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idanit · 3 years

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possibly underappreciated Good Omens fics I enjoyed once upon a time

Indirectly inspired by a video series about fanfiction I watched, I decided to pull together a list of Good Omens fics I have bookmarked as stories I enjoyed, but which have less than 250-300 kudos at the time I’m writing this. No particular order. They’re accompanied by short excerpts from my private fic reading notes (not originally intended to be read by anyone but me, mind), sometimes slightly edited for clarity—and, sometimes, the comments I left on the fics.

This list sat in my drafts for a long time and the recent S2 announcement reminded me of it. I’d love it if it inspired you to do something similar! Spread the love.

And mind the tags, please.

△ = general and teen ▲ = mature and explicit

thermodynamic equilibrium ▲ 7K the author has such an ear for dialogue and is unapologetic about what they want to write the characters like. They think of the characters as a mix of TV and book canon, but they feel like a homemade blend to me. (...) It’s very funny.

such dear follies ▲ 6K I can really picture this Aziraphale—Crowley as well, but her especially. She’s rather distinct. (...) Nice writing.

The Words Were With - △ 1.2K post-Blitz vignette, Aziraphale realizes what he feels and wonders if they're human enough for this. I liked it, and I liked the tag "transhumanism, but in reverse?", too—what an interesting idea. I'd say it's a vignette in a dire need of a follow-up, but, well, there's the show. The show is the follow-up. It fits very nicely within the canon and I totally believe it could have happened, like a deleted scene.

Gossip and Good Counsel △ 19K/? I love their companionship and how they're set up to be opposites by the management even though they get on pretty well. It feels very in keeping with the canon, but I feel like the fact that it's an F/F set in this particular time period adds a meaningful layer to the situation. It's women supporting each other in the world of men, working with the personas that are created for them, but, privately, being normal, well-rounded people. (...) and of course your writing is always a pleasure to read. (...) SDHDGDHDHDG Maisie is truly an Aziraphale.

Crowley Went Down to Georgia (he was looking for a soul to steal) △ 6K This was nice. Based on a song I didn’t know. Crowley goes to a funeral in the USA, one of a fiddler he knew and lost a bet to once. (...) The fic has not one but two songs composed for it and embedded inside it and that makes it even better. I really enjoyed the experience.

The Thing With Feathers △ 18K WARLOCK you'rE HORRIBLE AND I LOVE IT I would read an entire novel-length fic just of Crowley fighting his battles with Warlock. Written like this? It would be a blast. (...) The OCs are believably characterized and well-loved by the story. (...) Everyone seems to need a friend in this house. (...) This was so fun, and at the same time, their mission has weight here (...) We wonder about what the future holds even though we know it.

Here Quiet Find △ 11K This fic aimed for my head and the aim was sure precise. It was a story of Crowley sensing Aziraphale's distress and finding him in a self-quarantined English village in the seventeenth century, tired and anxious. It's hurt/comfort, so there was washing and bedsharing and I had to love it, so I did.

outside of time △ 2K Post-Almostgeddon, (...) nicely-written, short, but strung with a soft kind of tension and unspoken words. There's no drama, just "can we really", and "do you really" of sudden freedom. They fall into being inseparable. Book canon, which I like for this story (sitting on a tarmac). I liked the footnotes. There's a mention of Eliot. All in all, very much yes.

She'asani Yisrael △ 2K It’s Crowley going through a two-hour service and drinking blessed wine. He also keeps an eye on a boy he was asked to. It’s 1946. It was pretty good, so far the best Jewish GO fic, I think, from the ones I’ve read.

To Guard The Eastern Gate △ 11K I loved it. You really made Sodom feel lived-in; the description of Keret, Hurriya and Yassib's house and relationship were great. I got attached to both them and the city (...) Aziraphale and Crawley’s interactions were generally very entertaining. I laughed (...) Your rendering of their voices just lands so well (...) But then oh, the entire ending (...) hurt, hurt a lot, and your descriptions are so vivid.

If you’ve been waiting (for falling in love) △ 14K AAAAA a good ending line. The whole paragraph, in fact. I love a good smattering of philosophy in my fics, and this was really nice. I can get behind Thomas Aequinus's and Crowley's view on eternity. It's (...) a pretty simple fic (...) - the courage to express yourself and take a risk is awarded with winning what was at stake by the virtue of reciprocity - but the way it was intertwined with a study of how they would experience a forever was done well.

Holy unnecessary ▲ 2.2K It's well-written. (...) this is my type of sexual humour if I have any. So subtle. Blink and you'll miss it. Lovely.

The Parting Glass △ 17K Through the ages, they're dancing around their relationship until after the Armageddoff. (...) Wow, this was really, really nice. Very simple in its concept and nothing I haven't read before, but very well-executed. (...) AAAAH I LOVED the first chapter. I always like abbeys as settings, that's a given, but the banter, the good writing, the moral ambiguity!

Name The Sky △ 33K This Crowley is different, but very intriguing. Without his sarcastic talk, and much more animalistic. (...) I love how expressive Crowley is. (...) This fic has a very nice balance of drama and levity. I don't love Crowley-before-the-Fall stories very much, but with this execution I can read about it. (...) Okay I've read Crowley offering fruits, and even Aziraphale biting fruits, but the two of them sharing the apple? Outstanding. Ingenious. What a take.

A Flame in Your Heart △ 5K post-Blitz (why are so many dance fics post-Blitz?), they go to the bookshop and have an actually believable conversation. Then they dance the gavotte. It was really nice! Believable writing, emotions, the dancing! (...) Of course it's too early for them, (...) but the author's note? yeah.

Put down the apple, Adam, and come away with me ▲ 32K At this point it's just reading original stories with characters with names and some personality traits that I recognize. (...) I really enjoy this, the careful dance, the opposition between their views. (...) This is well-written, wow. (...) it's not an easy read (...) this story feels very believably 50s, but also reaches out to the present time.

Liebestraum ▲ 10K/? It really is like music. I'm enjoying the writing a lot. (...) oh my actual god. This, this? Wow, uh. This came for my throat. (...) THE MUSICAL COMPOSITION, THE MOTIF RETURNING, THE AUTHOR KNOWS WHERE IT'S AT (...) Excellent. This hits the right beats so precisely, (...) and with feeling, too.

Down Comforter △ 2.4K and they lay down in angeldown, a soft rug ‘neath their heads– alright. Well, Crowley lies under Aziraphale's wing on a Persian rug after the Apocalypse, and they talk (...). It was sweet.

The Corsair of Carcosa △ 5K Crowley wakes up from a nap, visits Aziraphale for some drinking, and they read The King in Yellow that he happens to own. Good writing, so I'm bought. Aziraphale mentions Beardsley, so I'm bought twice over. My god, a discussion of etheral/occult madness? Caused by some wrong/true reading? Yes.

Very Good, Omens! △ 6K It's rather well-written, well-pastiched. People don't do that too often, nowadays - try to write in the style of a particular writer. (...) I love wordplay like this.

Reviving Robin Hood: The Complicated Process of Crème Brûlée △ 30K it's well-written (...), has a rhythm to it, and quiet humour. (...) Finally some nice, good, light writing. The attention to detail! (...) I'm still reading most of it aloud, the rhythm of it compels me to. (...) okay this does sound like Pratchett&Gaiman, the Good Omens itself (...) The fic is meandering, hilarious, sensitive in all the right places, and overall lovely.

my dear acquaintance △ 1K Oh. Oh. Yes, yes! Aziraphale in Russia, Russia I've never been in, but I can feel the snow and the evening of. Very real, and the bar, too. Attention to detail - vodka flavoured with dill, what on earth? Yes. He would totally have a distinct taste in operas and he would totally complain about a subpar one. I'm glad Tchaikovsky's there.

there is a crack in everything △ 1.8K This was good! Ah. Inspired by a comment (...), I went looking for Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese fics—really, what a big brain moment someone had and why have I never thought to look for them? This is Crowley getting suddenly anxious and Aziraphale going out of his way, through all his layers of not-thinking and denial, to console him. I also really liked how the Arrangement is a carefully unacknowledged partnership-marriage.

Scales And Gold And Wings And Scars △ 6K No conflict, no plot, one tiny arc like a ripple on the surface of water on a calm sunny day - of Aziraphale discovering Crowley’s scars. It's the South Downs and it's early summer. They bask and swim in a spring. Non-sexual nudity, love in the air like a scent. Nice.

Nineteen Footnotes In Search Of A Story △ 0.4K This is a Good Omens story told only through footnotes. Your mind can fill in the gaps. Fascinating (...). Also, it’s an experiment so apt for this particular fandom.

Hell on Earth △ 6.5K Oh, I loved it! How could I not love it: it's Beelzebub-centric, it's historical, it has classical painting, and even a hilarious scene with a cuneiform phrase, as if I didn't enjoy this story enough already. There are so few Beelzebub fics out there and I find searching for them very difficult (I accept recs if anyone has any), and it's such a shame, so this was really like a gift to the fandom. I absolutely adore the way you portrayed them, small, frightening, powerful, and confident. Also, it was super fun to see how different Crowley seems when we're not in his POV or in a story about him and Aziraphale. (...)

Go Up to Ramoth-Gilead and Triumph △ 24K Daegaer is... pure class. (...) hdhdhdh what pfttt why you so funny (...) I love this Crowley. (...) This got unexpectedly intense. (...) I love the little nods to the fact that Israelites, especially the poorer ones, still believe in other gods. I also really like that they sleep on roofs. It's just the kind of detail that grounds the story and shows that the author is, in fact, a historian.

#good omens #good omens fic rec #fanfiction #fic rec #idanit reads #i also have a multifannish F/F rec list in the works #all my bookmarks are private but i feel the need to share the love

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screaming-apple · 2 years

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IS ZHANG ZHEHAN PRO-FASCIST OR IS IT JUST A HOAX FROM THE PUBLIC’S DECEIVERS?

August 2021, when netizens were still overwhelmed by the drama series of Zhang Zhehan being “pro-Japan”, a picture which he took in Zhejiang in 2019 was dug up and was labelled as “saluting in Hitler’s way” = worshipping fascism. And with the effort to spark up the rage from the public even more, bloggers even suggested that this picture had been taken at a memorial hall (see Pic 1). This next part is to clarify what’s true and what’s not.

1. Where and when the picture came to exist.

This picture was taken along with several other pictures and they were posted on ZZH’s personal account on 15th December 2019 - one day after season 1 of “Everybody Stand By” show’s final, along with the caption “I’m waiting for you”, a line in the skit “Big Brother”, which he acted in. Besides seeing him taking pictures and celebrating with his friends after his winning, we can understand how much the skit “Big Brother” means to him and his co-actor - who quickly replied with the same line in the comment section (see Pic 2).

2. What building was there in the background?

The monument that had been assumed to be the Memorial Hall of Revolutionary Martyrs was actually Zhejiang Exhibition Hall. This location is 5 kilometres away from the actual Memorial Hall, equivalent to a 1-hour-and-15-minute walk (see Pic 3).

3. Analyze and identify the “rite” that Zhang Zhehan used.

ZZH’s hand movement if put in the context of just the viral picture, it looks more like a taxi-waving action than a saluting action. And to compare the action of a Chinese man, standing on the Chinese land to the standards of German people, American people or overall European people is pretty confusing.

Not only that, an “anti-fan” of ZZH was quick to get on Twitter to send Neil Gaiman this particular picture that compared ZZH’s action to Adolf Hitler. He is the author of the book “The Graveyard Book” which ZZH had introduced to his fans recently and Mr Gaiman had also thanked ZZH for enjoying his works while also hinting that he would watch Word of Honor (Shan He Ling), which he had starred in. Mr Gaiman is a person of Polish-Jewish origin - the people who were once suffered the “massacre” of Nazi Germany (I hope this part of translation is not offensive to anyone as the way of expression might be different in Vietnamese and in English - if any part is so, please tell me to help rephrase it). He had also given his comment against the rumour-spreader (see Pic 4).

“Definitely don’t support Nazis. Also don’t have any context for the photo on the top. Who was he saluting? Were they Nazis? Were they saluting back? Are you sure he wasn’t caught mid-wave or try to figure out how high something was?”

***CONCLUSION:

To re-emphasize, every action and every word should be put into the context they were in before being put forwards to be judged. All of the contextual aspects (images, people, comments) in this situation were merely to commemorate a past show and character of ZZH, there was no worshipping or saluting anyone. The label “pro-fascist” being placed upon ZZH is an effort to turn white into black, to deceive the public of the bad guys in this story.

!!! The original source mentions some information + images relating to war. To avoid subsequent troubles, this blog will stop posting about this piece of information.

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The pictures + the OG captions that came with them:

Pic 1: Bloggers spread the rumour saying that ZZH stood in front of Zhejiang Memorial Hall of Revolutionary Martyrs while saluting in Hitler’s way. This is an unacceptable act in Germany, America and other Western countries.

Pic 2: The original post on ZZH’s Weibo uploaded on 15th December 2019.

Pic 3: The building is actually Zhejiang Exhibition Hall, and it takes 1 hour and 15 minute to walk from the Memorial. (Plus some light editting to translating the words into English).

Pic 4: The author Neil Gaiman of Polish-Jewish origin commented on the picture comparing ZZH’s action to Adolf Hitler.

