#ray stanford winter

[nevarroes]

a ray because i like drawing him :)

#art #art tag #Illustration #digital art #character art #oc #oc art #ray winter #ray stanford winter #portrait #idk i tried to fix face proportions for like 2 hours and its still not fine but like. whatever

[an-olive-crown-blog]

THE A TO Z OF RYAN FLYNN

a.d.d. // you don’t get diagnosed with a.d.d. until you’re in the fourth grade. you’ve always know how smart you were, but translating the things going on in your brain into being a productive student caused you to struggle. your classmates always just assuemd you were stupid - the class clown who sat in the back and made the other students laugh. it was a role you happily slipped in to; even after the diagnosis. 

boston // it’s always been boston or bust for you. you didn’t grow up that far outside of the city but there was never a place in the world that felt as much home to you as boston does. you live and die by this city.

chinook // she’s named after a strain of hops - because of course you would do something like that. she’s the light of your life, the center of your world, the best brewery dog to ever grace the earth. she’s a swiss mountain dog; big, slobbery, and full of love. your girlfriend hates it, but she sleeps in the bed, nestled down by your legs. no amount of fighting will ever change this.

david ortiz // he’s a legend in boston and as a die hard red sox fan you almost crap your pants when you think you see him sitting at the bar in strip by strega on arlington. it doesn’t turn out to be him, though, even after you’ve made a spectacular ass out of yourself in front of your date. you don’t get a kiss at the end of the night, not the you were expecting one after the noise that came out of your mouth when you first thought it was big papi sitting three bar stools away.

exeter street // the last time you see olivia she’s outside of her hotel, clambering into a cab that’s idling on the curb of exeter street. you thought that seeing her after all these years would be fine, that you were over it. it was just coffee, for crying out loud. but she’s leaving again, back to the new life she made for herself in california. there was supposed to be closure but not it just feels like you’ve ripped the bandaid off the bullet wound she left in your heart. 

forward // hockey has always had a presence in your life, as it does for most guys who grow up in new england. you’ve been going to bruins games since you’ve been old enough not to cry about the noise or the cold. you’ve even worn your own sweater in highschool as a forward. you were good, but not great. a career in the NHL was certainly never in your future. but now that you’re older you appreciate it more; appreciate the fact that getting your ass up on sunday mornings to play as a forward for the beer league is important to your health (no matter how much your achy body says otherwise come monday morning). 

griffin’s wharf brewing // you go through name after name after name before you find one by mistake. griffin’s whart if the supposed site of the boston tea party, an integral part of the history of the city that you love so much. when you come across this fact in a book, it doesn’t take much convincing for your partner to agree that it’s the perfect name for the brewery you’re planning on opening. 

harvard // it was silly, ridiculous to think that you could be a harvard man. but it was what was expected of you - to attend your father’s alma mater, to get a degree in chemistry. but school was never easy for you, and while the classes you take aren’t hard, you can’t help but dig yourself so far into a hole that there’s no way out. you drop out at the end of junior year, just one year shy of graduation. looking back, you can boil it all down to self-sabotage. 

isla // everyone says that she should have been the first child, and honestly, you can’t help but agree. she’s two years younger than you but she’s always had her shit together, has always known where she was going in life and how she was getting there. she exudes what you’d expect from the oldest sibling while you’ve always flown by the seat of your pants. no one ever believes it when you say that you’re the older sibling. 

january // there’s new england blood running through your veins, a fact you can’t deny. there’s something peaceful about the cold of winter; when it reaches it’s peak right at the end of january, your favorite month. the city bustles along as usual, but there’s a quieter quality about it that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

kayaking // it’s one of the few things you love about summer, when the city is sticky and hat and ridiculously overpacked with tourists. the charles is actually nice when you’re on the water when in comparison to when you’re on the esplanade. it’s quieter, too, especially if you go in the morning before the sailing academy starts it’s lessons for all those privileged children of beacon hill. 

loan // you’re well versed in the world of loans - you’ve got a mountain of them from those unfinished years at harvard. but this is different. this loan, a business loan, could make or break you depending on what the bank says. there’s a fledgling, fragile dream you’ve concocted of owning a brewery and it’s the only thing you’ve ever felt so sure of over the course of your entire life (save for maybe one other thing, a girl named olivia, but that’s nothing more than a pipe dream at this point). when the bank gets back to you and agrees to the loan, it’s the only time you’ve ever cried tears of relief. 

massachusetts avenue // the location couldn’t be better - a refurbished building on mass ave in central square. it’s technically not in boston, like you’d originally wanted, but the rent is cheap and the space is good. central square is up and coming, anyway, bustling with hip college students and young professionals. it’s the perfect place for a brewery. 

newton, massachusetts // it’s a nice town, you can admit now that you’re older. you can’t really complain about the life you had growing up there because it was a good childhood. it was every suburban cliche you can think of, but it was your parents dream. and while you don’t necessarily share that dream with them - the white picket fence one - it really wasn’t such a bad place to grow up. 

olivia // she may be the only girl you’ve ever really loved. she was the big one, the epic love of your life. you’ll never admit it out loud, but it’s not like you have to. anyone close enough to you knows the damage that was done when she left for stanford and you stubbornly refused to follow her. there’s been an aching in your heart ever since. 

patriots // you aren’t as big of a patriots fan as you are a fan of the red sox, but there’s no denying that your blood runs navy and red. you are a walking, talking new england cliche, but there is nothing quite like shotgunning beers to stay warm in the parking lot of the stadium in foxboro.

quincy market // it’s the only part of the city that you truly detest and avoid as much as possible. it’s too touristy, too filled with people walking slow and doing what’s expected of them while visiting boston. the only time you ever go is in the dead of winter, when the big christmas tree is all lit up and beautiful in the middle of the marketplace. 

red sox // you’ve been going to games since you were too little to remember. there’s a familiarity about fenway; the green monster, the cold beer in flimsy plastic cups. you were there when they broke the curse in 2004 and won the world series, and while you don’t get to go to as many games as you’d like anymore, there’s a calender hung on the fridge of your apartment with the season schedule. 

simcoe hops // the first beer you ever sell to your first customer - your first real customer, who isn’t in any way, shape, or form, related to you or your partner - is made with simcoe hops. it’s one of your early favorites - dry hopped and earthy with fruity finishing notes. it quickly goes on to be one of the breweries most popular beers. 

thirsty scholar // you meet olivia at the bar in inman square as a sophomore with a fake ID. you don’t even know why you’ve strayed so far from the usual bars in harvard square, but when you lock eyes with her from across the dimly lit bar, you feel like the stars have aligned. like every decision you’ve ever made in life has led to this one moment in time (in a dirty, college bar of all places). 

urban legends // it’s a weird quirk, even for you. you’re very scientific minded - logical, analytical, quick to solve puzzles and rational, above all else. you can’t seem to define what the draw of urban legends are or why they are so enticing to you, but they are. you collect them, catalogue them in your brain. for every place you’ve ever visited, there’s some obscure urban legend you’ve researched and recited, much to the chagrin of your friends. 

verb hotel // it’s tucked behind fenway, not even really that from where you live. the sushi bar on the first floor is one of your favorite haunts. it’s always packed and busy, brimming with the after-work crowd and tourists. it’s a good place to people watch and the sushi isn’t half bad, so when you feel like you need to get out of the apartment but that you want to be alone, you always find yourself ending up here, even if you didn’t mean to. 

wonderland t stop // you take the blue line all the way out to wonderland. normally you wouldn’t be caught dead in revere but there’s a peacefullness on the beach that’s right down the street from the t stop. sometimes you just need to breath in that salt air, feel the sand beneath your toes. sometimes you need a break from the suffocation of the city. 

xfinity center // it’s a hike to get to mansfield from boston but when you’re young and carefree you don’t mind. you’ve seen dozens of concerts at the ampitheatre, and were there in 2003 when pearl jam played the longest set they’ve ever done. there’s memories tucked away in the back of your mind of piling into cars with all your friends and olivia and making the trek down. 

yellow // it’s the color of the mug that olivia gets you for the last birthday you two celebrate together. yellow, with black writing that reads ‘i am a ray of fucking sunshine’. you still have it, tucked way in the back of your kitchen cabinet, one of the few remaining reminders of your time together. 

zombies // it’s childish, maybe, but you’ve always loved a good zombie move. it doesn’t matter what kind (although comedic are your favorite). every year on halloween you sit down and force your loved ones to watch shaun of the dead with you. it’s tradition, and not one you’re likely to break any time soon. 

#gravityrp #this took....way longer than anticipated lmao #ch: ryan

[seattlegrace-rpg]

Name: Dr. Lena Larson Age: 32 Occupation: Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery FC: Katie McGrath

Biography:

(*please note: biography of Lena Luthor of DC Universe/Supergirl on The CW modified to a real world scenario.*)

Lena’s earliest memories are bits and pieces of a mother she never got to know, and an orphanage in Ireland, before she was plucked from it by Lionel Larson. Whisked back to the United States and told that this was her new family, the memories of a brunette woman singing her to sleep began to fade away, as she learned how to be the daughter Lionel and Lilian Larson wanted. It was made clear to her early on by her adoptive mother that she was different. The young girl’s high intellect and wit was never enough to impress her new mother, who clearly favored her son, Lex. Lionel was often away on business to run the family’s large research corporation, bringing home tons of money that supported the family, leaving Lena to Lilian’s devices. While Lilian was unimpressed with her, her big brother adored her. As she grew up, Lena began to realize that her family was different. She was often told not to play with certain kids at school, was only allowed to have very specific friends. She was taught to judge people based on their intelligence, social status, and the color of their skin; and when she rejected the teachings, Lilian pushed her further away.

Lena graduated from her Irish Boarding High School right before her fifteenth birthday, and moved back to the United States, where she lived at home, and began taking classes at Stanford. That winter, her whole life was upended when, shortly after Lionel’s untimely death, Lex entered an inner-city school and opened fire. Twenty-nine people were dead, including twenty-six children. And during the trial that happened in the aftermath, she realized the truth: the big brother that she’d once loved, the one ray of light she’d had in this family, had been just like their parents: a White Supremacist, that with the help of Lilian, had planned to go in that school, kill those kids.

With Lex and Lilian in high security prison and Lionel dead, Lena was left with a company that was the legacy of a family she hated herself for being a part of. On her sixteenth birthday, just days after the conclusion of the trial, she emancipated herself, liquidated the company, donated large sums of the money to charity, and moved across the country. At Dartmouth College, she completed both an undergraduate degree and medical school in 5 years, before moving to Minnesota, where she completed a surgical internship, residency, and fellowship at the Mayo Clinic. During her residency, she quickly proved herself as a skilled, brilliant surgeon. The harder she worked, the more she distanced herself from the legacy her family had left behind. A cardiothoracic surgeon that had two Harper Avery’s to her name before completing a fellowship, Dr. Lena Larson is highly regarded and sought after. She’s coming back to the US from Ireland at the request of Dr. Richard Webber to take over the cardiothoracic department at Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital.

Status: This character is

OPEN/TAKEN/RESERVE

#taken #tf #attending

[westsidestoryismylife-blog]

West Side Story is set in the mid 1950's, when many Puerto Ricans moved to NYC. The Jets are from Manhattan. They have ruled their "turf" for years, after defeating the Emeralds. The Sharks are from Puerto Rico. They have just recently come to NY, and want a "turf" of their own.

