It's Raining

Characters: Aguni Morizono, Hatter, Tatta Koudai, Arisu Ryohei, Last Boss, Niragi Suguru, Chishiya Shuntaro

Genre: Fluff. Just a thunderstorm, some vibes, and uh.... Monopoly. Briefly.

1.6k words

Man, writing with absolute zero idea of where I was going with it is.... interesting. My only thought was rainstorm, and here's what happened.

Rain pattered against the window, Aguni watching the raindrops fall down the glass with a cup of steaming hot coffee in hand. Takeru was still in bed, sleeping off the spaghetti and red wine they shared last night, half a cookie hanging out of his mouth. Aguni takes a long, slow sip of his coffee, making sure to blow on it beforehand. He didn’t need to burn his mouth after all. He grunts lightly, going over today’s schedule over his head. The rain looked bad, so he couldn’t go out today, nor could anybody else. It might be bad enough for a power outage, Aguni notes internally.

He heads outside and through the halls. The rain was loud even here, but the sound of yelling was louder, cheers and screams coming from Arisu’s room. Aguni peeks inside just to see what was up, after knocking on the door to notify he was coming inside. He blinks as he stares at Niragi, Tatta, and Arisu all sitting in the dark in front of the television, playing some racing game, Arisu firmly in first place with Niragi and Tatta fighting for second just behind him. Niragi and Arisu were more absorbed in the game, Niragi the main source of all the yelling, using Arisu’s blanketed head as an arm rest, the tallest out of all of them sitting on the barren bed while the other two took space on the floor. Tatta seemed less focused at least, although he doesn’t stop playing even as he greets Aguni.

“ Hi! Did you need something?”

“ Uh… just checking up. It’s raining pretty badly. Just be aware there may be a power outage if it gets worse.”

Tatta nods, Niragi grumbling angrily as Tatta hits him with a red shell in the game. “ Okay!” Tatta chirps, Aguni nodding and shutting the door just as Arisu wins the race with an excited cheer, Niragi griping loudly and falling backwards on the bed. Aguni continues down the hall and goes to check up on Chishiya to tell him about the possible outage.

But he couldn’t, as Chishiya was still sleeping, curled up in his chair and a blanket thrown over him, likely from Tatta or Arisu actually caring. Aguni leaves him alone, shutting the door. Chishiya was smart enough to infer on his own when he wakes up. He continues through the house, occasionally taking a sip of coffee as he searches for the last member of the household.

Aguni knocks on Last Boss’ door, and receives absolutely zero response, but Aguni opens anyways. Last Boss was sitting there on the ground with his computer, looking up at Aguni blankly in the dark.

“ Hey. It’s raining pretty badly so be warned.” Aguni tells him, and looks at the ground, sighing at the mess. “ And clean up your room eventually, okay?” He looks back at Last Boss, who says absolutely nothing, continuing to stare blankly at him. Aguni stares back until Last Boss breaks eye contact, going back to typing on his computer without a hint of giving a fuck. He shut the door and makes his way down to the kitchen, drinking more coffee and listening to the rain patter against the windows louder than before. He settles himself with heating up some leftovers, watching the plate spin in the microwave as he sips at his coffee.

The microwave beeps, seconds before Aguni hears thunder pounding outside. Several, in fact. It nearly shakes the house with how loud it was, and Aguni swears he can hear Niragi cursing in Arisu’s room. Aguni pulls out his leftovers and takes a seat at the dining table, just as the lights begin to flicker. Aguni takes a long, slow sip of coffee and sets down his mug, poking at a piece of fish as the lights finally die on him.

Not long after, Aguni hears footsteps, and he look up through the dark as three figures approach, Niragi loudly grumbling and heading straight for the cabinets to look for a torch. Tatta and Arisu both stand there as Niragi rustles through the drawers, Aguni eating silently as Niragi slams open and close drawers. Arisu still had the blanket over his head, which he had wrapped around him so it was basically just a blanket with a face and legs.

“ Where’s the fucking flashlight-“ Niragi grumbles, even opening the medicine cabinet. It is followed by both Arisu and Tatta shrugging and offering nothing useful, Niragi continuing to search and yielding nothing. Aguni gets up only when Niragi tries the same drawer in the past five minutes, getting up and opening the fridge, which also lost its power. He digs inside, Niragi pausing to watch Aguni in pure and utter confusion as Aguni pulls out a flashlight and sets it on the counter by Niragi, shutting the fridge and going back to the table to continue eating. “ Wh-“ Niragi stammers, looking between the flashlight and the fridge. “ Why the hell was it in the fridge-“

Aguni wished he had a sane answer. But nothing was sane about the fridgelight. He finished his coffee and sets the mug down, looking to Niragi. “ Takeru thought it’d be funny.” He explains, Niragi looking at Aguni, eyes furrowed a little and frowning.

“ Why the fuck would-“ Niragi cuts himself off, picking up the flashlight and turning it on, nearly blinding Tatta. “ Whatever. This’ll do. What, do we not have a backup generator?”

“ We used to, but rats got to the wires so we were waiting on someone to come fix it!” Tatta explains, covering his eyes with his hand as Niragi turns the bright beam at his face.

“ Aren’t you a mechanic?”

“ For cars, mostly! Also I tried, but turns out the rats got a lot of the wires all messed up. And uhhhhh….. I might have forgotten to go buy new wires. Or a new generator.”

“ You’re useless.” Niragi mutters, Tatta frowning a little.

“ Rude…. But it’ll be fine until the storm passes by, right?” Tatta looks to Aguni for confirmation, Aguni giving him a brief nod. Tatta smiles, looking back at Niragi. “ See?” “ Fine. Would’ve been nice to have electricity. I’m gonna grab candles. It’s dark as shit in here.” Niragi grumbles, and he stalks away with the flashlight, Arisu and Tatta following behind to help. Aguni stays at the table to finish his meal, existing in his own time.

A few minutes later Niragi comes back and slaps a candle on the table in front of him, already lit. “ There. Have fun with your romantic dinner for one.” Niragi quips, then quickly walks away, Aguni thanking him under his breath and taking another bite of food.

Takeru comes outside as Aguni dumps his trash, holding his phone as a flashlight, heading straight for Aguni and draping himself over the man’s back.

“ Man, it’s so loud….. You doing okay?” Takeru mumbles into Aguni’s shoulder, apparently still very tired, Aguni nodding. Takeru hums, the two standing there in the candlelit kitchen as the rain battered against the house for a while. Takeru only lets go when Aguni starts to move away, arms dropping to the side as Aguni sits down at the table again, his face illuminated by the small faint candlelight. Takeru opens the lightless fridge, the sound of things moving around barely discernible from the loud patter. He pulls out something and shuts the door, coming over to sit across Aguni. In his hand seemed to be a glass bottle, Takeru twisting off the top and taking a sip.

Aguni watches him drink for a while, Takeru draining at least half of the bottle in one go before letting off, satisfyingly breathing out and wiping his mouth with the back off his hand. The house shakes as thunder rumbles outside, Takeru smiling and yawning. “ It’s rough outside, eh? I woke up to that first one but didn’t feel like getting out of bed.” Aguni grunts in response, Hatter nodding to himself. “ Yes, yes. Ah, is the generator still not working?” Aguni shakes his head, explaining the rat situation, Hatter slowly nodding. He finishes the rest of the bottle, letting it hit the table with a decent thunk, sighing and leaning back. “ No reason to sit around and do nothing. Wanna play Monopoly with the kids?”

“ And have to wrestle Chishiya away from stabbing Niragi in the knees again with a toothpick?”

Takeru only shrugs, getting up and walking away. “ What can go wrong this time? Monopoly night! Come on everyone!”

Aguni sighs, getting up and heading over to grab the Monopoly board. He wasn’t paying for the damages.

[AN HOUR LATER….]

Aguni keeps a hold of Niragi’s torso as he attempts (and fails) to reach Tatta, who was hiding behind the blanket blob that was Arisu, who somehow acquired everyone’s blanket in the timeframe he’s been by the board, Chishiya leaning against said blob and smirking at Niragi.

“ I’m gonna tear your fucking face off, you fucking whale shark!”

“ I’m sorry! It’s just a railroad!”

Aguni glances at Takeru, who just smiles and watches, with eyes that were void of any thought in his head. He wasn’t even feeling the slightest bit worried, was he. Aguni sighs, and forcefully pulls Niragi up and lifts him over his shoulder, Niragi trying (and still failing) to get free and attack Tatta.

Aguni much rather would have just sat around and do nothing. Maybe lay in bed with Takeru and talk about life and such.

But no, instead he gets this today, Niragi finally giving up as Aguni dumps him in the time out corner and walks away back to the scene, only to see Tatta having to pay the last of his money to a smug Chishiya. “ Aww, I’m bankrupt.”

“ Should’ve thought about that before having money.” Thunder clapped just as he finished that, Tatta yelping.

“ Ooh, that was a good one!” Takeru chirps, “ Real suspenseful!”

“ Thanks, it wasn’t my intention….. Or was it.”

Reasons to Watch Long Anime Series

An original post documenting all the reasons to watch long anime series. A long anime series can depend on your own definition. It can be 50+, 500+, or in my case, 980+. I was inspired to create this post by my frustration of trying to convince a friend to start Detective Conan and failing because he is stubborn with his views. I couldn’t even convince him to watch FMA:B or HxH ):

This list is not in any particular order. Blockquotes represent the excuses for not wanting to watch long anime series. The comment below it represents the reasons to watch long anime series and my response to the excuse.