The link to the OG post:

https://www.facebook.com/thientominhtam/posts/117326724051434?notif_id=1634286658620603&notif_t=page_post_reaction&ref=notif

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I do have some opinions myself on this. First of all, you need to know that in Asia, or particularly in Vietnam (and maybe even in China), rites and symbols of Nazi Germany mean little to us, as they are only talked about in some brief history lessons about Europe in general or about World War II in general. I did not even know that was the salute way of Nazi Germany until I read about ZZH’s situation relating to this topic. And the swastika symbol, I even saw students, in my secondary/high school, in my class, drawing them on their books or dictionaries. They were not fascists, obviously, they only thought it was a weird symbol that could be drawn somewhere for fun. So, this is me explaining why putting an Asian on the scale to judge a European or a German is weird and confusing.

I’m not saying he knew it was a Nazi way to salute, it might just be him re-enacting the action from the skit, as I have seen another post doing an analysis on it. Also, in the comment section of one of the pictures, people have also commented old communist posters (below) with people doing the same exact pose. It could be an action to imply like “keep moving forward” or “to infinity and beyond” even if his arm was not raised all high up.

There are only a few posts left of this series to be translated. However, these posts are pretty long. After this, I might get to translating a person in high place’s opinions about ZZH’s situation. He is pretty determined to get this case carefully examined and judged, with professional process and not just let him be condemned by bloggers, platforms and ignorant passers-by. Sina tried to get his posts taken down, but he threatened them and they had to return the posts to him. So, that was a brief of what I have read today on him. I have mentioned him in one of the posts I uploaded, his name is Li Xuezheng and he is the director of the Golden Shield Film and Television Center under the Central Military Commission's Logistics Support Department.

Thanks for keeping up with me. If you can help spread this post or the others, it would be much appreciated.

Link of the full list of my translations:

#zhang zhehan #zzh #813 #ptfaa #word of honor #woh #shan he ling #shl

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americangodstalk · 3 years

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Some thoughts about Bilquis (tv series)

I was discussing with someone about the potential origins of Bilquis and I noticed something.

We all know who the Queen of Sheba is, this Biblical figure that is associated with King Solomon. She is present in Jewish, Christian and Muslim religions, and it is widely accepted that her kingdom was the one of Seba, in Southern Arabia (current Yemen).

In the book, Neil Gaiman reuses a Jewish legend that claims the Queen is half-human and half-demonic, linked to the djinns (some Jewish scholars even identified her with Lilith).

In the first season of the show, these Arabian roots are strongly reinforced - she is shown to have been a pre-Islamic goddess of Arabia, worshipped at the “Throne of Bilquis”. The Throne of Bilquis is the name given to the ruins of the Barran temple in Yemen, though it was not actually dedicated to Bilquis despite its name - it was the temple of Al-Maqah, a male moon god. (In a very similar way, another temple in Yemen is the Awwam temple, known as the “Sanctuary of Bilquis”, yet another temple to Al-Maqah). Anyway, all of that to say, Bilquis is stressed as a goddess of Arabian roots by both the book and the first season.

But in the second season, there seems to be a shift... I was thinking of her relation towards Anansi more particularly. They are said to have been lovers a long time ago, and later she is included in this sort of “African gods union” as some call it when Anansi delivers his speech to Mr. Ibis. Which may seem odd if she is an Arabian goddess right? But I think this is because the writers of season 2 dug rather into another legend/interpretation of the Queen of Sheba. You see, the Ethiopian Christian community believes strongly, and that since the 14th century, that the kingdom of Sheba was actually their own country, and thus Bilquis Queen of Ethiopia. Which would indeed, make her an “African” goddess. It now makes sense why she would be linked with Anansi (West Africa) and Thoth (Egypt/North Africa), as a goddess from Eastern Africa. I think it is also no coincidence that in this second season she was visibly using Christianity as a way to find new worship.

All in all, it seems that while the first season - just like the book - had a Bilquis that was the Jewish/Hebraic version of the Queen of Sheba, the second one rather decided to focus on the Christian interpretation of the character.

I just thought of pointing it out because the two seasons clearly have different approaches concerning some characters, and there is a clear evolution. Just like with Mr. World, who was more in the first season a god of globalization and of “the system”, while in the second season he returns to his book-roots as “the man behind the man” and the “Deep state” made flesh.

#american gods #television series #season 1 #season 2 #bilquis #queen of sheba #mr. world

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thenightling · 3 years

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knowing more make it acceptable to just talk to ppl any old way all of a sudden? Even if that person was truly confused, what exactly would you have accomplished, treating them like an idiot? You don't actually have to educate ppl whomst (you think) Waste Mr. Gaiman's Precious Time? That's another thing too, the man has spent decades doing this job. He gets countless questions, I think he can decide for himself what questions to answer & which to ignore as a waste of time, don't you?

1. It’s hard for me to respect cowards who have to hide behind anonymous. 2. It doesn’t matter if it was Neil Gaiman or some random person. Someone being “Confused” by something as simple as “Life is fatal” is a bit frustrating. It’s like seeing someone going “What?! What do you mean people eventually die!? That’s not true, is it?” 2. I admit I was in a rotten mood yesterday evening and was a little too hard on them but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a frustrating thing seen asked. 3. As for Neil Gaiman, himself, he answers a lot of questions over and over and over and over and over and over that I pity him. For example I counted at least four instances of someone asking him if he’s the man who wrote Coraline last year, three of being asked if it was really him, two of if the lesbian couple in Coraline are lesbians, and several from people who saw a Mary Sue article claiming The Sandman: A Game of you is transphobic where I, and other fans, had to sit here and explain to these people who never read the book they condemn, that no, the story is not saying that feminine magick won’t work for Wanda because she’s trans. That’s just what a TERF character thought.

Neil answers questions that are quietly horrific. Like the one time an antisemite told him to not read someone’s work because the author is a Jew. Neil reminded them that he, himself, is Jewish and corrected their typo. And then someone else came along and told Neil he was being “Ableist” for correcting the antisemite’s typo. And Neil responded to that. As someone who is visually impaired, seeing an author get called albeist for correcting the typo of an antisemite is embarrassing and does a serious disservice to those who have dealt with actual ableism.

I know Neil is a grown man who can handle himself and handles himself quite well but some of the things he is asked are on the brink of depressing. I saw him asked, by an adult, what is Silas in The Graveyard Book. Twice! The character has a “special diet” where he drinks a red liquid, doesn’t come out by day, wears a cape, is pale... I feel sorry for that man sometimes...

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rorykillmore · 6 years

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something more general... are there any shows coming up you're looking forward to? or if not, anything you'd like to see get another season?

okay i can guarantee i’m going to forget something but good omens!! i forget if that even has a release date yet. the book was something i really enjoyed when i was younger although it’s been literal years since i’ve read it and i will probably need to revisit it before the show actually comes out. regardless the teaser trailer that dropped briefly was enough to make me super nostalgic and what i’ve seen of the casting looks awesome so i have high hopes for it, currently

then like... everything else i can think to mention is just additional seasons of stuff i’m already watching, but speaking of neil gaiman’s stuff, season 2 of american gods is another one i’m really looking forward to. it kinda got stuck in development hell for awhile (i think they switched showrunners like, three times) so first of all it’s a relief to know it’s even HAPPENING, but i’m also kinda... excited and in suspense because. there’s already stuff they’ve changed up from the book and it looks like season 2 is gonna do that even more, so i’m really interested to see where they go with it. that and laura moon is a fave, so...

also big little lies season 2, which i think is coming out in either winter or spring of 2019?? i actually know like. next to nothing about what the plot is gonna be BUT i’ve heard the original author is writing it so i’m sure it’ll be promising!! i’m really interested in the concept of like, expanding on the source material to this extent, because the leftovers did it and only got better as it strayed away from the book, so.

plus meryl streep is gonna be in it so how could they possibly go wrong,

also season 2 of the marvelous mrs. maisel which i just find to be a really charming, well-written, nice comfort show with a lot of interesting characters to boot. amy sherman-palladino’s writing is always something that’s very familiar for me and i’m really glad the show has been as successful as it has been. especially because asp is jewish but unfortunately she’s kinda notoriously been made to tone down a lot of that in her previous work so i’m glad she’s just. having the creative freedom to make something that’s so expressly jewish.

one big one that i’m REALLY excited about is season 2 of dark. i’m not sure when that’s coming out although i’ve heard sometime early in 2019?? but who knows. dark is. really good though. people make like, surface comparisons to twin peaks and stranger things but it TRULY is it’s own very unique beast, and as someone who was always felt personally dissatisfied with stranger things because i wanted it to be a bit more unconventional, a bit more scary, a bit more... well, dark, dark was kind of what i was looking for all along. everyone has very specific things that make their skin crawl (in a good, horror-watching way) and for me a lot of mine have to do with like, repetitiveness and deja vu and being trapped in cycles and the way dark explores that is fantastic. anyways i have no idea where season 2 is going but i trust that it will be great and confusing,

oh also i’m interested in true detective season 3, because i REALLY enjoy season 1 of true detective (which also hits a lot of my creepy-crawly buttons) and to some extent season 2 (which has its problems, but rachel mcadams does amazing work in it). it’s taken forever to even hear anything about season 3 but now i think it’s coming out in january and?? mahershala ali is starring??? a) i’m just thirsty to see him do some really meaty acting and b) i’m kinda craving a good crime/murder mystery so

and finally, obviously westworld season 3 should be mentioned, but i don’t have much to say about that yet because it’s probably gonna be at least another year before we start hearing stuff about it

#thanks spear!!#im probably forgetting stuff but i listed a good number of them at least #larkspear

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ninja-muse · 6 years

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Urban Fantasy Recommendation Masterpost

This is a list of the urban fantasies I’ve enjoyed most over the years, split down a few lines and to be updated as I discover new series. I’m also including contemporary fantasies because the lines often blur. Hope you find something you like on it!

$ for LGBT characters £ for characters of colour € for characters with disabilities * for potentially problematic depictions of the above ! for #ownvoices (all based on my slightly spotty memory, so feel free to correct if I’ve missed something)

World-Focused

or stories that spend most of their time steeping you in the magical world

American Gods - Neil Gaiman £

Shadow Moon gets out of jail and is hired by the cagey Mr. Wednesday to … he’s not really clear, honestly, but it puts him in the path of people who may or may not be gods. Multiple mythologies.

Among Others - Jo Walton €!

A 1980s teen flees her troubled home in Wales to get to know her birth father and attend an English boarding school. Is her mother’s family able to work magic or is it just wishful thinking? Reading science fiction might give her the answers. British folklore and faeries, and a very interesting take on magic.

The Boggart - Susan Cooper

A Canadian family inherits a Scottish castle inhabited by a mischievous boggart—who then stows away and finds himself in Toronto. Scottish folklore.

The Bone Clocks - David Mitchell £

The life of a woman from teen-hood to old age as she lives her life and occasionally intersects with an ancient war between good and evil, fought with telepathy and other things that look a lot like magic.

The Changeling - Victor Lavalle £ !

After his infant son is violently attacked, Apollo Kagwa, used bookseller, descends into the hidden world of New York in search of his vanished wife.

The City We Became - N.K. Jemisin - $ £ ! for race

New York City, newly alive, is being attacked, and six humans, no longer quite human, must do everything in their power to save their city.

the Dark is Rising series - Susan Cooper €*

A group of English kids—four siblings, a seventh son, and a boy who might be a reincarnated Arthur—versus the forces of darkness. Five books, only the last of which includes all the kids. Cornish and English folklores, Arthuriana.

Gods Behaving Badly - Marie Phillips

The Greek pantheon now lives in North London and is as dysfunctional as ever. Artemis walks dogs. Aphrodite does phone sex. Apollo is a washed-out TV psychic who’s just fallen, via Eros, for the cleaning lady—who’s trying to date someone else, thank you very much. Greek mythology.

The Golem and the Jinni - Helene Wecker £

A golem and a jinni both find themselves in turn-of-the-century New York, both literally and figuratively. A beautiful exploration of the immigrant experience, friendship, and identity. Jewish and Arabic folklore.

Good Omens - Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

A mostly-good angel and mostly-wicked demon discover they’ve been training the wrong Antichrist days before the scheduled apocalypse. The real Antichrist wants a dog and to save the whales. Also features a legacy witch, a rookie witch-finder, the Four Horsemen, the Four Other Horsemen, Satanic nuns, and a Queen soundtrack. Christian mythology.

The Hunter’s Moon - O.R. Melling

A Canadian teen visiting her Irish cousin ends up mounting a cross-country road trip to retrieve her cousin who’s run off with the faeries. Irish mythology.

The Left-Handed Booksellers of London - Garth Nix $£

In the summer of 1983, Susan Arkshaw travels to London to find her birth father. What she discovers is a family of magical booksellers, and an Old World that’s very much alive.

Middlegame - Seanan McGuire

Roger and Dodger are exceptionally gifted, telepathically linked, and a little more than natural. James Reed will stop at nothing to use them, or people like them, to get ultimate power. Alchemy, time travel, and portal fantasies are involved.

Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman £

Richard Mayhew has it all: a good job, a hot fiancée, a nice flat. Then he helps an apparently homeless girl with the power to create doors and is pulled into the magical community below London. Nothing will ever be the same.

Of Blood and Honey and And Blue Skies From Pain - Stina Leicht

It’s tough, living in Northern Ireland during the Troubles, and Liam finds it harder than most. No one trusts him, he can’t find work, everyone wants him to choose a side, and to cap it off, he feels like a monster is inside him and knows something inhuman is stalking him and his. The war between the Fey and the Fallen is heating up, and the only people keeping peace are an order of priests—who also, surprise, want Liam’s help. Irish and Christian mythology.