Who wrote West Side Story:

West Side Story is based on a conception by Jerome Robbins. Book by Arthur Laurents Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim Music by Leonard Bernstein Entire Original Production Directed and Choreographed by Jerome Robbins Orchestrations by Leonard Bernstein with Sid Ramin and Irwin Kostal Film Version: Directed by: Robert Wise & Jerome Robbins Screenplay: Ernest Lehman Choreography: Jerome Robbins

When was West Side Story written:

Jerome Robbins' proposed the idea for writing a musical based on Romeo and Juliet to Leonard Bernstein in January of 1949 (working title: East Side Story, set in the slums at the coincidence of Easter-Passover celebrations). In August of 1955, a meeting with Arthur Laurents produced another idea -- two teen-age gangs as the warring factions, one of them newly-arrived Puerto Ricans, the other self-styled "Americans." In November, 1955 Stephen Sondheim joined the project as lyricist. A year and a half later, rehearsals began for the Broadway premiere of West Side Story.

DIRECTED BY

Jerome Robbins

Robert Wise

WRITING CREDITS  

Lehman ...(screenplay)

Arthur Laurents ...(book)

Jerome Robbins ...(play)

William Shakespeare ...(play) (uncredited)

CAST (IN CREDITS ORDER) 

Natalie Wood ... Maria

Richard Beymer ... Tony

Russ Tamblyn ... Riff

Rita Moreno ... Anita

George Chakiris ... Bernardo

Simon Oakland ... Schrank

Ned Glass ... Doc

William Bramley ... Krupke

Tucker Smith ... Ice

Tony Mordente ... Action

David Winters ... A-rab

Eliot Feld ... Baby John

Bert Michaels ... Snowboy

David Bean ... Tiger

Robert Banas ... Joyboy

Anthony 'Scooter' Teague ... Big Deal (as Scooter Teague)

Harvey Evans ... Mouthpiece (as Harvey Hohnecker)

Tommy Abbott ... Gee-Tar

Susan Oakes ... Anybodys

Gina Trikonis ... Graziella

Carole D'Andrea ... Velma

Jose De Vega ... Chino

Jay Norman ... Pepe

Gus Trikonis ... Indio

Eddie Verso ... Juano

Jaime Rogers ... Loco

Larry Roquemore ... Rocco

Robert E. Thompson ... Luis (as Robert Thompson)

Nick Navarro ... Toro (as Nick Covacevich)

Rudy Del Campo ... Del Campo

Andre Tayir ... Chile

Yvonne Wilder ... Consuelo (as Yvonne Othon)

Suzie Kaye ... Rosalia

Joanne Miya ... Francisca

REST OF CAST LISTED ALPHABETICALLY:

John Astin ... Glad Hand (uncredited)

Francesca Bellini ... Debby, Snowboy's Girlfriend (uncredited)

Elaine Joyce ... Hotsie, Tiger's Girlfriend (uncredited)

Priscilla Lopez ... Child Extra (uncredited)

Marni Nixon ... Playback vocalist for Natalie Wood (uncredited)

Olivia Perez ... Margarita, Rocco's Girlfriend (uncredited)

Lou Ruggiero ... Police Officer #3 (uncredited)

Penny Santon ... Madam Lucia (uncredited)

Luci Stone ... Estella, Loco's Girlfriend (uncredited)

Pat Tribble ... Minnie, Baby John's Girlfriend (uncredited)

Gary Troy ... Dancer (uncredited)

Produced by Saul Chaplin ...associate producer

Walter Mirisch ...executive producer (uncredited)

Robert Wise ...producer (uncredited)

MUSIC BY

Leonard Bernstein

Irwin Kostal ...(uncredited)

CINEMATOGRAPHY BY

Daniel L. Fapp ...director of photography

FILM EDITING BY

Thomas Stanford ...film editor

PRODUCTION DESIGN BY

Boris Leven ...(production designed by)

SET DECORATION BY

Victor A. Gangelin ...(as Victor Gangelin)

COSTUME DESIGN BY

Irene Sharaff ...(costume designed by)

MAKEUP DEPARTMENT

Emile LaVigne ...makeup (as Emile La Vigne)

Alice Monte ...hairdresser

PRODUCTION MANAGEMENT

Allen K. Wood ...production manager

Hubert Fröhlich ...production manager (uncredited)

SECOND UNIT DIRECTOR OR ASSISTANT DIRECTOR

Robert E. Relyea ...assistant director

Jerome M. Siegel ...second assistant director

Ridgeway Callow ...assistant director (uncredited)

ART DEPARTMENT

Sam Gordon ...property

Maurice Zuberano ...production artist (as M. Zuberano)

Leon Harris ...production illustrator (uncredited)

William Maldonado ...construction coordinator (uncredited)

SOUND DEPARTMENT

Fred Lau ...sound

Gilbert D. Marchant ...sound editor

Murray Spivack ...sound

Vinton Vernon ...sound

Richard Gramaglia ...sound mixer (uncredited)

Fred Hynes ...sound recording supervisor (uncredited)

Gordon Sawyer ...sound supervisor (uncredited)

VISUAL EFFECTS BY

Saul Bass ...visual consultant

Linwood G. Dunn ...photographic effects (as Linwood Dunn)

STUNTS

Eli Bo Jack Blackfeather ...stunts (uncredited)

CAMERA AND ELECTRICAL DEPARTMENT

Linwood G. Dunn ...title photographer (uncredited)

John Finger ...camera operator: title sequence (uncredited)

Ernst Haas ...still photographer (uncredited)

Jerome H. Klein ...electrician (uncredited)

Louis Kulsey ...dolly grip: title sequence (uncredited)

Tom May ...grip (uncredited)

Phil Stern ...still photographer (uncredited)

COSTUME AND WARDROBE DEPARTMENT

Bert Henrikson ...wardrobe

Editorial Department 

Marshall M. Borden ...assistant editor

MUSIC DEPARTMENT

Leonard Bernstein ...music by

Richard Carruth ...music editor

Saul Chaplin ...musical supervisor

Johnny Green ...music conductor / musical supervisor

Irwin Kostal ...musical supervisor / orchestrator

Sid Ramin ...musical supervisor / orchestrator

Stephen Sondheim ...lyrics by

Robert Tucker ... vocal coach (as Bobby Tucker)

Betty Walberg ...musical assistant

Pete Candoli ...musician (uncredited)

Jack Dumont ...musician: saxophone (uncredited)

Walter A. Gest ...production music playback operator (uncredited)

Shelly Manne ...musician (uncredited)

Red Mitchell ...musician (uncredited)

Uan Rasey ...musician: trumpet soloist (uncredited)

Albert T. Viola ...musician (uncredited)

OTHER CREW

Tommy Abbott ...dance assistant

Margaret Banks ...dance assistant

Saul Bass ...titles

Robert E. Griffith ...based upon the play produced on the stage by

Howard Jeffrey ...dance assistant

Tony Mordente ...dance assistant

Harold Prince ...based upon the play produced on the stage by (as Harold S. Prince)

Jerome Robbins ...choreography by / stage play: director / stage play: orchestrator

Stanley Scheuer ...script supervisor (as Stanley K. Scheuer)

Roger L. Stevens ...by arrangement with

Hal Bell ...assistant choreographer (uncredited)

Jimmy Bryant ...singing voice: Tony (uncredited)

Kit Culkin ...dancer (uncredited)

John Flynn ...script supervisor (uncredited)

Gerald Freedman ...assistant: Mr. Robbins (uncredited)

Peter Gennaro ...co-choreographer (uncredited)

Maria Henley ...Shark dancer Teresita (uncredited)

Eliot Hyman ...production executive (uncredited)

Howard Jeffrey ...assistant choreographer: Mr. Robbins (uncredited)

Elaine Joyce ...dancer (uncredited)

George Lake ...assistant stage manager: stage production (uncredited)

Harold Mirisch ...production executive (uncredited)

Marvin Mirisch ...production executive (uncredited)

Howard Newman ...press representative (uncredited)

Arthur Rubin ...assistant stage manager: stage production (uncredited)

Wallace Siebert ...assistant: Mr. Gennaro (uncredited)

Ray Stark ...production executive (uncredited)

Lee Theodore ...assistant choreographer (uncredited) / dancer (uncredited)

Roxanne Tunis ...dancer (uncredited)

Betty Wand ...singing voice: Anita - "A Boy Like That/I Have a Love" (uncredited)

The Academy Award for Best Picture of 1961 went to the movie version of WSS. It earned a total of ten Oscars. Although Bernstein did not suffer the indignity of the mayhem perpetrated on his score in the movie of On The Town, the movie of WSS did make some minor alterations. I Feel Pretty was transferred to an earlier scene, the bridal shop. The location of Gee, Officer Krupke was interchanged with Cool. Sondheim also wrote new lyrics for America, performed by all the Sharks and their girls (in the stage version it is presented by four girls only).

These changes were judged to be necessary to sustain an on-rushing sense of doom. After all, the movie was not interrupted by an intermission during which an audience could recover form the devastation wrought by the danced Rumble. On stage, the bubbly I Feel Pretty, at the beginning of Act II, was a kind of extension of intermission babble. Good theater, but not good movie.

Despite this film being an update of Shakespeare's "Romeo & Juliet", one of, if not the most famous element from that story is different here, in that both of the leads do not die at the end. Tony dies, but Maria survives.

Timeline: The process of the movie

6 JANUARY 1949

New York, NY

Jerome Robbins sets the West Side Story concept in motion.

25 AUGUST 1955

Beverly Hills, CA

A meeting with Arthur Laurents produces another idea: two teen-age gangs as the warring factions, one of them newly-arrived Puerto Ricans, the other self-styled "Americans."

14 NOVEMBER 1955 "A young lyricist named Stephen Sondheim came and sang us some of his songs today. What a talent! I think he's ideal for this project, as do we all. The collaboration grows."

-Leonard Bernstein

8 JULY 1957

New York, NY

Rehearsals begin.

20 AUGUST 1957

Washington D.C.

West Side Story opens in Washington D.C.

26 SEPTEMBER 1957

New York, NY

West Side Story opens on Broadway at the Winter Garden Theatre, runs for 732 performances.

1957

Original Broadway Cast Recording 

13 APRIL 1958

Tony Awards

Best Choreographer (Jerome Robbins)

Best Scenic Designer (Oliver Smith)

18 OCTOBER 1961

United Artists motion picture released:

Directed by Robert Wise and Jerome Robbins

Starring Natalie Wood, Richard Beymer, Russ Tamblyn, Rita Moreno, and George Chakiris

1961

Film Soundtrack Recording

Reviews and Articles of West Side Story

THE NEW YORK TIMES 

27 September 1957

Theatre: "West Side Story," The Jungles of the City

By BROOKS ATKINSON

Although the material is horrifying, the workmanship is admirable.

Gang warfare is the material of "West Side Story," which opened at the Winter Garden last evening, and very little of the hideousness has been left out. But the author, composer and ballet designer are creative artists. Pooling imagination and virtuosity, they have written a profoundly moving show that is as ugly as the city jungles and also pathetic, tender and forgiving.

Arthur Laurents has written the story of two hostile teen-age gangs fighting for supremacy amid the tenement houses, corner stores and bridges of the West Side. The story is a powerful one, partly, no doubt, because Mr. Laurents has deliberately given it the shape of "Romeo and Juliet." In the design of "West Side Story" he has powerful allies. Leonard Bernstein has composed another one of his nervous, flaring scores that capture the shrill beat of life in the streets. And Jerome Robbins, who has directed the production, is also its choreographer.

