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citrus-cactus · 3 years

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Finished the story of Psychonauts 2 last week! It was really good. Like, REALLY, really good. I don’t have anything profound to say, but here are my thoughts if you wanna read ‘em. Obviously there are SPOILERS BELOW, so click at your own risk if you haven’t played into post-game! (FWIW, I HIGHLY recommend playing this game as spoiler-free as possible. And play the original, while you’re at it!).

Here’s a pretty tame spoiler that I don’t think anyone will mind me sharing though: RAZ IS A CUTE. JUST LOOK AT HIM:

Things I appreciated:

Raz asking permission before entering almost every brain

PET THE GOATS

BOBBY DANCE

Getting to see Whispering Rock a couple of different ways! Actually, the theme of showing events from multiple perspectives (and the different forms of trauma resulting from certain events) was really good.

Raz helping the Psychic Seven help themselves. The game is so gentle with these old damaged hippies. SO GOOD.

QUEEPIE AND FRAZIE and just… all the Aquatos, man. What a group.

The family being given space to grieve together (important) before yeeting their middle boy into the whirlpool (badass). And them still having a lot to unpack/figure out post-game. It’s complicated, man! Of COURSE they wouldn’t have it all figured out yet!

Larry and Pam! LOL.

SAM BOOLE, WTH. Best dialogue tree in the game??? XDDDD

WHOMST in-universe put the graffiti on the back side of the funicular? Oleander?? :O

I have not finished the Scavenger Hunt yet, so idk if Raz gets his clothes back. I’m betting not *shakes psychic fist at Norma* XD

Powers and combat were all really cool!

ANIMATION! ALSO!! REALLY!!! GOOD!!!!!

I’M STILL LOSING MY DANG MIND OVER RAZ’S ARCHETYPE, good god. Double Fine, you mad geniuses, how DARE you stage a Zim/Gir reunion in the year 2021??? If anyone has ever equipped the pin that mutes that delightful little paper lad, I cannot emphasize enough how dead you are to me XD

I thought Cassie sounded a little like Mona Marshall?? The credits proved me wrong, but there were several moments I thought “…maybe??” (I have a much easier time ID’ing her when she’s playing a boyish character than a woman, whoops!)

So much symbolism in the brains! “Subtle” is maybe the wrong word to use, but between some of the throwaway dialogue, the different subsections in each, and the different set designs, most of the mental states just felt more… complex? nuanced? than the first game.

I don’t actually know if I could pick a favorite level! Compton’s Cookoff was definitely the most unique (I would have appreciated the option to try the food challenges again, but “getting the best time” is obviously NOT THE POINT, so kudos to the game making it about the story/character and not about the player here!), and I really enjoyed the paper-and-book-aesthetic of Cassie’s! Bob’s boss battle was one of the most poignant, but the 60’s psychedelic aesthetic and Nona’s different layers were really creative and fun. I also liked that we got a few different styles for Raz (especially in the 2D sections!) but I always could have used more!

On that note though, CENSORS! IN!! SEQUINS!!! XDDDDDDD

THE MUSIC!!! My husband and I JUST realized that Peter McConnell scored the Sly Cooper series as well, so we have newfound RESPECT and AWE for this guy’s ability to write absolutely fantastic music in so many distinct styles and genres. Both of the songs w/ lyrics also slap.

The return/spiritual successor of Goggalor (Pootie-lor???). Amazing. Incredible. Did not expect it, loved it for how narratively important it was. The ending in general just made me quite emotional.

The post-game conversation between Truman and Lilli. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it absolutely RADIATES Tim Schafer dad/real-life daughter energy.

The Grulovia level was a really interesting way to introduce a villain. Based on every level previous, I was actually prepared for the game to offer some sympathetic facet of Gristol (such as finding out the ride was something he had been conditioned to think from a lifetime of hearing an idealized version of the story from his parents, and it was somewhere he would go to rationalize his actions despite not really believing them… or something), but obviously the longer you spend there, the more you realize it’s something he constructed himself, and he is actually delusional (er, delugional) about Maligula and his family’s legacy. Really sets up an interesting parallel with Raz, in a way. Gristol’s mental state is essentially that of a child… but Raz is an ACTUAL child, and demonstrates more maturity, empathy and understanding than both Gristol the kid (see the Mental Vaults) and Gristol the adult. Kind of amazing he was able to fool a whole building full of psychics for as long as he did (and I guess he was a fine mail clerk too??), but tl;dr I like how the game’s “true” villain is the only one who is unable to change/experience any sort of remorse for his actions (maybe the jury’s still out on Dr. Loboto though XD)