My comments may be negative, condescending, and cynical. It is only because I love the anime franchises of Detective Conan, Fullmetal Alchemist, Hunter x Hunter, Bleach, etc. And even though I haven’t completed many of the popular long anime series, I respect D. Gray-Man, Gintama, One Piece, Fairy Tail, Pokemon, Dragon Ball, Reborn !, and many others.

If I have offended you, it was never my intention. If I hurt your feelings, I never meant to. If you disagree with my reasons and find fault in them, consider my viewpoints and then send me a response. If I come off as ignorant, politely inform me. If I bashed your favourite anime or character, it was only an example. If I haven’t defended your favourite anime or character, oops. If I repeat myself, it is because the excuses are similar. If you have another excuse / reason, let me know and I’ll add it here.

It’s too long.

Imagine if your favourite seasonal anime went with a perennial episodic structure rather than a seasonal one. Would you still have started it ? A seasonal structure is more profitable and less risky to studios and can be just as many episodes as anime with a perennial episodic structure. It depends on the studio and scriptwriters.

Anime TV series are usually split up into many seasons. Treat the anime like you’re watching the entire series as separately released seasons and not one singular continuous season. Example: Blue Exorcist has 2 seasons and is listed separately on anime databases while D. Gray-Man is listed as a single entry with many episodes even though it has 5 seasons. Why do you insist on watching Blue Exorcist instead of D. Gray-Man when the genres are similar and they are both mainly about exorcists fighting demons to keep the world a safer place ? Maybe you’re more into the plot, or maybe the animation is better, or maybe you’re unwilling to watch an anime that isn’t listed as multiple seasons, or maybe you’re just intimidated by the number of episodes and seasons. Whatever the reason is, don’t judge an anime by the amount of episodes it has. Don’t judge an anime franchise by whether it is of a perennial or a seasonal episodic structure.

I can watch 5 other anime instead of just this one.

True, you could watch multiple 12 ep anime instead of one long anime, but would it be memorable ? If you binge a 12 ep anime, each around 20 min long ( excluding openings and endings ), at 1x speed, that is 240 min, which is 4 hours. After those 4 hours, you would be like wow great anime 10/10 or whatever rating you give. Maybe give a review or recommendation. Then, you’d move on to the next anime. If the anime didn’t leave a lasting impression on you, what was the point ? Just to say that you’ve seen it and vaguely remember the plot and your opinion on it the next time that particular anime is brought up in conversation ?

Although being held emotionally hostage is tough and terrifying, a long anime would leave a greater impression. You can witness character growth / development, plot progression, and many other storytelling elements at a much greater level. Maybe you don’t have all the time in the world to watch 100+ episodes of an anime. But you can also come back time and time again with fresh perspectives instead of force-feeding shorter anime in a day.

Yes, this is a hypothetical, and may not apply to everyone. I am only asking for you to consider that situation and my perspective; you do not have to agree with it.

I’ll get bored

The other fans of the franchise didn’t get bored. If the anime has become increasingly boring, then put it on hold. I acknowledge the fact that sometimes the animators / creators will run out of stories to tell. If it’s not your cup of tea, then by all means, drop it. You can come back whenever you want to give the anime a try again. 

I don’t want to watch a lot then quit.

No one is forcing you to quit the anime entirely. There is no pressure to watch every single episode. You can put it on hold and come back later. An indefinite drop can be reversed.

What if the anime becomes increasingly worst, unwatchable, annoying, etc. over time ?

If it does become that before you hit the latest episode, then put it on hold, drop it, or talk with your friends / the anime community about it and ask if the series gets better later on. If you are already caught up and think that the anime has decreased in quality, put it on hold or drop it.

I’ll watch too much at a time, get burnt out, and not come back to it

No one is forcing you to binge watch every single episode in a certain timeframe. You can always take a break or watch a few and come back later.

What if I don’t like the main cast or find one of them annoying ? I would have to stick with them for the rest of the anime.

Then put it on hold, drop it, or deal with it. As of 06 September 2020, I am on episode 44 of One Piece and I find Usopp absolutely annoying and unlikable. However, I have been told that he gets better. So, I continue the series because I like the other main cast and am invested in the story and the world of One Piece. Additionally, I’ve been reading the Black Clover manga way before the anime released and imagined Asta’s voice differently. I got used to his annoying voice over time and still continue the anime because I love the story and I want to see who eventually becomes the Wizard King. ( His voice also haunts me when I read the manga now )

Too many filler / fluff episodes

Google >> ( Anime ) non-filler episodes >> Watch according to that list

Also, I do not find filler episodes to be boring or straying away from the main plot. Filler episodes provide me with more interactions between the characters that regular anime ( with 12 or 24 episodes ) don’t have. Although it may seem unnecessary to some, filler flashbacks gives the audience a deeper insight into a character’s backstory, childhood, past experiences, traumatic experiences, etc. It can show character growth or development. The adventures to other areas expands the universe of the anime and leads to more world-building. The stories and possibilities are also limitless in comedy anime. Filler episodes can also introduce more aspects of Japanese culture ( or whatever the culture is prevalent ) and introduces new information.

Fillers between arcs are nice since most are slice-of-life types and setting up for the next arc. If you think that each arc is the same where there is a threat / enemy and they must defeat the final boss or everyone will die, yes that’s the basic formula. But keep in mind that it is a story after all. The arc is a larger story with the same characters doing different things to solve their problems. So what ? Some series are known for their consistencies and some for their randomness. Just like how almost every Detective Conan episode ( DC doesn’t have arcs unless it’s about the main plot ) is about solving cases and follows the same basic formula, and almost every episode of The Disastrous Life of Saiki K is random, spontaneous and full of comedy. I don’t watch shoujo anime as often so I won’t comment on that.

There are also many other reasons that fluff episodes are great. You don’t always have to watch them, and the wait may not always be worth it, but you can always skip them and not miss anything. But then again, Detective Conan was my first anime and I’ve learned how to be patient with an extremely slow plot. My patience is especially challenged whenever a new episode releases and it is a TV original Detective Boys episode ((:

While some shows are known to stretch plots into more episodes, those episodes may not be of the same “ quality ” as the rest of the show. This may included tropes, overused jokes, etc. It is still considered additional content, even if the quality suffers. This is usually the case when the anime catches up to the source material. You can always read the manga.

Filler / Fluff episodes are always controversial and I generally don’t mind them.

What if the anime cancels and all of the time I spent watching it has been a waste ?

Long anime series are rarely ever canceled because it’s a popular show. The anime usually tries to catch up with the manga and / or ends when the story ends. If the anime does end at a particular arc, there is always the manga. Also, if you had fun / a good time watching the show, then it wasn’t a waste.

I don’t want to.

Why ? Elaborate. Do you not like the genre ? The plot ? The animation style ? The studio ? The reviews ? The popularity ? The year it was released ? The fandom ? The voice actors ? The over-hype ? The pressure from friends, family, the anime community ? The memes ? What is it ?

It’s a waste of time.

The time investment is usually worth it because there is more to watch. Whenever I watch regular anime with 12 or 24 episodes, I usually end up feeling empty and wanting more. Who doesn’t want more content, scenes and character interactions ? If you enjoy something, then it wasn’t a waste of time.

Too many characters

Google >> ( Anime ) Characters Wiki / Fandom

You don’t have to know and remember every single character, their backstories, their interests / dislikes, their relationships with others, etc. to enjoy the episode. Additionally, if you really do pay attention to the series and is more invested, character deaths / losses will be even more impactful and significant. Characters can die easily ( like in Attack on Titan), but it doesn’t make their death any less important. Lives, fictional or not, have value and meaning. If in a war, 100 lives are lost, those lives are important in itself becau- oh that is probably a post for another time. Anyways, you don’t need to know everyone to understand or enjoy an episode or an anime series. 

Quantity isn’t everything.

True. Sometimes the quality of animation rules over everything else, or maybe the plot pacing, or the character progression ( or the lack of it ), or something else. I’m not saying, WATCH ALL ANIME THAT IS OVER 100+ EPISODES BECAUSE THEY’RE BETTER. I’m saying to give them a chance. They’ve stood against the test of time, the changing audience, popular demand and culture, and other obstacles to get where they are today. Some are classics ( such as Naruto ) and some are beginning to / have hit the 100 episode mark of single entry anime ( like Black Clover ). Quantity isn’t everything is a valid point as well as quality isn’t everything. You enjoy what you enjoy. It’s never a waste to commit to something longer than what you usually watch if you enjoy it.

I want to finish everything I watch, regardless if it’s good or bad.

So you can sit through 12 episodes of a “ bad ” anime but not try out a single episode of a potentially “ good ” anime ?

Other Reasons to Watch:

When a long series ends, I can finally rest in peace.

Soundtracks + More opening and closing themes

Nostalgia once it ends

Seeing an anime from 1996 to 2020+ and the changes it goes through ( when rewatching or watching for the first time ) is astounding and shows how much the industry has changed and developed over time.

Conclusions + Repeated Statements

Main excuse for not watching long anime: It’s too long

Main response: No one is forcing you or pressuring you to binge watch everything. You can always put it on hold or drop it if you don’t like it.

Don’t judge an anime by the number of episodes.

If you had a good time, it wasn’t a waste.

Lines: Kaymond Fanfic (Worth It)

Katarina held her new baby with her left hand and a gun with her right. Not even an hour into motherhood and she was already a monumental failure. She’d had no choice in exposing her daughter to violence so soon into her young life. The woman, Katya, had been trying to leave when Raymond had taken into his head to restrain her.

As Raymond struggled to subdue the small woman, Katarina had reached for her copy of War and Peace that had been resting on the end table. She’d flipped open the massive book, removed her small pistol from the hollowed out center, and pointed it at the nurse who had saved her baby’s life. That had fortunately ended the fight, though not Masha’s crying.