Since the characters are kids of the streets, their speech is curt and jeering. Mr. Laurents has provided the raw material of a tragedy that occurs because none of the young people involved understands what is happening to them. And his contribution is the essential one. But it is Mr. Bernstein and Mr. Robbins who orchestrate it. Using music and movement they have given Mr. Laurents' story passion and depth and some glimpses of unattainable glory. They have pitched into it with personal conviction as well as the skill of accomplished craftsmen.

In its early scenes of gang skirmishes, "West Side Story" is facile and a little forbidding -- the shrill music and the taut dancing movement being harsh and sinister. But once Tony of the Jets gang sees Maria of the Sharks gang, the magic of an immortal story takes hold. As Tony, Larry Kert is perfectly cast, plain in speech and manner; and as Maria, Carol Lawrence, maidenly soft and glowing, is perfectly cast also. Their balcony scene on the firescape of a dreary tenement is tender and affecting. From that moment on, "West Side Story" is an incandescent piece of work that finds odd bits of beauty amid the rubbish of the streets.

Everything in "West Side Story," is of a piece. Everything contributes to the total impression of wildness, ecstasy and anguish. The astringent score has moments of tranquility and rapture, and occasionally a touch of sardonic humor. And the ballets convey the things that Mr. Laurents is inhibited from saying because the characters are so inarticulate. The hostility and suspicion between the gangs, the glory of the nuptials, the terror of the rumble, the devastating climax -- Mr. Robbins has found the patterns of movement that express these parts of the story.

Most of the characters, in fact, are dancers with some images of personality lifted out of the whirlwind -- characters sketched on the wing. Like everything also in "West Side Story," they are admirable. Chita Rivera in a part equivalent to the nurse in the Shakespeare play; Ken Le Roy as leader of The Sharks; Mickey Calin as leader of The Jets; Lee Becker as a hobbledehoy girl in one gang -- give terse and vigorous performances.

Everything in "West Side Story" blends -- the scenery by Oliver Smith, the costumes by Irene Sharaff, the lighting by Jean Rosenthal. For this is one of those occasions when theatre people, engrossed in an original project, are all in top form. The subject is not beautiful. But what "West Side Story" draws out of it is beautiful. For it has a searching point of view.

THE DAILY NEWS

27 September 1957

(Originally published by the Daily News on September 27, 1957. This story was written by John Chapman.)

‘West Side Story’ premieres on Broadway in 1957

BY JOHN CHAPMAN

The American theatre took a venturesome forward step when the firm of Griffith & Prince presented "West Side Story" at the Winter Garden last evening.

This is a bold new kind of musical theatre - a juke-box Manhattan opera. It is, to me, extraordinarily exciting. In it, the various fine skills of show business are put to new tests, and as a result a different kind of musical has emerged.

The story is, roughly, Shakespeare's recounting of the love and deaths of Romeo and Juliet. But the setting is today's Manhattan, and the manner of telling the story is a provocative and artful blend of music, dance and plot - and the music and the dancing are superb.

Superb Score

In this present-day version of the theatre's greatest romance, the Montagus and Capulets become young New York gangs, one white, the other Puerto Rican. The Romeo is a white boy, the Juliet a Puerto Rican girl. In the big fight switch-blade knives are used instead of swords. The apothecary who gave Romeo his fateful potion now is a mild druggist who mans his soda fountain and wonders what the younger generation is coming to. And the younger generation, even if it does indulge in one rumble which results in murder, is not nearly as blackhearted as current news stories might make us believe.

The music of "West Side Story" is by Leonard Bernstein, and it is superb - and splendidly played by an orchestra directed by Max Goberman. In it there is the drive, the bounce, the restlessness and the sweetness of our town. It takes up the American musical idiom where it was left when George Gershwin died. It is fascinatingly tricky and melodically beguiling, and it marks the progression of admirable composer.

The story, about the fundamentally innocent hoodlums of our town, is by Arthur Laurents, and it is a lovely and moving one. But Laurents is not alone in telling this story, for his collaborator is Jerome Robbins, the choreographer. Robbins and his superb young dancers carry the plot as much as the spoken words and lyrics do.

The lyrics, by Stephen Sondheim, have simple grace, and there is a lovely tribute by the sidewalk Romeo to his dusky girl, Maria. There is a really beautiful scene in which the boy and the girl go through a make believe wedding in a shop for bridal clothing. And there is an uproariously funny one in which a so-called juvenile delinquent gets a going-over by all the authorities whose problem he is - the cop, the judge, the social worker and the psychiatrist. This young hoodlum manages to make his elders look pretty silly.

Wonderful Cast

The cast of "West Side Story" is, next to the music, the best part of the production. It is composed of young people of whom few have been heard. Carol Lawrence and Larry Kert carry the love story with effortless simplicity, and they sing beautifully. There are other engaging performances by Chita Rivera, Mickey Calin, Ken Le Roy and Art Smith (the druggist). But the company itself is the star of the show. These boys and girls sing, dance and act with such skill and sincerity that they bring the audience out of its seats and up on the stage with them - and the stage is not a stage but this fascinating and fearful town of Manhattan.

And the settings by Oliver Smith and the costumes by Irene Sharaff are a perfect part of a perfect production.

NEW YORK HERALD TRIBUNE

27 September 1957

New York Herald Tribune, 9/27/57

Theater critic Walter Kerr wrote the following review of West Side Story for the New York Herald Tribune on September 27, 1957: The radioactive fallout from "West Side Story" must still be descending on Broadway this morning. Director, choreographer, and idea-man Jerome Robbins has put together, and then blasted apart, the most savage, restless, electrifying dance patterns we've been exposed to in a dozen seasons. The curtain rises on a silence, and a pause. It is the last silence and the last pause. Against an empty-eyed background of warehouse windows five or six blue-jacketed young delinquents, with the tribal-mark "Jets" scrawled across their taut shoulders, are lounging, waiting for the first faint whisper of violence. Their impatience comes to life in their fingers. A snapping rhythm begins to tap out a warning of mayhem to come. Knees begin to itch, and move, under the lazy, overcast mid-summer sky in Puerto-Rican New York. The Sharks--equally young, equally sick with very old hatreds--appear from the alleyways in twos and threes. There is a sneer, a hiss, a tempting and tantalizing thrust of an arm, and then--with a powerhouse downbeat from the orchestra pit--the sorry and meaningless frenzy is on. From this moment the show rides with a catastrophic roar over the spider-web fire-escapes, the shadowed trestles, and the plain dirt battlegrounds of a big city feud. Mr. Robbins never runs out of his original explosive life-force. Though the essential images are always the same--two spitting groups of people advancing with bared teeth and clawed fists upon one another--there is fresh excitement in the next debacle, and the next. When a gang leader advises his cohorts to play it "Cool," the intolerable tension between and effort at control and the instinctive drives of these potential killers is stingingly graphic. When the knives come out, and bodies begin to fly wildly through space under buttermilk clouds, the sheer visual excitement is breathtaking. .[Robbins] has almost sacrificially assisted in this macabre and murderous onslaught of movement by composer Leonard Bernstein. Mr. Bernstein has permitted himself a few moments of graceful, lingering melody: in a yearning "Maria," in the hushed falling line of "Tonight," in the wistful declaration of "I Have a Love." But for the most part he has served the needs of the onstage threshing machine, setting the fierce beat that fuses a gymnasium dance, putting a mocking insistence behind taunts at a policeman, dramatizing the footwork rather than lifting emotions into song. When hero Larry Kert is stomping out the visionary insistence of "Something's Coming" both music and tumultuous story are given their due. Otherwise it's the danced narrative that takes urgent precedence.

A Clip of a full description of the film and the actors thought on the film:

[arnoldjaime13]

Blog Tour- EXTREME by @JoanGelfand With An Excerpt & #Giveaway! @MouthDigitalPR @RockstarBkTours

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the EXTREME by Joan Gelfand Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About the Book:

Title: EXTREME

Authors: Joan Gelfand

Pub. Date: July 14, 2020

Publisher: Blue Light Press

Formats:  Paperback, eBook

Pages: 282

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, B&N, TBD, Bookshop.org

Hope Ellson is from the wrong side of the tracks, but her genius transcends class. When Hope joins FearToShred, a Silicon Valley extreme gaming startup, Hope's mission is to groom the scrappy company for prime time. Enter Doug Wiser, her very married ex. While the two work in tandem, nefarious forces are at work behind the scenes. Adding to the excitement of this thriller are the stars and heroes of surfing and skateboarding. With a keen eye on women in tech, business ethics and dangerous stunts, "Extreme" will leave you breathless.

Winner of the Cervena Barva and Chaffin Fiction Awards, Joan's work has appeared in The Huffington Post, Vanity Fair, Rattle, Pank! The Meridien Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, The Los Angeles Review of Books, Chicken Soup for the Soul and over 200 literary journals, blogs and magazines.

A member of the National Book Critics Circle, Joan has worked for California Poets in the Schools, Poetry Out Loud, Chiat/Day Advertising and other Bay Area companies. She currently coaches writers and teaches in the San Francisco Bay Area.

With a poet's sensibility and a novelist's instinct for plot, Joan Gelfand has produced a whip‑smart page‑turner of a book, complete with startup fever, romantic intrigue, and a cast of sympathetic ‑‑ and not so sympathetic ‑‑ characters. Read Extreme and you'll have a better sense of what really goes on in Silicon Valley, far better than TV shows like Silicon Valley could ever provide.”  - Katie Hafner, Author, New York Times and Wall Street Journal columnist.

Excerpt:

1

After fruitless circling of the Purple, Coral, and Lime parking lots, Hope surrenders. She drives underground, winding four levels down into the bowels of Palo Alto’s small Civic Center garage. She surrenders, but not before considering several vacant red, blue, and yellow spots, as tempting to her as any gooey dessert. Employees only, Electric vehicles only, and Disabled sat empty as a tossed Starbucks cup. It was tempting. But not today. Anything can happen in the five minutes it takes to run into CVS, including a beat cop under pressure to get his numbers up. When did parking in downtown Palo Alto at three P.M. become an Olympic event? Did the student population at Stanford just increase by a factor of ten? WTF?

Leaving the underground lot, Hope steps into daylight as harsh as the brightness after a matinee; a brutal transition from fantasy to reality. Today is very real. Today, Hope’s fantasies are about work, even if FearToShred is its own movie.

Today there are questions to answer: Does the young company have legs? Why did Arthur turn down an eighty million dollar offer to sell it to Datex, his former company?

FearToShred hasn’t gone public yet. That’s a good thing for her as a potential employee, but a fact which had blocked Hope from getting the boatload of intelligence she wanted for the interview. Crunchbase was little help. She could call around, but sleuthing would sound an alarm that she’s leaving Manuserve.

Hope squints. The sun is bright, but that’s nothing new; the sun has been bright all year. She slips on Ray Bans, as integral to her outfit as her Apple watch or Blahniks. All of California has been steamy, smoky, and stuck in an endless summer. Is it November? August? January? Who can tell?

University Avenue and the surrounding roads are an obstacle course rife with a nonstop parade of joggers, cyclists, and mothers and nannies pushing baby strollers.

The fires have been creepy. Hope’s yard has deteriorated to a dusty grey; her showers are bullet short. One dry winter has turned into three.

The water company’s banned watering of lawns; abusers are ridiculed on the front pages of the press. Northern California blames Southern California. Tony golf courses of the wealthy are under civic scrutiny. All while California’s economy shoots into the stratosphere.

