#The Vermont Eagle Sun

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The Third Thing

BY DONALD HALL

Jane Kenyon and I were married for twenty-three years. For two decades we inhabited the double solitude of my family farmhouse in New Hampshire, writing poems, loving the countryside. She was forty-seven when she died. If anyone had asked us, “Which year was the best, of your lives together?” we could have agreed on an answer: “the one we remember least.” There were sorrowful years—the death of her father, my cancers, her depressions—and there were also years of adventure: a trip to China and Japan, two trips to India; years when my children married; years when the grandchildren were born; years of triumph as Jane began her public life in poetry: her first book, her first poem in the New Yorker. The best moment of our lives was one quiet repeated day of work in our house. Not everyone understood. Visitors, especially from New York, would spend a weekend with us and say as they left: “It’s really pretty here” (“in Vermont,” many added) “with your house, the pond, the hills, but . . . but . . . but . . . what do you do?”

What we did: we got up early in the morning. I brought Jane coffee in bed. She walked the dog as I started writing, then climbed the stairs to work at her own desk on her own poems. We had lunch. We lay down together. We rose and worked at secondary things. I read aloud to Jane; we played scoreless ping-pong; we read the mail; we worked again. We ate supper, talked, read books sitting across from each other in the living room, and went to sleep. If we were lucky the phone didn’t ring all day. In January Jane dreamed of flowers, planning expansion and refinement of the garden. From late March into October she spent hours digging, applying fifty-year-old Holstein manure from under the barn, planting, transplanting, and weeding. Sometimes I went off for two nights to read my poems, essential to the economy, and Jane wrote a poem called “Alone for a Week.” Later Jane flew away for readings and I loathed being the one left behind. (I filled out coupons from magazines and ordered useless objects.) We traveled south sometimes in cold weather: to Key West in December, a February week in Barbados, to Florida during baseball’s spring training, to Bermuda. Rarely we flew to England or Italy for two weeks. Three hundred and thirty days a year we inhabited this old house and the same day’s adventurous routine.

What we did: love. We did not spend our days gazing into each other’s eyes. We did that gazing when we made love or when one of us was in trouble, but most of the time our gazes met and entwined as they looked at a third thing. Third things are essential to marriages, objects or practices or habits or arts or institutions or games or human beings that provide a site of joint rapture or contentment. Each member of a couple is separate; the two come together in double attention. Lovemaking is not a third thing but two-in-one. John Keats can be a third thing, or the Boston Symphony Orchestra, or Dutch interiors, or Monopoly. For many couples, children are a third thing. Jane and I had no children of our own; we had our cats and dog to fuss and exclaim over—and later my five grandchildren from an earlier marriage. We had our summer afternoons at the pond, which for ten years made a third thing. After naps we loaded up books and blankets and walked across Route 4 and the old railroad to the steep slippery bank that led down to our private beach on Eagle Pond. Soft moss underfoot sent little red flowers up. Ghost birches leaned over water with wild strawberry plants growing under them. Over our heads white pines reared high, and oaks that warned us of summer’s end late in August by dropping green metallic acorns. Sometimes a mink scooted among ferns. After we acquired Gus he joined the pond ecstasy, chewing on stones. Jane dozed in the sun as I sat in the shade reading and occasionally taking a note in a blank book. From time to time we swam and dried in the heat. Then, one summer, leakage from the Danbury landfill turned the pond orange. It stank. The water was not hazardous but it was ruined. A few years later the pond came back but we seldom returned to our afternoons there. Sometimes you lose a third thing.

The South Danbury Christian Church became large in our lives. We were both deacons and Jane was treasurer for a dozen years, utter miscasting and a source of annual anxiety when the treasurer’s report was due. I collected the offering; Jane counted and banked it. Once a month she prepared communion and I distributed it. For the Church Fair we both cooked and I helped with the auction. Besides the Church itself, building and community, there was Christianity, the Gospels, and the work of theologians and mystics. Typically we divided our attentions: I read Meister Eckhart while Jane studied Julian of Norwich. I read the Old Testament aloud to her, and the New. If it wasn’t the Bible, I was reading aloud late Henry James or Mark Twain or Edith Wharton or Wordworth’s Prelude. Reading aloud was a daily connection. When I first pronounced The Ambassadors, Jane had never read it, and I peeked at her flabbergasted face as the boat bearing Chad and Mme. de Vionnet rounded the bend toward Lambert Strether. Three years later, when I had acquired a New York Edition of Henry James, she asked me to read her The Ambassadors again. Late James is the best prose for reading aloud. Saying one of his interminable sentences, the voice must drop pitch every time he interrupts his syntax with periphrasis, and drop again when periphrasis interrupts periphrasis, and again, and then step the pitch up, like climbing stairs in the dark, until the original tone concludes the sentence. One’s larynx could write a doctoral dissertation on James’s syntax.

Literature in general was a constant. Often at the end of the day Jane would speak about what she had been reading, her latest intense and obsessive absorption in an author: Keats for two years, Chekhov, Elizabeth Bishop. In reading and in everything else, we made clear boundaries, dividing our literary territories. I did not go back to Keats until she had done with him. By and large Jane read intensively while I read extensively. Like a male, I lusted to acquire all the great books of the world and add them to my life list. One day I would realize: I’ve never read Darwin! Adam Smith! Gibbon! Gibbon became an obsession with me, then his sources, then all ancient history, then all narrative history. For a few years I concentrated on Henry Adams, even reading six massive volumes of letters.

But there was also ping-pong. When we added a new bedroom, we extended the rootcellar enough to set a ping-pong table into it, and for years we played every afternoon. Jane was assiduous, determined, vicious, and her reach was not so wide as mine. When she couldn’t reach a shot I called her “Stubbsy,” and her next slam would smash me in the groin, rage combined with harmlessness. We rallied half an hour without keeping score. Another trait we shared was hating to lose. Through bouts of ping-pong and Henry James and the church, we kept to one innovation: with rare exceptions, we remained aware of each other’s feelings. It took me half my life, more than half, to discover with Jane’s guidance that two people could live together and remain kind. When one of us felt grumpy we both shut up until it went away. We did not give in to sarcasm. Once every three years we had a fight—the way some couples fight three times a day—and because fights were few the aftermath of a fight was a dreadful gloom. “We have done harm,” said Jane in a poem after a quarrel. What was that fight about? I wonder if she remembered, a month after writing the poem.

Of course: the third thing that brought us together, and shone at the center of our lives and our house, was poetry—both our love for the art and the passion and frustration of trying to write it. When we moved to the farm, away from teaching and Jane’s family, we threw ourselves into the life of writing poetry as if we jumped from a bridge and swam to survive. I kept the earliest hours of the day for poetry. Jane worked on poems virtually every day; there were dry spells. In the first years of our marriage, I sometimes feared that she would find the project of poetry intimidating, and withdraw or give up or diminish the intensity of her commitment. I remember talking with her one morning early in New Hampshire, maybe in 1976, when the burden felt too heavy. She talked of her singing with the Michigan Chorale, as if music were something she might turn to. She spoke of drawing as another art she could perform, and showed me an old pencil rendering she had made, acorns I think, meticulous and well-made and nothing more. She was saying, “I don’t have to give myself to poetry”—and I knew enough not to argue.

However, from year to year she gave more of herself to her art. When she studied Keats, she read all his poems, all his letters, the best three or four biographies; then she read and reread the poems and the letters again. No one will find in her poems clear fingerprints of John Keats, but Jane’s ear became more luscious with her love for Keats; her lines became more dense, rifts loaded with ore. Coming from a family for whom ambition was dangerous, in which work was best taken lightly, it was not easy for Jane to wager her life on one number. She lived with someone who had made that choice, but also with someone nineteen years older who wrote all day and published frequently. Her first book of poems came out as I published my fifth. I could have been an inhibitor as easily as I was an encourager—if she had not been brave and stubborn. I watched in gratified pleasure as her poems became better and better. From being promising she became accomplished and professional; then—with the later poems of The Boat of Quiet Hours, with “Twilight: After Haying,” with “Briefly It Enters,” with “Things,” she turned into the extraordinary and permanent poet of Otherwise.

People asked us—people still ask me—about competition between us. We never spoke of it, but it had to be there—and it remained benign. When Jane wrote a poem that dazzled me, I wanted to write a poem that would dazzle her. Boundaries helped. We belonged to different generations. Through Jane I got to be friends with poets of her generation, as she did with my friends born in the 1920s. We avoided situations which would subject us to comparison. During the first years of our marriage, when Jane was just beginning to publish, we were asked several times to read our poems together. The people who asked us knew and respected Jane’s poems, but the occasions turned ghastly. Once we were introduced by someone we had just met who was happy to welcome Joan Kenyon. Always someone, generally a male English professor, managed to let us know that it was sweet, that Jane wrote poems too. One head of a department asked her if she felt dwarfed. When Jane was condescended to she was furious, and it was only on these occasions that we felt anything unpleasant between us. Jane decided that we would no longer read together.

When places later asked us both to read, we agreed to come but stipulated that we read separately, maybe a day apart. As she published more widely we were more frequently approached. Late in the 1980s, after reading on different days at one university, we did a joint question-and-answer session with writing students. Three quarters of the questions addressed Jane, not me, and afterwards she said, “Perkins, I think we can read together now.” So, in our last years together, we did many joint readings. When two poets read on the same program, the first reader is the warm-up band, the second the featured act. We read in fifteen-minute segments, ABAB, and switched A and B positions with each reading. In 1993 we read on a Friday in Trivandrum, at the southern tip of India, and three days later in Hanover, New Hampshire. Exhausted as we were, we remembered who had gone first thousands of miles away.

There were days when each of us received word from the same magazine; the same editor had taken a poem by one of us just as he/she rejected the other of us. One of us felt constrained in pleasure. The need for boundaries even extended to style. As Jane’s work got better and better—and readers noticed—my language and structure departed from its old habits and veered away from the kind of lyric that Jane was writing, toward irony and an apothegmatic style. My diction became more Latinate and polysyllabic, as well as syntactically complex. I was reading Gibbon, learning to use a vocabulary and sentence structure as engines of discrimination. Unconsciously, I was choosing to be as unlike Jane as I could. Still, her poetry influenced and enhanced my own. Her stubborn and unflagging commitment turned its power upon me and exhorted me. My poems got better in this house. When my Old and New Poems came out in 1990, the positive reviews included something like this sentence: “Hall began publishing early . . . but it was not until he left his teaching job and returned to the family farm in New Hampshire with his second wife the poet Jane Kenyon that . . .” I published Kicking the Leaves in 1978 when Jane published From Room to Room. It was eight years before we published our next books: her The Boat of Quiet Hours, my The Happy Man. (When I told Jane my title her reaction was true Jane: “Sounds too depressed.”) I had also been working on drafts of The One Day, maybe my best book. Then Jane wrote Let Evening Come, Constance, and the twenty late poems that begin Otherwise. Two years after her death, a review of Jane began with a sentence I had been expecting. It was uttered in respect, without a sneer, and said that for years we had known of Jane Kenyon as Donald Hall’s wife but from now on we will know of Donald Hall as Jane Kenyon’s husband.

We did not show each other early drafts. (It’s a bad habit. The comments of another become attached to the words of a poem, steering it or preventing it from following its own way.) But when we had worked over a poem in solitude for a long time, our first reader was the other. I felt anxious about showing Jane new poems, and often invented reasons for delay. Usually, each of us saved up three or four poems before showing them to the other. One day I would say, “I left some stuff on your footstool,” or Jane would tell me, “Perkins, there are some things on your desk.” Waiting for a response, each of us already knew some of what the other would say. If ever I repeated a word—a habit acquired from Yeats—I knew that Jane would cross it out. Whenever she used verbal auxiliaries she knew I would simplify, and “it was raining” would become “it rained.” By and large we ignored the predicted advice, which we had already heard in our heads and dismissed. Jane kept her work clear of dead metaphor, knowing my crankiness on the subject, and she would exult when she found one in my drafts: “Perkins! Here’s a dead metaphor!” These encounters were important but not easy. Sometimes we turned polite with each other: “Oh, really! I thought that was the best part . . .” (False laugh.) Jane told others—people questioned us about how we worked together—that I approached her holding a sheaf of her new poems saying, “These are going to be good!” to which she would say, “Going to be, eh?” She told people that she would climb back to her study, carrying the poems covered with my illegible comments, thinking, “Perkins just doesn’t get it. And then,” she would continue, “I’d do everything he said.”