“Eto v poryadke moya dorogaya. Vse v poryadke. (It’s alright my darling. Everything's alright.)” Of course that wasn’t strictly true. Raymond was currently securing a hostage to a chair in her hotel room using ripped bedsheets. There was no way this ended well. The only blessing, if you could call it that, was that the hotel had upgraded occupants of the suite next door. Another stroke of good fortune was that the hotel staff had been ordered, by Katya herself, to cease their hovering and not come up to the room unless they were called. Katarina and Raymond had a little time to sort out whatever the hell it was he had gotten them into.

Raymond finished his final knot, which Katarina assumed he’d learned in the Naval Academy, and looked over at her.

“Plan on lowering that?” Raymond gestured to the gun. Katarina set the weapon on the table and adjusted her hold on Masha.

“Plan on telling me why you decided to take Katya hostage?” She hoped there was a damn good reason Raymond had suddenly decided to attack the woman who had just delivered her child.

“She knows. She can speak English. She heard my accent. She heard me say my name.” Shit. Katarina searched her recent memory and realised he was right. How could he have been so stupid? To fair, she hadn’t been much better, given that she hadn’t even notice his slips, let alone Katya’s reaction to them.  

“Do you have a plan?” The look Raymond gave her made Katarina instantly regret her words. It was a ridiculous question. Of course there was no plan. How could there be?

“I don’t know. I assume you’ve been in these kind of situations more than I have.” They looked at each other a moment and Katarina had no doubt they were both revisiting the same memory.

Something had been off about Raymond when come to visit her at her apartment that night nine months ago. When he’d entered and she’d greeted him with a kiss, he’d been withdrawn somehow. When she’d asked him what was wrong, he’d told her he’d had a rough day at work, and silenced any follow-up questions with a kiss.

Hours later, when she’d believed Raymond had been sound asleep she slipped out of bed and gone to the front hall to go through his briefcase as she’d done so many times before. She’d been nearly done when she’d heard the gun cock behind her.

“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with.” Katya’s voice interrupted the painful recollection. Katarina looked at the woman who’d saved her daughter’s life. Her English was impressive, as unaccented as her own.

“No one is going to kill you.” Loyal though Katarina was to the KGB...or had been prior to her deal with Raymond...there had always been a line she’d sworn to herself she’d never cross. There was a difference between killing enemy combatants and killing civilians. She wouldn’t betray that principle to save her herself.

Katarina felt Raymond’s penetrating gaze upon her. She met his stare with a defiant one of her own. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Raymond shrugged, his face unreadable. He kept his voice low enough that his words couldn’t be heard by their hostage. “I was just trying to determine whether or not you actually meant that.” Katarina glared at her former lover.

“I have never killed anyone who hasn’t deserved it and I’m not going to start now.” Raymond of all people should know her better than that. When he’d caught her and she subdued him, his life had been completely in her hands. Her KGB instructors would have told her to kill him, wipe down the apartment and vanish. She hadn’t, choosing instead to let an enemy of her country, and the only person on Earth who could identify her as a Russian spy live.

“Not even to protect your daughter?” Katarina’s heart skipped a beat as she looked down at the tiny human she cradled in her arms. Masha’s crying had stopped and now she was looking up at Katarina with large innocent eyes. Her heart ached in her chest, as though it was growing to accommodate the love that filled her. The idea of her child being endangered stirred a primal fear and fury. If it was a choice between Katya’s life and Masha’s would she make that trade? She honestly wasn’t sure. Fortunately those weren’t the current stakes.

“Masha’s life isn’t in danger. No matter what you think of the KGB, they don’t slaughter babies in their cradles.” Despite what Raymond thought, Russia was no more evil the United States. They wouldn’t hold Masha accountable for what Katarina had done.

“Maybe not, but they would kill her mother.” Katarina looked up sharply at Raymond. What was that emotion she had heard behind his words? Anger? Fear? Was it possible that after everything he still cared whether she lived or died?

“Then that’s the price I pay.” Raymond’s expression hardened and he started to pace.

“No. We are going to sneak you both out of the hotel.” Katarina blinked. How exactly did he plan on doing that? Was he going to smuggle her and Masha out in a laundry basket?

“Raymond, I just gave birth. I am in no condition to sneak anywhere. Besides you’d never be able to secure safe passage out for me and Masha in time. The roads are clearing. Konstantin could be here within the hour. If he finds me gone, he’ll report me missing.” What he was suggesting was impossible given the timeframe and their lack of preparedness. Raymond absentmindedly ran a hand through his light brown hair.

“I could smuggle Katya out of the hotel...find somewhere to hold her until I can come up with an exit strategy.” That was possibly even more absurd than his first suggestion.

“What exit strategy? The US is not going to grant me witness protection for the information I’ve given them so far. You and I both know that.” Even if by some miracle she escaped Russia, without fake IDs and paper she couldn’t possibly outrun the KGB. She had betrayed the cause. They would hunt her to the ends of the Earth.

“What would you suggest?!” Raymond snapped, apparently fresh out of hare-brained schemes to save her.  She understood his anger wasn’t really directed at her, at least for the moment. Raymond was furious with himself. He felt responsible her predicament and incensed that he couldn’t think of a way of it. Failure was a rare experience for him. The simple truth was that there was no solution to the problem he was trying to solve. She couldn’t be saved, not by him, not by anyone.

“Tie her up, gag her. Put her in the closet. Your bonafides aren’t compromised yet. You can be out the country in a few hours. By the time Katya’s discovered, you’ll be long gone.” Her fate was sealed, but his wasn’t. She could buy Raymond the time he’d need to get to safety. Once he was back on US soil he wouldn’t be pursued. There’d be no point in going after him once he was beyond Russia’s borders.

“What about you?” Did he really need her to say aloud what they both knew to be true?

“I knew the risks when I took your deal. We both did.” Raymond looked away from her, but not before she caught a flash of pain in his eyes. Raymond wasn’t as cold as she’d believed him to be that night in the restaurant. Her betrayal hadn’t hardened his heart the way she’d feared it had.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to give up?” His voice was hollow. He still wasn’t looking at her. She wished he would.

“There is no scenario where I make it out of this alive. At least this way you don’t have to die with me.”

“What about Masha? Are you really going to let her grow up without a mother?” Did he honestly think Katarina wanted to die and leave her daughter behind? Nothing could be further from the truth. The truth. That was it. She needed tell him, so he could fully understand what was at stake.

“Better that she loses just her mother than both of her parents.” Katarina had wondered, in the agonizing months since she’d learned her child’s true paternity, if Raymond would believe her if she told him he was the father of her child. She waited to him to demand proof or call her a liar. He did neither.

“Konstantin doesn’t know?” Katarina gave a small sad laugh at the thought. No, of course Konstantin didn’t know. Even if she hadn’t been ordered by her superiors to remain silent, she never would have told him. She had already betrayed him in body and heart. How could she steal his joy at the prospect of fatherhood? The date of conception that her doctor had given confirmed her fear that her husband was not the biological father, however, it was close enough that Masha’s wouldn’t be suspiciously premature.  

“No. And fortunately you both have Type B blood.” That was one blessing she could count on in all of this. Exposure would not come through happenstance. Konstantin wouldn’t learn the truth unless he went looking for it.

If Katarina was exposed as a traitor, the government’s first order of business would be to sever her ties to Konstantin. They wouldn’t want to use his political influence to interfere with Katarina’s sentencing, so they’d turn him against her any way they could. Revealing the fact she’d attempted to pass off the illegitimate child of her American lover as his daughter might do the trick. What would happen to Masha then? Would Konstantin still choose to raise her? Would he find her a suitable home? Or would she become a ward of the state?

“May I hold her?” After a split second hesitation, Katarina passed the baby to Raymond. He cradled her tenderly to his chest. His expression of pure adoration squeezed her heart painfully. He bent down and whispered softly to the newborn, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Tears threatened to spill out of Katarina’s eyes.

Maybe she should give Masha to Raymond. Not to raise, that would be to much to ask, but to deliver to Masha’s grandfather. Raymond would even be able to visit her. Masha could grow up knowing at least one of her parents.

Raymond finally looked up at Katarina and then over and Katya. He passed Masha back to Katarina, “Take her for a moment.”

Katarina frowned as Raymond strolled over to Katya. The woman had been well secured, each of her limbs tied to a chair arm or leg. Raymond bent down and started pulled at the knot that held her right wrist in place. When he finished untying the first binding, he moved on to his other arm. What was he doing?

Leaving Katya’s legs still secured, Raymond returned to Katarina and took Masha back from her. Next he strode over and carefully laid the infant in Katya’s arms. Katarina pushed down her feelings of panic and remained silent. She prayed Raymond knew what he was doing.

“Katya, my name is Raymond Reddington. I’m an American counterintelligence officer. The woman whose child you delivered is Katarina Rostova. She’s a KGB operative who, under orders from your government, seduced me in order to gain classified information on the United States. The newborn you are now holding in your arms is the result of that mission. She is not at fault for my actions or Katarina’s, but she will suffer for them if you do not protect her now.” He was trying to turn Katya by appealing to her sympathy for Masha. It was a hail Mary at best. The penalties for failing to report treasonous behavior were steep. It was a lot to risk, even for a child.

“You’re asking me to commit treason against my country.” Katya’s tone was as hard as her hold on Masha was gentle.

“A country that doesn’t accept you, that would imprison you simply for being who you are. I can get you out of here. A new life in the United States.” Katarina didn’t understand the first part of Raymond’s appeal, but Katya apparently did. She looked down at Masha, her lips pressed together.  