With Google and Facebook gobbling up tech veterans, startups were desperate for talent. Which was why Hope wasn’t surprised when Arthur called. Though never as successful as she may have hoped to be, her name was one of the ones raised when recruiters, hiring managers, and CEO’s played the “who’s innovating” game at meetings and cocktail parties. While Hope had been hiding out at Manuserve, collecting a fat paycheck and doing banal B2B, her reputation was still out there, reaching far and wide. What she and Doug had pulled off at Topia had been the stuff of urban legend. Topia was one of the very first companies to break through from geeky to a global audience. Yes, Arthur knew who she was even if she’d been heads down the past year.

Despite the severe lack of rain, today the world was fresh and new. Gardenia and jasmine scent the air; the breeze whispers ‘possibility.’ Through the glass doors and up the wide aisle at CVS, Hope heads for the cosmetics to suss out a chintzy replacement lipstick for the MAC she accidentally left on her desk.

A wall of options waits like a chorus line of Vegas dancers. Hope checks her watch: thirteen minutes to pick out a shade that says, ‘serious, smart, perky.’ She assesses the check-out line - decent. Two cashiers, one auto pay, and only a few customers standing in line. Hope sets her phone alarm for ten minutes.

Five foot eight, Hope weighed in this morning at 136; not her best weight ever but she’s been busy. A thick lock of auburn hair stretches midway down her back. Her legs are long and slim. She woke up feeling good in her skin. A sexy wake-up call from James in bed this morning didn’t hurt. She’ll get back to 129, her fighting weight, soon. Lipsticks. Maybelline, Cover Girl. Hope frets. Her go-to shade is Diva by MAC, but CVS doesn’t carry the upmarket brand. Firecracker. Too wild. Ruby Woo. Milf. Hot Passion. Not for work. Ah, wait. Monte Carlo. Rich. Smart looking. She rubs a sample on the back of her hand. Possible. With a clean Q-tip she swipes her lips. Deep. But wait. There’s American Doll. Looks like Diva’s poor sister. Same shade, cheaper packaging. She wipes off the Monte Carlo with a moistened towel from a handy dispenser, swipes a fresh Q-tip.

With a hint of Monte Carlo adhered to her lip she creates an impromptu blend of the two shades. Perfect. Pursing her lips in the small makeup mirror mounted on the wall, wondering if her cheeks have flushed or if it’s the lighting, she catches sight of Doug Wiser.

Hope swings her hair in front of her face, kneels down low to fumble with her Coach slouch bag. She’s searching for her credit card when his warm hand alights on her shoulder.

“Hope!”

Hope looks up guiltily, her head uncomfortably level with Doug’s crotch. Unfolding herself to full height, the single button on her pencil skirt pops.

Doug throws his arms around her in a cozy bear hug.

This is Doug? Doug Wiser? In skinny jeans and Nikes? This is Doug, clean shaven, bed hair and cheekbones? This is Doug in CVS at 3:10 P.M. holding a pregnancy kit and a bottle of vitamins? This is Doug who asked Hope (kindly) not to call because he ‘was lost?’ A whirligig of thoughts spin. Her phone alarm buzzes. How is she? She’s tense. And worse, she’s ruffled by running smack into her ex in CVS a half an hour before an interview.

“I’m great!” Hope half smiles. “I’m just on my way—I’m late actually!” Hope nervously juggles the two lipsticks.

Doug’s gaze lingers on her torso, taking in the whole of her. When her eyes finally meet his, he’s looking at her the way a parent looks at a child accomplishing a new feat—a climb up the monkey bars, a ball caught. Or was that condescension? He, calm. She, frazzled.

“Go. We’ll talk later.”

“Totally,” Hope promises, proffering a fingertip touch to Doug’s exposed forearm. “Sorry to rush off.”

At the check-out counter, she grabs a package of safety pins. It’s been over a year. She’s missed him. She thinks about Doug almost every day. Ahead of her on the line, a small woman with dark glasses holds the leash of a service dog, a beautiful short-haired golden that reminds her of Gracie, the first and last dog she owned. She peeks in her makeup mirror, checking the aisle behind her.

He’s gone.

Hope exits the automatic doors, hurries toward High Street. Did she really just crash into Doug in CVS holding a pregnancy test? In all of her fantasies, in all the past year of secret dreams and fears, the last place she would meet Doug Wiser was in the lipstick aisle of the University Avenue CVS.

Now, she’s got to rock that interview. Her nerves are jangled, and her button is popped. She suddenly tumbles a notch from Ninja-warrior Hope down to disheveled working woman. She checks her Apple watch—3:25 P.M.

Slipping into Philz, Hope orders a green tea and scoots into the restroom to replace the popped button with a safety pin.

Perfunctorily repaired, she snags a tiny table. Creating lists, a habit she developed in college when she was juggling a late shift at Oscar’s Burgers at night, parts modeling when she got the gigs, five classes, and an endless parade of reading and homework assignments, calms her. It’s a habit she’s never bothered to break.

She taps out a list of questions on her tablet: Arthur rejected an eighty million offer from Datex. Why? Was there a back-up offer? Was he hoping to create more value? Was Arthur passionate about FTS, or was he just in it for the money? She scratches out the last question; too forward.

At 3:35, her pre-Doug equilibrium nominally restored, Hope walks the two blocks to High and Homer. Past Serenity Yoga, Brew News Beer pub, Bucca di Beppo, and the Party Store: Yes, she really did just see Doug for the first time in a year. But it wasn’t a reunion, was it? Reunions are planned. Hope erases the interlude like she’d erased the lipstick on the back of her hand.

Halfway across High Street, her iPhone rings. “Doll?”

“James?”

“That was sweet this morning. You good?”

“Yes. Listen, I’m running late,” Hope’s stomach churns. “Catch you later?”

“No prob. See you tonight?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure. I’ll call.”

“Hope . . . we have that dinner tonight. Remember? John’s out from New York?”

“Yup.”

Three forty-six. She hadn’t told James about the interview because she did not want to listen to a lecture on the fallibility of startups.

Outside FearToShred’s frosted glass doors, she sneaks a peek in her tiny makeup mirror. Gone is the high cheek color of this morning; she looks pale, spooked.

About Joan:

Joan Gelfand’s reviews, stories and poetry have appeared in national and international literary journals and magazines including the Los Angeles Review of Books, Rattle, Prairie Schooner, Kalliope, The Toronto Review, newversenews.com, The Sycamore Review and RiverSedge. Joan’s work has also appeared in “Chicken Soup for the Soul: Dreams and the Unexplainable” and “Chicken Soup for the Soul: Dreams and Premonitions”

Chair of the Women’s National Book Association National Writing Contest, a member of the National Book Critics Circle and a juror for the Northern California Book Awards, Joan blogs for the Huffington Post and coaches writers. She is the recipient of over twenty writing awards, nominations and prizes.

“The Ferlinghetti School of Poetics,” a poetry film based on Joan’s poem was featured at the 4th Annual Video Poetry Festival in Athens, Greece, the Meraki Film Festival in Madrid and won Certificate of Merit in a juried art show at the International Association for the Study of Dreams.

Joan has been teaching at book festivals and writer’s conferences on “You Can Be a Winning Writer” for the past ten years. She coaches writers around the country.

She lives in San Francisco with her husband, Adam Hertz and two beatnik kitties – Jack Kerouac and Lawrence Ferlinghetti.

Website | Twitter | Instagram | Facebook | Goodreads | Amazon

Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon GC, International.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tour Schedule:

Week One:

7/6/2020

Two Chicks on Books

Excerpt

7/7/2020

Jaime's World

Excerpt

7/8/2020

Two Chicks on Books FB

Excerpt

7/9/2020

BookHounds

Excerpt

7/10/2020

The Try Everything

Excerpt

Week Two:

7/13/2020

The Phantom Paragrapher

Excerpt

7/14/2020

Lifestyle of Me

Review

7/15/2020

A Dream Within A Dream

Excerpt

7/16/2020

Hurn Publications

Review

7/17/2020

Rajiv's Reviews

Review

Week Three:

7/20/2020

Jotted by Jena

Excerpt

7/21/2020

raathiscorner

Review

7/22/2020

Fire and Ice

Review

7/23/2020

A Gingerly Review

Excerpt

7/24/2020

Zooloo’s Book Diary

Excerpt

[tarragon-hq]

Don’t get settled

I’m moving again. Life is strange when you live in a single place for almost 18 years and then become slightly nomadic. A catalogue of places I’ve lived since moving out for college.

Freshman year of college: Redding Honors dorm – the perfect way to create a hierarchical system built on jealousy and resentment within a college campus is to house all honors program students in the nicest dorm. All other first year dorms should lack AC but include a barbed wire fence and resemble prison grounds. Bonus points for putting all the students with a scholarship within a concentrated section of the nicest dorm building and give them the same sweatshirt.

Freshman summer: Dartmouth College – my first night I arrived at 2am and saw over 5 people jogging outside. When I got to the dorm and tried to pull the blinds down, they just fell off the wall, so I watched the lightning storm all night. The heater in the room was also broken so I slept on a bare mattress huddled under a towel. The summer stipend was enough to buy one meal a day at the dining hall, and since we did not have access to a kitchen, I stole peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a piece fruit for lunch every day. Me, at my scrappiest.  

Sophomore year: Independence Hall – I moved to North campus because supposedly it was where “all the upperclassman parties were.” This was a lie. I lived at least a 30-minute walk from my closest class, the dining hall was noticeably worse, and all the parties were not on North Campus.  I lived right next to a gym. I never used it.

Sophomore summer: Ray Street – I worked in lab, studied for the MCAT, gained 12 pounds, and developed an eye twitch.  

Junior year: James Smith Apartment dorm – the secret dorm upperclassman could get if they had a full scholarship. I had it to myself for half the year and it was glorious.

Junior summer to Senior year: Park Place House – very bittersweet memories. I loved the house itself, but it just reminds me of conflict and broken friendships. I mostly stayed in my room. None of us ever used the common area. I learned how to mow the lawn here.

Summer quarter before grad school: Abrams court – temporary housing, was hot and small and sad. There was a section in the building lobby that people could just leave stuff they didn’t want, and I scored a lot of goodies.

Fall quarter of first year of grad school: Stanford villa on Alma street – literally a sauna when it would get above 80 degrees. Top floor apartment with walls of windows that faced the sun. It had too much carpet. I knew even before we moved here that we would move out very soon after.

Spring quarter of first year to Winter quarter of third year: Rains – It felt like a dorm and was always temporary to me. I never mentally settled down. Purgatory in Christian religion is the place between death and the afterlife. Rains was purgatory.

Spring quarter third year: Seven Oaks – the most luxurious space. It felt so fleeting though. It was like a forbidden candy that you know is too good for you, so you try to eat as much as you can in a short amount of time because you know it will be gone too soon.

Reflecting on these experiences, I realize most that came to mind were negative. They weren’t all bad though. I have so many memories tied to each of these spaces.  They are anchor points that draw out other forgotten memories I associate with that point in my life. The pockets of time in which I have felt most at peace were when I had the most autonomy over my living space. Freedom and independence are so central to my happiness.

-hcw

#byhcw

[fordarkisthesuede]

JOURNAL 3 BLACKLIGHT EDITION REVEALED! (Part 2)

Time to come back where we left off last - GHOSTS! I know you ain’t afraid!