The Sixth World series - Rebecca Roanhorse $£€ !

Maggie Hoskie is a Monsterslayer of Dinétah, but she’d rather not be. Even rescuing a kidnapped girl is supposed to be a one-shot deal. But the monster’s a new one, an apprentice medicine man’s attached himself to her, and Coyote’s around, so of course it’s not that simple. Navajo mythology.

Son of a Trickster - Eden Robinson £€ !

Jared’s life sucks. He’s sixteen, living in a crap house in a crap town with crap prospects. He’s paying his dad’s rent with weed money. His mom’s more interested in parties than holding down a job. His only friend’s a pit bull. And just when he thinks that’s as low as it gets, a raven shows up and say he’s Jared’s real dad. Heiltsuk (and other First Nations) mythology and folklore.

Sparrow Hill Road - Seanan McGuire

Rose Marshall, the Phantom Prom Date, the Ghost of Sparrow Hill Road, hitches her way from coast to coast while dealing with paranormal problems and route witches—and avoiding Bobby Cross, the immortal who killed her.

Sunshine - Robin McKinley

Rae is a baker. Tough and practical and smart, but a baker. Who’s just rescued herself and a vampire from captivity using magic she’d half-forgotten she had. Unfortunately, the master vampire’s still after them, the magical police know something’s up, and she just wants to keep being normal. Includes mild, realistic PTSD and a whole lot of delicious desserts.

An Unkindness of Magicians - Kat Howard

The Turning has started in New York and every magician in the city has their own reason for entering the tournament—power, status, acknowledgement, revenge, revolution. The high stakes would be enough for anyone, but it’s starting to look like there’s something suddenly wrong with magic, too.

Witches of Ash and Ruin - E. Latimer - $ £ € *

Dayna wants to be a witch, live her life, and block her OCD thoughts so she doesn’t have to deal with them. Then scary but gorgeous Meiner and her coven roll into town prophesying Bad Things, and a serial killer reappears who seems to target witches and shit. Meet. Fan. Themes of family and abuse.

Ysabel - Guy Gavriel Kay

Ned Marriner’s tagging along with his photographer dad to Provence when he begins to notice magic awakening around him. There’s an ancient love triangle that‘s repeated throughout history, using contemporary locals as proxies—and it’s very interested in Ned, his new friend Kate, and his father’s entourage.

Mystery-Focused

or stories that spend most of their time solving a magical crime

The Arcadia Project series - Mishell Baker $£€ !

Millie’s nearly broke, scarred, a double amputee, mentally ill, and Done with all the BS around that. She’s also despairing of ever resuming her directing career, so when a mysterious woman offers her a job with her temp agency, she’s intrigued. What wasn’t mentioned? She’ll actually be an immigration agent working with the Fae of Hollywood, and one of them’s just gone missing.

the Blood series - Tanya Huff $£€

Vicky Nelson is the pinnacle of the tough, no-nonsense PI—which poses a bit of a problem when she’s hired to catch a “vampire” on the streets of Toronto and then actually meets one. (He writes romance novels.)

the Felix Castor series - Mike Carey $*

Felix Castor is an exorcist. A hard-drinking, down-at-the-heels exorcist in a London brimming with ghosts and demons. Unfortunately, he never seems to get the easy cases where he can just waltz in and play a tune—and his past mistakes might be coming back to haunt him.

Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency and The Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul - Douglas Adams

Dirk Gently solves mysteries by wandering around, getting into strange situations, and then connecting dots no one believes even exist. Like time traveling robots and Romantic poets, or rampaging eagles and mold-ridden refrigerators.

The Grendel Affair - Lisa Shearin £

Makenna Fraser is a seer working for Supernatural Protection and Investigations in New York. “Seer” meaning she can spot the ghoulies and ghosties few people can, including her coworkers. When an off-the-books gnome removal turns into a blood-soaked crime scene, she and her partner are handed the case—but will her eagerness to prove herself just land her in hotter water?

the Greta Helsing series - Vivian Shaw $£

Dr. Greta Helsing serves the undead of London. Her best friends are vampires and demons. The boundaries between worlds are thinning, causing all manner of metaphysical trouble. Plays with 1800s horror classics; equal parts sensible, disturbing, and funny.

the Greywalker series - Kat Richardson $£

Harper Blaine prides herself on rationality and unflappability, but after briefly dying on a case, she’s suddenly wrong-footed and seeing ghosts everywhere. In the middle of all that, she’s hired by a mysterious voice to track down an organ that’s more than it seems, and suddenly haunted street corners are the least of her problems.

the Incryptid series - Seanan McGuire $£

Meet the Price family, a close-knit group of cryptozoologists whose mission is to protect and preserve endangered cryptids like dragons, gorgons, and the religious Aeslin mice from humans. They’re also hiding from the Covenant of St. George, a.k.a. why the cryptids are endangered in the first place. Technically paranormal romance.

the Iron Druid series - Kevin Hearne £

Atticus O’Sullivan is a herbalist and seller of New Age paraphernalia by day, two-thousand-year-old druid by night. He thought moving to Arizona would keep him safe from gods bent on revenge. He thought wrong. Multiple mythologies.

Last Call at the Nightshade Lounge - Paul Krueger $£€ !

Bailey Chen is fresh out of business school, broke, and living with her parents. When a childhood friend offers her a job as a barback, she takes it as a stopgap—but then she discovers the secret cabal of bartenders who fight demons using magical cocktails and after that, there’s no looking back.

Moonshine - Alaya Johnson £

Zephyr Hollis, a charity worker and ESL teacher in 1920s New York, and therefore flat broke, takes a side job from a student, Amir, without asking questions. But will the vampire mob, the drug-crazed vamps, Amir’s literal smoking hotness, or her family history do her in first?

Night Owls - Lauren M. Roy $

Valerie is a vampire with a successful campus bookstore. Elly grew up fighting monsters and fearing for her life. When their paths collide via a book in Elly’s keeping, they must unite to prevent said monsters from unleashing hell and then some.

the October Daye series - Seanan McGuire $£€

Toby Daye wants sleep, coffee, and for everyone to leave her alone already—not necessarily in that order. Unfortunately, as a changeling Knight and PI with a knack of finding people and solving problems with maximum chaos, none of those things will ever be easy to come by. Multiple folklores.

the Olympus Bound series - Jordanna Max Brodsky $£

Selene di Silva’s been keeping her head down for a long time, shutting herself off not just from New York, but from the world. (Being a former goddess will do that.) But then she stumbles on the body of a woman who’s been ritually sacrificed and her past as Artemis comes rising up again. Greek and Roman mythology

the Rivers of London series - Ben Aaronovitch $£€

When Constable Peter Grant meets a ghost at a crime scene, it’s only logical for him to take a witness statement. When DCI Thomas Nightingale learns of this, he offers him a job as an auror the sorcerer’s apprentice a valued member of a magically-focused police unit. London, its river goddesses, various magic workers, assorted Fae, and the Metropolitan Police will never be the same.

the Shadow Police series - Paul Cornell $£

Following the mysterious death of a suspect, four Metropolitan Police officers are drawn into London’s sinister magical underworld in their hunt for a killer.

the Smoke series - Tanya Huff $*£

Tony Foster’s found his footing as a PA on a Vancouver-shot vampire show. Unfortunately, the paranormal weirdness that is his life continues and it’s somehow up to him to save the day.

Unholy Ghosts (and following) - Stacia Kane £*

Chess Putnam works as a Church exorcist, partly out of obligation and partly for the pay, which goes to fuel her drug addiction. Unfortunately, no ghosts are nice ghosts and her private life keeps intruding on her cases.

the Watch novels - Terry Pratchett

Ankh-Morpork is the citiest of fantasy cities. Its City Watch is a bunch of misfits. Sam Vimes isn’t putting up with any nonsense. Somehow, they fight crime.

Zoo City - Lauren Beukes £

Zinzi December is a con artist and occasional finder of lost things who lives in the Johannesburg slums with her sloth familiar. Her latest case? Find a pair of missing teen pop stars—before the apparent assassins do.

#book recommendations #masterposts #urban fantasy

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herwitchinesss · 6 years

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annual list of books i have read this year

(i’m already doing my favorite reads of the year in instagram posts, so look out for those instead of my usual bold = favorite that i do; if you want to know about a specific book or if i have it available to lend out on eBook or give to you via Audible, send me a message! xo)

1) Mrs. Zant and the Ghost by Wilkie Collins 2) Dreamer’s Pool by Juliet Marillier 3) DC Bombshells Vol 3 by Marguerite Bennett 4) The Bucolic Plague: How Two Manhattanites Became Gentlemen Farmers: An Unconventional Memoir by Josh Kilmer-Purcell 5) The Couple Next Door by Shari Lapena 6) Ascension by Jacqueline Koyanagi 7) The Devourers by Indra Das 8) A Good Idea by Cristina Moracho 9) The Last Wish by Andrzej Sapkowski 10) The Baker’s Secret by Stephen P. Kiernan 11) Another Brooklyn by Jacqueline Woodson 12) A Word For Love by Emily Robbins 13) The Strange Case of the Alchemists Daughter by Theodora Gross 14) Ahsoka by EK Johnston 15) Gwenpool Vol 2 by Christopher Hastings 16) Spell On Wheels by Kate Leth 17) Hi-Fi Fight Club by Carly Usdin 18) Beauty Vol 1 by Jeremy Haun 19) American Housewife, stories by Helen Ellis 20) 10 Things I Can See From Here by Carrie Mac 21) Imprudence by Gail Carriger 22) The Authentics by Abdi Nazemian 23) Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman 24) Delicate Monsters by Stephanie Kuehn 25) The Nest by Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney 26) Miles Morales: Spider-Man by Jason Reynolds 27) The Virgin Cure by Ami McKay 28) My Best Friend’s Exorcism by Grady Hendrix 29) Crash Override by Zoe Quinn 30) Forest of Memory by Mary Robinette Kowal 31) Belle: The Slave Daughter & the Lord Chief Justice by Paula Byrne 32) Invincible Summer by Alice Adams 33) Leia, Princess of Alderaan by Claudia Gray 34) The Trap by Melanie Raabe 35) The End of Everything by Megan Abbott 36) A Study in Scarlet Women by Sherry Thomas 37) Harry Potter & the Prisoner of Azkaban by JK Rowling (re-read) 38) The Girls by Emma Cline 39) I Am Princess X by Cherie Priest 40) The Likeness by Tana French 41) Broken Homes by Ben Aaronovitch 42) A Spool of Blue Thread by Anne Tyler 43) The Women in the Castle by Jessica Shattuck 44) Whispers Under Ground by Ben Aaronovitch 45) Inferior: How Science Got Women Wrong---- and the New Research that’s Rewriting the Story by Angela Saini 46) In the Woods by Tana French 47) The Mothers by Brit Bennett 48) Moon Over Soho by Ben Aaronovitch 49) Ghost Talkers by Mary Robinette Kowal 50) The World Is Bigger Now by Euna Lee 51) Hope In the Dark: Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities by Rebecca Solnit 52) Midnight Riot by Ben Aaronovitch 53) The Psychopath Inside by James Fallon 54) Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk by Kathleen Rooney 55) iZombie vol 1 by Chris Roberson 56) The End of the Affair by Graham Greene 57) The Book of Joan by Lidia Yuknavitch 58) Mercury by Margot Livesey 59) The Witches of New York by Ami McKay 60) The Girl At Midnight by Melissa Grey 61) Swimming Lessons by Claire Fuller 62) Caraval by Stephanie Garber 63) Archivist Wasp by Nicole Kornher-Stace 64) Night of Cake & Puppets by Laini Taylor 65) The World According to Star Wars by Cass R Sunstein 66) Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero 67) The Sleeper & the Spindle by Neil Gaiman 68) Highly Illogical Behavior by John Corey Whaley 69) The Runaways by Brian K Vaughan 70) Monstress Vol 1 by Marjorie M Liu 71) Beautiful Broken Girls by Kim Savage 72) November 9 by Colleen Hoover 73) The People We Hate At the Wedding by Grant Ginder 74) How Emotions Are Made: The Secret Life of the Brain by Lisa Feldman Barrett 75) Mosquitoland by David Arnold 76) Luckiest Girl Alive by Jessica Knoll 77) The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice & Virtue by Mackenzi Lee 78) Ashes to Ashes by Jenny Han & Siobhan Vivian 79) Fire with Fire by Jenny Han & Siobhan Vivian 80) Burn for Burn by Jenny Han & Siobhan Vivian 81) Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell 82) Hag-Seed by Margaret Atwood 83) The Most Dangerous Place on Earth by Lindsey Lee Johnson 84) How To Hang a Witch by Adriana Mather 85) The Lovely Reckless by Kami Garcia 86) You’re Never Weird On the Internet (Almost) by Felicia Day 87) One of Us Is Lying by Karen M. McManus 88) Anne of Green Gables by LM Montgomery (re-read) 89) Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls by David Sedaris 90) Lost Stars by Claudia Gray 91) The Mistletoe Murder & Other Stories by PD James 92) Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams 93) I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts On Being a Woman by Nora Ephron 94) Console Wars: Sega, Nintendo & the Battle That Defined a Generation by Blake J Harris 95) We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson 96) Dear Mr You by Mary-Louise Parker 97) Carry On by Rainbow Rowell 98) The Boston Girl by Anita Diamant 99) Hex by Thomas Olde Heuvelt 100) Teaching My Mother How To Give Birth by Warsan Shire 101) Nelson Mandela’s Favorite African Folktales by Nelson Mandela 102) We Could Be Beautiful by Swan Huntley 103) Girl Walks Into a Bar... by Rachel Dratch 104) Bloodline by Claudia Gray 105) Romeo & Juliet by David Hewson 106) Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng 107) You Don’t Look Your age... And Other Fairy Tales by Sheila Nevins 108) The Regional Office Is Under Attack! by Manuel Gonzales 109) Some Kind of Fairy Tale by Graham Joyce 110) The Color Master: Stories by Aimee Bender 111) The Inseperables by Stuart Nadler 112) Rani Patel in Full Effect by Sonia Patel 113) Today Will Be Different by Maria Semple 114) Moshi Moshi by Banana Yoshimoto 115) We Were Feminists Once: From Riot Grrrl to Covergirl, the Buying & Selling of a Political Movement by Andi Zeisler 116) Beast by Brie Spangler 117) Dreamland Burning by Jennifer Latham 118) Ways to Disappear by Idra Novey 119) The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend by Katarina Bivald 120) Dare Me by Megan Abbott 121) Eleven Hours by Pamela Erens 122) Pond by Claire-Louise Bennett 123) Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor 124) Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde 125) The Briefcase by Hiromi Kawakami 126) The Fever by Megan Abbott 127) Illusionarium by Heather Dixon 128) Life After Life by Kate Atkinson 129) Christmas Days by Jeanette Winterson 130) The Dinner by Herman Koch 131) The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters 132) In the Country by Mia Alvar 133) Putin’s Russia by Anna Politkovskaya 134) You Will Know Me by Megan Abbott 135) The Thief by Fuminori Nakamura 136) Jackaby by William Ritter 137) Allegedly by Tiffany D. Jackson 138) Certain Dark Things by Silvia Moreno-Garcia 139) Rain by Amanda Sun 140) Norwegian by Night by Derek B Miller 141) The Bone Witch by Rin Chupeco 142) Iron Cast by Destiny Soria 143) Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty 144) Naomi & Ely’s No Kiss List by Rachel Cohn & David Leviathan 145) The Long Way To a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers 146) What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami 147) People of the Book, Jewish Sci-Fi/Fantasy anthology by various authors 148) Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami, re-read 149) Exit, Pursued by a Bear by EK Johnston 150) The Bear & the Nightingale by Katherine Arden 151) The Nature of a Pirate by AM Dellamonica 152) Ink by Amanda Sun 153) More Than This by Patrick Ness 154) The Summer Before the War by Helen Simonson 155) A Daughter of No Nation by AM Dellamonica 156) Lucky Us by Amy Bloom 157) This Is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper 158) Child of a Hidden Sea by AM Dellamonica 159) Brooklyn by Colm Tóibín 160) Silver Linings Playbook by Matthew Quick 161) The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy 162) Beautiful Chaos by Kami Garcia & Margaret Stohl 163) Hidden Figures by Margot Lee Shetterly 164) Candide by Voltaire 165) After You by JoJo Moyes 166) Pocket Full of Posies by Angela Roquet 167) Snow Flower & the Secret Fan by Lisa See 168) English Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs 169) The Hopefuls by Jennifer Close 170) DC Bombshells vol 4 by Marguerite Bennett 171) DC Bomsbells Vol 5 by Marguerite Bennett 172) DC Bombshells Vol 6 by Marguerite Bennett 173) The Lion, The Witch & the Wardrobe by CS Lewis re-read 174) Breakfast At Tiffany’s by Truman Capote, re-read 175) The Love Artist by Jane Alison 176) Harry Potter & the Sorcerer’s Stone by JK Rowling, re-read