Neither of us did everything the other said. Reading Otherwise I find words I wanted her to change, and sometimes I still think I was right. But we helped each other greatly. She saved me a thousand gaffes, cut my wordiness and straightened out my syntax. She seldom told me that anything was good. “This is almost done,” she’d say, “but you’ve got to do this in two lines not three.” Or, “You’ve brought this a long way, Perkins”—without telling me if I had brought it to a good place. Sometimes her praise expressed its own limits. “You’ve taken this as far as the intellect can take it.” When she said, “It’s finished. Don’t change a word,” I would ask, “But is it any good ? Do you like it?” I pined for her praise, and seldom got it. I remember one evening in 1992 when we sat in the living room and she read through the manuscript of The Museum of Clear Ideas. Earlier she had seen only a few poems at a time, and she had not been enthusiastic. I watched her dark face as she turned the pages. Finally she looked over at me and tears started from her eyes. “Perkins, I don’t like it!” Tears came to my eyes too, and I said, rapidly, “That’s okay. That’s okay.” (That book was anti-Jane in its manner, or most of it was, dependant on syntax and irony, a little like Augustan poetry, more than on images.) When we looked over each other’s work, it was essential that we never lie to each other. Even when Jane was depressed, I never praised a poem unless I meant it; I never withheld blame. If either of us had felt that the other was pulling punches, it would have ruined what was so essential to our house.

We were each other’s readers but we could not be each other’s only readers. I mostly consulted friends and editors by mail, so many helpers that I will not try to list them, poets from my generation and poets Jane’s age and even younger. Jane worked regularly, the last dozen years of her life, with the poet Joyce Peseroff and the novelist Alice Mattison. The three of them worked wonderfully together, each supplying things that the other lacked. They fought, they laughed, they rewrote and cut and rearranged. Jane would return from a workshop exhausted yet unable to keep away from her desk, working with wild excitement to follow suggestions. The three women were not only being literary critics for each other. Each had grown up knowing that it was not permitted for females to be as aggressive as males, and all were ambitious in their art, and encouraged each other in their ambition. I felt close to Alice and Joyce, my friends as well as Jane’s, but I did not stick my nose into their deliberations. If I had tried to, I would have lost a nose. Even when they met at our house, I was careful to stay apart. They met often at Joyce’s in Massachusetts, because it was half way between Jane and Alice. They met in New Haven at Alice’s. When I was recovering from an operation, and Jane and I didn’t want to be separated, there were workshops at the Lord Jeffrey Inn in Amherst. We four ate together and made pilgrimages to Emily Dickinson’s house and grave, but while they worked together I wrote alone in an adjacent room. This three-part friendship was essential to Jane’s poetry.

Meantime we lived in the house of poetry, which was also the house of love and grief; the house of solitude and art; the house of Jane’s depression and my cancers and Jane’s leukemia. When someone died whom we loved, we went back to the poets of grief and outrage, as far back as Gilgamesh; often I read aloud Henry King’s “The Exequy,” written in the seventeenth century after the death of his young wife. Poetry gives the griever not release from grief but companionship in grief. Poetry embodies the complexities of feeling at their most intense and entangled, and therefore offers (over centuries, or over no time at all) the company of tears. As I sat beside Jane in her pain and weakness I wrote about pain and weakness. Once in a hospital I noticed that the leaves were turning. I realized that I had not noticed that they had come to the trees. It was a year without seasons, a year without punctuation. I began to write “Without” to embody the sensations of lives under dreary, monotonous assault. After I had drafted it many times I read it aloud to Jane. “That’s it, Perkins,” she said. “You’ve got it. That’s it.” Even in this poem written at her mortal bedside there was companionship.

#words #love in general #donald hall #jane kenyon

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CANTLON: HARTFORD WOLF PACK OPEN TRAINING CAMP

HARTFORD WOLF PACK OPEN TRAINING CAMP By: Gerry Cantlon, Howlings HARTFORD, CT - The Hartford Wolf Pack opened training camp as the cool brisk feel of a cold rink filled the air as the 26th edition of the New York Rangers AHL affiliate kicked off at the XL Center on Monday. The organization thoroughly revamped the roster to cleanse the hockey palate after leaving such a sour taste at the end of last season. Therefore there will be a new generation of Pack players with a new style. Despite the complete overhaul, roster positions will be hard to come by. A surprising number of those at training camp will head to Jacksonville to play for the team's ECHL affiliate, the IceMen. The few tryouts at each position are varied. The smattering includes a former Arizona State defenseman who transferred from Bowling Green (CCHA) in Tim Theocharidaris. He played a few games at the end of last season with the Adirondack Thunder (ECHL) and Utica Comets. In addition, the team granted ex-UCONN Husky Joe Masonius a tryout. He hooked up with another Adirondack/Utica connection who spent some time in Ft. Wayne with the Komets last year and is signed with the Kalamazoo Wings (ECHL) for this season. Up front, the former BC Eagle Sam Sternschein, who is already signed with Jacksonville, where he had already played eleven games and got the third tryout. Next, Brendan Harris,  who played collegiately with Bemidji St. (NCHC), was granted one. He played for the Icemen (ECHL), the Double AA team of Hartford, and Wheeling. Finally, Jake Ryczek, a Springfield, MA native, is already signed by Adirondack (ECHL). Big goalie Talyn Boyko is here under an ATO (amateur) tryout and will be going back to Kelowna (WHL) when camp ends. The lineup is as follows; Forwards (19): Easton Brodzinski, Will Cuylle, Cristiano DiGiacinto, Turner Elson, Tanner Fritz, Tim Gettinger, Brendan Harris, Karl Henriksson, Zach Jordan, Patrick Khodorenko, Ryder Korczak, Ryan Lohin, Lauri Pajuniemi, Matt Rempe, Austin Rueschhoff, C.J. Smith, Sam Sternschein, Bobby Trivigno, and Alex Whelan. Defensemen (12): Ty Emberson, Zach Giuttari, Louka Henault, Blake Hillman, Luke Martin, Joe Masonius, Matthew Robertson, Jake Ryczek, Brandon Scanlin, Hunter Skinner, Tim Theocharidis, Goaltenders (5): Talyn Boyko, Louis Domingue, Parker Gahagen, Dylan Garand, and Olof Lindbom. The Wolf Pack open the 2022-23 season on Friday, October 14th, when they visit the Charlotte Checkers at 7:00 PM with ex-Pack Anthony Bitetto just sent down by the parent club, the Florida Panthers. Then, the Wolf Pack hosts its home opener on Saturday, October 22nd, at 7 PM when the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton Penguins and their goaltender, the recently sent down ex-Pack, Dustin Tokarski, provide the opposition. NOTES: Patrick Sieloff was a Pack defenseman two years ago. Then, he signed a tryout deal with the all-new San Jose Barracuda and their brand-new arena, The Tech CU Center. Ex-Pack Magnus Hellberg has gotten himself back to the NHL. He was picked off waivers from the Seattle Krakken from Ottawa after the Senators lost ex-CT Whale/Wolf Pack Cam Talbot for five to seven weeks to a broken rib, according to the Ottawa Sun, in a freak pre-game injury. Hellberg has had an incredible hockey journey over the past year. First, he was in the KHL in the Olympic city of HC Sochi in his fifth year (one in China, four in Russia). Then, with the outbreak of the Ukrainian War, he left after representing Sweden in last year's Olympics and again at the World Championships. Hellberg signed with the Detroit Red Wings and played a late-season game. He is likely ticketed for the Grands Rapids Griffins this year. He wound up with the Seattle Krakken in mid-July with the Coachella Valley Firebirds (Palm Springs), his likely new residence, and here he winds up in Ottawa, the Canadian capital city. Ex-Pack Greg McKegg was sent to the Bakersfield Condors. UCONN traveled and swept their first Hockey East series of the season. They won 3-1 over the Vermont Catamounts as Matt Wood posted another goal and two points. Vermont post-grad Andrew Lucas added another two points. Arsenii Sergeev got his first win, and Chase Bradley got his first goal. Former Husky Jonny Evans is in camp with the Hershey Bears. Fellow former teammates were assigned to their AHL teams. Jáchym Kondelík and goalie Tomáš Vomáčka, both from Czechia (Czech Republic), were sent to the Milwaukee Admirals. Luke Evangelista is the second cousin of former Hartford Whaler and now Toronto Maple Leafs President Brendan Shanahan. HARTFORD WOLF PACK HOME Read the full article

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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 7: Forget Everything You Know]

Hi y’all! I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all so much for reading and for showing me and my fics some love. You better believe that I see EVERY. SINGLE. reblog, comment, tag, and message, and they mean the absolute world to me! I know that a lot of content creators are frustrated and taking breaks right now, but rest assured you will not be able to get rid of me if even a SINGLE person looks forward to something I write. I’ll finish this fic (eventually), and I’ll finish the next one too (it already has a name!), and I won’t disappear or leave the Queen/BoRhap fandom at any point in the foreseeable future. Lots of love to you all, stay safe, and I hope you enjoy! 💜 💜 💜

Chapter summary: Y/N brings home some friends; Brian attempts an intervention; John draws a line; Roger gets an answer.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Smile, everyone!” Your dad peeks through the viewfinder of the Canon F-1 and beams. “One...two...three...say Queen!”

“Queen!” you all shout gleefully. The flash illuminates the dining room, and you blink away momentary blindness. The table materializes back into vision: lobsters, clams, haddock chowder, sourdough bread, fried oysters, pierogis with Vermont cheddar cheese, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes...and, of course, Boston cream pie for dessert.

“Ah, perfection,” your dad sighs contently. “Please continue, Mr. Mercury.”

“Mr. Mercury!” Brian whines, incredulous. “Like he’s got a bloody PhD or something!”

Freddie cracks a lobster claw. He hasn’t taken his sunglasses or wrist-full of clanging bangles off all afternoon. Your parents are profoundly confused by him, but welcoming nonetheless. “I’m a professor of lusciousness. Pay attention and you could learn something.”

Brian rolls his eyes and dunks a hunk of sourdough bread into his chowder.

“So,” Freddie tells your mother between bites of lobster dripping with drawn butter. “Our darling damsel in distress was in the clutches of that horrid, dodgy wanker when none other than our very own Roger Meddows Taylor—”

“You weren’t even there!” Brian protests. “I wasn’t even there! This is, what, a third-hand account?!”

“Eat your soup, peasant. Thank you. Anyway, our beloved Roger comes raging out of nowhere, red-faced, nostrils flaring, a terrifying sight to behold, grabs this guy by his hair and slams his despicable face directly into a marble column. Broken nose, cracked orbital socket, blood everywhere! It was magnificent. I’ve never been more proud.”

“Good for you!” your mother cheers, patting the back of Roger’s hand encouragingly. He smiles at her, warmly, radiantly, like the wildfire he’s always reminded you of. And you marvel at how every human on this earth is made of the same fundamental components—blood and muscles and vessels and nerves, hearts and enigmatic brain matter and ribs, vulnerable parts, armored parts, all webbed together like nature’s own organic circuit board—and yet the marks they leave on you can feel so different: burns, scars, bruises, shadows, imprints that are deep enough to brush bone and never fade.

“Mom, the guy could have died!”

“Did he?” she asks innocently.

“Nope,” Roger says.

“Well then, Mr. Taylor here is a hero in my book.”

“Mr. Taylor!” Brian groans.

“I was petrified he would turn out to be the son of an executive or producer or something and the band would be ruined,” you say. “Fortunately he was just someone’s annoying frat brother from college who already had a reputation for being a sleazebag. So, we were in luck.”

“You were in luck that Mr. Taylor was there,” your mother points out, gazing at him dreamily. This delightful English boy is going to be my son-in-law and give me gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says.

“Yes, a literal superhero,” John says ruefully, sipping a Manhattan. Your dad has a passionate love for mixing cocktails, especially for guests who also happen to be rock stars.

“Mom. Don’t make his ego any bigger, please. I’m begging you.”

Roger snarls around a mouthful of Boston cream pie, sending your mom into a fit of giggles.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, dear.” She smooths your hair. “And that you have people to keep you safe all the way over there across the ocean, and that you’re happy.”

“Yes, your work environment is much improved, isn’t it?” Brian says. “That supervisor you had at the hospital was an absolute bear!”

Your dad strokes his short grey beard. “Well...” he admits. “That may have been my fault.”

Brian’s brow crinkles. “Really?”

Your mom turns to you. “You didn’t tell them?!”

“Oh, is there a scandalous backstory?” Freddie inquires, elated. “Do tell, darling!”  

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away—just kidding, it was here in Boston—my archnemesis Patricia and my dad dated.”

Roger drops his fork, appalled. “No!”

Freddie’s nose wrinkles in revulsion. “Why?!”