Ghosts!:  [All the ghosts in this section glow. Nice touch!] Underneath a photo of a stereotypical ghost it says “Written on a tombstone:  Man once thought that death’s release offered a permanent peace. But these ghouls, bold and hearty, prove that there’s an after-party.” I don’t know whose tombstone that was, but damn, I want that as my epithet too.

Category 1:  “Ugh! I thought I ditched this guy at Dan’s cabin, but he has followed me home! Just go away, YOU ANNOYING LITTLE CREEP!!!!! No, I don’t want to bake brownies and have a tickle fight! How does that even make sense?! You have no body to tickle!!”

Category 1 adjacent page: “Discovery! Apparently, shining a black light on ghosts results in crypto-translucence, revealing the secret horrors within! Never invite a ghost to a rave. This one is scarier than I realized!” I dunno, Ford, I still think it’s cute! He’s like a little skeleton baby! Aww!

Category 10: “PRAY FOR MERCY!” [There is a drawing of a thin man in glasses over the cloaked spectre. It’s very underwhelming.] “I saw this category 10 once more, but this time I had my black light handy! Not so scary without his cloak! This guy should spend less time reaping and more time at the gym!” Ford…do you go to the gym? (I kinda assumed Ford didn’t start getting buff until he hopped dimensions…) Still I’m pretty sure that his ghost-powers could kill you, you know…

Edit: Forgot to add - the “What Does it MEAN?” page has all the creatures + the question mark glow!

Edit:  I missed a page here previously (they stuck together):

Right page of Truth Teeth: “NEW DISCOVERY! That abnormally hairy mailman doesn’t deliver mail on the full moon! And unlike most mailmen, he seems to get no harassment from barking dogs. Does this mean what I think it means? I may need to load up on silver bullets just in case.” 

Guess Soos was right after all!

THE LAPTOP’S PASSWORD WAS STANFORD. I CAN’T BELIEVE MY FLIPPIN’ EYES.

“These secret messages written using my black light technique are hidden so well that even my most determined enemy won’t be able to find them! (Except for maybe the bumblebeast, a honey-hunting mutant bee with eyes that can see every kind of light on the spectrum.)” [The bumblebeast resembles a scowling mutant bi-pedal bee with tiny wings and one pair of big beefy arms (and a smaller insect pair beneath them)] “STAY AWAY FROM MY HONEY!” Don’t bogart your honey, Ford.

There’s also something unusual that I have to point out – on that same page, there seems to be a sort of…maze like drawing. If you turn it sideways, it looks like a factory. I THINK LETTERS ARE HIDDEN IN IT? I’ll into it later on.

The Codes page:  It actually tells you the cryptogram and meaning of each kind! Cool!!!

But then, of course, there’s something secret on the bottom of the page. A vinegere cipher with the key TRICKY. “The most impossible thing to decode is human social behavior.” [my picture of this was poor and I could not make one better. I’m sorry.]

The Plaidypus! “How to catch a plaidypus:

Dig a hole, fill it with sawdust and/or ham.

Make a plaidypus mating call. It sounds exactly like a bearded man’s deep hearty laugh. You may need to wait until after puberty for this step.

When the plaidypus falls intot he hole, throw pine needles at his face. This will make him sneeze hard enough to shed his pelt.

He will be frightened at this point. Hug him tenderly for an hour to get him to calm down. Kiss his forehead if necessary.

Release! You now have a plaidypus pelt! Perfect for warm jackets, warm socks, or warm tea cosies, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Ok first off FORD, it’s spelt “cozies”. Secondly, what do you have against them??? They keep tea hot and drinkable! Mine has kitties on it. It keeps my Bill Teapot all nice and toasty, even in the winter.

Island Head Beast page:  “Head of household? I don’t think so…” [Shows a masculine island head with a pipe and newspaper and a frustrated scowl; a feminine head with old-fashioned hair-curlers and an androgynous younger head are seeming to yell harshly at him.] 

Island Head adjacent page:  “F’s x-rays of the lake revealed this family of horrifying heads dwelling underneath the surface. Although their words are indecipherable, their unhappy marriage is clear in any language.” Pointing at the glowing heads is the caption “More refugees from the weirdness dimension.”

So, question – is this Ford’s interpretation of what they look like based off the x-rays? Or is it an accurate reproduction? We may never really know…

The Hide Behind page:  has “LOOK BEHIND YOU” spread all across the page, with glowing footprints leading to the drawn pair. :)

Cow Circles page: “I’VE DONE IT! I’VE CRACKED THE CODE! By arranging the cows together, I discovered that their interlocking symbols created a message! According to my knowledge of alien hieroglyphics, the message reads “Come to Glarbo’s Intergalactic House of Pancakes & Weapons! Come for the breakfast, stay for the dark matter hypercannons!” So, that’s it. An alien pancake house. The thought that Earth is being used for extraterrestrial advertisement depresses me deeply.”

Radioactive barrel/The Memory Gun pages: “He used It on me! I’m certain! Memories are returning of my assistant using the ray on himself, then zapping me to cover up his actions!” 

[There’s a glowing doodle of Ford’s head being zapped by the gun.] “I’ve had dreams of F wearing a red hood, watching me from the shadows. What if those weren’t dreams?! I believe he hired construction workers to help him build the portal, then erased their memories to keep the job secret! And erased mine, too, so that I wouldn’t chide him for taking the risk! This is all my fault! I should have DESTROYED this GUN WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE!”

The Palm Reader:  “The fortune teller was right about everything. I should have looked at the cards more closely when I had the chance! These were the ones I remembered. Something was so strange about them… As thought they were showing me something I wasn’t yet ready to see….”

[I hope you can see this page, because it’s AWESOME. Four people are drawn over the cards shown – Waddles, Mabel, Dipper, and Wendy. Above that, there are two cards, one of Mayor Tyler, and another mysterious one that I can’t make out. Below all this is five cards – Gideon, Robbie, Soos, Pacifica, and Gompers. It’s an amazing sight:

Waddles – Time & Space

Mabel – The Sun

Dipper – The Moon

Wendy – Death

Soos - Justice

Gideon – The Magician

Robbie – The Fool

Pacifica – The Empress

Gompers – Judgement

Mayor Tyler – [UNKNOWN]

The “mysterious card” seems to be Old Man McGucket, as evidenced by his bandaged foot. It’s literally all we can see of it, though.]

See you in Part 3!

[Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3]

#gravity falls #journal 3 #spoilers #journal 3 blacklight #long post #J3 Blacklight Reveal #J3 Blacklight Reveal Part 2

[cool2020calendar-blog]

September 2020 Calendar PDF

September is the ninth month of the year in the Julian and Gregorian timetables. 1 September is the start of the meteorological fall in the Northern part of the globe, and the start of the meteorological spring in the Southern side of the equator. In the Northern Hemisphere, September is what could be appeared differently in relation to March in the Southern Hemisphere.

September implies the start of the clerical year in the Eastern Orthodox Church. It is the beginning of the scholastic year in different nations, wherein kids return to class after the pre-summer break, from time to time on the basic day of the month.

September is the month prior to the last quarter of the year. In this way, it's an astounding time to think about putting things before us. The mid year occasion is done, there is a critical long time to winter, environment is normally still warm and delicate.

Trees start to pour yellow leaves, little changes in storerooms, kids go to class, commitments increment. September is the ideal month for shimmering clean beginnings, goals and choices to keep our vitality high. Subsequently, it may be a sharp plan to get a September 2019 timetable organization! You may consider engineering your September month utilizing your unquestionable September 2019 timetable. Set your goals, plan your undertakings, recognize occasions ahead of schedule with your September 2019 plan with occasions. You will see, everything will be less unpredictable and logically fun!

HISTORY OF SEPTEMBER

September (from Latin septem, "seven") was from the outset the seventh of ten months on the most arranged known Roman timetable, with March (Latin Martius) the basic month of the year until maybe as late as 153 BC. After the schedule change that additional January and February to the start of the year, September changed into the ninth month, yet held its name. It had 29 days until the Julian change, which consolidated a day.

September was requested "gather month" in Charlemagne's schedule. It relates generally to the Fructidor and almost the entire way to the Vendémiaire of the main French republic. On Usenet, it is said that September 1993 (Eternal September) never wrapped up. September is called Herbstmonat, gather month, in Switzerland. The Anglo-Saxons called the month Gerstmonath, grain month, that yield being then routinely aggregated.

Meteor showers that happen in September meld the Aurigids, the Delta Aurigids which happen from mid-September to early October, the Southern Taurids, which happen from September 10 to November 20, and the Andromedids which happen from September 25 – December 25.

The September equinox happens this month, and certain observances are managed around it. It is the Autumn equinox in the Northern Hemisphere, and the Vernal Equinox in the Southern Hemisphere.

SEPTEMBER HOLIDAYS IN THE UNITED STATES

Work Day (the focal Monday in September)

Work Day is an organization occasion celebrated on the basic Monday of September reliably. From the outset, it was a day shaped to praise different work affiliations' duties to the United States economy. It is the Monday of the taxing week's end known as Labor Day Weekend and it is considered commonly the easygoing finish of summer.

In the United States and Canada, in the late nineteenth century when the worker's affiliation and work progressions developed monstrously, an assortment of days were picked seeing capable calling unionists as a day to acclaim work. The occasion was first proposed during the 1880s by Matthew Maguire, a planner, while filling in as secretary of the Central Labor Union of New York in 1882. It is battled that it was first proposed by Peter J. McGuire of the American Federation of Labor in May 1882, in the wake of seeing the yearly work party held in Toronto, Canada. Oregon was the main condition of the United States to make it an official open occasion in 1887. Generally, Labor Day was independent with a road stroll to show to the open the power and submitted of work affiliations. This motorcade was trailed by a fun celebration for the laborers and their families. A brief timeframe later, this changed into the model for Labor Day good times. Talks by evident people were displayed later, as more accentuation was put upon the standard importance of the occasion.

Constitution Day and Citizenship Day (September seventeenth)

Constitution Day and Citizenship Day is seen on September 17 reliably is in the United States with a definitive target of to see the creation and stepping of the remarkable rule that everyone must seek after on September 17, 1787 and to respect and approval the favorable circumstances and duties of U.S. citizenship for both close by envisioned and naturalized occupants.

Government law necessitates that all schools getting bureaucratic patrons hold an instructive program for their understudies on September 17 of reliably. The US Department of Education gives different assets on the occasion as the division is subject for executing Constitution Day authorized bearings. A gigantic number of US typical and illuminating experts and people watch Constitution Day and Citizenship Day with different occasions and exercises. For instance, the Center for Civic Education gives exercise subjects on Constitution Day and Citizenship Day for understudies at various levels

General Day of Peace

General Day of Peace is a global occasion that is watched every year by different nations all around the globe. In general Day of Peace is seen on 21st of September reliably and it is a day that was put aside by the United Nations General get-together for everybody around the globe to devote to ensure understanding correspondingly as acknowledge an occupation in structure a concordance culture that will prop ready for coming new age.

Conspicuous BIRTHDAYS IN SEPTEMBER

September 30, 1207–Rumi (Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi), who was a thirteenth-century Persian writer and Sufi spiritualist, has all in all certification was envisioned in Balkh Persia (today Afghanistan).

September 9, 1828–Leo Tolstoy who was one of the most acclaimed Russian editorialists, who shaped the prominent 'War and Peace' and 'Anna Karenina' was considered in Yasnaya Polyana.