A little concerned that Hollis said Gristol’s fate was to be “experimentation,” and only corrected to say “therapy” when questioned by Raz. UM. This game does make it part of its point showing us the flaws in the Psychonauts, both as an organization and as individuals, leaving them in a bit of a mortally grey area (who are clearly mismanaging their resources if they have a whole Motherlobe of agents doing who-knows-what and their primary source of funding is running summer camps for psychic children). I am… definitely concerned about what Hollis said (as well as Otto’s assertion that he would be picking up where the Seven left off!), but I guess I can accept it as part of the theme that no one and nothing is perfect. Maybe that’s sequel fodder though??? (hey, I can dream about Psychonauts 3, can’t I? XD)

Genuinely though, I’m just… SO PROUD OF RAZ. He’s going to be such a good agent someday!!!*cries forever over one begoggled psychic acrobat son boy*

#psychonauts 2 #psychonauts 2 spoilers #double fine #the cactus speaks #video james

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bamsara · 3 years

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Hey bamsara! Sorry to bother, but in hobby lobby smelling candles this idea came to me. How does your au zim react to candles? Like, ‘you use dangerous, flammable objects in your own dwelling for the sole reason of a barely noticeable scent???’ Does zim care for candles? Is the smell nice to him or no?

He probably doesn’t understand them and thinks humans are pretty stupid for keeping small jar-campfires in our houses for smell like primitive hippies. It’s irritating to his antenna but I could see him stealing getting them for Gir so the robot could...eat them...probably...

#Anonymous

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colawinston · 4 years

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“ i ain’t no fortunate son, no...”

a/n — hello, hello. I’m here with a little fic for you all, something simple and sweet and maybe a little shitty.

A Sodapop Curtis and vague reader fic for @radiantcade. Idk, I hope you enjoy it :)

we’re also going to totally ignore that hinton said soda dies in vietnam cause fuck that shit

He wasn’t dead, but he might as well have been.

Coming home had been...a hassle almost. Sure, it was better than trekking through miles of hot, shrouded forest, scared shitless and waiting for the next bullet to whiz by or mortar to come sailing through the trees and drop in the midst of them, waiting for the next ambush or false alarm or snap of a branch. Yeah, being home was far better than being stuck in the near ceaseless rain and heat and barrage of casualty, even if it still held its own set of completely different issues. Sodapop couldn’t really bring himself to complain, though. He was grateful he made it home, grateful to be alive, goddamnit.

It just felt...different. Verging suffocating. He enjoyed the fact he could step off a bus and immediately be near bowled over by his kid brother, arms tight — Lay off the man, Ponyboy, Darry had barked, but there wasn’t any heat behind the words. Lay off my kid brother, Soda chided, just as heatless, though far more playful. He enjoyed the fact he could catch up on his brothers lives, greeted by his old friends and take in what they’d been up to in the last two and a half years he’d been gone.

Ponyboy had grown up, was damn near as built as Darry by this point, but still the soft mess of a kid he’d been when he’d left. He played football, was set to graduate, go off to college and do something important with himself. Darry still worked on houses, but had found himself a gal, a sweet girl named Joanie, and he was real smitten with her, got bashful when Soda asked if he was gonna pop the question. But he wasn’t the only one. Seemed like everyone had found them someone, Soda had noted. Steve, who’d gone off to college ‘round the time Sodapop left (which had kept him from the shit storm of a draft that Sodapop found himself plucked from), and had himself a pleasant college girl — her face sweet, hair kept neat and her clothes impeccably clean — not someone that Sodapop would have thought would end up with Steve, but life was full of surprises. Two-Bit ended up with Marcia, Randy Adderson’s now ex-gir. Took a ride on the wild side, Two-bit had grinned, tipping back a beer. He looked cleaner — they all did. Weren’t damn near as greasy as they had been, wore new clothes, looked as though they’d really gotten themselves out of a rut.

But they all still converged in the Curtis home, crowded together around the coffee table smushed in between the arms of that old couch.