Your dad rocks back in his chair and laughs loudly, heartily. “She wasn’t always so cantankerous, if you can believe it. She was a sweet girl, wonderful even. But then I met my future wife, and...” He smirks guiltily. “What can I say? The heart wants what it wants!”

You nod along. “And I got the illustrious honor of being an outlet for the frustration stemming from Patricia’s lifelong unrequited love.”

“You saucy minx!” Freddie playfully lashes your mom’s shoulder with a cloth napkin. “Homewrecker!”

She chuckles, not the least bit offended. “People get together under all sorts of strange circumstances, and you know what? You can’t wreck a home if the home wasn’t already half-wrecked before you got there, that’s what I think.”

Roger raises his Patriot’s Punch. “I’ll drink to that.”

Brian clutches his New England Express, bewildered. “Are we...toasting to infidelity?”

“Oh, does that horrify you?” Rog asks sarcastically. Brian grimaces, but dutifully raises his glass.

“We’re toasting to love,” your dad clarifies. “However it comes, as long as it’s true.”

John holds his Manhattan aloft. “To love.”

Freddie clinks his Flying Elvis against the other beverages, including your parents’ wine glasses and your Cranberry Crush. “Cheers!” Then Fred glances at the clock and swiftly polishes off his slice of Boston cream pie.

“Can’t you all stay a little longer?” your mom pleads, collecting plates and gazing longingly at Roger. “This has been so much fun...”

“They have soundcheck at seven, Mom. We have to leave for the stadium soon.”

“Well, before you jet off to your next adventure, can I treat anyone to a long distance call?” your dad asks.

Brian perks up. “Really?!” You know there’s a ring in the future for Chrissie; not an expensive or extravagant ring (not that Chris would want that anyway), but a ring nonetheless. You know because Brian has taken you shopping to help him choose one.

“Of course! You can use the phone in my office. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. I’m sure there are some lovely ladies back in jolly old England who would be over the moon to hear from you.”

“That would be very much appreciated!” Brian says. “And thank you so much, this has been such a treat, you have no idea how long it’s been since we had a proper homemade meal.”

“I had to rehabilitate the reputation of us Yankees, didn’t I? Now come on, Mr. May, I’ll show you to the office...”

“Mr. May...I like the sound of that!”

“Ten minutes, Bri!” Freddie calls, following them down the hallway. “Then it’s my turn...!”

You begin gathering up the empty glasses, but Roger promptly snatches them away. “No way, Boston babe. You go relax. I’ll help your mom.”

“I think she’s in love with you.”

He grins. “Do you have a secret stepdaddy fetish I could exploit?”

“Oh my god. Roger.”

He snickers and sweeps off into the kitchen. It’s only then that you realize John has disappeared. You check the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the study, and finally the front porch; John is standing outside in the cold, smoking and watching the setting sun. The sky is threaded with cerulean, rust orange, lavender, indigo. You pull on your coat and go out to join him.

“We’ll make it to Florence one of these days,” you promise John, resting your arms on the wooden, white-painted porch railing. Your mother hung baskets of fresh flowers for the band’s visit, which swing lazily in the breeze. “Crank out a few more hits and we’ll get the record company to add it to the tour itinerary.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Are you going to call Veronica?”

He shrugs, frowns, exhales a lungful of smoke into frigid New England air. “I don’t know if I should.”

“You don’t think she’d like that?” you ask, confounded.

“I think she might like it too much.”

“Ohhhhh.” You read his soft greyish eyes, which are faraway and somber, sad even. “I’m sorry, John. You know she’s wild about you.”

“I know it.” He takes a drag off his cigarette. “She’s the first person who ever was, actually. The first person who ever noticed me. Came up to me out of the blue at a disco and asked me to dance, me! So I said yes, like you do when you’re the guy nobody notices. And then I said yes again, and again, and again, until one day I realized...oh, this girl thinks we’re getting married. When the hell did that happen?”

“I noticed you,” you contest.  

John chuckles and nods. “You did,” he agrees. “Right away. Tried to win me over when I was too nervous to finish a sentence around you. But that was long after I’d met Veronica.”

“Well, you can’t break up with her tonight. On Valentine’s Day?! That would be traumatic.”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll have a few days in London between the American and Asian legs of the tour. You can think it over and decide what to do then. I’m happy to arrange the getaway taxi if that’s something that interests you.”

“Yeah.” Again, he peers out into the Western horizon, into rising stars.

“John?”

Now he looks to you. He’s a little too thoughtful, too low. There’s something you’re not seeing.

“...Is there somebody else?”

He doesn’t speak; he just stares at you with those velvety azure-grey eyes, drums his fingers against the railing, lets the ash from his cigarette crumble into the snow-dusted Blue Pacific Junipers.

Roger barrels through the front door and out onto the porch. “There you are, Deaks! I thought we were going to have to find a new bassist. Enlist Nurse Nightingale’s mum or something.”

John smirks and crushes the rest of his cigarette in your father’s ashtray. “I suspect you’d do just fine without me.”

“Oh no. No way. Not happening.”

“That’s kind of you,” John says, unconvinced.

“Here, I’ll prove it.” Rog holds out his calloused hand. “If you ever leave, I leave too. Come on, Deaks, shake on it. It’s official. It’s a pact. There’s no Queen without John Deacon.”

Reluctantly, trying not to show how pleased he is, John shakes. “Alright.”

Roger grins triumphantly. “Signed, sealed, delivered. You’re ours for life, baby.”

“Deaky, do you want the phone?!” Freddie yells from inside the house.

John sighs and exchanges a knowing glance with you. “I guess I should say hi.”

“Okay, but quickly!” Rog presses. “We gotta go!”

“So bossy...” John ducks inside; and Roger, though he’s not wearing anything over his pale pink button-up shirt—sufficiently sophisticated to impress your parents—comes to the porch railing to join you.

“You’re not staying out here, are you?” You eye his thin shirt worriedly, the goosebumps rising over his collarbones, his bare forearms where he rolled up his sleeves to help your mom wash the dishes.

He tosses you a mischievous wink. “I’ve got no one to call.”

Roger looks up at the hanging baskets of flowers, plucks out a cerise carnation, and offers it to you. You mean to say something witty, something sardonic, something that will make him laugh; but all your words vanish into cold February air. You take the carnation, smiling helplessly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Roger whispers.

You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?

Okay.

He turns to go back inside the house.

I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him.

Then Roger pauses in the doorway. “You coming, Boston babe? I can’t have you catching pneumonia or something. I won’t know how to fix you.”