“What about my wife, Anastasia and Mura, my sister? Can you get papers for them?” Wife? Understanding dawned upon Katarina. Raymond’s strategy suddenly didn’t seem as far-fetched as she’d first believed. If Katya was homosexual, she was undoubtedly disenchanted with her government. Their policy toward the gay community was unspeakably cruel. Perhaps Raymond’s plan wasn’t as far-fetched as she’d first believed.

“Yes.” Raymond’s reply was immediate. He was either extremely confident in his powers of persuasion or lying his ass off. Katya’s snort indicated that she believed the latter.

“You’d say anything to save her wouldn’t you? To save both of them.”

“Yes.” Again Raymond’s answer had come swiftly and surely. Katarina found herself wondering if it was really true. Raymond was obviously trying to protect her as well as Masha, but why? Was it simply guilt? Was it for their daughter’s sake? Or could he possibly still care for her, despite what she’d done to him?

“So what reassurances do I have, apart from the word of an American spy, that you’ll keep your promise?”

“The same that I have that the second I let you out those doors, you won’t go straight to the police. None.” This entire plan was built on trust. A mutual agreement binding both sides by nothing but honor.

Katya rocked Masha as they all sat in silence. “Neschastnaya devushka. Vy ne zasluzhivayete etogo. (Poor girl. You don’t deserve this.)” Katya sighed and she looked up at Raymond. “My name Katya Koslova. I work at Sklifosovsky hospital. I expect to hear from you soon.” She passed Raymond the baby and bent down to undo the rest of her restraints. Katarina held her breath as Katya stood and exited the room without another word to either of them.

The second the door closed, Katarina turned to Raymond. “You should go. If she betrays us-”

“She won’t.” Raymond gently set Masha down inside the crib the hotel staff had carried up hours before.

“You don’t know that. If you leave now you’ll be safe. You can make it out of the country before the KGB catches on.” Raymond said nothing, he simply walked over to her and without a word of warning, scooped her up in his arms.

“What are you doing?!” Raymond began walking toward the bedroom, apparently not caring about her soiled post-labor state.

“You need to rest. Unless you’d prefer a bath first.” His tone was very impersonal, as though he was her nurse, rather than her target, turned lover, turned handler.

“I’d prefer you leave the country before you get arrested and shot.” Raymond gently lowered her onto the bed. He began to lift her legs to pull down the cover, but she pulled them up to her chest and did it herself. She wasn’t a child, or an invalid, for heaven’s sake.

“I’m not leaving you here.” She knew that tone of Raymond’s only to to well. As her father would say, ‘the man could teach stubbornness classes to jackasses’. It wouldn’t do any good to get angry. She had to be calm and appeal to Raymond’s reason.

“I know I’m your asset and you feel some kind of responsibility for me, but your being here won’t help one way or the other. You have a wife and daughter who need you to come home to them.” That should get his attention. Katarina knew how much Raymond loved Jennifer. He’d seen it the first day he’d come to pick his daughter up from her class. The girl’s face had lit up as she’d run to her father and he’d caught her and spun her around in the air. He’d listened with rapt attention as Jennifer had shared with him all the details of her day with the bubbly enthusiasm known only to the young. It was the first moment Katarina had really seen Raymond as something more than her target.

“I said ‘no’.” Raymond started to head for the doorway, intent on leaving the room, though apparently not the suite. No argument, no discussion. He was going to throw his life away for nothing and he expected her to just let him. The temper she’d inherited from her father rose within her.

“Damnit Raymond, why are so stubborn?!” Raymond spun on heel, his face unexpectedly red with matching anger.

“If I could leave you, don’t you think I would have done it by now!” Masha’s cries erupted from the next the room. Raymond vanished, out of her line of sight as he went to comfort her daughter.

Katarina turned his words over in her mind. What had he meant, that he couldn’t leave her? He had done all he could to save her. He had people who loved him who were depending on him. After what she’d done to him, he owed her nothing. Yet he said he couldn’t leave. Why? Was it for the same reason she was determined he go?  

“Please Raymond. I don’t want you to die.” Reason hadn’t worked but perhaps her desperate begging would. She waited a moment, but heard no response. Had he even heard her?

Raymond appeared in the doorway, holding a quieted Masha. “Why do you care? Why do care if I live or die?” Because she couldn’t bear the idea of a world in which he didn’t exist. Any resentment or anger she may have feel toward him no longer mattered. She loved him and it was as simple and as complicated as that.  

“You know why.” Raymond was brilliant and observant and he knew better than anyone else on the planet, including her husband and her father. How could he not know how she felt about him? How could he not see it? How could he not feel it?

Raymond looked down at the baby, perhaps to avoid Katarina’s eyes. “If this hadn’t happened, would you have told me about Masha?” The question was a kick the gut, but she forced herself to answer honestly.

“No. It seemed kinder not to.” Raymond looked up at her sharply.

“Kinder?”

“You have already have a family. A wife. A daughter. Telling you you had a child you would never see, never hold, a child that would call another man her father, seemed cruel.” It struck her that even if Raymond’s plan worked, that was exactly what would come to pass.

As she lay there watching Raymond hold the baby Katarina found herself imagining a different world. In the fantasy they were in a hospital together, surrounded by balloon and flowers. They had matching wedding bands on their ring fingers. They were a family. A real family. Could that dream have ever been a reality? “May I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.” She shouldn’t. It was weak and self-indulgent. Still she desperately wanted to know.

“Back when we were together, if I’d really been just a dance teacher, and I’d told told you I was pregnant...would you have married me?” He hadn’t married Carla when she’d become pregnant, but there had been multiple factors at play. He’d been six years younger and planning to go into the Naval Academy which didn’t accept married applicants. Would it have been different with them?

Raymond was silent for so long Katarina assumed he wasn’t going to answer. When he did speak his voice was so low, she barely caught it. “I wouldn’t have married you because you were pregnant. I would have married you because I loved you.” Before Katarina had a chance to form a response she heard the sound of the suite door unlocking.

“Katarina!” Konstantin’s happy voice traveled through the room. She barely had enough time to arrange her features in a smile before he appeared next to Raymond in the doorway.

“Konstantin.” His attention was immediately captured by the baby in Raymond’s arms.

“May I?” Raymond paused for only the briefest moment before passing Masha to Konstantin. “I’ve been trapped at that that damn airport for hours.” Konstantin beamed at the child that he believed was his, “Privet moya printsessa. YA tak zhal', chto ya opozdal, no teper' ya zdes'.(Hello, my princess. I’m so sorry I was late, but I’m here now.)”

Raymond chose that moment to walk away from the doorway. She longed to call after him, but there was nothing she could say.

Konstantin also noticed Raymond’s sudden departure and called after him, “Phillip, where are you going?”

“I thought I’d give the three of you some privacy.” Raymond accent was back in full measure, which was a relief. The strain in his voice was not.

“Nonsense. Katarina’s too kind to say it aloud, but I’m sure after a full night of labor she’d rather I was elsewhere. A nurse should be arriving soon to look after the baby. At the very least let me treat you to some breakfast.” Katarina wasn’t sure she’d ever hated herself quite so much as she did at that moment. What she had done to both of these men was unforgivable. Neither of them deserved this. Konstantin at least was blissfully unaware of the crimes she’d committed against him, but Raymond’s pain was compounded by the minute.  

“That’s very kind of you, but I have to be getting back to my room. I’m booked on a noon flight and I wouldn’t wish to miss it.” Katarina was relieved beyond words when Konstantin relented with an understanding nod.

“Of course. But before you go, please allow me to express my gratitude. The concierge told me everything you’ve done for Katarina and Masha. I am forever in your debt, old boy.” Konstantin adjusted his hold on Masha so he could extend his right hand to Raymond. Within moments Raymond was back in her view, taking it.

“It was nothing.”  

“On the contrary, it was everything. Thank you.” Katarina closed her eyes, wondering if it was possible for a person to perish from guilt. When she opened them again Raymond was gone and Konstantin was still there. “Ustali lyubov' moya? (Tired my love?)”

“Bol'she, chem ya kogda-libo byl v moyey zhizni. (More than I’ve ever been in my life.)” She was too, mind, body, and soul.

“No eto togo stoilo, da? (But it was worth it, yes?)” Katarina looked at the precious new life her choices, both good and bad, had brought her.

“Da, eto stoilo. (Yes, it was worth it.)”

It is no secret that reading is highly subjective, but that doesn’t rid it from biases.

Writers – especially women: Don’t let anyone sneer at you for writing “fluff.” Fluff is an insulator. Correctly used, it can stop you from freezing, or burning to death. Fluff fiction is designed to protect you from the relentless toxicity of the real world. Fluff saves lives.

— Joanne Harris (@Joannechocolat) January 8, 2020

Never not thinking about the grace of this reply from @MarianKeyes for @guardian about the idea of shame surrounding literature pic.twitter.com/ownskfJfPC

— Pandora Sykes (@PINsykes) May 6, 2020

What, for you, determines a book you want to read? Is it an acclaimed author, a particular genre, a recommendation from a friend or a book shop, or is it the accolade of prizes it has been shortlisted or awarded? 

“Fluffy” literature fits into all of these frames, so why is it looked down upon? What even makes a good book “good”? 

For me, generally, I define “fluffy” literature as often romance serialised novels that provide a strong degree of escapism. These types of novels are often viewed as “silly” or “fantastical”. A few examples are:

E.L James – Fifty Shades of Grey Franchise

Mills and Boon Novels

Bridget Jones Franchise 

Novels that have cover designs like these below: 

Yet, this definition comes with multiple caveats and cachés, “fluffy” literature could also largely be written from a women’s standpoint, it could be set within a young adult dystopian world, or it could be set within our own ordinary everyday timeframe. 