That was all good, felt fine, but the suffocating part was, well, talking about the very large elephant in the room. The war. What he’d seen, what he’d done, just the barrage of questions and unwavering interest in things he’d rather not brag about, talk about, think about. How many of them vietcong did ya kill, Soda? Heard they was sending ladies off for you boys while stationed out there, weren’t they? Get anything good? Still as charming as ever...But he supposed they didn’t quite understand. They knew the horrors, the happenings, what went on, but they didn’t understand. And he’d brushed it off, gave them some bullshit response and smiled and sat back. Conversation had moved away from him and onto something else, and he was left staring at the wall, chest tight and suffocating.

He didn’t sleep well. Hell, he hadn’t slept well in a very long time. Although comfortable, his bed felt foreign. The silence of the house deafening despite the chirp of crickets outside, and every soft creak of the house sending a jolt through Sodapop, his fists clenched in the sheets, eyes locked firmly on the shadowed ceiling. Among the delicate noises of night, he could hear his own heart, occasionally Ponyboy or Darry stirring, a cough or a shuffle down the hall to the bathroom, only for the same shuffle to retreat down the hall and a door to click shut. He didn’t sleep, once bright eyes and crooked grin now a murky pool of green and teeth barely shown, the smile itself barely meeting his eyes. He was plagued, and he hid it.

Which was unlike him, but if he was being honest, it felt wrong to push these things onto his brothers — the two of them had enough to worry about without the extra baggage of something they wouldn’t understand. Maybe Ponyboy would be soft about it, sympathize. He’d gone through his own bit of trauma years back, struggled in his own way afterwards. Soda had helped then, so why wouldn’t he ask now? Was he that much of a coward to admit something was off, something wasn’t right with him. He knew what to expect when he’d gotten home, he’d heard the rumors and the tales of those who’d come home from the second world war. But that couldn’t be him. He did want it to be him.

But he kept up his image, because being home was nice. He’d gotten a job back at the station, something to keep himself preoccupied. It wasn’t the same as it had been without Steve there, though pretty girls still flocked his way, got him to smile, flirted back and forth. Hippies, mostly. Not that he was particularly interested in them. No, he was still set on a broad he’d been seeing back before was shipped off. One he wasn’t sure if she knew he still existed. Not until she came by the station one day, in one of them fancy new Pontiacs: blood red and loud as hell. She noticed him near immediately, jaw dropped and not a moment of hesitancy before she flung herself around him — a lot like Ponyhad that day he’d stepped off the bus.

“Sodapop Curtis, I didn’t know you were home!” She had squealed, and pushed him back an arms length, as if to get a good look at him. He gave a bashful smile, averting his gaze and shrugged.

“Haven’t been back too long. Sorry I didn’t write. You back home for a bit?” He’d asked her, keeping the subject off him.

She was a college girl, much like Steve’s pretty blonde girl. Smart as hell and pretty to boot. Her soft features hadn’t changed much, eyes still bright as ever and lips spread into a familiar, comforting grin. She’d smacked her hand against his chest, pushed him slightly. “I am. Why? You wanna take me out sometime? Like you used to?” She asked, bubbly as ever.

“I just might, if you’re willing,” He grinned right back. The first grin he had since he’d seen his brothers, his old friends.

And take her out he did.

Now, the two of them hadn’t ever really been a ‘thing’. They’d been friendly, talked a lot, eventually started gettin’ affectionate but he didn’t think either of them wanted to put a label of things. She hadn’t, having gotten into that new age idea of goofing around, just living her best life, not worried about settling down, just kicking up dust and running on. He thought that way too, or he thought he thought like that. He thought that maybe settling down was a bit of a joke, something for older folks who knew what they wanted, but sometimes it’d felt like he was just....coasting by on the fumes of her own ideals. That he was just jazzed and caught up in the feeling of her fun, her change, her life. Sodapop was always one to get drunk off life, and she gave him that tugging feeling that drag races had, that dancing around did, and he’d soaked up every moment he could get of it, which was why she was settled against him again, pressed into his side in his bed, delicate fingers playing with his own. Darry and Ponyboy weren’t in the house, which was the only reason she’d come over — he’d allowed her over — and things had led to them snuggled up like they used to be. They lay quietly, Sodapop keeping one arm around her and the other bent at his side as she played with his fingers.