Oh, you realize, with horror and yet relief, all those grueling lies stripped away. It’s too late.

~~~~~~~~~~

You knock on the frame of the dressing room door. “Hi Bri!”

He glances over from where he sits in front of the mirror, rimming his eyes with inky liner. Soundcheck went swimmingly, and now Queen has thirty minutes until they need to be onstage. You can hear the disembodied reverberation of voices from the waiting crowd through the walls. “Hello, love. Come in.”

“Freddie said you needed to see me. Did you rip a sleeve or something? I brought my kit—”

“No, it’s not that.” He pats the chair beside him. The boys practically always get ready together before a show, but you suspect profoundly introverted Brian is experiencing one of his post-socialization crashes after dinner with your parents. Something about him is tired, very tired, almost drained to empty. “Join me.”

“Sure,” you say cautiously. You shove your medical kit onto the countertop and then reach to feel his forehead. “Are you feeling alright...?”

“I’m fine, love. I just have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

Brian sighs deeply, sets down the eyeliner, swivels his chair towards you. “I need you to promise me that you’re not going to start seeing Roger.”

You titter, deflecting, brushing Brian’s hair away from his troubled, angular face. “Well, as the official Queen touring nurse, I see him quite a lot.”

Brian catches your wrist. “I’m being serious.”

Now your brow knits into tight agitated lines. “I’m curious as to why you think that’s something you have a say in.”

“Bloody hell, I’m not trying to offend you—”

“Job well done.”

“Dear, please, listen to me—”

“Eight months,” you hiss through your teeth as you tear away from him. “For eight months I’ve listened and avoided and resisted and ignored and it’s not going away.”

“Oh, fuck,” Brian breathes in despair. “You love him.”

There are tears biting in the periphery of your vision; you don’t want them to be there, but they are. Your voice is hoarse and trembling. “Bri, please don’t.”

Brian shakes his head and motions with his hands frenetically, desperately, trying to make you understand. “Look, sometimes...sometimes the people we love, the people who own us, the people who fucking set us on fire...they’re not the people we end up with. And that’s not always a bad thing. It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.”

You gape at him, furious, stunned. “That’s just fantastic, Brian. You’re a true romantic. Jesus christ, does Chrissie know about this? Is that why you’re with her, because she’s, what...safe?!”

“No, that’s not fair, Chrissie’s great, she’s steady and supportive and she’ll make a wonderful mother one day, and my parents adore her—”

“Those aren’t reasons to marry someone, Brian!”

“They are!” He leaps to his feet. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You have to think about these things, you have to be rational, you have to protect yourself—”

“Why the fuck do you care?” you flare bitterly.

“Because you saved my life.”

“Stop it, I didn’t.”

“You did, I truly believe that. And I want you to stay with the band. And I want you to be happy. But, dear, please, I’m begging you...this is not the way to do it.”

“I’m not going to go out to some pub and drag home a random guy who’s suitably passionless and predictable enough to be Brian-May-approved.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do—”

“Because you’re such an expert on relationships!” you shout, exasperated. “Planning to propose to Chris while you’re still secretly pining over some fling from New Orleans, fucking groupies and then having the nerve to mope around guilt-ridden the next morning as if anyone but you was responsible for that decision, and do I say anything about it?! Do I ever say a single fucking word about it to you, or Fred, or Roger, or your future wife, or anybody?! No, because it’s not my life!”

The dressing room door flies open and John storms inside. “What’s going on?!”

You cross your arms and stare at the floor. Brian’s wide green eyes flick to John, to you, back to John. If it was Freddie, Brian would tell him in a second, would try to enlist him in the effort, and it would probably work; but John is a different story. John won’t side with Brian over you, everybody knows that. And John has a talent for sharpening words into blades. “Um. Nothing.”  

“I could hear you in the hallway,” John says flatly. “Obviously it wasn’t nothing.”

Brian points to you. “Have you tried to talk her out of this? Maybe you should, maybe she’d listen.”

“It’s not my choice to make, just like it isn’t yours. Worry about your own body count. It seems to be growing exponentially these days.”

Brian scoffs. “Because you’d be so thrilled if she ended up with him, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” you demand.

Brian and John glare at each other from across the room. John raises his eyebrows, daring Bri to answer. Brian gnaws his lower lip, but doesn’t elaborate. The air is heavy, tense, electrified.  

“Don’t upset her again,” John says darkly.

Brian shows the white palms of his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

John waves for you to follow him. “Come on.” And he slams the door behind you as you both escape into the hallway.

“I’m sorry.” You chase away stray tears with the back of your hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get anyone worked up right before the show...”

“Don’t worry about it. I treasure any excuse to harass Brian.”

You study him, seeking answers, seeking more than you know how to put into words. “Do you think I’m being stupid? If you do, you can tell me.”

“No,” John responds carefully. “I think you’re being hopeful. And I’d like to believe that stupidity and hopefulness are two very different things.”

You smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s very inaccurate.” He fluffs his hair with his fingertips. “Do you want to touch it before we go on stage?”

You feign demureness. “Hmm...”

“Oh come on. You know you want to. It’s extra voluminous right now, Roger shared some of his magical mousse or whatever. Something way too expensive. You should thoroughly berate him for it.”

You laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.” You comb your hands through his brunette hair, and John’s right; it’s extraordinarily full and soft, and smells like honeysuckles. “You always know how to get me smiling, don’t you?”

“You do insist that I have game. Though I remain skeptical.”

“Good luck tonight. Not that you need it.”

John’s rough thumb lifts your chin, then whisks away a tear you missed. “You’ll be watching, right?”

“I always am.” And that’s the truth; you haven’t missed a Queen show since you met them.

He beams, those gentle grey eyes incandescent. “Then we’ll have an ocean of luck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Exactly twenty-four hours later, Queen is in New York City.

The thunderous bassline of the opening act shudders through the concrete walls. You’re staring yourself down in the bathroom mirror under harsh florescent lights, your palms gripping the cold rim of a white sink, your eyes shimmering with black and gold shadow, your lip gloss slick and crimson. There’s not a single thing left to do. You’re running out of time.

You breathe in, breathe out, snatch your purse off the floor, breeze out into the hallway.

You can hear the boys’ laughter even before you open the dressing room door. Inside, Brian is tuning his Red Special with his mantis-like legs propped up on the countertop, John is attempting to teach Freddie how to make popcorn in a microwave without setting anything on fire, Roger is scrutinizing his hair in the mirror and frowning as he rearranges it with a comb.  

“Hello, darling!” Freddie warbles. “Can I interest you in some delicious and expertly-prepared popcorn?” He opens the microwave, and smoke pours out. “Oh, you bitch!”

“I’ll pass, Freddie.” You glide to where Roger is sitting, knot your fingers through his blond hair, and tug his head back so you can kiss him. He tastes like mint gum and the ghost of smoke and reckless intemperance; he tastes like everything you’ve ever wanted. There are gasps, and surely dropped jaws as well; but you don’t have eyes for them. “Okay,” you tell Roger.

He stares up at you with huge, starry eyes, a dazed grin slowly lighting up his face. “You changed your mind.”

“Come find me after the show.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You move to wipe your blood-red gloss from his lips, but Roger stops you, knits his hand through yours, stands to meet you.

“Leave it,” he murmurs. “I want them to know.”  

“Want them to know...?”

His lips touch yours again, smiling and scorching and ravenous. “That I’m yours.”

#roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave #but you can never leave series #queen fic

[togachipblog]

A Chip Off the Old Block

Every once and a while, I try to give you insight into the process of creating blog posts.  I try to create snappy, creative and attention grabber headlines.  My initial idea for this post was to use "The Potato Doesn't Fall far from the Tree."   My daughter, Alexandra, nixed the idea and told me that everyone who reads your blog will think you are an idiot because everyone knows that potatoes don't grow on a tree.  So I defaulted to this deadline even though its been used by chippers for many years.   Unless you are in the snack food industry, it's a good bet that most of you never heard of Steve Bernard, but you are most likely familiar with the first part of his legacy.  Steve went from installing sun roofs on cars to founding Cape Cod Potato Chips on July 4, 1980 .  As his obituary shows, inspired by the Maui chip, he brought the kettle chip back to prominence.  Kettle cooking is a process where "sliced potatoes are soaked in hot oil in a shallow basin and hand-stirred with rakes."  http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/13/business/13bernard.html

An out of control car crashed into his front window, where just moments before, his eight year old daughter had been standing.   The driver got out of the wreckage and asked  where he could get the kettle chips.   The publicity from the accident and an insurance settlement kept the company operating until the summer season when the product took off.   In 1985, Steve sold the company to Anheuser Busch, the maker of Budweiser and Michelob beers, which had launched its own snack food business, Eagle Snacks.  Ten year later, after Anheuser Busch pulled the plug on its snack food venture, it sold the company back to Steve for pennies on the dollar.  He later sold Cape Cod to Lance, which became Snyder's Lance and was later purchased by Campbell's Soup.  Sort of reminds me of a yo-yo which was the subject or a previous blog posting.  See the photo from March 1988 of an employee with bags of Cape Cod Potato Chips on the assembly line.   In 2001, Steve worked with his daughter, Nicole Bernard Dawes to found Late July Organic Snacks, which makes cookies and crackers.  Steve died in 2009 at the age of 61 from pancreatic cancer.  Snyder's Lance invested in the company and it is now part of the Campbell's Soup snack division that also owns Cape Cod Potato Chips.  

At SNAXPO18, the 2018 Producer of the Year Award was won by Late July Organic Snacks.  Late July is a leader in organic, non-GMO snacks, most notably known for its strong level of innovation in the tortilla chip category with sales over $100 million. Offering four lines of tortilla chips, a variety of organic crackers, and most recently expansion into salsas.

Here is the link to read more about the award:  https://www.snackandbakery.com/articles/91341-snack-producer-of-the-year-carefree-organic-snacking-with-late-july-snacks

Steve Bernard, Who Founded Cape Cod Chips, Dies at 61

By BRUCE WEBERMARCH 13, 2009

Steve Bernard, who was a restless adventurer and uncommitted entrepreneur until 1980, when he bought an industrial potato slicer and started Cape Cod Potato Chips, a brand that found its way from a storefront in Hyannis, Mass., to food markets nationwide, died Saturday in Hyannis. He was 61 and lived in Marstons Mills, Mass., and Sanibel, Fla.

The cause was pancreatic cancer, said his daughter, Nicole Bernard Dawes.

A natural product, just potatoes, oil and salt, Mr. Bernard’s chips are known for their crunch, which is a result of the way they are made. The process, called kettle-cooking, borrowed an old-fashioned method of making chips in which sliced potatoes are soaked in hot oil in a shallow basin and hand-stirred with rakes. Continuous frying, in which the potatoes were moved on a conveyor through a long vat of oil, had been largely in use after World War II.

“He didn’t invent the kettle chip, but he was involved in bringing it back to prominence,” James A. McCarthy, president of the Snack Food Association, an international trade group, said Thursday in an interview.

Mr. Bernard started the company after his wife, Lynn, opened a natural foods store in the 1970s. An avid cook and appreciative eater, he was struck by the idea that healthful, unprocessed foods could taste good. A friend gave him a natural potato chip made in Hawaii, where the manufacturer, Maui Chips, had done a solid local business for many years. Mr. Bernard presumed he could do the same thing in the East, selling healthful snacks to summer tourists.

He knew nothing about making potato chips, and the company, which opened on July 4, 1980, was in dire straits the next winter when what seemed to be a disaster turned out to be its salvation. An out-of-control car drove through the front window, where his daughter, then 8, had been standing minutes before.

Mr. Bernard was distraught, his daughter said, until an oblivious customer walked in through the wreckage and ordered a bag of chips. “And he thought, ‘Well, maybe there’s a way,’ ” she said.

The publicity from the accident — and an insurance settlement — sustained the company until summer. At its end, “he could not make chips fast enough,” Ms. Dawes said.

Cape Cod chips were picked up by several supermarket chains, and Anheuser-Busch bought the company in 1985. By the end of 1986, according to news reports, the company was selling 80,000 bags a day.

Stephen Francis Bernard was born in Concord, N.H., on Aug, 25, 1947. He graduated from the University of Notre Dame, where he studied economics, and then spent a decade in many pursuits: hitchhiking cross-country, fighting forest fires in Alaska, sailing to the Caribbean. He raised chickens and worked on a tuna boat. Before making chips, he was installing sun roofs in cars.

In addition to Ms. Dawes, of Chatham, Mass., and his wife, whom he married in 1971, he is survived by three brothers, Sergius, of Wenham, Mass., Jude, of Satellite Beach, Fla., and James, of Vermont; a sister, Virginia Kenny, of Charlottesville, Va.; and two grandchildren.