September 5, 1890–Agatha Christie, who known as the Queen of Crime, as is remarkable for her master books was envisioned in Torquay, Devon, England.

September 23, 1930–Ray Charles who was an extraordinary American vocalist, craftsman and was the pioneer of soul music was considered in Albany, Georgia.

September 5, 1946 – Freddie Mercury who was an extraordinary British shake and-move vocalist, who set up the band 'Sovereign' was considered in Zanzibar, Tanzania.

September 21, 1947–Stephen King who is a well known American writer known for his obnoxiousness and weight books was envisioned in Portland, Maine.

SEPTEMBER IN HISTORY

September 4, 1781 – Los Angeles was set up by the Spanish Governor of California, Felipe de Neve.

September 24, 1789 – The United States Post Office Department is set up.

September 28, 1928 – Alexander Fleming finds Penicillin.

September 7, 1998 – Google, the web crawler affiliation, is set up by Larry Page and Sergey Brin while they were Ph.D. understudies at Stanford University in California.

September 11, 2001 – 9/11 Attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. The most exceedingly repulsive mental oppressor snare in U.S. history.

#september 2020 september2020

[nevarroes]

I'm turning horizons into battlegrounds And every step I take without a sound.

#art #art tag #oc #oc art #Illustration #digital art #ray #ray stanford winter #blake siera nevarro

[mercurious-minds-blog]

New and Exciting Solar Technologies for 2019

Solar Power is by far the most popular and most efficient renewable energy source out. Technological advances are constantly being made in hopes to save the Earth from the ever foreboding threat of global warming. Here is a list and description of the latest in solar powered technology.

Transform Ugly Solar Panels with Solar Skins

A high percentage of homeowner associations consider solar panels to be an unsightly home addition and thus have become a major barrier for the solar industry. Sistine Solar, a design firm based in Boston, Massachusetts, has developed an efficient “solar skin” product that can match virtually any roof top appearance, making existing solar panels more aesthetically beautiful. The skins are made from a thin film, coated with extremely durable graphics and integrated onto high efficiency solar panels. The technology uses selective light filtration to simultaneously display an image and transmit sunlight to the underlying cells with a minimal energy loss efficiency.

Light Up the Night with Solar Powered Roads

https://youtu.be/SNMFKKyFU60 2018 paved the way for many tests of an exciting new technology - solar powered roads. A few countries, including the U.S., China, Japan, France, and the Netherlands, have begun exploring different methods to safely and efficiently implement solar roads on a large scale. Most of them commonly feature technologies that will light up roadways and have thermal heating capacities to melt snow and ice during winter weather, but there’s a possibility that solar roads could even charge electric vehicles. The company Solar Roadways is the US-based frontrunner in the solar road race and is crowdsourcing funds to help move toward production. Solar Roads are Nothing but Beneficial Solar roads were designed so the glass panels could be installed on a variety of surfaces such as roads, parking lots, and playgrounds. These panels would not only pay for themselves, but would benefit both businesses and homeowners as the energy they generate could be used to power buildings. If installed nationwide, with over 30,000 sq miles of usable surfaces, solar powered roads would produce more energy than the entire country uses.  Although glass, the tempered panels, made from recycled materials, offer a superior surface to traditional road making materials. The panels are around 1.5 centimeters thick and can withstand 124 ton trucks driving over them. And even though they're glass, the surface isn't slippery and will never get potholes. The panels are also embedded with LED lights so they’ll be able to show road markings and send up-to-date traffic messages. The panels are wired so that faults can be detected by surrounding panels and be easily repaired. The power cables would be stored in trenches called “Cable Corridors” alongside the roads which would allow easy access by utility workers. Moreover, these corridors could be used to store fiber optic cables for high-speed internet. There’s immense potential in this technology that would lead to a massive decrease in reliance on petroleum and fossil fuels, and would cut CO2 emissions by a considerable amount. In the U.S., tests have already been underway along Route 66 for a few years now.

Solar Cell Fabrics lets You Charge Your Phone while you Exercise

Coated in a conductive polymer material, this half-inch square of fabric contains an array of six rectangular solar cells. (Photo by Jeff Miller/UW-Madison) Since their inception, solar panels have largely been made from glass or plastic, both being materials that can be hard, brittle, and easily breakable. Since as early as 2001, scientists have tried to incorporate solar technologies into textiles but have only been successful with textiles such as stadium covers and carports. Recently, researchers Trisha Andrew and Marianne Fairbanks have figured out how to incorporate solar tech in ANY type of fabric. How Solar Cell Fabrics Work The latest solar textile technology combines two different lightweight and low-cost polymer fibers. The first polymer is coated with several chemical elements and compounds including zinc oxide, a photovoltaic material, which is then woven together with copper wire. This basically embeds the fiber with tiny solar cells. The second fiber is made of copper-coated polytetrafluoroethylene strips woven with more copper wire. These materials can generate mechanical energy or electricity from friction. As for battery storage, polyester yarn coated with nickel and carbon, and combined with polyurethane provides a flexible battery that keeps working even when repeatedly bent and folded. While solar cell fabrics are still in the testing phase, researchers have successfully shown that the materials can produce power when integrating them into many different fabrics. Some exciting applications include self-warming gloves, solar charging curtains, and numerous field applications for backpacking, hunting, medical, or military purposes. Pretty soon your shirt could be powering your MP3 player while you jog.

Solar Water Purifiers give Clean Water to Everyone

Researchers at Stanford University have developed a new device that can purify water when exposed to sunlight. It isn’t the first of it’s kind, but major strides have been made to increase efficiency. The new design is roughly half the size of a postage stamp, can utilize visible light frequencies, and only requires a few minutes to work it’s magic. Previous designs required hours of sun exposure and could only harness ultra-violet rays. As it improves, this tech would be great for backpackers, self-sustaining swimming pools purified without the use of chlorine, and places around the world where clean water isn’t readily available. The experimental water purifier is a derived from the process for using solar energy to split water into hydrogen and oxygen, aka evaporation. But instead of splitting the two atoms, the new process oxidizes water to produce hydrogen peroxide, or H2O2. Even just a small amount will purify water as hydrogen peroxide disinfects water at a level of tens of parts per million, or about two tablespoons per 25 gallons. Some changes in materials still need to be made to make the blend safe to drink. But the research team believes that one day soon, a person could pull out their lightweight solar purifier, pour in some H₂O, and produce enough hydrogen peroxide through the sun-activated process to turn any questionable water source into a drinkable oasis. Read the full article

#newsolartechnology #renewableenergy #solarcellfabrics #solarpower #solarpoweredroads #solarskins #solarwaterpurifiers #wearablesolar

[egodari]

well… I’ve finally gotten to the third chapter. amazing. welp hope y’all enjoy my writing lmao

Words: 3,251

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Characters: Fiddleford McGucket, Stanford Pines, some OCs

[First] [Previous] [Ao3]

Stanford awakens with a start. Struggling for air, his eyes dart wildly around the room. It slowly dawns on him that his room is actually a cave transformed into a makeshift shelter. The gory nightmare he had been experiencing was just a nightmare after all. He checks his hands, none of his friend’s blood staining the peach of his skin. “Rough night?” Fiddleford’s calming voice ripples through the silence. Stanford looks to find his friend kneeling by the pot of bubbling liquid over a burning fire. He nods meekly in response, shuffling his feet and glowering at the ground. “Figures, you were shaking an’ jerking ‘round in yer sleep,” Fiddleford dismisses, gently stirring the boiling alien liquid around the pot. Stanford fiddles with his fingers, blushing with embarrassment. He never learned how to control his dreams, and it didn’t help that they were staggeringly realistic. He shivers at the blindingly strong memory of Bill using his body to hack his only friend and twin brother to pieces. It’s funny how the human mind chooses to remember…

“You okay?” Fiddleford asks him cautiously. “I…” the words die in Stanford’s mouth. Fiddleford pours the liquid he had been brewing for the last half an hour into small glass bottles, “S’ okay, ya don’t have to talk ‘bout it if ya don’t wanna.” Stanford forces a weak smile to show his gratitude, but they both know that the gesture doesn’t have the same shine like it used to. He remembers the day Fiddleford brought up his greatest invention, the memory ray up to him after the Gremloblin accident. His arm was in bandages, and his head hurt with agonizing pain. Fiddleford had babbled gleefully about how Stanford was now able to forget the terror he saw within the creature’s eyes. But he had refused, deeming the machine dangerous. He felt it would’ve been better to remember why he stays away from the terrible creature. The truth was the he couldn’t swallow his pride to give himself a night’s sleep (not like he liked sleep anyway).

He really wants that memory ray at the moment. And all he wants to do is sleep, sleep forever. Or, at least, until he’s certain he’ll wake up in his comfy queen-sized bed. Next to Fiddleford…wait, no, that isn’t right… Stanford debates again in his head whether he should just tell him, it’s not like he’s got any sense of pride or dignity left in him. “Fiddleford,” Stanford pathetically croaks out after meekly clearing his throat. Fiddleford smoothly turns his head and looks at him, expectantly.

You insolent fool! He’s expecting something now!

“I…” beads of sweat trickle from his brow. Come on, just say it! It’s three words you smartass, three words! You were able to spell ichthyology in year two, you can say I love you to him. “I… I…” Stanford throws in the metaphorical towel, “I… think we should try to find a civilization… or something like that.” “O-of course,” Fiddleford answers dismissively. There’s a twang of disappointment in his voice, as if he wanted to hear something else. He grabs a knapsack and fills it with miscellaneous items, from weapons to food. Stanford turns away, getting out of the measly excuse for a bed and packs away his blanket-scarf, gripping it tightly.

My fault.

He remembers the call. The call that came out of the blue. It was a rare occasion, and every time Stanford received a call from that specific number, he treasured it like it were diamonds. But this call, from Fiddleford saying that he was getting married, was different. Stanford said he was happy for him, but the soured and disappointed expression painted on his face said otherwise. Despite the pain merely originating from emotion, the pain, the physical pain, in his gut felt so real. But he wasn’t surprised. He had chickened out on telling him in college, so wasn’t really that much of a surprise that he’d found a girl.

My fault.

He remembers coming home to find Fiddleford sobbing by the phone, the communication device dangling from his fingers. Reluctantly, he explained to Stanford that his wife separated from him, that she filed a divorce. And he had comforted his friend (and tried. And failed to persuade him to not build a homicidal pterodactyl robot), he really did. But it was a spectacular victory for Stanford. It meant he had a chance…

It’s my fault.

No chance. Stanford has no chance of winning Fiddleford’s affections, not now, not ever. It is shameful to believe he can ask anything from anyone anymore. He wonders, if the theory that multiple timelines exist is true, that if other versions of himself are going through the exact same thing. “Ford,” Fiddleford calls sheepishly, “Are you ready to go?” He nods meekly in response, forcing a decrepit smile.

“The ice looks like stained glass,” Stanford denotes, capturing every single grain of detail that makes the breathtaking picture his eyes record. The shards of frozen water, gradient with shades from cyan to indigo, chime harmoniously as they dance with the wind. “Hey, look at that one,” Fiddleford delightfully remarks, pointing at a perfectly shaped shard of ice that resembles a crudely shaped six fingered hand. Stanford forces an anemic smile, but he notices his own hands trembling in his pockets. Maybe it’s just cold… He notices a handful of more ice shards, that are shaped similar to the six-fingered one, but appear as if they’d been… shattered.