#booklr #books #reading #2017 reads #reading challenge

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lobselvith8 · 6 years

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Q&A

Tagged by @thoughtsbubble! Gracias. =)

Rules: you can tag whomever you feel like, and you can answer the questions below. Feel free to add more if you want!

Fictional characters you relate to?

Season one Dexter: I related to how he felt ‘out of sorts’ with people, and how he was feeling like he was putting on a mask. Elliot Alderson from Mr. Robot: I know what it’s like to feel out of sorts, to feel like you don’t fit in, and to get really sad. Daisy Johnson from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: I know what it’s like to want to belong somewhere, and to deal with doubts over whether you’ve truly earned it or not. Robbie Reyes from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: feeling like there’s a part of himself that he can’t share with anyone. I also relate to meeting someone who finally understands you, only to be separated from them (in my case it was someone I could talk with about books, movies, toxic past relationships, and dealing with racism).

What are some songs that you relate to?

I have eclectic tastes. Off the top of my head, the Glitch Mob (Animus Vox), Marcelo D2 (Desabafo), and Florence + the Machine (the Queen of Peace & Long and Lost - The Odyssey, Chapter 5).

Book you can read over and over without getting tired of it?

When I was younger, I enjoyed the Myst books because I was into the Myst games, and the idea of traveling to other worlds through books was something I really enjoyed. I got Lord of the Rings novels and the Dune trilogy when I was young, too. I also liked Neil Gaiman’s graphic novel “Death: The High Cost of Living” where a suicidal boy meets Death.

What’s your favorite comfort show/movie?

A Charlie Chaplin film, “The Great Dictator”, particularly the end with Jewish Barber’s speech denouncing the Hitler stand-in, Adenoid Hynkel, and everything he stood for.

Favorite childhood movie?

I liked the Neverending Story - the idea that an entire universe could be created out of your fantasies.

Which fictional character are you most defensive over?

Over the years, I’ve defended Sharon Vallerii (the show had her steal a child so that her all-male faction could discover how men and women reproduced - given that figuring out how men and women reproduce doesn’t help an all-male faction, it made no sense), Merrill from Dragon Age (I disliked the double standards of the fantasy world that often condemned her), and Daisy Johnson (at this point I’m not sure what’s worse - the people who criticized her over having makeup, clothes, and using the term ‘hacker’ in season one, or the folks who seemed to show no empathy for Daisy being sold into slavery over her in last week’s episode).

Show you fell out of love with?

Farscape: I hated the slut-shaming of Chiana and the lack of care the show seemed to have for the supporting characters. Season 4 of BattleStar Galactica: I disliked the vilification of Boomer, how they seemed to have no cohesive vision for the Final Five (they openly admitted to having no idea who the remaining five Cylons would be, and unfortunately, it showed), and how they supported a dictatorship over democracy despite the showrunners criticizing the original series undermining the democratic will of the people.

Show you’re most excited for?

Recently, that was probably Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., although I’m not really looking forward to what I expect to be Deke being a Reverse Ward or this arc turning into Deke’s slavery apologism.

What’s your aesthetic?

Journey into the unknown, so to speak. Visiting new places. Going somewhere new, getting to know a new culture, seeing a part of the world you’ve never been to.

Favorite fanfic tropes:

I’m not certain I look for particular tropes, per say; I like well-written stories that have character interaction (where I can imagine the characters saying those words on the show) and getting into a character’s head.

Tagging: @faerunner and @chosenofyffre, because I’m pretty sure they won’t mind me tagging them. Hopefully. =P If anyone else who follows me wants to share a bit of themselves, you’re welcome to.

#lobselvith8 answers a question

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

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Norse Myth LOT Fic 2: Victory in Anticipation (Coldwave)

Fic: Victory in Anticipation (Ao3 Link) - Chapter 1/3 Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow, Norse Mythology Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart Sequel to Victory in Waiting - read first

Summary: Leonard Snart is dead and his soul has gone to Valhalla, the home of heroes, and that's the end of the story.

Well.

Not quite.

A/N: I highly recommend reading the first fic in this series first.

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

Every morning, after he’s awake but before he opens his eyes, he thinks – perhaps today.

Perhaps today he’ll wake up and see a dirty off-white ceiling with a bootprint smack in the middle, like the house on Lennox Street that was always secretly his favorite, or the vast height of a warehouse roof, or even the dull unrelieved slate grey that could stand for either Iron Heights or the Waverider.

Perhaps.

And then he opens his eyes and is blinded by the glint of golden shields, layered over each other like roof-tiles.

Nope.

Looks like it’s just going to be another day in fucking Valhalla.

Len sighs and rolls out of bed.

He does not like his bed, despite its fine carvings, because it was made by people who have a shit understanding of the finer arts of mattress-making – there’s a goddamn midpoint between sleeping on a lumpy set of rocks and drowning in a pile of fluff and fur – but he’s willing to admit that part of it might be his overall disappointment in the fact that he’s still here.

He wanders down to breakfast.

“Well met, Snare,” Ivar says, raising his – you know what, Len is going to call it a cup, despite its very obvious horn shape. He was never into Viking lore; insofar as he ever learned anything about mythology (religion?), it was about his own Judaism, a bit of Christianity (for Lisa, in case she cared – she didn’t), and maybe some Greek mythology because Xena.

He’s aware that that’s not a good basis for dealing mythology anything, but if he’d have realized it was going to be relevant to his life – or death, as it happens – he’d have read up about it first.

“It’s Snart,” Len says, not for the first (or, he suspects, the last) time. “Don’t suppose anyone’s done anything about my request for cheese, have they?”

“As we’ve explained several times,” Haukr, the man sitting next to Ivar – not as broad, but twice as smart – says, rolling his eyes, “the goat Heiðrún’s udders give mead, not milk.”

“Has anyone asked?”

“No.”

“I’m going to do it myself,” Len says.

“When you inevitably get yourself killed, I’ll laugh at you tomorrow,” Haukr says practically.

“Maybe this time I’ll wake up in the right place,” Len says. He doubts it, but a guy can hope, right?

“Snare here is Jewish,” Ivar tells another person, coming over from the sleeping area yawning. “Didn’t even know you could have Jewish einherjar before him.”

“What’s Jewish?” the other man grunts.

“The ones that don’t work on the seventh day,” Len sighs. He’s had this discussion before.

“Oh, them,” the man says. “Liked them. Can’t they not eat pig or something?”

This part of the discussion, too, is repetitive. It doesn’t make it less annoying.

“Not unless it’s necessary,” Len informs him.

“Is Sæhrímnir –”

“No, the giant boar roasting over the fire – though I see it’s gotten itself back off the fire and has pranced back into the forest on its dainty little hooves to let you bloodthirsty assholes hunt it down for today’s dinner again – before being plopped into the cook-pot is definitely not kosher. But since it’s the only thing to eat in this place, it’s fine.”

“Huh,” new guy says, scratching himself. He obviously doesn’t care, and he moves on without another word.

Again, not unsurprising. Len has had this conversation before. Verbatim.

“Is there an eight-letter word in Norse for ‘boring’?” Len asks Haukr. “Because right now I’m feeling it being ‘Valhalla’.”

“You shouldn’t blaspheme,” Ivar says, but by this point he’s gotten pretty used to Len and the admonishment isn’t quite as strong as it had been in the beginning.

“Where’s Leifr, anyway?” Len asks. He and Haukr tend to hang out a lot. “Not like he could go anywhere.”

“Tried to peep at the valkyries again,” Haukr says.

“So, dead?”

“Yeah. Already.”

“Fucking idiot.” It’s not like the valkyries don’t come by every night to serve everybody beer (mead, if you feel like being pedantic); Leifr’s just dumb. Dumber even than Ivar, and that takes some doing.

Haukr grunts in agreement. “You coming out with us?” he asks, jerking his head towards the armory, which is primarily armed with spears and knives and other such things.

Len makes a face. He appreciates a good knife as much as the next guy, but he doesn’t actually like fighting for the sake of fighting. That’s more Mick’s game.

He misses Mick.

Len crushes that thought before it’s even formed, because he doesn’t actually want Mick to be dead anytime soon, even though his presence might be the sole thing that makes this place tolerable. Mick would probably enjoy crushing them all.

“No,” he says instead. “Going to work on my ‘fruit and vegetable’ petition. I’ve never appreciated a salad more.”

Haukr laughs and shakes his head. “You’re as crazy as old Håkon, and he’s Úlfheðinn,” he says, amused.

Len smiles the smile of someone who has no idea what the fuck that means and is increasingly tired of having to ask people to translate for him. He thinks it might mean something like berserker, but with wolves or something.

Haukr doesn’t bother explaining, opting instead to get up from the table and head out to the fighting fields, Ivar close behind him.

Len waits until they’re gone before slinking out of the main part of the great hall. It’s a big place – possibly infinite – but he’s found a few places which aren’t so crowded that he can relax and think about what to do about his currently untenable situation.

Thinking he was going to die is one thing. Waking up and being informed that you’ve been recruited to fight in the army of your adopted father (what even), who is apparently the big tall scary guy with the one eye sitting on the throne in the middle of the room with the two ravens (what even), and then basically being ditched by said adopted father (at least that’s familiar?) to practice until you’re called upon for service of some unspecified sort - that's a whole different kettle of fish. This is not Len’s idea of a good afterlife, no thank you.

Not least because Len doesn’t actually like being of service to anyone. Ever.

He doesn’t go anywhere near said big tall and scary, who’s preoccupied with other things anyway – other gods come to talk to him, sometimes, usually Tiny Hammer Guy (Thor? Thrum? something?), Mr. One-hand, or Shiny Farm Guy, and sometimes he goes out with them, but either way, Len started his time here in Valhalla by observing, and he may not know much about the god everyone calls the All Father, but he knows everything he needs to about the guy.

Including the wisdom of not even thinking his name.