“It fucked you up, didn’t it, Soda?” She eventually broke the silence, voice light as a feather, almost sounding sad. “I can see it, y’know. You don’t smile like you used to,” She reached up to cup his face with one hand, body shifting to be able to get a better look at him. He kept his eyes off her, green-blue gaze locked on the ceiling like it usually was. His body stiffened, hand on his belly curling into a fist. She was the first person to prod him about it, maybe to immediately notice it. Given, he’d kept up his attitude to the best of his abilities and been working, his brothers had been busy with their own things. What was he really supposed to say to her? He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to face the obvious conclusion she’d come to himself.

But it came out as a soft “Yeah,” His chest rising with a deep sigh, eye flitting to meet hers. “It did.” He admitted, voice thick, low. His throat suddenly felt dry, stung in the way it would as if he were trying to hold himself back from crying. Sodapop held her gaze for what felt like hours, just until her lips pouted and she had her cheek against his bare chest, hand tucking against his body.

There was another bout of silence, and her soft voice broke through the silence again. “You’re gonna be alright, Sodapop, I promise.” It was firm, knowing. She’d always been like that, positive to a fault almost, but he believed her. She’d always been right about things — about her getting into school, Steve, too, Pony getting on well with some of his new friends back after Johnny and Dally had died, about Darry getting another job when he’d lost the other one. She’d always been right, and he had no reason not to be.

Stroking a hand over her hair, he gave a short nod, eyes back on the ceiling, his vision blurred. “I’ll be alright.” He agreed. With you, sat on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to put that on her. She was going back to college soon, would be busy with her friends and forgetting about him until she came home again, so he wasn’t going to pressure her into thinkin’ she needed to care about it. “I’ll be alright,” He repeated.

#the outsiders #sodapop curtis #sodapop curtis x reader #sodapop / reader #rumblincadefic

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oleanderblume · 4 years

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I'm in a super good mood because I just found out I have FACIAL HAIR so here is a little compilation of my current *in progress* glow up lol.

I was a very ugly girl. BTW. This was from like 2006 or 2007

I went camping with my cousin and stole my sisters gir shirt.

Skipping to 9th grade because I don't take selfish often because I have ~low self esteem~

I think this was sophomore year? Was helping my aunt move houses.

Oh God, senior prom.

I went to cosmetology school after high school and this was at a convention that is also my instructor she is awesome.

Shaved my head for my grandma cause she got cancer. Also went into *I am ugly and must be hyper feminine* mode

I just liked this selfie

Grew my hair out and was sort of in like this mild obsession with 40s style clothing. Idk

Then I shaved head again! But this time I started wearing cute scarves over it cause I white as fuck and I burn easy. This was my favorite one and also the start of the major hippy vibe I began to give off before I started van life.

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xdibstinkx · 5 years

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Remember in that one episode Attack Of The Saucer Morons where the hippies are chasing after Zim and Gir while they're riding the pig?

Yeah well Gir holds onto Zim's antennas during the whole chase scene and Zim is completely fine with it and it's literally the cutest thing ever.

This is the content I LIVE for

#invader zim #zim #gir #iz #attack of the Saucer morons #do people ship zim and gir?

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samantabrzozowska · 3 months

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"What a cutie I am."

~ Sam

#artist #me #my art blog #flower child #hippie girl #cute gir #child of paradise #my photos #spirituality of the eternal child of paradise #childhood dreams #summer cutie #hippie fashion

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misscinemahaleydahippie · 7 years

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Guess who still slaves at Starbucks ☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️

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neaarty · 7 years

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#bustier #fashion #gir #hippie #vintage #weed

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lightgoesdark · 7 years

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Its magic

#magic #cigarette #smoke #weed #joint #uv #indie #gypsy #bodypaint #gir #hair #drugs #gypsysoul #hippie #goa #psy #art #fluo #fire

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serak-sarak-meta-sarahk · 2 years

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If them saying isnt her name Selena Juarez-Musselman Novascottia??? And viewing me being perceived to them as her second cousin though somehow in my life i dont boast the possibility or possible rumor, though, Selena was nice about it i just think there were bigger seen issues when I was born that even that star would say live your own personal life wheelhouse to the issues you want solved rather than me, either way at the possibility those people presented, you have a good good heart to live to your own heart, the star made it seem. Or being idk maybe it was one of them forced to memorize that wasn't college maybe it was the news at the time or one of them hippie liberal undetected teachers who taught me the BY LINES of the OJ TRIAL by heart. But if it did teach me anything it is how to show mental health back at mental health and run

Like street mental health or cars. There's always someone whose willing to report from a far seeing a girl running down a street in a look back sprint fashion. If in feeling like it's gonna get that far and for a sweet kick sometimes I do.

