest (yes I did the mathI told you; this movie keeps me up at night). No matter how you slice it, she had to have cheated on somebody.

Full disclosure: As a Southern betch, Im stoked that takes place right next door. (Dear Hollywood: An entire country exists between New York and LA.) But even though it features Patrick Dempsey as the other man, Josh Lucas with a dreamy Southern accent, and Reese Witherspoon, there are still some issues. Mainly, WTF WERE YOU THINKING, MELANIE? Did you really dump your future president fianc for your secret redneck husband just so “the first boy you kissed could also be your last”? I’ve heard of trying to keep your number down, but damn if this isn’t some delusional shit.

Everyone on planet Earth can relate to having a batshit crazy family, and thats exactly what makes appealing. The two leads are fine, considering they’re not Kate Hudson or Matthew McConaughey, but the extended family is everyones favorite part of the movie. Honestly the most memorable moment to come out of this movie is the “put some Windex on it”pretty good deal for Windex, not so much for the people who actually starred in the movie. However, it does get points for the memorable line: “The man may be the head of the household, but the woman is the neck and she can turn the head any way she pleases.”

The plot is pretty flimsy (a Canadian businesswoman has to marry her assistant to avoid deportation) but everyone loves a story where the couple starts out hating each other and eventually falls in love. The cast is what makes this movie pure rom com gold: Sandra Bullock, Ryan Reynolds, and Betty fucking White, who gifted us with the infamous Native American dance scene. Basically, it’s predictable but ridiculous, making it better than some of the other garbage movies on this list.

Admittedly, is probably to blame for some of the chubby man-child/beautiful, svelte woman couplings we see in the media that give men unrealistic beauty expectations (of the types of women they can expect to date), otherwise known as The Beyonc/Jay Z Phenomenon. But whatevs. Its a good movie. Seth Rogen has that whole dad bod thing going onapparently a thing some people are intoand Katherine Heigl was at the top of her rom com game before she pissed off the entire cast of .is actually hilarious, which is enough to make up for the fact that Katherine Heigl appears in it.

Even aside from my undeniable crush on youthful Sandra Bullock, is a quintessential early-2000s romantic comedy. Allow me to explain. 1) It stars an ambitious career woman who dont need no man. 2) But she kind of wants one anyway, and everyone realizes what a catch she is when she puts on lipstick and a dress. 3) Did I mention its plot is literally an extended makeover scene as Bullock goes from bad ass FBI agent to bad ass beauty pageant contestant? I rest my case. Add in some cute female friendships and a scene in which Bullock teaches us how to fend off an attacker, and its basically required viewing every year.

You had to know was going to make the list despite this amazing take-down article of why it’s actually terrible. With approximately a bajillion storylines going on, its hard not to find one you like and get invested, and it doesnt hurt that the film features every well-known British actor under the sun. Im not sure how the movie manages to juggle all the different plots without being confusing and/or boring, but Im not gonna question it. However, this shit is TOO FUCKING LONG. If I have to pop an Adderall just to make it through a damn movie (which I do), you need to send your editors back to the drawing board.

is the perfect example of a rom com thats super clich in theory, but in practice, its so fucking heartwarming it doesnt even matter (ugh). Katherine Heigl plays ultimate nicegirl Jane (in case the fact that her name is “Jane” wasn’t enough of a clue), whos been part of 27 weddings and miraculously hasnt gone broke from buying all the bridesmaid dresses. The dudes are pretty forgettable, but Janes psychotic sister and slutty best friend totally steal the spotlight, elevating the film to truly betchy heights.

P.S. For once, James Marsden plays the leading man, so his preternaturally perfect face gets more screen time, #bless.

Bridget Joness Diary is the ultimate feel-good movie, as in its literally impossible to watch it without feeling your icy soul thaw ever so slightly at the end. The titular character starts out fat, single, and past the age of 30, so basically our worst nightmare. By the end, though, she manages to bang Hugh Grant and Colin Firth, land a better job, and become a self-described wanton sex goddess. If those arent your life goals, you clearly need to start your own self-help journey.