Len never liked bullies, and that applies to gods, too. The guy rubbed him the wrong way by claiming to be Len’s new father (what even, part forty two) and nothing Len’s heard about since has improved his opinion even a little. Slaughter, war, manipulation, treachery – seems like this guy’s stock in trade makes him well suited to be one of Len’s criminal companions, but not necessarily one that Len would ever work with and certainly never for.

Reminds him a bit of his real father, actually, if Lewis wasn’t a dumb fuck. Luckily for Len’s mood, he-who-shall-not-be-named-but-isn’t-nearly-as-cool-as-Voldemort-yes-even-book-seven-Voldemort is absent today.

There’s a croaking sound as one of the ravens settles down on the table next to Len.

“You are not wrong, who deem/That my days have been a dream,” Len tells him.

“That’s ‘A Dream Within A Dream’,” the raven croaks back, annoyed. “Wrong one, again.”

“Guess I don’t know my Poe,” Len says.

“Just make the goddamn Nevermore joke already and get it out of your system,” it says.

Clearly Muninn. Huginn actually thinks Len is pretty funny, even if he’ll never admit it – at least, he does after Len treated him to a ten minute lecture on the concept of intrusive thoughts after that one time when he’d decided to come visit while Len was taking a bath and perched on the edge of the bathtub.

Len had also accused him of being a pervert, but Huginn had responded by pointedly commenting on Greek mythology, which, fair. Not relevant, since Len’s a Jew, but fair.

“I’m not plagiarizing Neil Gaiman,” Len informs Muninn primly. “You ever read American Gods?”

“I’m a raven.”

“And that’s an excuse for illiteracy?”

“I can read!”

“So you’re just lazy about keeping up with good literature, that it?”

Muninn rolls his eyes – not a thing Len knew ravens could do before he came here – and flies away out the window, presumably to go about his information collecting rounds, the nasty little snitch.

The Big Guy might have a mild inclination to keep an eye – the one he’s got left, anyway – on Len, but Len’s learned the skill of being just the right mix of incredibly well-behaved and incredibly annoying that drives jailors out of their skulls in Iron Heights, and the gods have nothing on them.

(At this point, the ravens showing up isn’t a demonstration of the Chief’s interest so much as it is their own morbid curiosity.)

Len heads towards the currently empty throne area, only to nearly get tackled by a giant husky with bad breath that’s bigger than Len is.

“Geri, damnit,” Len says, trying not to laugh. “Geri. Geri, we’ve talked about this. We do not jump on people to say hello.”

Geri licks Len’s face, entirely undeterred.

“Oh god, no, you eat corpses, Geri! I can smell it! No! Stop! Desist!”

Eventually Len manages to untangle himself, mostly by virtue of spending a good ten minutes scritching Geri behind the ears until the gigantic beast rolls over onto his belly.

Then he spends another ten minutes giving Geri a belly rub, because Len is weak if you walk on four legs and are adorably fluffy. At least, he is if no one's looking.

“Good Geri,” he praises him. “Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy, yes you are, Geri, good Geri! Such a good doggie. You’re the best doggie, yes you are, my little corpse-eater, you. Oh, ugh, I’m going to have to give you another toothbrushing later, aren’t I?” Len makes a face as Geri’s breath rolls out in a miasma that stinks of eau de dead thing. “Yes, yes, I am, aren’t I? Still, not your fault your master’s a dumbass, yes he is. But it’s not your fault, is it, because you’re a good boy.”

Geri yips happily, tail wagging like a madman. Someone told Len that Geri’s actually a wolf, which is clearly just ridiculous. Sure, he’s big, pony-sized big, but he totally looks like a slightly larger version of a husky Len saw once. Maybe a husky-Newfoundland mix or something. And have you seen the size of the goat on the roof? Now that’s big.

Admittedly, Len’s never actually seen a wolf – Central City was more coyote territory, if anything - but seriously, Geri’s way too cute. His brother Freki, too.

“Where’s your brother, huh?” Len asks, not expecting an answer.

“Afghanistan,” Huginn says, flapping by lazily in Muninn’s wake. Huginn’s the faster of the two ravens, but sometimes, for no reason, he takes a meandering path.

Len can sympathize. His thoughts do that sometimes, too.

Doesn’t mean he has any patience for Huginn’s shit.

“Three words, birdie-boy,” he says. “Cognitive behavioral therapy. I’ll thought the shit right out of you.”

Huginn barks a laugh and wheels out the window as well.

“I’m threatening him with Prozac next time,” Len mutters, getting up off his knees. Geri yips happily and jumps up as well, tail wagging happily. His head easily comes up to Len’s torso, even bowed.

He is a very big doggie.

Len absently puts his hand on Geri’s ears as he walks through the entranceway that the gods usually use. Sure, the other einherjar avoid it like the plague, but no one’s ever actually said that humans weren’t supposed to go through that way.

Also, there are apples.

Len nearly broke down and cried the first time he saw the tree with the golden apples. Sweet, sweet Vitamin C. If he ever sees Mick again, he’s apologizing for all the stupid things he ever said about vegetables being optional and/or best served in ketchup form.

But he’s not going apple-picking today – not least because Ms. Goldilocks Iðunn nearly caught him again last time, and he’s not sure giving her big wide eyes and a quivering lip is going to work yet another time.

(“You don’t understand,” he told her. “I’m craving salad. Salad!”

She covered her mouth. “That’s not an excuse,” she replied, but she’s about three seconds away from cracking.

“I’m dreaming of beets. Beets. And turnips. That’s a fate worse than death.”

She made a slightly strangled sound, struggling to keep her face from smiling.

He decided to switch tracks. “Is it true that they call you Þjazi's booty?” he asks, having heard that story just the day before by the fire.

“Yes, it’s true,” she replied, slightly puzzled.

“Well, now I know I’m doomed,” he sighs dramatically.

“…why do you say so?”

“In the words of my mother’s people, the booty don’t lie.”

Her howls of laugher had followed him all the way out of the orchard, apples safely in hand.)

No, today he’s going to continue his explorations of the other parts of not-Midgard-that’s-Earth-it’s-the-other-one-fuck-Norse-naming-conventions. Aesirgard? Asgard? Whatever. Sure, he could limit himself to Valhalla, but he’s already figured out the pattern of the place: sleeping quarters, eating hall, bathing area, armory, repeat ad nauseum. It’s like someone built the whole place based on the copy-paste function.

At least there’s some variety out here.

Today, he’s going for the big barn-like building. Going by the smell, he’s going to guess that it’s the stables. Luckily, he still has one of Iðunn’s apples left; he figures he’ll be all right.

He doubts there’s anything valuable there – he’s already gotten bored picking leaves off of Glasir, because what’s even the point of stealing golden leaves that no one else wants? – but he believes in being thorough.

Since he apparently has forever.

Or until Ragnarök, anyway. Whatever that is. People don’t like to talk about it for some reason.

Len cracks open the door and slips in, Geri padding along silently behind him.

“Well,” Len says, squinting around as his eyes adjust to the relative dark. “It’s…definitely a stable.”

He walks over to the first pen, then stop and stares.

“Goats,” he says flatly. “More giant goats.”

The goats ignore him, as goats have a tendency to do.

“Do you eat sweaters?” Len asks them. “Mi– my partner, he once said that goats ate everything, but that they liked his sweaters best.”

They don’t answer.

He steps back and studies them at a slight distance. “Any relation to old Heiðrún?” he asks. “You’re a lot smaller than she is, but you’re also, uh, more male.” He pauses and wrinkles his nose. “Oh, man, now I really hope that all that she-goat mead isn’t a milk substitute, because ew. This is why food should come out of prepackaged plastic wrap.”

The goats continue to ignore him.

Len wonders if they have names.

Geri abruptly yips joyfully and darts ahead, into the dark of the stable. Len frowns and trots after him, only to find him happily chasing a circle around a long-suffering looking cat, which is having exactly none of it.

A very, very fluffy, very, very, very large cat.

“Holy cat,” Len says, because – wow. “Look at you. If you ain’t the most gorgeous kitty I’ve ever seen, I don't know what is,” he says sincerely, because the fluff. It’s so – fluffy. It’s massive. It’s a dire version of a Norwegian forest cat, or a Maine Coon, Len’s not sure, but he’s leaning towards Norway because, well, context. But still. The cat is as big as a small bear, and the fluff has got to be a whole another bear just by itself. “You must hate rainstorms.”

“You have no idea,” a voice says from behind him.

Len manages to keep himself from jumping in surprise, and turns.

“Okay, no. No. This is a step too far. Explain this to me - why does Viking heaven have Mr. Ed?” Len asks accusingly.

The horse, giant like the rest of them, well above a normal horse’s size and Len has seen horses before so he knows, brays a laugh. “I like that,” it – he? Okay, yep, definitely a he, this is 100% a stallion and not a gelding and also why does Len do this to himself – says. “Mr. Ed. A talking horse, I assume?”

“Old television program,” Len says resentfully. “No one here even knows what television is.”

“There aren’t really a lot of new einherjar these days,” the horse says, shrugging. Given how huge it is, there’s a lot of shrugging going on there. Whole muscle groups are involved.

“How many hands are you?” Len asks, studying him. “I don’t actually know how big a ‘hand’ is, but I could probably math it backwards.”

The horse brays again. “I don’t think anyone’s ever counted, honestly,” he says when he’s done snickering. “I like you.”

“Thanks, Ed.”

“Ed?”

“Well, you haven’t given me any other name to call you by,” Len points out. “Not like there are any nameplates either.”

“Good point,” the horse says. “But no, I like Ed. Keep going with that.”

“Gee, thanks. And what should I call Goats 1 and 2? They’re one short for the Billy Goats Gruff.”

Ed snickers. “Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr,” he says. “Teeth-barer and teeth-grinder, respectively."

“Really?” Len says. He doesn’t mean to be doubtful, but they’re, well…kind of placid. “That’s like naming your Pekingese ‘Bruiser’. Unless they’ve been turned into a vampire, because in that case, name away. Still pissed they never gave him a name in the movie…”

“I don’t even want to understand what twists your minds just took,” Ed says, but he’s definitely amused. “You know, I haven’t said that about anyone for years; you should be complimented.”

“I successfully piss off Huginn and Munnin on a regular basis,” Len informs Ed. “I am complimented.”

Ed snickers.

“So, does the cat have a name?”

“Cats, plural,” Ed corrects.

Len immediately scans the area for a second giant cat.

“Rafters.”

Len looks up.

“That’s a lot of fluff to balance on one rafter,” he says admirably.

“They don’t have names, I’m afraid,” Ed says. “Freyja just never bothered.”

“Actually, that makes sense,” Len says thoughtfully. “They are cats. Cats are above such petty things as names; they are merely kind enough to sometimes answer to descriptive terms barely worthy of their worship.”

He’s joking, of course, but he swears the cat that Geri is trying (unsuccessfully) to convince to play with him gives him an approving look.

“Right,” Ed says, shaking his mane. “You’re going to give them an ego.”

“They’re cats, they already know they’re superior to us,” Len says dismissively. “I’m going to be stereotypical and call you Rumpleteazer, okay?” he asks the one ignoring Geri. “Likes to create chaos with her partner, Mungojerrie, who can be Mr. Rafters up there.”

She considers this for a long minute and purrs approvingly.

“I think that’s the furthest any man has gotten with Freyja’s cats since I’ve met them,” Ed observes. “Well done. What will be your next trick? Hoop-jumping? Fire-breathing?”

“I like you,” Len tells Ed. “You’re kind of a dick. I appreciate that in people.” He pauses. “And horses, apparently.”

Ed shuffles his legs in mock-embarrassment, which makes Len have to rub his eyes because he would have sworn –

“Yes, there are eight,” Ed says.

“Thought I was seeing double,” Len says gratefully.

“You should probably get back,” Ed says with a sigh. “They’ll eventually notice you’re missing, and time in the Hall works differently from out here. It’ll be almost evening for them.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Len offers. “And here, something to remember me by till then.”

He pulls the apple out of his pocket and offers it to Ed.

Ed stares at it for a long moment.

“What?” Len asks, a little uncomfortable. “I thought horses liked apples.”

“We do,” Ed says. “It’s just – that’s a – you know what, never mind.” He leans forward and lips at the apples, picking it up delicately with his teeth before crunching into it with all sounds of evident delight. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Len says. “Should I bring some Sæhrímnir-meat for the Hammerhead Hannigans tomorrow?”

“…they’d probably like some bones,” Ed allows. “I see that you’re very frustrated by no one getting your references.”

“I’m bunking with people who think similes are the height of humor,” Len says sulkily. “They even like puns! It’s not as much fun if someone’s not groaning.”

“I knew someone once who’d like you very much,” Ed remarks. “Now go.”

“Yeah, yeah. Geri, heel,” Len calls, whistling sharply.

Geri bounds over and Len rewards him with scritches.

“…just so you know, you disturb me greatly,” Ed says.

Len snickers and heads back to the hall, ducking back in just in time for Huginn to fly through the window like a bat out of hell.

Len wonders what the news is, but opts to go help himself to some Sæhrímnir, because it has in fact been a while since he’s eaten. Oh, look, they’re having it ‘boiled in the cook-pot’ style. Again.

“Have you considered alternate forms of preparation?” he asks Andhrímnir.

“Don’t start with that again,” the god-cook replies. “You don’t even know what a fricassee is.”

#dccoldwave #leonard snart #mick rory #my fic #norse mythology #victory at end

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ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is · 7 years

Note

This is the judaism ask anon:) could you help me type Leonard Cohen? CelebTypes has him as an INFJ and while I can see to an extent their reasoning I get kind of an IXFP (INFP, b/c tert Si? Gratuitous Jewish Allusions? Sort of scattered playground of ideas Ne?idk) vibe but I cannot say for sure. Thanks!