 “Fluff” in fiction itself is a pejorative connotation, often referring to written elements of the story, like elaborate and hyperbolic description, that doesn’t serve the development of the overall plot. Yet, this just generally makes it seem like reading is a means to an end, rather than enjoying the act of reading itself. 

What we perceive as high vs low is constantly changing. For example, Charles Dickens is today perceived as ‘high fiction’, but during his time he was actually writing serialised fiction for the masses. What’s more, as he originated from a working-class poor background, this also affected how people viewed him at the time. 

“High” fiction could also have a plethora of terms and connotations. Most of the time, I view high fiction to be classical literature, books that have won multiple awards, and books that are being recommended to you at every twist and turn (like Sally Rooney’s Normal People!). However, unlike the latter, a lot of people feel disengaged from classical literature, and it can also be argued that classical authors like Jane Austen adhere to many of the “fluffy” literature tropes.  

It cannot be denied that fluffy literature can have an engaging plot, making you hold the pages tight between your fingertips. Whether you are reading it on holiday or at home, fluffy literature can hold you in its grasp like a crime, dystopian or fantasy novel. Soon the pages will curl from the hot condensation as you read it in the bath, or the spine will crackle in the heat from hours reading on a sunlounger. Yet fluffy literature is so often disregarded, sometimes given measly one-star, two-star reviews. And even if it did get a five-star review, it would be placed in the realm of women’s fiction, women’s reading. Because, of course, the only books worth caring about are ones that are written for men. 

I have been thinking about this for a while, about how the books that are deemed “womanly” are not equal to others, even if they are beautifully written with intricate plots.

I often find myself confronted with my own ‘womanliness’ when wanting to read these books, and struggle with overcoming the negative stereotypes society has placed upon them as lesser literature; this is exacerbated by feelings that I should be reading from the higher echelons of accepted literature, especially because I have an English literature degree from a Russell Group University. 

I not only like reading these books, but I’m tired of the negative snobbery surrounding them. On a micro-scale, it is dismissive of this style of literature, but on a macro-scale, it discourages the act of reading for pleasure. 

In fact, a few of the narratives of fluffy literature is no different to many of the plot lines within revered classical fiction. Take Jane Austen Pride and Prejudice and Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones Diary, they mirror each other in so many ways. But Pride and Prejudice is considered a must, whereas Bridget Jones, an icon in its own right, isn’t pushed onto young men and women in the same way.

As a culture, we are reading far less than we used too, and discouraging people from reading just because of their book choices is completely alien to me. 

The act of reading in itself is freeing, but reading for pleasure is tight in the grips of criticism. We are now, more than ever, scrutinised for our hobbies, and what we devote our time to is apparently indicative of our personality and our intelligence. 

I remember the first time I felt misled for some of the books I chose to read. I had chosen to do 16th-century A-Level History because I had enjoyed reading Phillippa Gregory’s various novels on the Wars of the Roses and Tudor Queens, each written from a woman’s perspective. 

On the first day of teaching, we had to inform our teacher as to why we had chosen 16th-century history. My history teacher scoffed at me, saying that these novels were largely false and nothing in them was accurate. Not only did this make me feel inadequate for my choice in literature, but my reasoning seemingly paled in comparison to my friend who then pronounced she had been reading Machiavelli’s ‘The Prince’. I know that in the historical novel genre circles Gregory is looked down on more than others because she engaged with the “fluff” per se, and she extensively has used her artistic license rather than her historical one. But, isn’t it more important that her books got me interested in this period of history? That it fed an appetite that I didn’t know I had and encouraged me to learn more? 

However, as the year progressed, I couldn’t help but notice something. At this point, EVERYONE was talking about the explosion of Game of Thrones. Perhaps now regarded as a bastion for the fantasy genre, sitting amongst Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, Game of Thrones captivated a global legion of fans. Yet if you dismiss the TV show (which I digress I am a fan of) and if you look at the historical inspiration of the Wars of the Roses, the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, a time period that George R.R Martin has stated inspired him, is Game of Thrones really any different from Phillippa Gregory’s The White Queen or The Other Boleyn Girl? 

Yes, those who are die-hard Game of Thrones fans are likely going to balk at that statement especially if they are dismissive of Gregory’s books. I don’t deny that both of the Game of Thrones books and series were incredible with their visceral raw depictions of a meticulously thought out society. But, amongst all of the fanfare, those who were reading Game of Thrones weren’t made to feel as if they were dumb or had a lower IQ because of the books they had chosen to read, whereas, I think, the same couldn’t be said for Gregory’s readers. 

These thoughts had been cooking in my mind for many years, floating about like hot stewed dumplings, simmering, boiling and cooling, until I saw the tweet from Joanne Harris, the award-winning author of Chocolat in January and recently, I saw the tweet from Pandora Sykes about Marian Keyes. 

“Fluff is an insulator” Harris writes, a distraction away from the ordeals of everyday life. And now, with everything, (and ‘everything’ itself is a loaded word) isn’t that just true? But regardless, Harris makes an astute point also “especially women”. 

And, it is women isn’t it? 

It is no secret that history is patriarchal, written about men by men, and the history of the novel itself is no different. The history of the novel as we know it ignores the genuine importance of both women writers and readers. In fact, novels were pretty much invented for women, and in the Victorian period, fiction novels were largely written by women for other women. Yet, the patriarchy did want some control. They feared that women would get fancy “ideas” from the books that they were reading, so certain themes were encouraged like romance and domestic discourse. However, the themes they wanted to contain and control women with, were also the themes that they soon dismissed. Soon, the ideas of reading and writing became entrenched within the world of men, which meant that for women writers to be taken seriously in literature circles they had to adopt male pseudonyms. 

In fact today, some women still write with male pseudonyms, J.K Rowling is an obvious example. Common discourse seems to be to look back and praise these women for their ‘bravery’ in overcoming their restrictions and falsifying themselves, yet when this practice is still being employed today, it is clear that these constraints are yet to be dismantled. 

Another case study that I put forward is Mills and Boon. Founded in 1908, Mills and Boon were known for making “escapist” fiction for women in the 1930s. Considered “low brow” and “formulaic” in its iterations of a similar romantic narrative arc where the woman is submissive to the man, it was believed to play to women’s inner fantasies. Mills and Boon were widely successful because they provided escapism during the Depression years, and most importantly they were read by women of all backgrounds. What’s more, today they still attract three million readers in the UK.  Now, whilst the dominant alpha male and submissive women rhetoric is problematic in their own right, it’s also the denouncement of some novels as “low brow” and reserved for only women is another problem that people overlook. I find the word “low brow” offensive to not only women but also working-class women too. I think it is assumed that people from lower classes are not only interested in reading “low brow” fiction, but also that it is the only type of fiction they can “access”, yet “low brow” fiction is also criticised in itself. 

Reading is and always will be a tool for pleasure, but also no matter how escapist or fluffed out a novel is, it always will be a tool for education. The allusion to romantic liaisons or the meticulous details about the buttons and folds of a woman’s dress can open up a reader to a wider vocabulary or teach them more about romantic relationships. You shouldn’t just be recommending the classical giants or booker prize-winning authors, you should be recommending readers of all ages, genders and backgrounds. Not to mention that fluffy literature isn’t just for women, men might want to read it too. 

All in all, A novel can still be a good novel if it doesn’t give a veiled critique on society or written in elevated language and syntax. In fact, I think the disregard of this said novel is more revealing of society’s inner prejudices against class and women as a whole. 

  The Defense of [Writing or Reading] Fluffy Literature It is no secret that reading is highly subjective, but that doesn’t rid it from biases.

Confused About Organic Gardening? Use These pointers!