It’s as if it resembles all the versions of Stanford that have, in a sense, fallen. It’s as if there is a mysterious force destroying them.

Stanford blinks, once, twice, then eleven times rapidly. “Stanford, do ya ever think you’d fall in love with someone?” Fiddleford asks him suddenly. “I…” Stanford mumbles, averting his eyes, besides you? “I-I haven’t really thought about it…” That’s a lie. Fiddleford brushes the hair out of his eyes, clearing his throat, “I mean, I-I could imagine you with someone maybe an inch or two taller than you… someone who’s good at engineering… someone who's…”

Me.

Fiddleford pretends to cough loudly, claiming that he choked on some water, despite the absence of a canteen. Stanford either didn’t hear him or just decided to ignore him, continuing to trudge through the snow. Fiddleford sighs quietly, the water in his breath condensing in the low temperature. In his head, he has many things he wants to say, but he bites his lip, not daring to utter a word. They walk, and they walk, without sharing a sound. They’ve been walking for a while, but they don’t bother to keep track of the time.

BANG!

Stanford freezes, his eyes widening in terror, “W-what was that?” Fiddleford takes out the shotgun he had been hiding in his knapsack, cocking it. He can feel the temperature drop lower down the scale. They don’t dare to move.

BANG!

Stanford flinches as he feels a burning hot stab to his left hand. He clasps it with his other hand and hisses a curse word through his teeth. He can feel warm, sticky blood start to ooze from his hand. Fiddleford’s face goes pale when he notices the blood drip, drip, drip. He turns to the trees, yelling obscenities into the void of the forest.

Hushed muttering answers him back, one voice sounding frustrated. Two middle-aged humanoid women step onto the scene. “See, Sinali! I told you it wasn’t a moordenaar,” one of the strangely human like (aside from the extra pair of arms and pastel magenta skin) being scolds her companion. She wears a brown, thin, unbuttoned leather vest over light yellow shirt, paired with brown trekking pants rolled up three quarters up her legs. Her short and butcherly cut, bronze hair shimmers in the winter light. Sinali, the other, rolls her eyes elegantly, clenching her gun in her second left hand. Every action she makes is orderly and professional, like herself. Her colour-treated bronze hair is tied neatly in a bun, with not a single hair out of place. She wears a black, tightly worn, perfectly buttoned vest over the whitest shirt to ever exist. Her sterling silver business skirt reaches down to the ground. She wears long, perfectly cut diamond blue diamond earrings that dance like wind chimes in the winter breeze. They chillingly wear the same face, but their attire splits them completely apart. If Stanford wasn’t so observant, he wouldn’t have noticed that they appear to be twins.

“De groeten! Name’s Salunu!!” The bubbly and outgoing humanoid greets the two humans warmly, shaking their reluctant hands. Salunu wipes Stanford’s blood off her hand on her pant leg, “We’re zesvoors, and I’m assuming you're… what’s the word… mensen!” Two floating eyeballs appear from behind her stare the humans down, which spooks Stanford, especially. “Augh! Floating eyes!! What happened your eyes!!” He shrieks, cowering behind Fiddleford. Salunu laughs loud and hard, almost, too hard. As if it is forced…

“Sister…” Sinali rumbles in a dangerously low tone, “I hope you have noticed that one of them is injured…” Salunu pulls on her shirt collar, “Ah, yes… Sinali, go heal him or something and we’ll meet at the library, yes?” Sinali rolls her eyes again, grabbing Stanford’s arm and drags him away with an iron grip, despite his audible protests. Fiddleford watches worriedly, until he is gone. “Come menselijk!” Salunu beckons, playfully bouncing through the snow. “I have a name, ya know. It’s Fiddleford,” he begrudgingly follows, muttering curses under his breath.

“Look, Fidelford.” Salunu utters for the first time in fifteen minutes. “Fiddleford,” he hisses bitterly. “Yes, that,” Salunu dismisses blatantly, not seemingly caring at all. Her voice drops into a serious tone, “I think it was mistake leaving your friend with Sinali…” Fiddleford cocks his head in bewilderment, “Where’s this goin’?” She takes a big breath, “My dear ali Sinali, she has a history for killing.” Worst-possible-scenarios start to play in Fiddleford’s head. He gulps, reaching for some water from his knapsack. “B-but she won’t hurt your friend,” Salunu adds hopefully. It doesn’t change Fiddleford’s mood.

Titans. Giant humanoid creatures that tower over five-storey buildings. They prey on the blood of human-class lifeforms, but do not possess the intelligence of such beings. There is little information on how or when these monstrous beasts began to exist. They inhabit very few realities, but be wary, for if one catches the scent of your blood, you are most certainly doomed…

“Annnnd I think I’ve lost my lunch,” Fiddleford remarks glumly, gagging at the wretched images of the strange creatures. He slams the book shut and grimaces, “Who goes out of their way to research this shit.” He looks up when he hears the bell by the library entrance ring again, hoping for it to be Stanford who walks through the door. He sighs and rests his head on the table when he sees that it is indeed, not Stanford. “Please do not fret, Fiddlefrog,” Salunu carps, putting back unwanted books in their place. I’m gonna fucking punt your arse into the nightmare realm if you get my name wrong one more time, Fiddleford angrily yells in his mind. She better get my goddamn fucking name right or so heLP ME GOD!! The doorbell chimes again, catching Fiddleford’s attention. His face lightens when he sees Stanford standing by the door.

“So this is your library,” Stanford mutters as he watches Sinali check in. He only starts to notice Fiddleford running towards him out of the corner of his eye, and doesn’t get enough time to react before his friend tackle-hugs him to the ground. Who would’ve thought he had that much strength in him. “Ooh, sorry!” Fiddleford meekly apologizes, pulling him back up. “S’ okay,” Stanford grins, giving him a proper hug. He chuckles heartily for the first time since they got sucked into the portal, “I’ve only been gone for an hour, what caused you to miss me that much?” Fiddleford’s smile falters. He stares into the ground so hard that he bores holes into the floorboards, “Somethin’ smells fishy about them.” Stanford glances over his friend’s shoulder to witness the hunter twins conversing with each other. He watches them with narrowed eyes, documenting every single move. “What makes you think that?” he asks, still watching the hunter twins. “I dunno, it’s somethin’ in the way they act,” Fiddleford answers quietly, stepping closer to his friend. He clenches his fist, “Maybe I’m being paranoid, but one acts like a sociopath, and the other acts like a trigger-happy lunatic.”

“I can see where you’re coming from,” Stanford asseverates, looking back at Fiddleford, “My feelings about them are mixed too. Plus, based on recent evidence, your guess is probably better than mine.” Fiddleford chortles, noogying Stanford affectionately, “Ass-kisser you.”

“Annnnd that’s about it! Town square, the palace, everything!” Salunu gleams, radiating smiles and happiness from her figure, “What do you think?” Stanford shrugs, his actions filled with reluctance. “Frogfrog?” “Fiddleford,” he gibes, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms. “Yeah, that’s what I said!” Salunu dismisses with a jolly remark. “Oh my stars!” she shrieks, her voice hanging at frequencies only dogs should hear, “I nearly forgot Mom’s royal ball!!” Sinali looks to the side and leans against the brick wall of the suburban store, “Mother’s fancy party… I was only starting to forget about it.” Salunu gasps dramatically, shaking her twin sister violently. “How could you!! It’s the most important event of the year!! And they,” she gestures towards the humans, “Are most definitely going to come!! They must meet Mom!!” Stanford turns away and curses under his breath. He never had an enthusiasm for parties, and that isn’t going to change tonight. “Come darlings!!” Salunu joyfully squeaks, dragging the two men down the street.

Boy, she is really getting on Fiddleford’s nerves.

She was able to drag two young, healthy men in their thirties from a suburban street back to her home at the royal palace without breaking a sweat. If she hasn’t already been pissing off Fiddleford, maybe he would’ve marvelled at such a talent. But, man, they hate being pushed around. “Hokay! Back home again!” Salunu says with delight, extending her four arms majestically.

Fiddleford has had enough of this overly enthusiastic and jolly humanoid woman. He tightly grabs Stanford’s wrist and pushes himself inside, brushing past various palace staff and into the spare room Sinali had given them a key for. He plunges the golden key into the lock, and pushes his way through he door, slamming it behind him. Stanford gingerly caresses his wrist, subtlety blushing. “How can you get someone’s name wrong that many times!” Fiddleford huffs, flopping face first onto the bed up against the wall on the left. He slightly sinks into the covers. Stanford wanders around, finding a basket full of alien fruit, “At least they left us some food.” Fiddleford longingly looks at the food, ravenous. “I―I’m still mad!” he resentfully answers back. A grin appears on Stanford’s face, as he gently places the the basket on the beside table. He swiftly opens the curtains that block the window at the far side of the room, opposite the door, granting themselves a view of the busy alien city. He turns back around looking for the second bed that doesn’t exist. “Uh… why is there only one bed?” he asks with trepidation. Fiddleford’s eyes dart between the bed he’s sitting on and the open space next to him, “I thought she-OH MY FUCKING GOD!” Stanford winces at his sudden outburst, feeling that the fault lies with him. Fiddleford forces himself up from the bed, stomping his way towards the phoneset. Stanford slyly retires the the bed, throwing his over coat onto the ground and wrapping himself in the covers. “Wha―! Busy my ass!” Fiddleford angrily curses at the phone. He storms his way towards the door, only stopping at a sudden objection from Stanford. He turns around, his anger temporarily dissipating, “What?”

“I… could you―could you stay with me? P-please?” Stanford replies nervously, almost immediately regretting it. Fiddleford completely calms down, sitting himself on the edge of the bed next to Stanford. He smiles lovingly, brushing his hand through his chocolate-brown hair. “Thank you,” Stanford whispers. It is only now that they realise how tired they are, despite only being the afternoon. The power of fatigue drowns them in drowsiness. Stanford is the first to fall asleep, with Fiddleford following not long after.

Later that evening, a couple of hours before the grand royal party being held tonight, Sinali creeps into the room, leaving clean clothes and a beautifully carved glass bottle filled with a strange, orange glowing liquid. She is careful not to wake the sleeping visitors, quickly scribbling a note for them. She smiles as she watches the two sleep in peace, quietly snoring away. She then pulls her eyes away from them, reminding herself to stay focused at the task at hand. Sinali finishes writing the note, then silently creeps out the room, gently closing the door behind her.

Click, the door cannot help but say after being closed. Fiddleford’s eyes snap open, and he cautiously looks around the room, half expecting one of the hunter sisters to jump out from the bathroom or something. He dismisses that thought, as he figures out how to ease himself off the bed without waking Stanford. “Poor baby,” Fiddleford whispers to himself, gently stroking his hair, “For all the bullshit I get from you… and yet I’m still here. Why am I still here? With you?”

He knows exactly why he’s still here. With him. He knows why he can’t stop coming back, after all this time. He doesn’t know whether he’s ready to admit it to himself.

After successfully getting up without waking Stanford, he notices the items left atop the huge dresser opposite the bed. Before checking out the mysteriously left items, he gently kisses Stanford’s lips, quintriple-checking beforehand that he’s one-hundred-percent asleep. The first thing his hands snatch from the dresser is a handwritten note, neatly composed on a small pastel purple note. Please come to the party. ―Sinali, it reads. “Vague,” Fiddleford remarks, shoving the delicate note in his pocket as if it were nothing. He notices the clean dress clothes, folded orderly. He checks the clothes, giving a point to Sinali for getting their sizes and fashion tastes correct. The last thing he inspects is the strange bottle with the even stranger glowing liquid. All-cure! Counteragent for any poison! He slides the vial away in the brown, tattered knapsack hanging from the door hook. He might need it later.