Or if I'm getting back into rich foods or hearty foods sometimes late night helps.

Or like a kick step in the direction of a homeless for a fast walk off if it's getting mental healthy to try to protect my mental health as well. Some kind of half scream not even "no" sometimes maybe like a "ah" and a fast walk to certain FBI I BELIEVE THE PERSON AT LEAST SAYING RUN FROM THAT MAN SUBJECT point outs were FBI not misleaders subjects like fucking sprint until lock in

That kind of action is more so what I learned from people even suggesting that as like a cool rumor and having an ungodly amount of OJ TRIAL bylines or quick phrases from shortly after memorized. Spring the fuck away to a lock in or a clerk to tell them. On the public people shit I sometimes even forget cell access before lock in

Advice like this is never politics. Or subjects people as RUN THE FUCK AWAY people regardless of looks even if you feel bad and it's day time. Alert a maybe shape you know.

That's why on racism I can take one class and scream or be angry about the material for a my take on it.

But what you need to know is the fucking scream shortly quickly before run and run pattern is more so what I learned if actually learning cases where racism is a case base or post highlight in the media. And those teachers were fine if in the moment it was a "maybe you say something a little trumpy and run" when learning about that shit and so what has politics been? How can you force responsibility upon it?

When people's personal experiences is learning retro to modern racism cases has just taught them sprint running away from FBI designated runaway from that individual if they get near you type thing or scream and runaway

As a girl that feels like what racism teaching was about above trying to dissect as a gir

Some of the individuals for side actual crimes of these cases if I see them from listening to the FBI at least??? STRAIGHT UP if I see them I know how timed they are or how far they will go. To know if I can disorient them for like 5 seconds with a yell before running or if I need to soft quick to try loud quick yell before run

I would never want to test that but for example when I saw a person I would scream at my neighbors about verbal for even seeing out knowing his level of FBI ACTUAL ALERT from them just seeing me have a mental health near him as a kid from whatever he was saying or doing at that age that made me mental health as a kid and saying running away was okay... ahhh shucks are the FBI not even systems just advices that bad? And are the people staying silent not doing anything? Because it can be a very multi layered conversation of lines of humane you have reported to immediately with whatever you had about crimes at the time knowing you were telling crime reporters verbal

And so then do you have to make the big social media view declarations?????

And the bold statement matching??? Or the IMMEDIATE jump out of your seat yelling hate at a president??? The people simply not one way or the other... with verbalizing and social media view declarations

Also when Will Smith can make a that hard come back from any media grumble ever. Truly heroic. To be like therapy all the time in the media enough for even his wife to media forgive him. She knew, you didn't have to know.

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expfcultragreen · 2 years

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I dreamed i was having wine poured on me on stage as part of something, suzy was watching in the audience, i was saying something about how years ago we'd all been in love and watching tana's overproduced videos and it was all wild and free and i was making fun of too serious hippies who aggro out and hardcore up the peace love flowers message. Something about an old photo of two girs holding up the mission statement. Me drawing a caricature of hardcore boy

#dream journal

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viewfromthedrumstool · 7 years

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USA Tour, day 12

I was last in Chicago in 2012 (see VFTDS #4) though that visit was so fleeting it barely qualifies. So with the morning off ahead of our flight to Seattle I seize the opportunity to wander the streets and see what finds me.

One can read of a city ad infinitum but until you actually set foot on the tarmac and see for yourself its impossible to really know what a place is like. As ever I was amazed by how much I was amazed! Within the space of an hours walk I wander through markets, traverse luscious parks, hustle under an interstate and pop up among the looming skyscrapers where the Windy City lives up to it’s name.

There’s also a big stretch of beach right by downtown which I wasn’t expecting. But Chicago is the only seaside city I’ve been to that isn’t on the sea at all. It actually looks over a really really big lake which, surrounded as it is by a man made lip and neat little ladders, ends up looking more like the world’s biggest swimming pool...