In 1995, Mr. Bernard bought his company back from Anheuser-Busch, but subsequently sold it again, this time to Lance, a snack food company based in Charlotte, N.C. In the interim, he had opened a sandwich shop, where he sold croutons made from the leftover bread and eventually started a crouton company, Chatham Village Foods, which he sold to the T. Marzetti Company. In 2001, he and Ms. Dawes founded Late July Organic Snacks, which makes cookies and crackers.

The Toga Chip Guy

[losille2000]

(via https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0EnpbnkPuDglMJ7nc3jC4x?si=m9XAKvyjRA63VQbs_IAhNA)

This is the Mister America “soundtrack.” It has some general songs about America, but each state has at least 1 song related to it. 

For a full tracklist and to see which songs go to what state, see below the cut.

Songs about America:

“The Star Spangled Banner” National Anthem (F. Scott Key/Whitney Houston)

“The Battle Hymn of the Republic” (Traditional/United States Army Band and Chorus)

“America the Beautiful” (Ray Charles)

“Captain America March” (Hollywood Movie Theme Orchestra)

“Star Spangled Man” (The Star Spangled Singers/Captain America)

“Captain America” (Alan Silvestri) 

“American Patrol” (Glenn Miller/United States Air Force Band)

“The Stars and Stripes Forever” (John Philip Sousa/United States Marine Band)

“America” (Neil Diamond)

“Born in the U.S.A” (Bruce Springsteen)

“Hail to the Chief” (James Sanderson, composer/US Marine Band)

State Songs:

Alabama - “Sweet Home Alabama” (Lynyrd Skynyrd)

Alaska - “North to Alaska” (Johnny Horton)

Alaska - “The Alaska Song” (Lacy J. Dalton)

Arizona - “Take It Easy” (Eagles)

Arkansas - “Arkansas Traveler” (Harry Glenshaw)

Arkansas - “Arkansas Farmboy” (Glen Campbell)

California - “California Love” (2Pac, Roger, Dr. Dre)

California - “California Girls” (Beach Boys)

Colorado - “Rocky Mountain High” (John Denver)

Connecticut - “Yankee Doodle” (Traditional)

Connecticut - “Connecticut’s For Fucking” (Jesus H Christ and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse)

Delaware - “Delaware Slide” (George Thorogood & the Destroyers)

Delaware - “Delaware” (Perry Como)

Florida - “The Florida Song” (Ricky Sylvia)

Florida - “Miami” (Will Smith)

Georgia - “Midnight Train to Georgia” (Gladys Knight & the Pips)

Georgia - “Georgia on My Mind” (Michael Buble)

Hawaii - “Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride” (from Lilo and Stitch)

Hawaii - “Ke Kali Nei Au/Hawaiian Wedding Song” (Makaha Sons & Friends)

Hawaii - “Over the Rainbow” (Israel Kamakawiwo’ole)

Hawaii - “What a Wonderful World” (Israel Kamakawiwo’ole)

Idaho - “Idaho” (Benny Goodman)

Illinois - “Sweet Home Chicago” (The Blues Brothers)

Indiana - “Going Back to Indiana” (The Jackson 5)

Iowa - “Iowa Stubborn” (from The Music Man)

Kansas - “Home on the Range” (Gene Autry)

Kentucky - “Blue Moon of Kentucky” (Bill Monroe & His Blue Grass Boys)

Louisiana - “Born on the Bayou” (Creedence Clearwater Revival)

Louisiana - “House of the Rising Sun” (The Animals)

Maine - “Portland, Maine” (Tim McGraw)

Maryland - “Good Morning Baltimore” (from Hairspray)

Massachusetts - “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” (Dropkick Murphys)

Massachusetts - “The Devil Came Up to Boston” (Adam Ezra Group)

Michigan - “Detroit Rock City” (KISS)

Minnesota - “Rock n Roll is Alive! (And It Lives In Minneapolis” (Prince)

Mississippi - “Mississippi Queen” (Mountain)

Missouri - “Missouri Waltz” (Glenn Miller)

Montana - “Montana Lullaby” (Ken Overcast)

Nebraska - “Omaha” (Counting Crows)

Nevada - “Waking Up In Vegas” (Katy Perry)

Nevada - “Viva Las Vegas” (Elvis Presley)

New Hampshire - “New Hampshire” (Town Meeting)

New Jersey - “Jersey Girl” (Bruce Springsteen)

New Mexico - “Santa Fe” (from RENT)

New Mexico - “Taos, New Mexico” (Waylon Jennings)

New York - “Theme from New York, New York” (Frank Sinatra)

New York - “New York State of Mind” (Billy Joel)

North Carolina - “Wagon Wheel” (Old Crow Medicine Show)

North Dakota - “North Dakota” (Lyle Lovett)

Ohio - “Ohio” (Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young)

Oklahoma - “Oklahoma!” (from Oklahoma!)

Oklahoma - “Oklahoma Sky” (Miranda Lambert)

Oregon - “Eugene Oregon” (Dolly Parton)

Pennsylvania - “Allentown” (Billy Joel)

Rhode Island - “Rhode Island is Famous for You” (Blossom Dearie)

South Carolina - “Just A Little Bit South of North Carolina” (Dean Martin)

South Carolina - “Hickory Wind” (The Byrds)

South Dakota - “South Dakota Morning” (Bee Gees)

South Dakota - “Big Foot” (Johnny Cash)

Tennessee- “Tennessee Whiskey” (Chris Stapleton)

Texas  - “The Yellow Rose of Texas” (Traditional/Mitch Miller)

Texas - “All my Ex’s Live In Texas” (George Strait)

Texas - “La Grange” (ZZ Top)

Utah - “Utah” (The Osmonds)

Vermont - “Moonlight in Vermont” (Ella Fitzgerald/Louis Armstong)

Virgina - “Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down)” (from Hamilton)

Washington - “Come As You Are” (Nirvana)

West Virginia - “Take Me Home, Country Roads” (John Denver)

Wisconsin - “Green Bay, Wisconsin” (The Might Mighty Bosstones)

Wyoming - “Wyoming Wind” (Caitlin Canty)

Wyoming - “Cheyenne” (Cale Moon)

#chris evans #mister america #captain america

[welcometophu]

Into the Split: Arrival 5

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Arrival 5

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Nikolai wakes into darkness when someone moves. He blinks, hears a low mutter and an answering soft grunt, then softly whispered words. He focuses, his eyes getting used to the low light, and realizes that Mattie and Alaric are speaking quietly before Alaric turns away. He makes his way to the door, stepping over where Carolyn is curled in a tight ball on the floor, and then where Heather and Nikita are wrapped around each other. As he passes the bed, Alaric pauses, tense, and glances at Nikolai.

“Sorry,” Alaric grunts.

“It’s hard to sleep well in the dark with this many Talents,” Nikolai whispers. He gently lifts Seth’s arm, moves it enough to be able to slide off the narrow bed. The floor is cold under his feet, and he finds his shoes with his toes, shoving his feet into them. “I’ll walk out with you.”

Pawel and Mac are closest to the door, sleeping sitting up with Mac curled against Pawel’s chest, Pawel’s arm around her shoulders. Mac stirs as they pass, opening one eye and reaching for her side before she spots them. The tension slips from her body as she curls closer to Pawel and falls asleep again.

Alaric eases the door open and they exit. Nikolai points to the particular spot in the trees designated as far enough from the cabin to be safe for refuse but still within the safety of the wards, and they both take care of business.

The sun is just starting to peek through the trees, the air still chill around them. Alaric inhales, exhaling with a puff of condensation.

“It’s going to warm up again today,” he says, voice still low.

“That’s a good thing, since we’ll be walking for a long while,” Nikolai says. He remembers where the next safe place is, but he also remembers that it wasn’t the biggest of spaces. And that it had already been picked over for food. He doubts that whoever maintains the space is going to remember to leave food at this time of year and they weren’t there all that long ago. It won’t be restocked.

It rankles, relying on the kindness of those few humans who don’t hate Talents, but it’s not like he can go into the nearest grocery store, either. Those exist in cities, behind high walls, and the old stores in the suburbs were abandoned and picked over long ago.

“Where are we going?” Alaric asks, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He inhales again and slowly straightens, lifting his face to the sky. “I can fly ahead, if you need me to.” He glances at Nikolai. “Your boyfriend seems to think that if I just shift through my usual forms, it won’t be enough to call the Shadows. Dragon’s still new to me anyway. Eagle’s easy.”

Nikolai can’t remember the last time he met anyone who was Clan, and he’s not sure of the right vocabulary. He hopes Alaric doesn’t take offense at the way he asks. “What kind of Clan are you?”

Alaric snorts. “My family tends towards mammals. I’m—unique. I only have a few forms, and they’re not all one sort. Eagle. Hound. Bear. Lizard.” He shrugs. “Dragon.”

Nikolai wonders if that sort of uniqueness will be enough to change the way the Shadows sense him, but decides to let it be. “We’ll be traveling along a small river that tends to keep running during the winter; it’s too quick to ice over, and not quite shallow enough to dry out. So it should be good fishing for the bear.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Used to swim in the river when I was a kid.” Alaric stretches, twists in place as he tilts his head, sniffs at the air. “Where are we, anyway?”

The question stuns Nikolai into silence for a long moment, before he has to give a dry laugh at the realization. “I can’t believe you’re the first person to ask that,” Nikolai says. “I think I just figured we were all in the same place. Nikita says she thinks our worlds are twinned or something, so I just—you know what, I should assume that you don’t know anything about this world’s geography, too. So. From my perspective, we’re east of the Hudson river, traveling north and east, heading up near what used to be the Vermont border. There’s rumor of a safe place there, the kind of safe place where a large group of Talent are living together.”

Alaric’s gaze narrows abruptly, his hands falling as he leans in close enough to Nikolai that Nikolai takes a step back.

“What?” Nikolai asks.

“Nik?” Seth calls, voice faint from inside the cabin.

“Coming,” Nikolai calls back. He lowers his voice, gestures at the cabin. “We should go in.”

“Wait.” Alaric wraps one hand around Nikolai’s wrist, the grip solid and strong, holding him in place. “Where are we going?”

These people are Talents, just like Nikolai and Seth. And they need to be safe, too. “It’s a place called Havenhill,” Nikolai says, “and it might not even exist.”

“Havenhill,” Alaric murmurs, a grin lighting his expression. “Well, if it’s near the Vermont border, I grew up around there in my world, and from what you said, the geography sounds similar. Might be able to help us navigate. How far away are we?”

“Still south of the Albany city walls, and we’re going to have to skirt around that—they keep expanding and taking in old, abandoned towns,” Nikolai says. He tugs, and Alaric lets him go, leaving Nikolai free to head into the cabin. “We need to eat and get on the road. Traveling with this many people is going to slow us down, and it took us days to get as far as we were when you found us. We’re at least a week out of Havenhill, maybe more, and finding safe places on the way that are large enough for all of us to sleep will be tricky.”

For a moment Nikolai thinks that Alaric’s going to go hunting, or just stay outside, but after a heartbeat, Alaric is close behind, following Nikolai into the cabin.

Everyone is awake. Mac and Pawel still sit on the floor, backs against the wall. Heather is in a chair, while Carolyn and Nikita both work her hair into two thick braids. Mattie leans against the wall in the one corner not lit by the rising sun, shadows wreathing her features in darkness.

In that kind of light, she looks like a Shadowwalker just pretending to be like them. It’s a little chilling, and Nikolai isn’t comfortable with the way she watches them.

Seth digs through the cabinets, dropping food onto the small oak table as he finds it. “Someone restocked this one,” he says idly, tossing what looks like freeze-dried packets and a box of granola bars. “I’m pretty sure this came out of some survivalist’s pre-Split basement, but I’ll take it.”

Mac scrambles to her feet and appears next to Seth. She reaches to touch his shoulder, stabilizing him when he startles. “Sorry, they’re all used to me and I forgot you’re not.”

“The worst part was we got used to her doing it when we didn’t know she could do it,” Alaric mutters. “She’d blink everywhere and we just thought she was fast. Or had moved when we weren’t looking.”

“The human mind is capable of creating excuses for almost any situation,” Pawel says, his voice hoarse and rough. “That’s how the Talented survived living side by side with those without Talent for so long, in both our worlds. It is only when we can no longer be ignored that we are noticed, and believed.” He pushes to his feet quickly. “I’ll be back.”

The door bangs behind him as he exits.

“On it,” Alaric mutters, and heads out again as well.

“He’s worried about Conor,” Mac says, and all the strangers seem to go quiet at that thought. Heather nods, makes a small worried noise. Nikita just keeps braiding, while Carolyn stops and watches the door worriedly.

“We need to get moving,” Seth says. He works toward dividing the pile of food on the table.

It’s more than Nikolai was expecting, including at least a dozen freeze-dried meals in faded brown packaging, and two boxes of more recent granola bars. There’s a jar of some kind of sugary drink mix that’s hard when Nikolai opens it, but he’s sure they can make it work somehow. They’re going to have to share canteens as it is.

Seth starts opening cans. “These are too heavy to carry, so we eat them cold here. You’ve got a choice of taking your favorite, or letting me mix it all up into cold soup. I don’t have a preference.”

There are five cans and nine people.

“Just mix it up,” Nikolai says quickly. “We’ll deal with it. It’s going to be hard to eat as it is. Not like we’re set up for fine dining.”

He has a vague memory of sitting at the kitchen table when he was young, his feet kicking, unable to reach the ground. He remembers someone telling him why there were three forks and two spoons, and why he had multiple glasses to drink out of. He thinks it might have been a holiday, but he’s not sure, and he can’t remember who was speaking.

He remembers good food, though, and feeling as though he was loved.

Life before the Split was very different.

“We’ll just have to share.”

Nikolai unearths four spoons while Seth stirs together some kind of tinned pasta, beans, tomatoes, and a broth into a large pot. There’s no fire, and there’s only one bowl, so it’s going to be difficult.

Mattie motions for the others to eat first. “I’m fine. I’ll take care of myself later.”

“We don’t want you getting hungry,” Mac says.

“I’m not going to eat you,” Mattie counters. “I’ll find something. That food isn’t appealing, and there’s no point in me taking something you need more than me.”

The door slams open with another bang.

“Where are we going?” Pawel asks the question before he’s even fully back inside the cabin, Alaric trailing behind him.