I’m no expert on Leonard Cohen but from the songs I know my money is on the Si-Ne axis, or MAYBE Se before Ni:

-Allusions to Jewish stories (Hallelujah)

-Just straight up one of the most famous prayers for the high holidays (Who By Fire)

-Anyone can use allusions, but the borrowing and mixing of mythology always seems very Ne-Si to me (in part because I do it when I write creatively). Think Neil Gaiman’s all myths are true style. Se-Ni is more likely to use a single extended allusion.

-Lots of very clear concrete imagery and recounting intimate details (Everybody Knows, Dress Rehearsal Rag, Famous Blue Raincoat). Famous Blue Raincoat is one of the saddest songs I’ve ever heard and it’s in the form of a letter to a friend with whom he’d had a falling out and it’s very honest and matter of fact - it’s kind of a prose poem - and contains all those concrete events. Dress Rehearsal Rag is about a suicide attempt and it’s bleak as fuck but also focuses on all these sensory surroundings above all.

-He literally wrote a song called Don’t Go Home With Your Hard-on and not that INFJs would never do that, but…It’s not giving me a sense of Ni.

And finally he’s got that very confessional style and so many of his songs are written to people (ie, in the second person), which ironically I seem to see more in Fi users and how they write - as if this is the only way they can communicate what they truly feel.

I don’t know much about about his life and typing someone based on their works can be iffy but I would guess INFP, possibly in Fi-Si loops sometimes (not particularly unusual for someone with diagnosed depression).

To contrast with the Ni-Se axis, I see Bob Dylan as an ISFP example - his metaphorical imagery usually doesn’t draw from a known source (Mr. Jones, Subterranean Homesick Blues ) plus some straight up diatribes (Masters of War).

I didn’t read the CelebrityTypes typing because I didn’t want to just address what they said directly but yeah…I don’t see INFJ. INFJ musicians I know of tend to be more experimental and indirect (Yoko Ono and David Bowie are examples I’ve heard of)

(edited because I originally wrote this on mobile and it was a giant block of text)

#leonard cohen #mbti #asks #answered asks

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theliterateape · 5 years

Text

Farewell to Chicago [1989–2019]

By Don Hall

Thirty years. Almost to the month. Like my ten years with the Chicago Public Schools (closer to nine), my decade in the public radio mines (shy by two months) and my five years hosting The Moth (just short by a month), I’ll round up and if that bothers you, consider yourself a pedant and kin to that fucker who corrects your grammar while in line at a CVS.

No one in Chicago knew a goddamned thing about me on April 7, 1989. I didn’t know anyone in Chicago that day as I drove my blue and grey 1984 Bronco II onto a crowded Lake Shore Drive in Friday afternoon rush hour. Having spent my years growing up jumping from place to place, new wasn’t intimidating but that traffic was something I had yet to encounter. Christ, it took me two days in Chicago to figure out that when other drivers were honking at you, they weren’t waving but flipping you off.

I had no clue on that day that I’d spend the next thirty years of my life in Chicago.

A recitation of accomplishments, jobs, marriages (three), personal and public wars, and lessons learned easy and hard wouldn’t do it justice. I might as well list the cash amounts paid out to rent and utilities. There are, however, moments that help sum up and define what became known as my Chicago.

1989

“Are you the new librarian?”

“No. I’m the music sub but they didn’t have a music position open so I’m being paid as the library sub.”

“Oh. Well, can you bring the book cart to my classroom at 10:45 anyway?”

“Sure.”

“By the way, you know you can’t sleep in your truck in the school parking lot, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. Got it.”

BIG FISH

1990

Marty DeMaat welcomes the Level One students to the Second City Training Program. I look around at the new faces and see Alida Vitas, whom I steamrolled through in our audition scene a few weeks ago. I wave “Hi” and she smiles. Joe Janes is there. He auditioned right after I did so he was in the room during mine. He seems slightly surprised to see me.

“Oh.” he says drily. “They let you in?”

Weeks later, he and I and a cast of other trainees concoct a sketch show entitled “Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman” that we produce in Andersonville later in the year.

1991

“I can’t believe you’ve never had a Lincoln Breakfast,” he mused.

Carey Goldenberg, a Jewish Deadhead who had performed at Second City with Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Dan Castelleneta and was now an eighth grade math teacher, sat down at the booth.

“Try the The Monitor Skillet Eggs.”

“Monitor?”

“Named after an Ironsides ship from the Civil War.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“So what’s the big number for the choir next week?”

“We’re doing a tribute to Journey.”

“And the kids dig it?”

“They love it. It’s all new to them. They think ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ was written with them in mind.”

“It kind of was.”

“Yup.”

“You aren't Going to Tell My Mom, are You?"

1992

Jeff Hoover, Joe Janes and I, sitting in the grass just behind the Chicago History Museum. Each of us have cigars and are smoking them.

Weeks earlier, Jeff and I saw “Cannibal Cheerleaders on Crack” on Broadway and, in a slightly drunken haze, decided we could could probably do better.

“Let’s call Joe,” Hoover slurred, tipping his Modelo just enough to dribble some on his shoes.

In the grass, amidst the stinky clouds of barely smoked Romeo and Juliettas, the three of us decide to start our own theater company. Weeks later, we hold auditions in the Neo-Futurarium and cast Level 6, an ensemble of improvisers and sketch comedians with aspirations of something more.

Peculiar Journeys Ep. 28

1993

From the Chicago Reader when they reviewed shows every week, every show:

A MEAN WATUSI

Level 6 and Free Pickles

at Shay's

Only suckers and wimps do just one show at a time: that seems to be the spirit behind the two new revues being hosted by the comedy group Level 6, and for chutzpah alone they deserve credit. While running their straight improv show A Mean Watusi every Sunday night at Shay's bar, they've also put together a scripted show, Silence of the Frogs, a so-called "nonrevue of unimprovisation," which they perform Wednesday nights. Unfortunately, the young group's ambition has overreached their talents, and what might make a fresh 90-minute show has been inflated into two overlong evenings.

The group's biggest mistake is failing to isolate its real creative strength. In A Mean Watusi Level 6 shows what it does best with new twists on the standard improvisational games and some quick wit. While not all the scenes are winners, the group's good humor and high energy make the clunky moments easier to take.

SILENCE OF THE FROGS

Level 6

at Puszh Studios

In Silence of the Frogs, the creative limitations of Level 6 really begin to show. One would think the luxury of a script would prompt them to weed out some of the dross, but instead their material only seems worse. After an interesting introduction in which actor Don Hall plays a muted trumpet to an audio background of croaking frogs, the show screeches to a halt in the first scene.

Cliched dialogue, nondescript characters, and half-realized situations, the sketches end before anything really happens. To make things worse, Joe Janes's direction is so uncertain that the actors appear uncomfortable as they carry out silly stage business (such as when the workmen begin scrubbing an el platform, a spectacle I have never witnessed in all my years as a commuter).

The rest of the scripted material suffers from the same problems. The choppy structure and uneven quality of material give the revue a sluggish pace that is often hard to follow. While a lack of communication between people seems to be the vague thematic thread, it is never clearly outlined and comes across as a lazy afterthought. The show picks up, though, after Silence of the Frogs, when the group returns to do some improv.

In their press release, the group makes a revealing statement: "In Silence we're out to create good art. That doesn't mean it's not entertaining, it's just not our primary objective." Maybe they should abandon their pretensions and stick to what they're good at. At least in improvisation there's not enough time to think about making good art.

— Tim Sheridan

Government Cheesh

1994

Closing up the band room after teaching from 7:30am til 3:30pm and then having after school band until 5:00pm. One of my students, a drummer, helps put things away.

“What do you do after school, Mr. Hall?”

“Some nights I have shows with my theater company. Other nights I perform improv comedy with ComedySportz.”

“Ain’t you married?”

“I am.”

“Prolly not for long.”

✶

As one gets older it becomes more difficult to make friends. At least that’s been the case for me. In my experience, the friends whom I can say I’ve cemented a lifelong bond with have all come from making art together. Sure, many have come and gone in that theater immediacy of sort of falling in love with each other during the rehearsals and run of the show, the promises to keep in touch after the show closes, only to move on and be friendly acquaintances. Faceborg connections.

Chicago is one of those places in the world, like the bizarre tourist attractions that give power to Gaiman’s American Gods, that draws amazing artists to her embrace. I have met and worked with so many extraordinary humans within the gates of this town it boggles my mind to reflect upon the sheer number. Because art is a dramatic and contentious preoccupation, there are some whom the explosion of ideas and execution burned away from the raw electricity. The burning of those connections are always a bit sad but the celebration is of the creation.

One friendship that has remained intact and with the gravity of true family across my time in Chicago is that which I have with Joe Janes. He and I have been a part of so many artistic experiments — from the early days of Level 6 to the producing of his first full-length play to the spectacle of putting up all 365 sketches he wrote in a year — despite some dark patches and irreconcilable differences along our nearly thirty years, he is the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had. I hope I can convince him to move to Vegas but even if I don’t I will always consider him the best of friends (not to mention one of the kindest humans I’ve ever run across from and the Spock to my Kirk.)

✶

1995

We held a yard sale. We sold bars of chocolate. I managed to snag us an Air Canada sponsorship for ridiculously cheap flights and booked a 17 room three-flat just minutes from the Fringe Central ticket center for around $50.00 per person for the month.

“The Armageddon Radio Hour” and ComedySportz. 26 shows in the month of the largest theater and arts festival in the world. While Chicago roasted that summer, the gang of WNEP Theater performed and saw more awesome, bizarre, experimental stagecraft than we could’ve imagined. We stole so many of those ideas and employed them back in Chicago it is no exaggeration to say that a month at the Edinburgh Fringe is better than a theater degree.

All Sandwiches Matter

1996

Joe Bill (of the Annoyance Theater) and I sit in the court room, waiting for my name to be called. We were there because a few months prior, in an act of guerrilla marketing, I instigated the fly posting of thousands of ‘teaser posters’ for the newest WNEP play and wasn’t smart enough to realize that once we put up the real posters, we’d get busted by the city.

For a few weeks in our little circle of artists and theatergoers, the question was “What the fuck is ‘Metaluna’?” Posters featuring the word and a photo of Sigmund Freud in a slip were plastered everywhere. I had multiple conversations about the mystery always with a smirk in my brain because we were in rehearsals for this ridiculous, massive show that made no sense spawned from the cracked mind of Joe Janes and directed by the equally off-balance Bob Wilson.

Five stages. Two constructed fat suits. Expanding arms. Muttonchops. A theremin. DADA poetry on vaudeville stages. Giant circus-like posters painted by Kevin Colby. It was the most ambitious show we had created to date and caught the eye of Jen Ellison, who after seeing the show, decided she wanted to be the artistic director of the company responsible.

The city fined us $20.00 but warned that they could’ve fined us $10,000. It was not the last time we would come into contention with Chicago but it was definitely the lightest sentence.

In Nonsense Is Strength

1997

Mr. Jose Barrias was the beginning of a trend.

Hired by Sharon Hayes to come in and teach music at District One Middle School, my predominant skill she prized was my tendency to bend both the rules and the expectations placed upon the role of music teacher.

My classroom had no desks or chairs. We had rugs and pillows. We didn’t spend any time learning to play plastic recorders. We listened to and discussed music and musicians and read from my college music history text. I had the HOT ROOM across the hall. I had a wall of gum that the students (not supposed to chew gum in school but did anyway) would add to every day.

In 1996, Sharon left. Barrias was hired. Jose did not appreciate my less than orthodox approach and, while he did his best to get me to follow a more traditional protocol, it didn’t take.

A year later, my teaching career was over. The trend was set — get hired to shake things up creatively, person who hires me leaves, bureaucrat comes in who wants a by-the-book approach, I stay a year longer than I should then split.

Did I Say Hot Room?

1998

“I think I want a divorce. We’ve been this for a while since college and I’m pretty sure you hate Chicago and I love it and we’re both kind of miserable.”

“That’s what my grandma said marriage was.”

“Seriously? I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll probably get a bachelor apartment in a crummy neighborhood, jump right back into another relationship, get marginally suicidal but mom will talk me through it. The theater company will kind of blow up because I’ll spend too much time drinking because the idea of being divorced is a bit intense for me and I’ll be a total fuckwad. We’ll do some shows but I’ll be mailing it in for the most part. It’ll cause a huge rift between Joe and I but we’ll repair it a while later. How about you?”

“I’ll get the fuck out of Chicago, move back to Texas, get remarried, he’ll die a year later but then I’ll meet the man of my dreams, we’ll get married and have two children. Oh, and I’m keeping both the dog and the cat. You can see them on Facebook in ten years.”

1999

FOR WNEP, IT'S `APOCALYPSE' NOT YET

THE FOUR HORSEMEN ARE READY TO RIDE

It was always about Keith Whipple. Sure, we had a massive cast and spent more money on this ridiculous, ambitious monstrosity. Twenty-five working televisions, five VCRs connected, amazing costumes, and a dark satire on Christianity. Cathleen Carr, one of our producers, broke her pelvis during load-in. Joe Kaplan built a set that could actually withstand the apocalypse.

Whipple, however, stood out on Lincoln Avenue before every show improvising riffs on Revelations with a megaphone to an unsuspecting pedestrian audience before crashing the start of the play. He endured eggs thrown at him, physical threats, and the police called on him. And he never once flagged or complained.