A lot of men and women who gardening tend to help stay away from this organic goods because these kinds of are afraid that bugs plus disease will plague their own crops. Rest. It's not 1460 nowadays. You simply accomplish definitely not need all those added materials to make your garden grow vibrant and securely. Take a few short minutes to read all these organic and natural gardening tips and learn how to expand plants naturally. In order to expand an incredible crop regarding tomatoes, make convinced your planting location will get plenty of light and has now lots of room close to each one tomato plant. Tomato crops are sun famished! These people really want from least five hours of sun every single and just about every day along with the added space between crops helps take full advantage of each tomato's juiciness, lusciousness, moistness, tastiness, deliciousness. Intended for gardeners inside colder areas who want to obtain plants started out in typically the outside garden a minor early, employ plastic dairy products jugs intended for mini-greenhouses. Lower the bottom off of a new milk jug and place more than the plant, pushing often the jug into the ground plenty of to keep the idea in place. Eliminate the milk jug cap during sunlit, but still somewhat frosty days to let for a few air movement and replace the cap at night for you to keep the warmth in. If the days are some sort of bit warmer, get rid of the jug during the moment, simply replacing it at nights, and slowly let your vegetable acclimate to the weather. Grow your crops that own a high value for your requirements. Planting flowers that will be eye-catching can be fantastic. Even so, planting fruits together with fruit and vegetables that you ingest on a regular time frame will save you dollars and invite you to try to eat healthier. It usually is anything via tomatoes and even carrots to get your salads to help herbal treatments for seasoning. Use a sprinkler program to water your garden. It can become challenging to obtain the time to water your plants every day, particularly if a person work outside of the home. Proper moisturization is essential to the good results of your respective garden, so placing in some sort of simple sprinkler system can save you time plus energy. Make sure to be able to protect fingers when functioning in your yard. Dirt and chemicals can be extremely tough on your skin. Yet , the solution to that problem is rather easy: garden gloves. Hand protection range through cheaper cottons (that wear easily) to additional durable leather (which are usually more expensive). Look around your community backyard supply center to help find a set of mitts that you feel comfortable working together with to save your own hands. If you personal fish, save your waters. Adjusting the water around a new tank for your fish is a good necessary laborious task when qualified for these pets; however it can also show for being useful for your own personal garden. Dirty fish tank waters is really really loaded with the nutrients plant life crave. So when the idea comes time to alter the particular water, instead of throwing that old water down typically the drain, use the waters to fertilize your vegetation instead. Choose certain flowers for shady areas. All plants need light to outlive, but not all associated with them require bright sun. Woodland natives, for instance , usually are happiest when presented the little protection from typically the rays of the sun. Be https://openload.co/f/nRFujQvZOU8/Uncertain_of_Organic_Gardening_Use_The_following_pointersuhuel.pdf when enriching the soil when the plants are under some sort of cover of trees, as they are fighting for the food provide with the major men! Ajuga, anemone, foxglove, couleur, hosta, viola plus allium all enjoy a badly lit place. It is necessary to prune went up bushes if you want them all to develop as several roses as they probably can. Pink bushes that will are not pruned in some sort of regular basis perform definitely not get good flow. This will limit the number of tulips that they produce and may lead to the plant in order to turn into poor and at some point die. Plastic bags can easily be kept on side together with reused to slide over the dirty farming shoes. In this manner, you can certainly get in and out quickly, and get back to be able to work in the yard. When you are thinking about beginning the organic and natural garden, physique out a plan. Creating a good plan for just where you want to place every plant will be time period saving. If you have a short timeframe of which can be spent at your back garden, having a plan could help an individual obtain the most out of that time. Try expanding a good shade garden. Hue back gardens use less normal water, call for less light, and tend to be lower maintenance than gardens inside of the sun. They commonly have considerably less invasive weeds than various other gardens, together with have a good slower developing period as well. Your current yard will be the more curved environment having a garden such as this. When organic gardening is a thing that you are engaged in, make sure an individual shop around. There are now many resources accessible on the internet and as well on often the internet. Discover what you will need to get started inside your organic gardening endeavors. It can be interesting and rewarding in often the end. Get the better of deer inside your garden. Deer love chewing on fresh vegetables, rose bushes, fruit trees, kranewitt, and holly. They can decimate a garden in some sort of single day if chosen the opportunity! While people tend to prefer the electronic fence in order to decrease deer, there are selected items you can do that don't require unwanted suffering. Fill totes with man or puppy hair, dehydrated blood meals, or maybe seafood heads. Attach to the edge of your property or home, or maybe to specific plants that may be eaten. Alternatively, make the spray of two ovum yolks mixed with one four cups of water plus apply fruit trees liberally. For reasons uknown, this seems to help work! Sometimes they have beneficial to spread grass clippings or other kinds of decomposing plant matter about the plants. The plants is going to break down and allow their nutrients to go back into the earth. This same theory works to get several kinds of decomposing matter for example rotten oranges, eggs, together with pretty substantially everything else that can be deemed organic matter. Now as you can plainly find from the recommendations above, you will not will need all those included substances in order to assist throughout growing any kind of type of plant, be it some sort of flower or a new tomato. All you need is the right know-how to ensure that the plants are getting what they need to grow sturdy and healthy.

Laser lipolysis before and after

Laser lipolysis before and after; Laser lipolysis, normally known as ‘laser lipo’, is a non-obtrusive liposculpture methodology for the expulsion of willful pockets of fat, for example, saddlebags, extra layers and twofold jaws. It can viably lessen territories of fat impervious to eating regimen or exercise with less symptoms than customary systems, for example, liposuction. The methodology utilizes a laser to successfully ‘liquefy’ undesirable fat on the face and body, and after that either permits to body to process the dissolved fat or uses ‘yearning’, a type of suction that enables the specialist to evacuate more prominent amounts of fat.

In spite of the fact that it has been touted as a noon treatment, laser lipolysis is named a minor surgery as the specialist should make a little cut and the region being dealt with will be desensitized with neighborhood soporific. Since you are wakeful all through the method, there are less dangers required than with conventional liposuction, which is frequently done under general soporific. Laser lipolysis isn’t a weight reduction treatment and isn’t suited to individuals who are fundamentally overweight, it is better for those with little restricted territories of resolute fat. The outcomes offer ascent to a more amicable body shape in a brief timeframe, without the wounding and swelling of more forceful methodology. Laser lipolysis before and after.

Am I a Candidate for Laser Lipolysis?

Any individual who has undesirable, determined zones of fat might be a possibility for laser lipolysis. The perfect hopeful ought to be at, or near, their solid body weight and have practical desires for what the treatment can accomplish. Individuals who have a lot of weight to lose or are hefty are not appropriate for this treatment as it is intended to form and shape the body instead of give noteworthy weight reduction. Pregnant ladies are additionally not appropriate for this treatment. The most ideal approach to see whether you are a reasonable contender for laser lipolysis is to book a meeting with a specialist or specialist who is knowledgeable about the treatment.

What Are the Results of Laser Lipolysis?

Contingent upon regardless of whether the specialist additionally utilizes suction you can hope to lose a clench hand estimated measure of fat from the treated region. It will take your body three to a half year to normally utilize and wipe out the fluid fat so you can see the last outcome, in spite of the fact that you may see a distinction following one to two months. The outcomes are more sensational and prompt where suction is utilized. The warmth from the laser can likewise help fix the skin so you may in a flash vibe more conditioned.

What Are the Risks and Complications with Laser Lipolysis?

Laser lipolysis is an exceptionally safe treatment with less related dangers and symptoms that careful liposuction, nonetheless, it is a minor surgery so there are a few dangers included. Laser lipolysis before and after.

The most well-known symptom after laser lipolysis is swelling and wounding however this is brief and ought to die down inside a few days. These reactions are generally more regrettable on the off chance that you have had suction-helped laser lipolysis.

There is likewise a danger of contamination so ensure you take the anti-infection agents endorsed to you purchase your specialist and abstain from drinking liquor while taking them. To diminish the danger of any difficulties happening, take after the post treatment counsel given to you by your specialist.

What Happens After Laser Lipolysis Treatment?

Try not to be tricked by the noon lipo features related with this treatment, while is has substantially quicker recuperation time and is far less obtrusive than medical procedure it is as yet a minor surgery and will include some downtime. You may have swelling and wounding and might be very sore for a few days after the technique. The swelling ought to die down inside five to 10 days; anyway wounding can keep going for up to three weeks.

You can for the most part leave straight a short time; later however you might be somewhat sleepy and numb from the sedative so; it is a smart thought to inspire somebody to drive you home. Your specialist may give you two or three days’ course of anti-toxins to keep away from contamination. Ensure you take these as coordinated.

You may likewise be given a pressure piece of clothing to wear. This will help with lymphatic seepage and accelerate the recuperating procedure so wear; it for whatever length of time that your specialist recommends. Laser lipolysis before and after.

A great many people can continue ordinary exercises following two or three days however you ought to keep away; from strenuous exercises for two or three weeks after treatment. You ought to likewise dodge firm rubbing of the zone for a couple of months after treatment.

What Happens During a Laser Lipolysis Procedure?

The specialist or specialist will generally make careful; markings on the territories being dealt with to fill in as a guide amid the method. You will then be infused; with a neighborhood soporific to numb the territory and enable the specialist or specialist to make; a little entry point through which to penetrate whatever is left of the analgesic. This little cut will likewise be the point through which the laser in embedded (inside a thin tube or cannula). Once the analgesic has produced results, the specialist will embed the laser fiber and start the treatment. Laser lipolysis before and after.

You will be wakeful all through the method however ought; not feel something besides a touch of weight or pulling on the zone. Now and then you can encounter some warmth; from the laser which has a craving for being flicked with a flexible band. This will just occur in regions that the analgesic has not completely come to; and your specialist can stop the method and include more sedative if fundamental. The treatment takes between one to two hours relying upon; what number of zones you are having treated and the extent of the zone being dealt with.

The specialist will move the laser around under the skin; utilizing its warmth to dissolve the fat in your concern territories. The liquefied fat can either be sucked out similarly as liposuction or left to be used purchase your own body. The suction helped strategy, known as goal, enables the specialist to evacuate more fat however is somewhat more obtrusive.

Laser lipolysis before and after

Laser lipolysis before and after

CASE, NEKO

I love a girl who loves Neko Case.

In loose accordance with my admittedly vague understanding of the Substitution Theorem of Algebra (if a = b and b= c, then a = c), that means I also love Neko Case. I’m hesitant to accept this, but not because I don’t love Neko Case—I might very well love Neko Case; I’m going to listen to a bunch of her records right now to find out. However, I refuse to blindly accede to anything Algebra has to say about the governance of my life, because although I’m unsure at this point precisely how I feel about Neko Case, I am absolutely positive how I feel about Algebra: I loathe it with the singular strain of unbridled vehemence I reserve solely for the most odious insentient phenomena which plague the human experience with their very existence (long lines, automated telephone customer support menus, quinoa, Amy Schumer, etc.).