Seth glances at Nikolai, who digs for his map. Seth makes space on the table for Nikolai to lay it out, and Nikolai points at the red circle. “There,” he says. “That’s where we think Havenhill is, according to rumor.”

“I told you,” Alaric says, as Pawel leans in close to the map. Everyone crowds around until Nikolai nudges them back.

“I think you’re right. We moved in space, yes, but not as far as I’d worried,” Pawel says. “That’s definitely the right area for Haverhill.”

“Havenhill,” Nikolai corrects him. “It was supposedly established by Alia Davis as a safe haven for all kinds of Talent. The thing is, no one can find it if they’re not Talented. It’s supposed to be safe from humans and Shadows.”

“It could also be a rumor, but it’s the best idea we have to follow right now,” Seth grumbles. “We need someplace to live. We can’t keep running. And we’ve tried finding a place to settle down, creating our own community, and it wasn’t safe. If they’ve figured out how to hide, I want us to be there.”

“Bedrock,” Mattie murmurs.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another haven further north in Vermont, although that space was very close to Burlington,” Pawel muses, drawing a finger along the map. “On the other hand, Burlington is too far north to get there by walking, and why aren’t we driving?” He seems to shift gears mid-sentence, straightening to look at Nikolai and Seth.

“Because the highways are gated and controlled, we don’t have access to any kind of a vehicle, and it’s impossible to get fuel,” Seth says. “Everything’s controlled by the humans. If it was left behind when they went behind their walls, it either belongs to a survivalist now, or it’s been sitting, dead and abandoned, for years.”

“I know which way to go,” Alaric says. He points to the map. “I grew up in that area you circled, and I’ve never walked this way—it’s going to take a fucking long time to get there—but I’ve flown enough that I can scout for us. Maybe find us shortcuts if you think they’re safe.”

“We’ve been traveling based on known safe houses,” Nikolai explains. “Most of them are still there and maintained.”

“Fine, then we need to get on the road.” Alaric carefully folds up the map, hands it back to Nikolai. “Let’s scrounge around for something to get everyone outfitted.”

“Wait. What if there’s an easier way?” Mac asks. She gestures at herself. “I’ve been to Haverhill, remember? It might be days for walking, but I’ve done some long distance teleportation when I’ve had to. It doesn’t look like we’re really all that far, just that we have to go a roundabout way to get there safely by foot.”

Carolyn quietly digs through her bag, brings out her wallet and the little stack of papers that she had before. “You have a point. I’ve been there, too, which means that one of us should be able to do it.” She stares down at the top paper, a fierce expression keeping her jaw set and tight.

Mac takes a step and stops, her brow furrowed. “That didn’t work.” Another step, and she blinks out of existence, only to blink back on the other side of the room moments later. “I went back to the place we were yesterday when we ran into Nikolai and Seth, and I can go outside. I can teleport to anywhere I can see. But I can’t get to PHU or to your home, Alaric.”

“None of my pictures work,” Carolyn says, shuffling them away. “Not places. Not people.”

“Could you please stop trying to summon the Shadows!” Seth snaps. He pushes forward, getting in Mac’s face, a finger jabbed at her nose. “Don’t teleport. Don’t use your Talent. Any time you do something that might be seen as appealing to their hungers, you risk bringing them to us, and right now I don’t want to have to fight them off again. Did you see how many of them came when you guys crash landed here? That was bad. So just don’t do it.”

Mac holds her hands up. “I get it. I just thought if I could get there, we could get someplace safe before they had the chance to catch up with us.”

“And maybe bring the Shadows to Havenhill,” Seth points out. “Maybe make the one place that’s safe not safe after all.”

“This isn’t our world,” Nikita says softly. “And we have to remember that. These aren’t our rules, this isn’t a place where we’re safe. It’s probably different enough that you can’t go places you remember because they aren’t actually the same places, Mac. And Carolyn, of course Kit’s drawing of that place won’t work—he drew the one in Alaric’s home, not the one here. And I don’t know if we can even open up the same gateway we used to get here without Del, so you can’t just jump to someplace that is home, and not here. We need to play by these rules.”

“Eat,” Seth orders. “Eat and do whatever you need to do to feel awake and ready to go, then we’re on the road.”

“Alaric can scout,” Nikolai agrees. “We’ll stick together otherwise. No teleporting around or whatever you do. We want to avoid attention.” It’s a plan, at least, and the best they’ve got. It’s going to take time—probably more than when he and Seth traveled on their own—but at least they’ll get there alive.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #into the split #phu twinned #twinned #its arrival

[hemp-pot]

Part 1: New rules for local industrial hemp farmers - Sun Community News

Part 1: New rules for local industrial hemp farmers  Sun Community News source https://www.suncommunitynews.com/articles/the-vermont-eagle/new-rules-for-local-industrial-hemp-farmers/

#||| Hemp #Marijuana #Stoner #Cannabis #Medical Marijuana

[onestowatch]

15 Ones to Catch at Lollapalooza 2018

Lollapalooza comes around once a year to showcase some of the best music there is to offer, and this year’s rendition of the annual festival is just around the corner. Taking place August 2-5 at Grant Park in Chicago, Illinois, the city will be engulfed in the sounds of rock, electronic, pop, hip-hop, and so much more. This year sees the lineup being led by the likes of Arctic Monkeys, Bruno Mars, The Weeknd, Jack White, Khalid, Camila Cabello, Post Malone, Tyler, the Creator, Vampire Weekend, Odesza, and frankly far too many others to list. It is a veritable treasure trove of amazing music.

However, with nearly 200 acts slated to play Lollapalooza this year, you want to be sure you are not missing out on a single hidden gem. Well, no need to spend the coming weeks painstakingly combing the fine print for this year’s not-to-miss acts, as we have already taken care of all that for you. These are 15 acts you have to catch at Lollapalooza 2018, as well as a helpful playlist to get your pregame started right. 

Clairo

When & Where: Friday, 12:50pm at the American Eagle stage

The term bedroom pop has begun to feel ever so slightly ironic, as more and more of these acts are playing shows leagues beyond the four walls where they craft their hazy, ethereal music. Clairo is the latest in a line of bedroom pop artists to go viral. Following the release of her breakout single “Pretty Girl,” which at the time of writing currently has over 35-million plays across streaming platforms, Clairo has transitioned into a serious artist deserving of both critical and commercial attention. Her debut EP, diary 001, is as a dazzling demonstration of pop that runs the full gamut from distorted lo-fi pop-rap hybrids to meticulously-crafted pop earworms. Clairo is an artist who has the promise of becoming the world’s first bedroom pop superstar.

YUNGBLUD

When & Where: Saturday, 1:00pm at the Bud Light stage

“If you're not representing something, you're not an artist-you're a singer. And I don't wanna be a fucking singer," proclaims YUNGBLUD. Dominic Harrison, more popularly known by YUNGBLUD, is an artist in the truest sense of the word. The English artist makes socio-politically-fueled alternative rock that feels vital and necessary. His debut album, 21st Century Liability, is a shining testament to this notion. Touching upon themes of mental health, gun violence, rape culture, and more, it is an electrifying and refreshing statement of an artist with something to say. And YUNGBLUD manages to do it all in such a way that it can sonically stand on its own impressive musical merits.

Charlotte Cardin

When & Where: Saturday, 12:45pm at the Grant Park stage

Charlotte Cardin’s fusion of jazz, electronica, and R&B is pure ecstasy. There’s a timelessness to it all and an intangible hidden element behind it that lures you further and further in. The Montreal-born singer-songwriter originally found her start as a model, but for her, it was a means to achieve a dream of one day becoming a musician. Now, the rising artist is standing at the precipice of her dream, having toured with Nick Murphy and releasing a noteworthy debut EP, 2017’s Main Girl. Lollapalooza will undoubtedly be another step forward and those lucky enough to catch this performance will be graced with Cardin’s velvety, alluring vocals that seem to emanate from a jazz club out of place in time.  

Billie Eilish

When & Where: Thursday, 5:45pm at the Tito’s Handmade Vodka stage 

If there is someone who is deserving of the name wunderkind, it’s Billie Eilish. The Los Angeles-based musician was raised in a household of actors and musicians alongside her brother Finneas O’Connell. Eilish released her breakout hit, “ocean eyes,” which now sits at over 86 million plays on Spotify alone, at the tender age of fourteen. Despite her young age, Eilish’s music resounds with both the polish and thematic depth of an artist decades her senior. Her brand of leftfield electropop is infectious and innovative, as is expertly demonstrated in her debut EP don’t smile at me. Truly an artist talented beyond her years, it would be no understatement to say that there is no limit to what Eilish will accomplish in the years to come.

Rex Orange County

When & Where: Sunday, 1:50pm at the American Eagle stage

Rex Orange County’s brand of easygoing pop music is nothing short of an absolute delight. It’s the sort of music that seems like it was designed to serve as the backing soundtrack for a joyous sun-soaked road trip. Born Alex O’Connor, the English musician originally found major breakthrough success with two features on Tyler, the Creator’s Flower Boy and the radio hit “Loving Is Easy.” Effortlessly blending together elements of jazz, hip-hop, soul, and bedroom electronica, it’s a sound that feels wholly unique yet strangely familiar. Placed amongst the Chicago skyline, Rex Orange County’s set is destined to bring a smile ear to ear and an unshakable groove to the crowd below.

nothing,nowhere.

When & Where: Friday, 2:10pm at the BMI stage

The emergence and fusion of late-stage emo and hip-hop is arguably one of the greatest things to happen to the respective genres. Vermont’s nothing,nowhere. is one of the artists on the cutting edge of this next wave in music. The rapper, singer, songwriter, and producer makes emotively downtrodden hip-hop that is not afraid to hold its still-beating heart on its sleeve. Beyond being signed to Fueled By Ramen and being Pete Wentz’ protégé, the best way to describe nothing,nowhere. is by his succinct yet profound bio, “it is what it is.” Often opting to remain directly out of the limelight, he’s a musician who lets his music speak for itself, and it speaks volumes.

Sasha Sloan

When & Where: Sunday, 12:50pm at the American Eagle stage

Truth be told, Sasha Sloan’s breakout hit “Normal” has been on repeat for quite some time now. It beautifully encapsulates everything Sloan is as an artist–unassuming yet captivating, a wholly relatable sonic experience, and just downright infectious. Originally breaking into the industry writing songs for artists such as Camila Cabello and Dua Lipa, Sloan has since stepped into the spotlight with her debut EP, sad girl. A six-track exploration on themes of love, heartbreak, and angst, it is a moving and vulnerable look into Sloan as an artist. Sonically, it’s left-of-center pop at its best, which is sure to translate impeccably to her live performances, with many sing-a-long moments sure to be had.

Buddy

When & Where: Friday, 5:40pm at the BMI stage

Buddy, formally known as Simmie Sims, is the Compton rapper ready to usher in a new generation of hip-hop fans. Having honed his skills since the young age of 11 through performances at a myriad of industry showcases and a brief stint writing for a rap group, Buddy arrives as a well-versed artist enmeshed in Los Angele’s rap scene. You don’t have to take our word for it though, with Pharrell Williams mentoring, producing, and signing the young emcee. Williams is only one of the numerous impressive endorsements Buddy has under his belt thus far, having collaborated with the likes of Khalid, Nipsey Hussle, Ty Dolla $ign, Wiz Khalifa, and Kendrick Lamar. Buddy is poised to be the future of rap.

Cuco

When & Where: Thursday, 1:15pm at the Bud Light stage

Cuco is the Chicano, bedroom pop heartthrob of a new generation. The 19-year-old artist makes hazy bedroom pop that has gone on to strike a chord amongst both the industry’s biggest tastemakers and adoring fans alike. Omar Banos, the multi-instrumentalist, producer, and singer behind Cuco has since grown the project out of his bedroom walls to a friend and family affair. A live Cuco show more closely resembles a music collective gathering than it does a bedroom pop performance, with Cuco being joined by a full band and breaking out to rap-heavy songs at the drop of a hat. Simply put, a Cuco show seamlessly shifts between a full-out party and an enchanting dream. It’s an experience that is not to be missed.

Amy Shark

When & Where: Saturday, 1:50 at the American Eagle stage

Emerging from the Gold Coast of Queensland, Australia Amy Shark is a notable songwriting talent. Finding initial success with her viral hit “Adore,” the world was introduced to a singer-songwriter whose voice was as anthemic as it was deeply emotive. Shark expounded further on that sentiment with the recent release of her debut album Love Monster. A sprawling 14 tracks of pop-leaning songwriting perfection, it is brimming with power ballads that are begging to be shouted into the heavens. Shark’s intrinsic ability for channeling forlorn love into deeply moving numbers is something to be applauded. It’s something we can say we have been lucky enough to witness live and are elated to witness yet again in Grant Park.

Two Feet

When & Where: Friday, 2:50pm at the American Eagle stage

It is a kneejerk reaction to constrain Two Feet’s artistry to the world of electronic music, but it’s deeper than that. At its core, the New York-based musician draws upon a wellspring of jazz and blues influence to craft something new yet recognizable. His breakthrough came in the form of “Go Fuck Yourself,” an electro-heavy, jazz-infused track with an inescapable guitar riff. Since then, Two Feet has gone to release two transfixing genre-meshing Eps, 2016’s First Steps and 2017’s Momentum. The way in which he interweaves the worlds of electronic, jazz, and blues into a cohesive and dark experience with such seeming ease have earned him much-deserved comparisons to Chet Faker and Darkside.  