✶

The wonderful cesspool that is Chicago holds a special place for the transplant. Sure, there are the diehard Chicago natives, stuck in their neighborhoods and allegiance to their high schools and local digs, but the transplant has this wide open space to navigate. Chicago has been a magical playground, like a hardcore Midwestern Disneyworld with different “lands” to go to and experiment within.

I was always the new kid in school because we moved around a lot. As much as anything else, it is this foundation upon which my many career moves were made while surfing across Lake Michigan’s shores.

Public school music teacher. Off Loop Theater Producer, Director, And Actor. Improvisational Comedian. Playwright. Improv Coach and Teacher. Venue Manager and Landlord. Retail Tobacconist. Massage School Facilities Manager. Public Radio Events Director. NPR House Manager. StorySlam Host. Digital Publisher and Writer. Independent Events Consultant & Producer. Front of House Manager of Millennium Park.

Only in Chicago could I bounce around so sporadically, learning from each experience and growing in my skills. Only in Chicago could I have that many shifts in vocation without adding “Unemployment” or McDonald’s to my resume.

✶

2000

She was both excited and incredulous.

“You signed a lease on a theater?”

“I did. It was about time we had our own clubhouse.”

“Can we afford it?”

“We have to. I mean, we don’t really have a choice now.”

“How much is in the company bank account right now?”

“$18.00.”

“…”

2001

I woke up late. Jen was in the front room. She was crying. I came in and she was staring at the TV. The footage was live and it was off a disaster of some sort in New York. As I sat next to her, neither of us spoke. We sat like that for almost an hour as the non-stop feed kept informing us of the attack.

Later that day, she and I went shopping for props for her one-woman show that was in tech rehearsals. We went to a vintage toy store on Broadway. The streets were mostly deserted.

Later, I started getting emails and phone calls from the cast and crew of “Lives of the Monster Dogs” and “Soiree DADA.” We were scheduled to open the Monster Dog play on September 12. We had a DADA show that night. What were we going to do? Should we cancel the DADA? Should we postpone the play?

Jen was of no help. So I decided. I sent out an email to everyone in the theater company. If people felt strongly enough that they couldn’t perform, that was fine but we would do the shows despite the attack. We would do what we do. We would entertain as best we could.

I’ll never forget Bob Wilson, in full DADA costume, reading the ending monologue from The Armageddon Radio Hour and sending chills throughout the room.

2002

I lived across the street from our theater which meant I was on call whenever any one of the thirteen shows per week was running

A random Friday night. A midnight show by a renting organization. I’m in the back, watching to make sure everything is copacetic. I notice a guy, solo, in the back row. He’s jerking himself off. No one else in the audience or onstage is the wiser.

“Yo. You get two choices, bub. Unclench your pud and quietly get the fuck out of my theater or continue to choke it as I drag your ass out of here by your hair. Choose now.”

Just a day in the life.

Nothing is Sacred. Not Even You

2003

I was upstairs when I got the call. The DoR was downstairs. They wanted to see our Public Place of Amusement license. “It’s on the wall. In the nice frame.” Three minutes later, the phone rang again. There was a problem. I threw on my pants and came downstairs.

The next morning, the Sun-Times ran a short story about the DoR sweep of six or seven small, Off Loop theaters that had been shut down due to licensing violations. We were among the list. Adding insult to injury, our theater was saddled with the only full paragraph and quote, saying that our license had been forged. I called to see what they were talking about. I called my landlords who didn’t return my calls. I called the League of Chicago Theaters and was told they couldn’t help us because it was reported that we — I — had forged the license.

Outside, there was a huge red sticker on our place — CEASE AND DESIST. We were being shuttered. I spoke to an attorney and was cautioned about what I might say to the press. “Don’t piss these people off. Play nice.” I was told. So when I was interviewed for the Reader, I played nice. When I was interviewed on WBEZ, I played nice. I’m not particularly good at playing nice, at watching what I say. And it made me seem guilty. The expectation of those around me was that I wouldn’t sit still for this. That, if I were in the right, I would tear off my shirt, march down to City Hall and raise bloody fucking hell. A natural born brawler, I tried to dance the political Foxtrot.

Three of my best friends — who had stood up with me at my wedding — became convinced that I had, indeed, forged the license. That, while they were performing shows, I was out in a back alley, selling forged documents to strangers using Photoshop and a color printer so kids could get into bars and underage girls could get abortions. They started working with the landlords to transfer the lease to a member of our Board who was ALSO a member of a theater company that had also been shut down.

My books were audited. Every dime, every receipt. It was concluded that everything was kosher — that there was no malfeasance. In fact, it was this audit that uncovered the fact that I had “donated” over $35,000 of my own money over three years to keep the place afloat. But, said my friends, I was pretty clever and could have figured out how to cook the books ahead of time. In the span of a month, I had gone from the guy who made sure the stage was painted and the lights worked to a criminal mastermind. It was like Kafka.

At a meeting of the majority of the 48 members and associates of the theater, I broke down in tears. I felt trapped and maligned. The tears were hot and angry and impotent. I was failing on an epic scale and could not find a way to make things right. The Three Groomsmen had successfully negotiated the transfer of the lease to the other theater behind my back; it was up to us whether or not we wanted to try to fight it out. We didn’t because I didn’t.

Getting Up the Eighth Time

2004

From the New York Times (top of fold on the cover of the Arts Section in the print version):

“John Huston's ''Let There Be Light'' (1946), a meticulously shot government-sponsored documentary that presented psychiatrists curing World War II veterans of mental ailments with such absurd quickness that many suspected it was rehearsed, now appears like more of a piece of propaganda for Freudian psychoanalysis than for the United States military.

Jen Ellison and Dave Stinton's adaptation of this fascinating movie, which was banned by the United States for over three decades, is one of the most curious shows in this year's fringe festival. It's a staged version of a documentary that may have been staged itself. Instead of commenting on or contextualizing the material, the creators of the play, which concentrates on four of the soldiers, play the material as straight as if it were a kitchen-sink drama. While the style can be stiff, the sensitive actors playing the soldiers -- Peter James Zielinski, Peter De Giglio, Chad Reinhart and James Yeater -- manage to tease emotional depth and nuance out of their thinly drawn parts.

Still, the show's optimism about the government's treatment of its veterans is jarring, especially when compared with more cynical recent moves like ''Born on the Fourth of July'' or ''The Manchurian Candidate.'' It's almost comic when Cpl. Joe Hardy (Mr. Reinhart) regains the feeling in his legs after a few moments of hypnosis.

Ms. Ellison and Mr. Stinson seem to acknowledge this anachronism in their one major departure from the film -- Mr. Zielinski's sensitive and beautifully realized portrayal of a depressed grunt who never recovers from an unspecified psychological sickness. He adds a dour tone to the drama, reminding us that the talking cure has its limitations.”

2005

One fall day, I substitute taught at a school in Humboldt Park. It is a neighborhood filled with culture and vibrancy but is one of those in Chicago left mostly out of the resources loop but I discovered that I am, as a teacher at least, at my absolute best when working in the classic "troubled inner-city school" filled with kids who America has chosen to leave behind.

I bopped around the school in the early morning, providing prep periods for fourth and sixth grade teachers - strictly high priced babysitting. Then I landed in Room 102. Seventh Grade Science. For the rest of the day.

Most teachers I know fear nothing more than seventh and eighth grade. The kids are just swimming in the chemical dump of their overloaded hormones and their emotions and bodies are careening at a breakneck pace without the experience to guide it away from the fourth turn wall. I love this age. They crack me up; every time I work with them I have new stories to tell and feel like I successfully navigated a rudderless boat through the most violent of storms and lived to tell about it. (Jesus - a NASCAR metaphor and a sailing metaphor in one paragraph - what you got to say to me now, motherfucker?)

The day was interesting. I had enough time during the day to talk to a couple of the teachers, all of whom looked tired and stretched a bit too thin and who spoke in the slow, hushed tones of the shellshocked. They told me of the gentrification on either side of the local neighborhood and the resulting dramatic rise in drug dealers and gangs in their school over the past few years. They quietly railed against the sense of entitlement their students were trained to have in an environment that dictates that teachers could not punish children in nearly any way whatsoever for increasingly violent behavior - the idea that flunking, suspending, or holding back a kid who has no perceived use for school in the first place is like fighting a wooly mammoth with a loaf of bread. While the kids were away, they would talk with a worn but slightly amused look on their faces which immediately hardened into a disgusted scowl as soon as any kid appeared.

Excerpts of my day include:

"I forgot to tell you," I gleefully stopped the class in the mid-riot of getting prepared to switch classes. "Look at this look on my face." I deadpanned. "It says 'I don't care.' You say you absolutely have. to go to the washroom or you'll die and you must have your friend with you? 'I don't care.' Your friend jabbed you in the eye and you can't see? 'I don't care.' Your teacher said that you sit in the corner with six others while 'doing your science' together? 'I don't care.'" "You say you need to KNOW something or are looking to LEARN something? Then I care."

"Mr. Hall, why are you so happy?" "Because teaching you guys is like a day at the zoo! And who doesn't like the zoo?"

"Pardon me. (a beat) Excuse me. (a beat) I need your attention! (a beat) I don't want to yell over you, folks. (a beat) Excuse me! (a beat) GOOD GOD - THE SKY! LOOK AT THE SKY!! OK, listen up really quickly -" "Mr. Hall - you're weird."

At one point, I run into Antoine. Antoine is a 15-year old, six-foot-three inch, drug dealer's son. He is a huge white kid who somewhere along the line decided he would mimic a stereotyped black kid. He is in the behavior disorder class and, according to his teachers, pretty much has the run of the school. He is what most teachers know to be a hopeless case - no pragmatic use for education, no respect for any adults except those that can pummel him, and the realization that nothing, absolutely nothing can be done to him until he's eighteen.

He came in during a class switch and was chatting up one of the girls. I had no idea he wasn't supposed to be there and was actually mystified that he simply would not shut up for me (I'm actually pretty good at that sort of thing). He literally acted as if I wasn't there. After ten minutes of attempting to explain the science lesson (Matter, Mass, Volume, and Density), he gets up and makes for the door. I intercept.

"Where are you going, Antoine?"

"This ain't my class."

"Then why have you been here for ten minutes?"

"Ah bumbbges digghuff chaetky mumblemumblemumble...."

"What?"

"Nothin. Get out my way."

"How about we wait for the security guard to swing by and take you to the class you're supposed to be in - I don't get a thrill at the prospect of you roaming the hall freely."

"What?" He tries to shove me out of the way of the door, getting right up in my face. "Don't you lay your hands on me!"

This is a trick. Antoine knows that this is the phrase that freezes the blood in most teachers' hearts. In a time where parents file lawsuits against teachers for failing grades, the stigma attached to a corporal punishment charge is career suicide.

"I didn't lay a hand on you, Antoine. In fact, it was you who laid your hands on me. We now have two choices." I get quiet enough for only Antoine to hear. "We can wait for the guard to come by and pick you up and escort you out of here so I can teach some seventh grade science. Or. I'm gonna beat the crap out of you and then have you arrested for assault. Make your choice."

His face reflects a number of conflicting emotions and finally he flashes a shit-eating grin and asks, "We cool. right?"

It turns out that the kids don't really care much for Antoine. They're afraid of him. The teachers are, too. I think it's a shame that things have come to this - it's only October. The atmosphere for the rest of the day slows down to a mere category 2 hurricane and the day breezes by.

✶

In thirty years, I’ve lived in a lot of the neighborhoods in the city. Again, in the laundry list version:

Edgewater Rogers Park Bridgeport Lakeview Avondale Northcenter Portage Park Bucktown Uptown Wicker Park

Every neighborhood has its own flavor and people and businesses. The cornucopia of experiences based entirely upon your immediate surroundings is extraordinary. All of it connected by the train (and busses if you go to where their are fewer rich, white people...)

The best part? Local businesses. My guess is that Vegas will be populated more with chain restaurants, bookstores, etc. It is the local dives and boutiques and coffee shops that make Chicago one of the most amazing places on Earth.

My Chicago is:

The Lincoln Restaurant Haymarket Pub & Brewery The Green Mill The Metro Chicago Comix The Athenaeum Old Town Tobacco Bang Bang Pies The Red Lion Victory Gardens Theater at The Biograph Quenchers The NeoFuturarium G Man Tavern Smoke BBQ The Chopin Theatre Pequod’s Pizza Easy Bar Uncharted Books The Music Box Theatre Empty Bottle Lem’s BBQ Dollop Coffee Black Dog Gelato

Sure there are more but I’m old and can’t remember everything. Calm down.

✶

2006

“Did you hear that Hall kicked Bernie Sahlins out of the Athenaeum lobby last night?”

“What? Why?”

“One of his Chicago Improv Festival stage managers pulled the lights on some Los Angeles group because they were going way over time and Sahlins lost it. Found Don and tried to dress him down in front of a crowd getting tickets. Hall stood by his stage manager and Bernie was not having that. Finally, he snapped an told him to get his old motherfucking ass out of the theater.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, Pitts got heavy pressure from Second City so he had to fire Don.”

“He’s been with CIF for, what, five years?”

“Not any more.”

2007

“Can I ask you a question I’m not legally supposed to ask? You seem like you’d be alright with it but I want to check.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re twenty years older than every other applicant for this job. Why do you want it?”

I laugh. “First, I like Wait Wait...Don’t Tell Me!” Second, I like NPR and WBEZ. Third, if I do a great job house managing for peanuts, maybe you decide to offer me a full time gig.”