All too soon it’s time to head west to Seattle, a new one for me. We board a very compact little Chevrolet rental minibus and drive over to Chicago Midway where Southwest Airlines now offer curbside check-in! We don’t even need to drag our cases (of which there are MANY) inside the terminal which is just fine by us.

Head through security and bed down in an Irish bar called Reilly’s Daughter where the most un-Irish but wildly helpful barmaid of the tour so far pours the pints and then we board flight 1424 direct to Sea-Tac International.

I sensed something distinctly Forensic Files about the man sat next to me on row 31. Having clocked up eleven full series of my favourite trashy American programme my instincts proved correct and Dustin is indeed a forensic scientist on his way to a conference about DNA in Washington State.

Flight attendants Charmaine, Sandy and Cindy look after us like we’re their own and we arrive on the west coast for the final run of the tour at 2015 local time, pile into our second Chevy minibus of the day and roll cross town to the hotel.

The journey is glorious and the I5 cuts through the city, high up on stilts with the vast metropolis all around. There’s the Space Needle! And hey isn’t that Safeco Park, the Mariners baseball stadium?! The Eagles play there tonight! Exciting times and new encounters.

I’m oft struck by what a beautiful country America is to drive in - I’d say it’s best seen from the comfort of the driving seat, the country radio blaring and the windows down.

Indeed the following morning despite having a day off a few of us hit the road again, taking a ferry across Elliott Bay to Bainbridge Island from where we drive north.

It’s a scenic journey, the rural roads bordered by deep green conifers with a backdrop of mountains. It’s all very Twin Peaks...

We end up at Port Townsend, a charming hippy town (there are lots of hippies and lots of homeless in Washington) with a fifties diner and some interesting shops. In one of them the patron tells me that her husband is a drummer in a band too - Modest Mouse no less!

(Coincidentally back in Chicago at the Drum Exchange the staff member who served me was also the brother of War On Drugs sticksman Charlie Hall!).

I awaken obscenely early the following day and unable to sleep don shoes coat and scarf and wander out into a misty Seattle early-morning. Stroll a few blocks in every direction, the city slow to rouse to a new week. A few students hover on street corners, bleary eyed as they wait the eternal wait for the Don’t Walk light to change. Not for the first time on this trip I’m reminded of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History.

I end up at the Porter Cafe for huevos rancheros again - thanks to Piney Gir for introducing me to the delicious Mexican breakfast!

We’re in the ‘University District’ of Seattle and there are lots of book stores. Indeed there are many in America as a whole and they often stock more eccentric, niche and interesting titles than English book shops. Magus Books is no different and I skip sections starting at The Occult to Practical Sailing to Native Americana, picking up ‘The Indian Tipi: it’s History, Construction and Use’.

While later perusing the Washington University book store I notice the clerk sporting a compass on his wrist. He explains that it’s his survival bracelet, and it also features a whistle for attracting attention, flint and steel for starting fires, a mirror for signalling passing ships and a strap made from 30 feet of braided paracord. It’s an impressive piece but what on earth he thinks may possibly occur in a book shop on a Monday morning that compels him to wear it is beyond me...

Tonight’s venue is conveniently located right across the road from the beautiful Art Deco ‘Hotel Deca’ where we stay and when I return they’re putting up our name on the old style American tiled cinema sign out front.

Alas the day takes a darker turn as word filters through about the shooting in Las Vegas closely followed by the news of Tom Petty. Closer to home Sarah is unwell and we have to pull this mornings KEXP session with doubts over tonight’s show.

Thus I return to bed for a few hours and sleep to the Mississippi cadence of Donna Tartt reading The Secret History...

But by early afternoon the sun is shining once again and confirmation arrives that the show is on! The gear is coerced across the street on a trolley by Robin and Pep and wheeled right up to the stage in the beautiful Neptune Theater.

The interior is quite dated (I love it) and there’s a ye olde timey nautical theme to the decor backstage with seafaring paintings and miscellany ... after soundcheck I read a fascinating chapter in ‘The Romance Of The Sea’ about the Mary Celeste...

And despite the earlier scare the gig goes smoothly with a supportive and sympathetic crowd who help Sarah with the singing and cheer from start to finish.

Alas it’s been wonderful to see Seattle for the first time and I look forward to my return already.

But first: yonder to San Francisco!

California calling...

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