I have suffered through three Algebra classes in my life: “Algebra I” in high school, “College Algebra” at Citrus College, and then another seminar that was creatively dubbed “College Algebra” at University of La Verne—the latter because the donkey-fluffing sadists at ULV arbitrarily decided the “College Algebra” course I completed at Citrus was insufficient to fulfill their “College Algebra” requirement, despite being an Algebra course taken at a College that had the exact same title and covered the exact same material as the additional class they forced me to enroll in (I can only suppose they were misinformed that significant advances were made in the field of studying numbers that aren’t even fucking numbers during the intervening span). I don’t think it’s a coincidence that each of the instructors who led these tutorials were stern pricks—devoting one’s life to a discipline which has no practical value to anyone except other Algebra teachers strikes me as a particularly unfulfilling existence—and I retained nothing useful from any of these experiences, save for perhaps one equation: g + f + y = go fuck yourself. I understand that there are people on this planet who love math the same way I love music, and I further understand that these people are responsible for developing technical innovations which better humanity in myriad ways while people like me fritter away our nights typing a bunch of worthless nonsense in the name of cheap laughs. Nevertheless, even if someone with a PhD in Algebra eventually cures cancer or resurrects John Bonham to properly reunite Led Zeppelin, I still won’t want to have a beer with them.

Thankfully, while Neko Case has written many songs about matters of the heart, weather events, and—perhaps oddly—tigers, I have yet to encounter a single tune in her repertoire about math. I’m loving her more and more every minute.

And I also love a girl who loves Neko Case. I found this out when I found out that The Girl In The David Bowie Shirt is also The Girl With The Neko Case Tote, and I found that out because said Tote was actually inside my apartment with the Girl who was carrying it.

I suppose I should update you on that: The Girl In The David Bowie Shirt and I reestablished contact shortly after I authored the last piece she was mentioned in (though she is unaware of its existence and has not read it). Our former radio silence has been replaced by phone conversations which routinely stretch into multiple hours, and we now text each other on more days than we do not text each other. She has visited California on two occasions since she relocated, and I was able to spend time with her during both of these visits. We have smoked cigarettes on my balcony together and we have eaten Thai food together. She has gradually become one of the closest people to me in the world—2,000 miles be damned—and one of the first people I share my breaking news with; even better, I have become the same to her. And I was absolutely correct in my previous estimation that she would prove to be a haunting presence in my life, because I still inevitably measure every other woman I meet against her and they all pale in comparison. There—are we up to speed?

I’m certain she’s figured out exactly how I feel about her by now; she’s smart as hell and I’ve said plenty of things to her which could only produce that one specific and inescapable conclusion. Yet I’ve never told her exactly how I feel about her in specific and inescapable terms. My hesitancy to do so is mostly borne from pragmatism—we live 2,000 miles apart, which is specific and inescapable math I can’t argue with. So instead of confessing that I write sappy drivel like this about her, I’ve resigned myself to our current stalemate. I figure I’ll just keep pining over her until either: a) I meet someone as rad as her who doesn’t live 2,000 miles away, or b) I die alone. I think it’s a solid plan, especially since the relationship we have right now is basically ideal—I may not get to make out, cuddle, or listen to records with her… but since we never see each other she can’t get sick of my neurotic ass, which is pretty awesome.

I knew who Neko Case was long before I learned that The Girl With The Neko Case Tote possesses the handbag in question. Neko (I think I can safely refer to her on a first-name basis, since I probably love her and all) makes her indelible presence felt in a ceaselessly superb band I have admired for many years—The New Pornographers—and she also provided some stunning duet harmonies on John Doe’s Forever Hasn’t Happened Yet, which is a record so good that my life would likely be tremendously improved if I listened to it every single day. However, I hadn’t properly investigated her eponymous work until my not-so-secret paramour included the song “Star Witness” from 2006’s Fox Confessor Brings the Flood as one of her contributions for a swap of post-modern mixtapes we prepared for each other.

If you were to pick 15 songs you want me to hear right now, what would they be?

This intriguing text from The Girl With The Neko Case Tote arrived one otherwise uneventful afternoon while I was killing time before work. And just like that, the tone and focus of my entire day shifted.

Naturally, I had long-machinated on a mix-CD for her (I even compiled a rough draft at one point, which I never gave her and still have). Now here she was, laying down the gauntlet, and doing so with a latent immediacy (“right now”) which granted me no room for second-guessing or reconfiguration. My friends, it struck me as a Herculean task. Yet it was a provocation I could not resist.

You do realize that choosing only 15 songs for you might be the most difficult thing I’ve done in my entire life, right?, I texted back with minimal hyperbole.

She called me immediately to admit that she was grappling with that same concern on her end (obviously, I would be getting 15 songs in return). She wondered aloud if we should set some parameters to help guide our selections, which I voted against. If the challenge was indeed to make our choices spontaneously, drawing upon visceral emotion rather than sagacious deduction, any self-imposed strictures that impelled our deliberations would indubitably be counterproductive to the assignment (goddamn, that was a pretentious sentence… why do you read this shit?). And the clock was ticking—I had to leave for work in 90 minutes, so 90 minutes was how long we had to pick each other’s songs. Once the timeframe and mission statement were established, we broke our telephone huddle. And I set about scouring my brain and my shelves to concoct the most kickass compilation I’ve ever made for anyone: “The 15”.

This was to be a unique finished product. That whole 2,000 miles actual-numbers math bullshit prohibited us from handing each other discs, as the mix-CD mating dance normally entails. Instead, we settled upon texting an ordered list of our picks to each other so we could cue up the tracks in sequence on YouTube and do our actual listening there.

Her roster chimed my phone 85 minutes later. Unsurprisingly, it displayed a musical sampling that was as inimitable and compelling as the Girl who compiled it.

I was delighted to discover that only one of the fifteen songs she chose was already familiar to me (“Why Can’t I Touch It?” by The Buzzcocks—which, I must tell you, is a tremendously flattering dedication to receive from a girl you’re cuckoo about; seeing that on her list made me wish there was a tune called “Dude, You Totally Can” that I could send back to her). I don’t think it will shock you to learn that I subsequently purchased each of the albums her 14 additional selections appeared on; logically, I did this because: a) all of the tracks she picked were absorbing enough to make me curious to investigate additional work by the bands responsible + b) I wanted to assemble a physical copy of her “The 15” for myself = c) I’m crazy.

[If it seems unduly zealous to purchase 14 CDs simply because they have tangential associations with someone I have hung out with less than 14 times… that’s because it absolutely fucking is. Luckily, all of those discs ended up being fairly excellent, so things could have certainly turned out far worse. For instance, I once bought a Ryan Adams CD because he was the favorite artist of a girl I dated for a few minutes, and I did this despite my supposition that Ryan Adams embodies the absolute rock bottom of shitty self-important hipster-minstrel twaddle. You can learn a lot about a person by exploring the music that is most important to them, so taking the time to investigate the melodic beloveds of someone you may potentially have intercourse with strikes me as a savvy bit of due diligence. Since The Girl Who Loves Ryan Adams was real cool, supplementing my library with Heartbreaker seemed like a sensible investment at the time. However, she broke off our brief courtship before I even listened to the album, after which I promptly returned it to Rhino. We never ended up having that intercourse, but I also never sullied my ears or my collection with the work of Ryan Adams—we’ll call it a wash.]    

I’ve always populated the discs I prepare for my crushes with at least a few songs meant to subtly convey overt messages (or sometimes vice versa), which I suspect is a tactic that every romantically-uncreative sap who tries to woo pretty girls with music has been utilizing since the dawn of recordable media. This ploy is one of the niftiest things about mix-CDs: the medium allows its curator to commission others’ words to voice sentiments they aren’t necessarily able to voice themselves. Jimmy Eat World is probably a better ambassador for my emotions than I am most of the time anyway, so I was perfectly comfortable deferring to them by slotting “Kill” onto the playlist I sent to The Girl In The David Bowie Shirt Who Has A Neko Case Tote. I also—either boldly or foolishly or both—included the most stellar love song ever written on her docket: Walter Egan’s “Magnet and Steel”. And I did so with impunity, because another marvelous facet of mix-CDs is that the subjective nature of their components imbues them with an intrinsic bulwark of plausible deniability. (And that was another wantonly ostentatious and unintelligible sentence… and so is this one—seriously, why the fuck are you reading this?).

Allow me to clarify. Imagine that TGITDBSWHANCT (shit, even my acronyms suck) heard those tracks and was instantly revolted by the insinuations they contain. The poor girl’s sitting there, innocuously listening to “The 15”, when suddenly Jim Adkins blurts out, “I loved you, and I should have said it.” Her eyes bulge wide with horror, she probably throws up in her mouth a little bit, and she gasps, “Dear god, I think Taylor might have chosen this song because he loves me and thinks he should have said it; I’m going to call him right now and venomously reject him because I don’t feel that way about him at all. How could I…? His sentences are goddamn trainwrecks!”

This is where the mix-CD force-field comes in handy.

See, if she did call me and say all that stuff—after she got done telling me she could never love a man who puts his paragraph breaks in such awkward places—all I would have to do to save face is cite the interpretative essence of music as an art form. “Oh, is that how the lyrics go?” I might innocently enquire before asserting, “The only reason I picked ‘Kill’ is because that song rocks” (granted, this is a flimsy justification; there are at least five tracks on Futures that rock more). I could also use that same maneuver to explain away the line in “Magnet and Steel” which declares, “the love that I feel is so strong, and it can’t be wrong”—“oh yes it can, shit-writer,” TGITDBSWHANCT might emphatically state; but she could hardly cling to her outrage over my excessive use of semi-colons if I explained that I merely selected that particular tune because of its brilliantly-minimalist guitar lead (granted, this is equally fucking flimsy—the fretwork on “Magnet and Steel” is certainly superb, but come on… if I was going to choose a song based solely on its guitar solo, it would be Motley Crue’s “Home Sweet Home”; that’s just basic common sense right there).