Lewis Capaldi

When & Where: Friday. 1:45 at the Lake Shore stage

Lewis Capaldi could sing of anything, and it would never fail to tug at your heartstrings. This is a testament to the intrinsic power of Capaldi’s voice. The Scottish singer-songwriter first burst onto the scene with the standout single, “Bruises.” To this day, it remains a moving piano ballad that carries the same amount of emotional weight as the very first moment we heard it. It’s because of the way Capaldi’s voice stays with you long after the culmination of any of his tracks. More than just a simple notion of Capaldi feeling like he is singing directly at you, but rather that it feels as if he is speaking to something universal hidden inside all of us.

Wes Period

When & Where: Thursday, 2:10pm at the BMI stage

Wes Period is the embodiment of sun-drenched Los Angeles rap. The rising Los Angeles pop-rap star spits with a lyrical flow that is the sonic personification of his sunny surroundings. It’s a vastly unique style that translates to an absolute all-out party experience. Trust us, we threw a pool party with Period himself and we were fighting between jumping into the mosh pit or the pool throughout his set. Or let Period’s long-awaited debut album, Pretty Words speak for itself. It’s a wonderful assortment of rap-pop hybrids that please one after another and are sure to go off at this year’s Lollapalooza. 

The Wrecks

When & Where: Sunday, 5:40pm at the BMI stage

The Wrecks is a tried-and-true rock band. From sneaking into a recording studio to record their debut We Are the Wrecks EP to creating joyous, high-energy alternative music, The Wrecks is impossible to ignore. Since their inception, The Wrecks has toured with Nothing But Thieves, New Politics, The Main, All Time Low, and sold out their debut headlining tour. More recently, The Wrecks released their sophomore EP, Panic Vertigo (which hopefully didn’t require them sneaking into a recording studio to finish this time around). The follow-up EP heightened the guitar-driven, anthemic rock approach of its predecessor for another series of songs that are perfect for the ensuing mosh pit that is bound to erupt during their set.

The Aces

When & Where: Sunday, 4:30pm at the BMI stage

If there is a band that is deserving of being championed as hometown heroes, it’s The Aces. Forming in Provo, Utah, the all-female quartet found their start playing school assemblies and teen events around town, and eventually found themselves shortlisted by Paste Magazine as one of the “10 Best Utah Bands You Should Know.” Now, they’re definitely one of the 15 acts you need to catch at Lollapalooza this year. Coming hot off the heels of their debut album, When My Heart Felt Volcanic, the quartet will have a wellspring of new, shimmering material to pull from. Prepare to fall in love with The Aces and their impeccable indie pop perfection. 

#ones to catch #Lollapalooza #clairo #yungblud #charlotte cardin #billie eilish #rex orange county #nothing nowhere. #sasha sloan #buddy #cuco #amy shark #two feet #lewis capaldi #wes period #the wrecks #the aces

[sciencespies]

At Least 32 Million People Will See The ‘Great North American Eclipse,’ The Most Watched Celestial Event In History

https://sciencespies.com/news/at-least-32-million-people-will-see-the-great-north-american-eclipse-the-most-watched-celestial-event-in-history/

At Least 32 Million People Will See The ‘Great North American Eclipse,’ The Most Watched Celestial Event In History

In almost exactly three years there be will a dramatic total solar eclipse across North America. On Monday, April 8, 2024, those in Mazatlán, Mexico will experience totality—when the Moon blocks the Sun—for a whopping 4 minutes 26 seconds. A moonshadow will then move across the continent enveloping in darkness those in Dallas, Indianapolis, Cleveland, Buffalo and Burlington.

Hasn’t this all happened before? Yes it has. On Monday, August 21, 2017, a “Great American Eclipse” ripped across the continental U.S. from sea to shining sea—Oregon to South Carolina via Idaho, Wyoming and plenty of other lightly-populated areas. Totality peaked at 2 minutes, 41 seconds in Cerulean, Kentucky.

It’s going to be different in 2024—it’s going to be better … clear skies allowing. On April 8, 2024 it will be possible to experience 4 minutes 26 seconds of totality at Eagle Pass, Texas on the U.S.-Mexico border and 2 minutes 52 seconds as the Moon’s shadow departs the continent at Newfoundland, Canada. 

As well as this total solar eclipse lasting longer, the path of totality will be much wider. In 2017 it was between 60 and 70 miles wide. In 2024 it will be 120 miles wide as it arrives reducing to 100 miles as it departs. 

And this time a lot more people live within it and near that path of totality. 

The path of totality is important because only within its boundary can onlookers experience totality.

That means not only darkness in the day, but phenomenon such as beads of light around the Moon culminating in a “diamond ring” just before and after totality. And during totality it’s possible to see the Sun’s corona—it’s hot, white outer atmosphere that’s usually invisible—with naked eyes.

In short, only if you’re inside the path of totality do you see the Sun as it truly is—and what a breathtaking sight that is.

Either side of “the stripes” you’ll see only a 99% partial solar eclipse, which is—compared to totality—a non-event. Certainly not breathtaking.

The path of totality on April 8, 2024.

Michael Zeiler/GreatAmericanEclipse.com

“The 2024 total solar eclipse will be seen by many more people than in 2017,” said Michael Zeiler, a Santa Fe-based cartographer and eclipse-chaser who runs GreatAmericanEclipse.com. He thinks that 40-50 million Americans could witness totality this time around. That’s because 32 million Americans live inside 2024’s path of totality compared to 12 million in the 2017 path. “A remarkable circumstance for this eclipse is that the nation’s densely populated northeast metropolitan areas of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Washington D.C., Chicago, St. Louis lie within a two or three-hour drive of totality,” he said. 

But city-dwellers will need to be really careful. “Make sure you’re in Dallas and not Fort Worth, and if you’re in Austin or San Antonio you got to make sure you’re in the right part of the city,” said Dan McGlaun, a veteran eclipse chaser who has devised an addictive 2024 eclipse simulator. Cities that will just miss out on totality include Detroit, Columbus, Cincinnati and Toronto. 

The best advice is to head for the centreline of the path of totality, which will maximise the duration of totality.

A total solar eclipse occurs on August 21, 2017, at Mary’s River Covered Bridge, in Chester, IL, … [+] USA. (Photo by Patrick Gorski/NurPhoto via Getty Images)

NurPhoto via Getty Images

The 15 U.S. states that will experience totality include Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Michigan, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine. In Canada it crosses Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland. 

However, there is also one distinct disadvantage that eclipse-chasers will have to endure in 2024 as compared to 2017. “The total solar eclipse in 2017 was in the hot month of August while 2024’s is in April so the temperature will be much cooler,” said Fred Espenak, a retired NASA astrophysicist and eclipse-chaser best known for his work on eclipse predictions. “In general, the weather prospects for much of the 2024 path are not as good as 2017.” 

The best advice? Head south—either to Mexico or to Texas—and stay mobile. After all, they don’t call it “eclipse-chasing” for nothing. 

Disclaimer: I am the editor of WhenIsTheNextEclipse.com (@TheNextEclipse on Twitter)

Wishing you clear skies and wide eyes. 

#News

#News

[oldmaidwhovian]

Meme of 3′s

Another quiz sent to me

A. Name 3 restaurants you liked which don't exist anymore

White Tower hamburgers, Steak and Egg Kitchen, The Ice House in west Albany NY.

B. 3 favorite deceased recording artists

John Denver, Kate Wolf, Jean Redpath MBE

C. 3 favorite foods

pizza, butter chicken curry, KFC

D. 3 questions you'd ask your pet

are you happy, do you hurt anywhere and what's your favorite food

E. 3 favorite books from childhood

Billy And Blaze, Amelia Bedilia, The Fable Of The Sun And The Wind

F. 3 things you do to relax

naps, reading, petting the cat

G. 3 hobbies you've had

digging up/collecting antique bottles, silk flower arranging, collecting antique saddles and horse gear

H. 3 favorite songs

Earth Angel, Ashoken Farewell, Rocky Mountain High

I. 3 favorite soft drinks

Saranac Shirley Temple, Hire's root beer, Stewart's orange and cream

J. 3 things you liked to do with your parents when you were a child

Go to the drive-in movies, go to museums, go to theme parks

K. 3 places you'd like to live in your state

the Adirondacks, Washington County NY, Skaneatelas, NY

L. 3 favorite domestic animals

horses, cats, dogs

M. 3 favorite wild animals

American buffalo, Canada lynx, raccoons

O. 3 favorite bird species

red tail hawk, mockingbird, bald eagle

P. 3 things you've seen that you never thought you would

The Great Pyramids/Spynx, Iceland, a raccoon in my home

Q. Your 3 favorite types of cars you've owned

87 Ford Ranger, 76 Dodge Adventurer, 67 AMC Rambler

R. Your 3 favorite possessions

George Hoose cowboy painting, antique saddle, stained glass floor lamp

S. 3 favorite pairs of shoes

Clark's loafers, Twisted X driving mocs, Roper cowgirl boots

T. 3 favorite places to eat

The Log Jam, Ted's Fish Fry, Hot Dog Charlie's

U, Three of the Four Season's you like best

Spring, summer, autumn

V. 3 favorite holidays

Pass, I rarely do holidays anymore

W. 3 works of art you've seen in person

Tiffany window at the Met Museum in NYC, Rembrandt's The Night Watch, Renoir's Blue Lady

X. 3 favorite desserts

Bread pudding, ice cream mud pie, brownies

Y. 3 favorite vacations you've taken

working vacation in Yellowstone, Netherlands-Iceland, Killington Vermont.

Z. 3 of the worst things that have ever happened to yoy

Signing off my mom's life support and watching her die, being homeless, having a right-sided stroke

[lawrencedienerthings]

Opinion: Let’s celebrate passage of the outdoors act. Now we need the CORE Act.

#unitedstates🌊 👀 💰 🔎 🎢

Colorado News

Just for fun, I decided to look up the Land and Water Conservation Fund (LWCF) projects in all the places I’ve lived in the United States.

What I found is astonishing. From Connecticut to Vermont to New Jersey to D.C. to Avon, Colorado, each has a special place made possible by the LWCF, a bipartisan initiative founded in 1964.

The LWCF has sponsored projects in every county in every state, from coast to coast. My sons, born and raised in Colorado, were nurtured by the public lands that surround us.

Avon Mayor Sarah Smith Hymes

Here at home in Eagle County, LWCF has touched our lives with investments like Sylvan Lake, the Dowd Junction path, and most recently the Eagle River Park. 

The legacy of public lands was ensured by passage of the Great American Outdoors Act (GAOA). The impact of this legislation cannot be overstated; it will protect and preserve public lands now and for generations to come.

The GAOA achieves two critical objectives. First, it allocates $9.5 billion over the next five years to fund the maintenance backlog in our national parks, creating jobs related to trail maintenance, facility repairs, and park improvements.

Second, it permanently guarantees that the work of LWCF can continue with $900 million annually allocated from the royalties paid to the federal government for oil and gas drilling on the Outer Continental Shelf.

READ: Colorado Sun opinion columnists.

Our public lands do more than bolster our physical, mental, and spiritual health; they are a critical economic driver in communities across Colorado.

The Outdoor Industry Association estimates consumers spend nearly $28 billion on outdoor recreation in Colorado alone each year. Colorado’s public lands support an estimated 229,000 jobs, generating $9.7 billion in wages and $2 billion in taxes for local and state governments.

Supporting public lands has become even more crucial during the COVID-19 pandemic, as communities rely on them to recover physically, emotionally, and financially.

We are grateful to Rep. Joe Neguse both for being a champion of the GAOA and for sponsoring the Colorado Outdoor Recreation (CORE) Act, the next critical step in protecting public lands in Colorado.

OUR UNDERWRITERS SUPPORT JOURNALISM.   BECOME ONE.

The CORE Act would protect 400,000 acres of public land in Colorado from oil fields and other development, and designate the first National Historic Landscape at Camp Hale to honor the location of the 10th Mountain Division’s winter training camp.

New jobs for mountain communities whose economies have been devastated by the pandemic would be an ancillary benefit of this important legislation. 

Sarah Smith Hymes is Mayor of Avon, Colorado. She represents over 6,400 year-round residents, 3,500 second-home owners, and 500,000 annual visitors to the Town of Avon.

The Colorado Sun is a nonpartisan news organization, and the opinions of columnists and editorial writers do not reflect the opinions of the newsroom. Read our ethics policy for more on The Sun’s opinion policy and submit columns, suggested writers and more to [email protected].

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Support local journalism around the state. Become a member of The Colorado Sun today!

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The latest from The Sun

Amendment B puts spotlight on Gallagher’s mixed legacy of budget cuts, tax relief and inequality in Colorado

All Coloradans will be able to track their mail-in ballot this November

Another effort to recall Gov. Jared Polis — this time over his coronavirus response — may begin collecting signatures

Postal Service says it has already delivered to Coloradans 75% of its flyers containing incorrect mail-in voting information

How Lauren Boebert rose from unknown to a candidate for Congress to someone in Donald Trump’s orbit

from Straight News https://ift.tt/32vCq5z

#Straight News

[junker-town]

Bracketology 2020: NC State the biggest winner of a surreal Wednesday

Devon Daniels and NC State did what they absolutely had to do on Wednesday afternoon. Now the Wolfpack will get a shot at locking up a bid with a win over Duke. | Jeremy Brevard-USA TODAY Sports

At the moment, there’s a very real possibility that there won’t be an NCAA tournament this season. However, until there’s an official announcement, bracketology will press on.