Four months later, he offered the full time gig.

2008

“Are you Jackie’s son? She’s right. You got fat.”

Betrayal in Tornado Alley

2009

Monday morning at WBEZ. Eighteen voicemails. Not so many until you understand that the outgoing message specifically instructs people to NOT leave voice messages and that these eighteen recordings were from the same person.

“Hello! My name is [REDACTED] and I’m here to see “Wait Wait...Don’t Tell Me!” I have a ticket and I’m at the Chase Bank but I can’t find the auditorium. Can someone call me back?” - “Hello. [REDACTED] again. I’m wandering around the bank and no one seems to know where the show is being taped. Please call me back. I don’t want to miss a minute!” - “I’m in my car right now and I can hear that you’ve started the show! Where am I supposed to go? There are no signs and nothing on the ticket page. Where are you?” - “Goddamn it! I can HEAR THE SHOW RIGHT NOW! LISTEN! Someone needs to call me right the fuck now or I’m going to lose it!”

This went on for an hour, all the way up to voicemail number seventeen which was apoplectic. Voicemail number eighteen was the next day, Sunday.

“Hello. This [REDACTED] and I am so sorry I left all of those messages. Oh my. I’m so embarrassed. My husband pointed out to me that the ticket to your show was for Thursday night, not Saturday morning. I’m so used to hearing it on Saturday, I thought... Well, you can guess what I thought. Please accept my apologies.”

I called her back and gave her tickets to the following Thursday. VIP. But only if I could tell the story.

2010

For part of 2008 and all of 2009, Jen worked with a team of nineteen writers on a project that involved them writing short one-act plays or scenes inspired by the artwork of Edward Hopper.

Following the divorce and her resignation from WNEP Theater, these writers came at me.

“Are we going to do anything with these pieces or was it all just wasted time?”

So I hunkered down, stitched together 24 scenes to create a ridiculously huge theater piece, cast 18 actors, 4 understudies, booked the Storefront Theater on Randolph Street, and hired a few brilliant designers

It was the last show I produced for WNEP. It was the last theater piece I directed for WNEP. Unbeknownst to me, included in the sold out run’s audience were Jen and her new husband, Lois Weisberg, the acting Chairs of the MCA, The Art Institute and the Driehaus Museum, and a woman who hadn’t been in Chicago for very long but heard about the show and came with a friend. This mystery woman also went to the play’s off-night series and reconnected with her college roommate, Scott Whitehair.

Four years later, I’d marry her in Las Vegas.

2011

“There’s no electricity in this warehouse.”

“What? It’s 4:30am. Why are you calling me?”

“The warehouse where I’m supposed to set up the movies, the spoken word, the B-Boy/B-Girl Dance Battles? I have no electricity and the door between spaces is welded shut.”

“The Block Party starts at noon. It’s 20 below zero. What are you going to do?”

“I suppose I’ll find an old breaker box that seems to still be connected to juice and try to hotwire it. I’ll electrocute myself the first time and my fingers will turn black from it. The second try will knock me unconscious for around seven minutes and make my mouth taste like pennies. The third time — because I’m both tenacious and stupid — will work. Though later tonight when I get home, my feet will be bizarrely bruised and look like dark purple beets with toes.”

“Oh. Good plan.”

“Breeze?”

“Yeah?”

“WBEZ doesn’t pay me enough.”

2012

“Your story was amazing. We loved it. We wanted to know if you were interested in hosting the story slam at Haymarket?”

“Hosting? Why not have Tyler do it?”

“He’s the producer. We love him but he’s not really host material.”

“Yeah. OK. Sounds good.”

The back room at the Haymarket Pub & Brewery is packed to the point that people are sitting on the floor. Tyler introduces me with platitudes about being the House Manager for WWDTM — it’s a touchpoint the largely NPR crowd can cheer.

“According to the legend, The American feud begin over notches on the ears of a hog Exchanges of retribution from this humiliating start Gaining traction to equal the obsession of two warring families

The thirst for vengeance, once fomented Is unquenchable, irresistible, all-consuming The Klingons say revenge is a dish best served cold But most of the meal involves the heat of righteous anger.

Someone became stridently political Someone else cheated with your boyfriend Yet another spread rumors about you There is no end to the razor-sharp slights you have endured. Time slipping through your fingers, wasted on rage That thing that got the revenge ball rolling Lost in a cacophony of calls for justice and "It's not right"

Revealed to be, in the end, nothing more than notches on a hog's ear.

Tonight’s theme is GRUDGE. Welcome to The Moth!

Like a Burning Moth Without a Clue as to How He Caught on Fire: A Collection of Word Jazz

Of The Seven, Americans Suffer Sloth More Than the Other Six

✶

The act of reflection upon a thirty year period forces perspective. In writing this, one of the choices to make has been to determine which moments are worth hanging onto and which ones are better left erased. Sure, these erased moments are still visible but like a heavily used white board, the remnants of the words are almost scrubbed off, slightly visible but unimportant.

The odd, highly passionate fights that occurred are not limited to one or two years but peppered throughout like scars that look like faces if you squint. The betrayals are lower in volume, a tune you remember from way back when but can’t quite recall the lyrics. The specifics and details behind divorces and other failed relationships might be juicy in that Buzzfeed sort of view but aren’t truly relevant.

I scaled a mountain and, during the journey, broke few bones, got hypothermia, and lost some of my equipment but no one wants to hear the tale of those things but rather the feeling of epic transformation that such a path includes. I’ll not use my platform for therapy, gang.

I know people who tend to stare back into the rear view mirror and wax nostalgic as if the best times (or worst) are behind them. I am not one of those people. What’s past informs the navigation but does not determine the destination. I have very few regrets and I think that’s the best way to live.

✶

2013

“You were involved with the Global Activism Expo?”

“Yeah. I produced it.”

“The 5K Fun Run with Peter Sagal?”

“Produced it.”

“The Chicago Chef Battle at Kendall College? The WBEZ Day of Service? The Winter Block Party for Chicago’s Hip Hop Arts? The Year in Review at Park West? The Sound Opinions Summer BBQ?”

“Produced them all.”

“Did you have a favorite?”

“Oh yeah. The Richard Steele Holiday Party at House of Blues with featured performers Billy Bragg and the Sons of the Blues. That was seriously one of the highlights of the year.”

2014

“Hey. How about you shut the fuck up?”

Three dates later.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

How to Jump Out of a Plane and Survive

2015

Along the road, there was General Admission. It was a WBEZ podcast co-hosted by my Events Assistant and myself. We interviewed local artists as well as a handful of national talents (including Kate Mulgrew, Steven Yuen, Taylor Mac, and, of course, Henry Rollins.) A true highlight of 2015 was getting to sit down with a personal hero of mine, Chuck Palahniuk, and ask him questions. The interviews for these are long since deleted but the memories remain.

Half a Century

2016

A meeting at the bar below my apartment. Commiseration over the online trolling I’d endured from unfriending a psychopath and her army of aggrieved idiots. A pitch — how about an online magazine? Something cool and interesting and featuring all kinds off writing? Something that Himmel could sink his own Angry White Guy voice into like a fetid beef sandwich with so much mustard it covered up the gristle and the rot?

“Well, I’ve recently updated my 10-year blog (Angry White Guy in Chicago) to something less Trump-centric sounding. I’m calling it Literate Ape. Whaddya think?”

“Sounds perfect.”

2017

“In the nearly five years I've hosted The Moth (58 regular slams, 8 Grand slams and nearly 700 stories in that time) I've had a real ball.

I started every single slam with the admonition that while we are each snowflakes, unique in every way with our individual crystalline natures, we are all just made of fucking snow. With the onslaught of identity politics and partisan bickering, I hope that is something people remember.

I closed every single slam with a quote: "If you want to change the world, have a meal with someone who doesn't look like you." - Chef Coco Winbush.”

Farewell to The Moth

”In parting ways, I can say that my decade working for WBEZ, Vocalo, and especially NPR's Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me! was thrilling, challenging, inspiring and worth every moment. I got to watch Obama's first speech as president on multiple televisions in a bona fide newsroom. I got to meet Michael Moore, Denis Leary, speak to Bill Clinton and hang out with Tom Hanks. I produced events for as many as 5,000 people (as well as had a hand in producing a record-breaking performance of WWDTM at Millennium Park for 17,000 people). I produced events at the House of Blues, Victory Gardens, Adler Planetarium, Metro Chicago, City Winery, Chicago History Museum, Chopin Theater and hundreds of other excellent venues.

I was there to assist in orchestrating the 10th Anniversary of WWDTM at Adler Planetarium. I was there for Carl Kassell's final show in D.C. I directed Ira Glass, Scott Simon and Peter Sagal in a gala performance. I have been privileged to work with Bill Kurtis. I got to throw Richard Steele and Claude Cunningham their retirement parties. Winter Block Parties with YCA, New Year's Eve Parties with The Moth, Pi Day, the brilliant town hall meetings for the Race Out Loud series. Jim and Greg of Sound Opinionswith Frankie Knuckles on the MCA stage. Drive-In movies in West Chicago. 5K Runs with Peter Sagal. Running front of house for WWDTM with Kate Kinser by my side almost every single night. Laughing and planning things with the amazing Vanessa Harris.

The list of amazing experiences and incredible people is a bit mind-boggling in hindsight. And Good Christ, the Pledge Drives..“

Farewell to the Public Radio Mines

2018

“In the park, there is only one we, the collective patronage of the thousands of multicultural Homo sapiens gathered to hear an orchestra or a jazz ensemble or the blues or a rock band. It is a larger and more lovely we and, therefore, a stronger foundation from which to find solutions to the seemingly insurmountable obstacles to society.”

All the World’s a Stage and Identity is Just Another Costume

“"Tiffany to Don."

The terrible analogue radio crackles in my left ear.

"This is Don. Go."

I'm on the southwest end of the park. It's hot. Really hot. Hot enough that one begins to question the sanity of standing out here, wearing all black, amidst 11,000 people listening to a world-class orchestra play Tchaikovsky. Tiffany is one of my 50 ushers. She has encountered an older couple who came out to the park to hear the music yet hadn't really thought through the difficulties of being post-70 years of age in heat that can only be described as Global Warming Hot as Balls HOT. The gentlemen is so overheated that he can no longer walk. They need a wheelchair.

"Copy that. I'm on my way."

I walk quickly to the Welcome Center on Randolph, check out a wheelchair, then navigate the unwieldy thing through throngs of casual walkers around to the east side of the the stage. It takes me around eight minutes and I'm sweating like I'd been in the volcano room at King Spa. The old man sits in the chair after navigating the fear of just falling on his ass while sitting down. They need to go to their car in the parking garage.

Tiffany shrugs. "I don't drive. I don't know the parking garage."

"I got it," I say with a forced smile.

I wheel the man and his wife through the bowels of the building. We get to the elevator and they can't quite remember what floor they parked on. They left their ticket in the car. We sit for a moment, as the garage is huge and the prospect of finding their vehicle with no concept of even what floor (of the seven levels) it is on is an impossible task.

"It's on three." "How sure are you?" "I'm pretty sure it's on three."

We go to three. No idea what section (3A? 3B? 3C? Jesus Christ…) they give me a description of the car and a license plate number and we set out through each aisle, each row, looking for the car. Thirty-five minutes later — with frequent radio calls for assistance that I direct while seeking an end to the labyrinthian journey I'm on — I spy their ride. They are relieved and thrilled. So am I.

The wife wants to tip me and offers me a dollar. I politely decline and send them on their way. I return just as the concert ends and just in time to set up the two recycling bins in the arcade for the ushers to dispose of the now outdated programs leftover from the weekend.”

Managing a House for 50,000 People

2019

Seven weeks. 2019 in Chicago has been spent doing side gigs, hanging out with people who have meant something to me in the past thirty years, and driving to old neighborhoods and reflecting upon the time here.

My last night in Chicago is spent on the Haymarket Pub & Brewery stage doing BUGHOUSE! And drinking myself stupid on Mathias Ale.

✶

And that, as they say, is that.

If you made it all the way down to this sentence and clicked enough half of the links, I applaud you. Writing this freaking tome took me most of the final seven weeks and occupied more of my brain space than most things I can recall. I’ve spent the entirety of my adult life in Chicago, a feat that I could never have predicted in 1989.

Chicago has shaped me, taking the doughy calzone that crashed upon the shores of Lake Michigan and baking me until I was a golden brown with tons of gooey melted cheese and some questionable meat product. While not born here, I can and do call myself a native. A Chicagoan.

Certainly, I won’t miss the weather — I’m quite certain there is no such thing as dibs or a viable need for shoveling and salting your walk in Las Vegas. There will be things I will be happy to shed my daily grind of: the incredibly high cost of living, the taxes, the corrupt government, the fucking parking issues, the baked-in tribal mentality of neighborhood cultures, the extreme segregation, the crap school system. Dana and I are riding the crest of a wave of deserters as Chicago continues to bleed residents like she goes through restaurants.

I will, however, miss the grit of the people. I’ll miss the almost blissfully ignorant pride in the city. I’ll miss the transit system that binds us together like arteries and the theater and spoken word scene that blossoms even under the auspices of the interminable social justice rage profiteers. I’ll miss my friends especially those who have stood by through good times and harsh times and, while always challenging me, never gave up on me either. Just like the city.

There is so much I did not include in this Dear John letter it’s hard to fathom but that’s the nature of something like this. Plenty left out but always stuck to me.

Just like the city.

#thirty years #Farewell to Chicago #memories

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