Ultimately, no such denials became necessary. As agreed, both of us let the music speak for itself and we never discussed the impetuses for our selections. If she was at all vexed by the memorandum Walter Egan delivered for me, that didn’t alter the frequency or character of our communications. Still, you better damn believe I scoured every one of her selections to see if they contained any similar lyrical or thematic clues.

The results of my recon were decidedly inconclusive—if anyone’s ever written a song called “I’m Secretly in Love with a Writer Who Lives in California”, it wasn’t on her list. The closest thing I found to a firm avowal was the passage in Jawbreaker’s “Ache” that says “somewhere, sometime, let me make you mine.” Although, in another verse the narrator concludes that he’s “safer alone”; “Ache” is an awesome track, but it didn’t prompt me to start shopping for a wedding cake just yet.

I can only conjecture what “Star Witness” means to TGITDBSWHANCT, and precisely why she nominated that particular cut for me—though it would be super-nifty if she picked it because of the wonderful line, “I would give anything to see you again.” Regardless, since I was willing to give Ryan Adams a try to better understand a girl I only spent a couple of weeks with, it probably won’t arrive as a bombshell that once I became aware of the Tote I quickly accumulated five of Neko Case’s records to study them as a means of studying the Girl with that shoulder-bag by proxy.

Neko’s oeuvre is frequently classified as “alt-country,” but I’ve never really liked that dubious categorization. More accurately, a lot of her music closely resembles what regular-Country music used to sound like, before the genre was usurped by a legion of insipid and interchangeable red-state pop stars whose only evident stylistic departures from the vapid dreck excreted by feces-mongers like The Black Eyed Peas are the employment of assorted twang-generating instruments and an increased emphasis on pick-up trucks as lyrical topics. Artists like Neko Case strike me as a more natural modern incarnation of the template laid out by—say—Hank Williams than something like—say—Carrie Underwood. Thus, the “alt-” prefix seems extraneous to me, unless we as a society are finally willing to acknowledge that the music which gets categorized as “Country” today is largely just Pop music marketed to drunk sorority girls and even drunker gun-toting lunk-heads who use the term ‘Murica unironically.    

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit that my fluency with the last two decades of country music is extremely limited. I did randomly catch a few minutes of the CMA telecast a couple years back, wherein I witnessed a Stetson-adorned heartthrob (I think there was a “Luke” somewhere in his name) throwing up finger-devil-horns during his performance—which deeply exasperated and bewildered me, yet failed to clarify my understanding of what is considered “Country” music today. Further muddling matters, Luke Luke’s song sounded more like the material on KISS’s ill-advised grunge record than anything in the Waylan Jennings canon, and the dudes in his band were ornamented with black-leather wardrobes and lame tribal tattoos that made them resemble WWE mid-carders from the “Attitude” era (my first thought when I channel-surfed into this spectacle was, why is Godsmack playing the Country Music Awards?).

Listening to Neko Case, I’m reminded more of Emmylou Harris than X-Pac or Sully Erna, which is infinitely preferable. Yet Neko is most assuredly her own animal (a tiger, probably), and her music often veers into moodier, decidedly un-Country arenas, which I guess partially explains why artists of her ilk are distinguished with the “alt-” tag by the breed of snarky assholes who think that sub-genre designations are somehow valuable.

[Tangent: While I’m fully cognizant that recorded music is a Product and the people trying to sell said Product require readily-accessible Terms to market their Product to Consumers who enjoy similar Products, the superfluity of labels used to differentiate bands from other bands that are far more alike than dissimilar has become absurdly rampant in the 21st Century. I think the blame for this rests partly on lazy music journalists, who have increasingly come to rely on nonsensical chains of hyphenated buzzwords instead of conjuring constructive and evocative descriptions of how the music they’re writing about actually sounds and feels. The collective result of their fallowness is the presence of lugubrious jargon like “acid-house dub-step EDM” in Rolling Stone album reviews, hollow idioms which tell the layman absolutely nothing about the album being evaluated. Since all I understand about acid-house, dub-step, or EDM individually is that the ingestion of date-rape drugs is supposed to drastically improve the listening experience of each, the only thing their united classification suggests to me is, “some shithead in skinny jeans pushed a few buttons on his laptop and now this record exists.” Lest you think I’m unfairly singling out a realm of recorded sound that I personally regard as unartistic and uninspiring and utterly pointless, I would like to add that my beloved Metal community has become perhaps the most heinous dumping ground for obtuse sub-category monikers. If you thumb through any issue of a magazine like Alternative Press, you’ll encounter this phenomenon frequently, via testimonials like “the best melodic post-screamo death-core band in the world” (translation: “this group’s T-shirts are prominently showcased on an endcap at Hot Topic”). Further convoluting my grasp on our primary subject here, the gradual transference of country music into increasingly Pop-centric jurisdictions has led to the institution of the “Americana” tag, which has become the preferred critically-respectable umbrella for modern artists whose sonic lineage can be directly traced to the traditional bluegrass mode. This suggests that artists who make country music that actually sounds like time-honored country music can no longer be classified as “Country” artists; since their work bears so little resemblance to the hyper-glossy output of today’s Country performers, a new taxonomy had to be invented to accommodate the aesthetic that the term “country” used to encompass. Thus, the existence of “Americana” would seem to indicate that even people who love country music think Country music is fucking awful.]

As I visit the five corners of Neko Case’s discography represented on my shelves, I’m finding myself tremendously pleased—she really is goddamn fantastic—yet no closer to gleaning what “alt-country” really is. I have just finished listening to her live record The Tigers Have Spoken, which has more in common with a Dolly Parton live record than it doesn’t have in common with a Dolly Parton live record, yet is somehow not considered a straight country record (or are Dolly Parton albums retroactively classified as “Americana” releases now because they aren’t terrible…?). If Neko’s larger body of work is any indication, I’m led to infer that “alt-country” is country music that occasionally doesn’t sound like country music. But this only confuses me even more when I consider the Product currently being marketed as non-“alt-” Country music, which actually sounds like Pop music that occasionally sounds like country music. Reverting to Algebraic terms, if a (songs that sound like country songs) + b (a few songs that don’t sound like country songs) = c (an “alt-country” album), then shouldn’t it reasonably follow that d (aggressively overproduced Pop songs) + e (a few aggressively overproduced Pop songs that marginally resemble country songs) = f (something else)? Yet f is still classified as “Country,” which suggests either: a) Algebra is useless, or b) Taylor Swift is useless (I think a + b is probably the correct answer).

Muddy genre distinctions aside, I suppose Neko’s mien does have enough of its own dark-horse character to warrant a brand separation from Tammy Wynette (this isn’t intended as a slight; I fucking adore Tammy Wynette). Besides, if the “alt-country” label keeps Neko from languishing in the same record store bin as the aural codswallop defecated by the likes of Toby Keith, I’ll concede that’s probably a good thing.

Even after multiple spins of each record I own, I’m struggling to identify the best tunes in Neko’s arsenal; there are simply too many zeniths to choose from. The gal knocks out killer track after killer track with apparent ease, and I’m quickly becoming as smitten with her as The Girl With The Neko Case Tote is (though probably not as smitten as I am with The Girl With The Neko Case Tote, clearly).

I’ll have to credit 2002’s Blacklisted as the disc that officially converted me from curious party to fan. It’s certainly Neko’s most diverse offering, ably displaying her prodigious gifts as a songwriter by showcasing her ability to summon and sustain a multiplicity of moods. “Deep Red Bells” is the set’s showstopper—a richly melodic masterpiece whose stark gorgeousness becomes almost perverse once you figure out that it’s a murder ballad—though the similarly stunning “Runnin’ Out of Fools” arrives a few cuts later to demonstrate how equally adept Case is at crushing gospel-fueled torch songs which wouldn’t sound out of place on one of Roberta Flack’s records. Fellow album-sibling “Pretty Girls” is a prime example of the darker-edged exercises that enrich Case’s repertoire, which is liberally peppered with the kind of mournful meditations that would provide a perfect soundtrack for a late night drive on a secluded highway with a tumbler of whiskey in the cup holder (rest assured, “Pretty Girls” sounds equally tremendous right now even though I’m merely sitting in front of my laptop sipping an IPA).

Middle Cyclone is another knockout record, and features another tour de force of her melancholy mode: “Prison Girls”, wherein Neko brandishes her aptitude for crafting exquisite lines like, “I love your long shadows and your gunpowder eyes.” Earlier on that disc, “Vengeance is Sleeping” nimbly splits the difference between lovely and lamenting, wringing maximum potency out of an understated arrangement that allows Case’s stirred and stirring voice to soar as she confesses, “you’re the one that I still miss” (I would have been totally okay with that song being among “The 15”, by the way). Still, “Don’t Forget Me” is probably my favorite track on Cyclone, and had I heard it before I assembled my picks for The Girl With The Neko Case Tote, I surely would have been tempted to include it on her list—“you know I think about you, let me know you think about me too” is an apt summation of that subject, methinks.

I could go on and on, but this entry is already running long; besides, if I keep itemizing Neko’s highpoints, I’m going to end up writing about every single song in her catalog. Before I depart, though, I will offer this concession: now that I’ve familiarized myself with the body of work in question, I am willing to admit that Algebra was absolutely correct in this instance. I love you, Neko Case—specifically and inescapably.

As for the Girl who carries her Tote… Well, I don’t have all the right variables to solve that equation just yet. But at least I’ve got a wonderful soundtrack for our stalemate.    

I know this entry has meandered all over the place, but I’m still ultimately pleased with the way it turned out. In fact, I think it just might be one of the best self-deprecating long-distance handbag-worshipping memoir-core pieces I’ve ever written.

 September 24, 2015