The sports world’s response to Covid-19 cascaded Wednesday, with the NCAA first deciding that March Madness would be played with only essential personnel in attendance, with many conference tournaments following suit. Then news broke that the Utah Jazz’s Rudy Gobert tested positive for the virus, a development that led the NBA to suspend its season. The NHL might be next. As of this post’s publication time, Thursday’s conference tournament action looks set to go on and the NCAA tournament has yet to be suspended, but given the direction professional indoor sports are going, can college sports be far behind?

Bracketology will continue until there is no longer a tournament to project. So, as promised in Wednesday’s bracket post, I completely scrubbed the field yesterday evening. That process resulted in a new No. 1 seed, the Dayton Flyers, who knocked the San Diego State Aztecs down to the No. 2 spot in the West region, along with several other shifts further down the bracket. Additionally, I attempted to keep teams as close to home as possible given bracketing restrictions, though I suspect these may be relaxed in the coming days. There are also two new at-large teams, thanks to Wednesday’s results.

The Stanford Cardinal drop out following their second loss of the season to the California Golden Bears, 63-51, in the Pac-12 5 tournament’s first round, while a loss to the DePaul Blue Demons in the Big East tournament’s 7 vs. 10 game knocked the Xavier Musketeers from the field.

On the other hand, the NC State Wolfpack took care of business against the Pittsburgh Panthers in the ACC tournament’s second round, 73-58. Kevin Keatts’ squad is scheduled to play the Duke Blue Devils today (3 p.m. ET, ESPN), with a second win over Mike Krzyzewski’s club likely to secure State’s ticket.

Thursday morning’s second at-large newcomer is the UCLA Bruins, idle on Wednesday. Mick Cronin’s team has a set of quality wins that are impossible to ignore, even if their NET ranking is stuck in the mid-70s.

There’s a third newcomer in today’s field, the Boston University Terriers. The Patriot League champs are the last auto bid winner to be decided before Saturday.

This post contains more detailed information about the last four teams in and first four in.

After Thursday morning’s full bracket and rundown, I’ll have a quick look at the day’s schedule. It should be a fascinating day of college basketball, considering that few of us are used to watching games played in largely empty arenas.

Arrows indicate seed line movement, which is relative to Monday’s bracket. Asterisks (*) indicate new entries. Teams in all caps (except for those that go by their initials) have clinched auto bids (13 so far).

1. South Region (Houston)

Omaha, Nebraska (Fri./Sun.)

1. Kansas (Big 12) vs. 16. Prairie View A&M (SWAC)/NC Central (MEAC) 8. Saint Mary’s vs. 9. USC

Albany, New York (Thu./Sat.)

5. Ohio State vs. 12. YALE (Ivy) 4. Seton Hall vs. 13. Akron (MAC)

Greensboro, North Carolina (Fri./Sun.)

6. Virginia vs. 11. UTAH STATE (MW) 3. Maryland vs. 14. BRADLEY (MVC)

Cleveland, Ohio (Fri./Sun.)

7. Providence vs. 10. EAST TENNESSEE STATE (SoCon) 2. Kentucky (SEC) vs. *15. BOSTON UNIVERSITY (Patriot)

2. West Region (Los Angeles)

Spokane, Washington (Thu./Sat.)

1. GONZAGA (WCC) vs. ↓16. NORTHERN KENTUCKY (Horizon) 8. Colorado vs. ↑9. Oklahoma

Spokane (Thu./Sat.)

↑5. Iowa vs. 12. LIBERTY (ASUN) 4. Oregon (Pac-12) vs. 13. BELMONT (OVC)

Tampa, Florida (Thu./Sat.)

↓6. BYU vs. ↓11. Marquette 3. Duke vs. 14. North Texas (C-USA)

Sacramento, California (Fri./Sun.)

7. LSU vs. ↑10. Texas Tech ↓2. San Diego State vs. 15. Eastern Washington (Big Sky)

3. Midwest Region (Indianapolis)

St. Louis (Thu./Sat.)

1. Baylor vs. 16. WINTHROP (Big South) 8. Houston vs. 9. Arizona State

Sacramento (Fri./Sun.)

5. Butler vs. 12. Stephen F. Austin (Southland) 4. Wisconsin (Big Ten) vs. 13. New Mexico State (WAC)

Albany (Thu./Sat.)

6. Penn State vs. *11. Texas/NC State 3. Villanova vs. 14. HOFSTRA (CAA)

Tampa (Thu./Sat.)

7. West Virginia vs. 10. Rutgers 2. Florida State (ACC) vs. ↑15. Little Rock (Sun Belt)

4. East Region (New York)

Cleveland (Fri./Sun.)

↑1. Dayton (A 10) vs. 16. Siena (MAAC)/ROBERT MORRIS (NEC) 8. Arizona vs. 9. Florida

Omaha (Fri./Sun.)

↑5. Michigan vs. 12. Cincinnati (American) 4. Louisville vs. 13. Vermont (Amer. East)

Greensboro (Fri./Sun.)

↓6. Auburn vs. ↓11. Indiana/Richmond 3. Michigan State vs. ↑14. UC Irvine (Big West)

St. Louis, Missouri (Thu./Sat.)

7. Illinois vs. *10. UCLA 2. Creighton (Big East) vs. 15. NORTH DAKOTA STATE (Summit)

Rundown

Bids by conference: 10 Big Ten, 6 Big 12, 6 Big East, 6 Pac-12, 5 ACC, 4 SEC, 3 WCC, 2 AAC, 2 Atlantic 10, 2 MW, 22 one-bid conferences

Last four byes: Rutgers, Texas Tech, UCLA, Marquette Last four in: Indiana, Texas, Richmond, NC State First four out: Stanford, Xavier, Northern Iowa, Wichita State Next four out: Mississippi State, Arkansas, UConn, Saint Louis

Lowest-ranked NET at-large: UCLA (76) Highest-ranked NET exclusion: Purdue (32, 16-15 overall)

New today (3/68): Boston University, NC State, UCLA Leaving today: Colgate, Stanford, Xavier

What to watch Thursday

All times are ET.

The noon hour will see a pair of conference top seeds and national No. 2 seeds feature in a pair of rubber matches, as the Creighton Bluejays take on the St. John’s Red Storm in the Big East (12 p.m., FS1) and the Florida State Seminoles face the Clemson Tigers in the ACC (12:30 p.m., ESPN). Meanwhile, the Rutgers Scarlet Knights can earn themselves some breathing room by defeating the Michigan Wolverines in the Big Ten (12 p.m., BTN) and the Texas Longhorns and Texas Tech Red Raiders meet in a bubble showdown at the Big 12 tournament (12:30 p.m., ESPN2).

The second wave of afternoon games feature teams playing for top-four seeds in the Butler Bulldogs (vs. Providence, 2:30 p.m., FS1), Iowa Hawkeyes (vs. Minnesota, 2:30 p.m., BTN), Oregon Ducks (against Oregon State, 3 p.m., Pac-12 Networks) and Duke in that aforementioned tip in Greensboro. The Kansas Jayhawks will also attempt to stop the Oklahoma State Cowboys’ from going on a bubble-bursting run in the Big 12 (3 p.m., ESPN2), while the Florida Gators must avoid a bad late loss to the Georgia Bulldogs (3:30 p.m., SEC Network) and the UConn Huskies begin their final American Athletic tournament with a second game against the Tulane Green Wave in a five-day span (3:30 p.m., ESPNU).

The evening begins with a Pac-12 showdown between a pair of teams hanging around the eight and nine lines, the Arizona Wildcats and USC Trojans (5:30 p.m., Pac-12 Networks). Otherwise, it’s a whole lot of contests between teams that must win out to dance and those that are safely in — Purdue vs. Ohio State (6:30 p.m., BTN), Notre Dame vs. Virginia (7 p.m., ESPN), Kansas State vs. Baylor (7 p.m., ESPN2) and DePaul vs. Villanova (7 p.m., FS1).

As for the late-evening window, there’s an interesting mix of contests. UCLA takes on Cal as the Bruins attempt to solidify their place (9 p.m, Pac-12 Networks). The Indiana Hoosiers can do the same by defeating the Penn State Nittany Lions (9 p.m., BTN). In the Big East, the Marquette Golden Eagles could really use a victory over the Seton Hall Pirates as a confidence boost following a late slide (9:30 p.m., FS1), and the same goes for the West Virginia Mountaineers, who take on the Oklahoma Sooners in Kansas City (9:30 p.m., FS1). The Arkansas Razorbacks-South Carolina Gamecocks showdown in the SEC (9:30 p.m, SEC Network) is a bubble elimination match, while the Syracuse Orange take on the Louisville Cardinals (9:30 p.m., ESPN) needing to extend their ACC tournament run to have hope.

There are two late-night tips of interest. A loss to the East Carolina Pirates in Fort Worth would burst the Memphis Tigers’ bubble for good (10:30 p.m, ESPNU), while the Arizona State Sun Devils can’t slip up against a Washington State Cougars squad it split with during the regular season (11:30 p.m., FS1).

I’ll have further updates throughout the day as events warrant and as long as games continue. In the meantime, you can check out my TV viewing guides and full conference tournament coverage over at Blogging the Bracket.

[finishinglinepress]

FINISHING LINE PRESS FEATURED AUTHOR OF THE DAY: Nancy Shiffrin is a poet, critic and teacher. She earned her MA studying with Anais Nin. She earned her PhD at The Union Institute studying Jewish-American Literature. Her work has won awards and honorable mentions from The Academy of American Poets, The Alice Jackson Foundation, The Poetry Society of America, The Pushcart Prize and The Dora Teitelbaum Foundation. Her writing has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, New York Quarterly, Earth’s Daughters, Lummox Journal, The Canadian Jewish Outlook, A Cafe in Space, Religion and Literature, Shofar, and numerous other publications.

https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/flight-by-nancy-shiffrin/

ADVANCE PRAISE FOR Flight by Nancy Shiffrin

In Flight, veteran poet Nancy Shiffrin regards the juxtaposition of beauty both vast and in sharply etched detail with the sometimes unbearable weight of history—personal, Jewish, and human—in a deft mix of observation and engagement, wry commentary and a sense of wonder. These are songs of experience, culminating in two final poems that spoke deeply to me, Shiffrin’s contemporary: “A Gratitude for the Solstice” (I am grateful my dead are with me/ the ones I loved/ the ones I betrayed/ the ones I couldn’t help enough)and “Eagle” (this is not a dream/ I have never been more awake/…I know the flight has only begun).

–Elizabeth Zelvin, author of I Am the Daughter and Gifts & Secrets (poetry), the Mendoza Family Saga (Jewish historical fiction), and the multiple award nominated Bruce Kohler Mysteries.

In this slender book, a lifetime of observations and feelings jangle against one another like coins in a pocket. Nancy Shiffrin‘s questioning eye sees the gritty details of what normally goes unseen. In this way, Flight becomes a collection of secrets, even when it deals with well-known images and events:

the Holocaust, the homeless, the combat of nature — from insects in a field (or a bathtub) to birds in wind to humans in every circumstance. Sometimes detached, most often keenly personal, these elegantly crafted poems reflect a world of constant movement, where each sudden or subtle shift signifies life.

–Bill Harding is the Publisher/Editor of the San Diego Poetry Annual. A poet/novelist in his own right.

In part, Poetry’s job is to celebrate renewal, seeing and feeling the world anew as William Carlos Williams wrote. Nancy Shiffrin’s Flight allows the reader to enter into this poetic renewal as she allows readers to see, hear and taste contemporary Los Angeles in all of its delicious complexity. That’s a

remarkable gift, such as occurs in her ironic ending of the poem, “At the Museum of Tolerance” where the speaker notices “sun in the west/bleeding out into lavender sky/and the walk downhill/fruit trees in bloom lacy and pink.” These are lovely poems about the sacred earth, love, dreams and delightful glimpses of virginity.

–Stanford Searl, writer of Homage to the Lady with the Dirty Feet and other Vermont Poems and in 2019, both Songs for Diana as well as the forthcoming poetry chapbook, Mary Dyer’s Hymn and other Quaker Poems

https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/flight-by-nancy-shiffrin/ #poetry, #book #booklovers #readers #flp #poetrylovers

[newenglandspooks]

Obscura Day 2017 in New England

Every year, Atlas Obscura (the online guide to “the world’s wondrous and curious places”) marks a day for global celebration of the unusual called “Obscura Day”. Around the world, various bizarre and unique events are offered for anyone interested. I have compiled a neat list of participating locations and happenings going on in New England. Obscura Day is on May 6th this year. Connecticut:

Taphophilia x Bibliophilia (New Haven) - “An insider’s tour of New Haven’s Grove Street Cemetery and Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library.”

A Way of Life at Wild Bill's (Middletown) - A chance to “explore the 45 acres of collectibles and curiousities” at Wild Bill’s Nostalgia with Wild Bill himself. (Personal Note: I have been to Wild Bill’s myself and can vouch that it is a truly enjoyable place to visit.)

Behind the Scenes with the Barnum Museum (Bridgeport) - “A curated viewing of the Barnum Museum's collections followed by a hard hat tour of the historic building's restoration.”

Maine (no officially participating locations/events, but check out these):

International Cryptozoology Museum (Portland)

The Desert of Maine (Freeport)

Eagle Lake Tramway (Northwest Piscataquis)

Nervous Nellie’s Jams and Jellies (Deer Isle)

Massachusetts:

Artistic Critique at Museum of Bad Art (Somerville) - “Bring your treasured art in [whether you made it yourself or not] for an informal evaluation.”

The Scenery and Stone of Mount Auburn Cemetery (Cambridge) - Take a 1.5 mile tour of one of the first “garden-style” cemeteries in America.

Edward Gorey’s Cabinet of Curiosities (Yarmouth) - "Explore Gorey's home and eclectic collections on a special access Obscura Day tour!”

The Abandoned Utopia of Brook Farm (Boston) - “Join three scholars of utopian communities and the literature of New England from the Brandeis University English Department to walk through what is left of the site.” Inside the Ether Dome (Boston) - “Tour the Massachusetts General Hospital and the 19th-century operating theatre in which the very first use of ether was demonstrated!”

New Hampshire (no officially participating locations/events, but check out these):

Mystery Hill: America’s Stonehenge (Salem)

Betty and Barney Hill Archive (Durham)

American Classic Arcade Museum (Laconia)

New Jersey:

Northlandz Model Train Tour and Talk (Flemington) - “Experience the world's largest model railroad with the man behind it all.”

Behind the Scenes at the Princeton Plasma Physics Lab (Princeton) - “Learn about PPPL's research about nuclear fusion— the process that powers the sun— and how we can use it as a source of energy on this special access laboratory tour!”

Vermont:

The Museum of Everyday Life (Glover) - “Lend a hand at MOEL's Community Participation Weekend and play a part in creating the museum's 2017 exhibit, ‘Bells and Whistles’!” The Main Street Museum (White River Jct.) - “Explore the eclectic displays and quirky collections of the Main Street Museum, an experiment in new taxonomy.” The Forgotten Village at Greenbank’s Hollow (Danville) - “Explore the long-abandoned remains of a 19th- century company town in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom.” Source: Obscura Day Information Pages

#long post #obscura day 2017 #obscura day #atlas obscura #new england #vermont #maine #massachusetts #connecticut #new jersey #new hampshire #unusual #bizarre #strange