Fiddleford sits back down onto the bed, forgetting to quiet his actions. Stanford stirs from his peaceful sleep, “Fidds? What time is it?” Gingerly skimming his hand through Stanford’s hair again, he looks at the clock on the wall, “Ten to seven.” Stanford closes his eyes, altering his position slightly into a more comfortable one, “That royal party’s in fourty minutes. Are we going?” “Do you want to?” “No… not really…” A pause. A pause before Stanford adds, “But maybe… what if they have a spacecraft or something to get home with?” Fiddleford ponders the idea. He glances at the folded clothes on the dresser, and he remembers the note in his pocket, “So we’re going?”

“Y―yes.”

#potato writes #dimension hoppers au #fiddleford mcgucket #stanford pines #fiddauthor #look at me trying to write these nerds uwu #gravity falls #writes #MOTHERFUCKER I HATE HTML I FORGOT TO ITALIC TEXT

[ecotone99]

[RF] Man

​

Part 1

The man woke up with a start. He grabbed the warm sheets and tossed them away from his body, swiveled his legs away from the bed and slowly sat down. He placed his forearms on his thighs. The beads of sweat glimmered from the back of his hands as the dim morning rays pierced into his room.

He looked about. It was a soft white color all around. He faced a flat screen tv sitting on top of a wooden and chestnut colored tv stand. It was around 4 ft across, with 2 small doors in the center. One was partially swiveled open and within you could see a neat stack of books. Peering to his left he saw his closet doors closed shut. With a sigh and a little rub of the eyes he stood and walked over to the bathroom. Here he would start his day, as he did every other day.

The man peered into the mirror. Reflected back he saw his charcoal black hair, and soft dim blue eyes, the kind you see in the early winter morning sky. Low set cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and bags under his eyes, made his eyes appear cold, and sharp.

The man brushed his teeth in circles for 2 minutes, rinsed his brush and entered the shower. He turned on the shower head and used the water to rinse out his mouth. The shower was quick, he dried himself and walked over to his closet.

The man dressed rather plainly, a pair of jeans, a blue long sleeve, and some red vans is all he needed. During this time the sun had come up quite a bit, he opened up the blinds and the sun burst in unimpeded. The man walked over to his satchel, picked it up, and and went out closing the room behind him. Down the stairs he went, 3 floors.

After reaching foot outside he continued on his way. It was the month of May, the sun was bright and the temperature perfect, not to cold not to warm. With the sun behind, his apartment building cast a shadow in front, reaching the building on the opposing side.

The first stop of the day would be his favorite coffee shop, Elis Cafe it was called. He walked to the edge of the block and in the far distance he could see the lumbering giants occupying downtown. He would soon be there for work, but for now, coffee awaited. The man walked 2 blocks soaking in the sun. There was people everywhere. Numbingly he heard the honking of vehicles all about, and construction here and there. Finally the man had reached his destination.

He entered Elis Cafe, and being as it was still quite early, the place was empty. Elizabeth caught his gaze, and he caught hers.

‘Good morning Liz, how are you today’,Perhaps this was the best part of his day.

‘I’m doing good today, another great day, what can I say. Will you be having the usual’ She said with a smile,‘Ya, the usual.’‘Coming right up.’

It was a long and fairly narrow space, the coffee counter was closest to the door, and the pungent aroma of freshly ground coffee pierced the air. The man took a deep breath. He sat close to the entrance and faced the window.

He took quick glances at Elizabeth as she made his cappuccino. She was short with red hair, tied back in a ponytail. She was thin, with a fair complexion and round face, freckles all around. Her cheeks were full, and were died in a lively pink color, she had small lips, and a fair nose. She had deep green colored emeralds for eyes, twinkling and full of life. To him, she was beautiful. He thought of her as wild, untamable, fiery and so full of life.

The man heard the milk steamer stop, signaling that his drink was ready. For some reason he remembered the sweat on his hands that morning. Elizabeth glanced over and with a friendly looking face,

‘Your cappuccino is ready’,

The man walked over, grabbed the cup

‘Thank you’,‘Have a great day now, I’ll see you next week’

That was the end of his conversation. He never stood long at the coffee shop, he preferred to drink on the go. He had more than enough time to sit down and enjoy his coffee, and sometimes he wondered why he didn’t.

The man marched on, towards where the lumbering giants stood tall. They looked overbearing in the cool and foggy morning. Standing there as if they were the overseers of the city, continuously keeping watch over all its inhabitants. He continued on toward the subway.

Part 2

The man was never the first one to work, but he was never the last either. He arrived at his desk and readied himself mentally for another day. He couldn’t say why, but it was Friday and he was happy. He sat down in his chair. It was a rather expensive one that was supposed to help with posture. The company had decided to buy these chairs a couple months back along with stand up desks. When he had sat down for too long he could stretch his legs out a little then sit back down. It was great, he thought to himself.

The man went to the company kitchen for breakfast. If there was a perk he liked it was the free food. Eggs, strawberries, sausage, apples, biscuits, blackberries… The man always had eggs, a couple pieces of bacon, and some apple slices.

He sat down and slowly ate, it was good for his digestion to thoroughly chew his food, he thought. The man remembered the dream that had startled him awake that morning. He had dreamt that he was a wild dog, a wolf. It was hyper realistic, he had been a wolf himself within the dream. He remembered the beginning.

‘’’The winds were stabbing at his body like tiny icicles, it was relentless but his coat protected him from everything but the sharpest of gusts. The many winters he had lived through had hardened him, he felt comfortable as the cold and sharp winds whipped as his body. He trotted about, and could feel the cold in his paws, the snow had packed during night time and it was almost a foot high. Pines, and brush surrounded him, they created shadows of different sizes, colors and shapes on the ground. He came in full view of the sun as he came to a stop near the edge of the clearing. He closed his eyes and felt the energy of the rays permeate his coat, down to his inner being. He let this kind and gentle wave of warmth overtake him.

He stood looking toward the center of the clearing, three of his pack members were feeding on a young deer, killed just the day before. The dead animal was on its side, ribs sticking outward, with only a few pieces of flesh left. The three wolves fought between what little meat was left on the ribs.

They were all hungry and desperate, but for that very reason they felt much more alive, alert and ready. Soon a boon would come. The great elk migrations were only a couple moons away or so his instincts told him. “They would only need to wait until t…”

The moment of peace came to a crashing halt. The air seemed to split in two as a deafening crack reverberated throughout the misty air.‘’’

The man worked in one of the new style offices, they called them open space offices. He wasn’t sure about their purpose but the company was very excited about them. They were a big part of the culture as they’re supposed to foster interaction between team members.

His team was working on a new project. It was an extremely important one. The new system they were building would completely revamp the payment system for customers. The new system would make the payment process faster, quicker, and more transparent, both easier for the company and for the customer.

The thing he was most excited for was the new reward system that was being incorporated into payments. It was a system that perhaps hundreds of other companies had already built, but not his company. The company had recently noticed the reward system trend and decided it was best to build one out. One of the benefits was customer retention. The customers would keep coming back for more, because the more they bought the more they could earn in rewards. The man was very excited to be part of something new.

He worked throughout the morning until lunch time. He usually got food with Ryan, his team mate. The man almost never had the opportunity to talk to Ryan casually during work, but it was finally lunch time. They walked together to the company cafeteria, got food and sat down.

Ryan was a bright and cheerful guy, he was also extremely adept at his job. Ryan had a masters degree from Stanford, and everyone on the team had given him a subtle sense of respect, both for his qualifications, but also because of his easy going and cheerful personality. He was well liked by everyone.

Whenever the man had ideas or questions about work he would always talk to Ryan about them. He felt that Ryan could always give him a good opinion.

Ryan started to talk about the weekend. He was going to a club on Saturday, one of his favorite dj's was playing. On Sunday he would be going to an Italian culture festival. It would be 10 blocks of food, drink, rides and fun. Ryan asked the man if he wanted to go.

The man thought for a moment. On Sundays he usually spent part of his day at Central Park. He liked to walk and get away from the city once in while. He would pretend that he was in the woods in some far off place. It never lasted long but he always felt renewed somehow. The man would not give this up for anything or anyone.

‘Not this time Ryan.’

‘Its ok, maybe next time.’

The man thought he saw sadness and exhaustion in Ryan’s complexion if only for a second before his cheerful attitude took over again. They talked some more before heading back to work.

Part 3

It was near the end of the day. Friday was great. The man could leave just a bit earlier and he never felt bad about it. His whole team would do the same.

The man packed his things. He didn’t have much, his work laptop, a notebook, and some pens. He said goodbye to everyone and bid them all a good weekend. He walked to the elevator. He would need to go down 24 floors to get to the bottom.

The elevator stopped on floor 16, 3 people came in.The elevator stopped on floor 7, 5 people came in.

They reached the bottom floor, and they all moved out one by one. The man thought they seemed similar to ants. They were all part of the same colony, and they both moved in single file. He also felt his coworkers and himself were part of something bigger, together they contributed to the success and the health of the company. The man was glad he had a place where he belonged.

The man had been the first one in and was near the back, he was the last to get out.

As the man walked he thought about the rest of his day, he had made no plans for tonight. He usually read, played video games, and once in a while he would go to the pub to have a drink or two. “First things first”, the man thought, “I need to get home before I do anything”. He took the same route that he had taken on his way to work. He passed Elis cafe and took a glance inside. It was empty now but he remembered his time there that morning.

The man arrived home. He took off a shoe and threw it into the corner, he did the same with his other shoe. The man then placed his satchel near the bed, and threw himself onto the mattress.

The man felt himself sink, like a sinking ship being submerged into the ocean, becoming one with the surrounding water. The mans worries, joys, fears, and responsibilities all melted away as the man lost himself to sleep. It lasted only half an hour. The man sat up on his bed, and grabbed the book on his night stand. Again he lost himself for 2 hours.

It was Friday night now. The man was comfortable, he was relaxing in his apartment. After much back and forth about plans for that tonight, he decided to go to the pub. It was nearby, and it was his favorite pub. The man put the book on the stand, he got up and put his shoes on. He had slept with what he had put on for work, “its still clean, why change”, he thought as he went out the door.

Part 4

The man took a sip of his beer. It was quiet, and not many people were there. It was a small bar. There were two pool tables behind him and the orange sheen of the incandescent light bulbs flooded the area. The place seemed a little dirty and grungy, but the man liked it, “its nice if its like this” the man thought to himself. It was ran by an old lady, Mary was her name.

The mans thoughts started to wander, he thought about his week at work, then he remembered his conversation with Ryan that morning. He remembered the glint of sadness and exhaustion that had completely overtaken Ryan. He had seen it before and it always troubled him. It didn’t make sense, Ryan was great in so many aspects, and he had it all it seemed. Ryan had graduated from one of the best colleges in the United States, he was loved by everyone, he was extremely knowledgeable in his trade, and he held a high position within his organization, yet why did he have bouts of melancholy and struggle within himself? What did Ryan have, was he sick, maybe he was just tired, was he bored with his position? The man kept wondering about these questions for a while longer until a man seated himself next to him.

He was tall and handsome. The man had dark hair, short and slicked back. He was a man blessed with good looks, his features were sharp and refined. He wore a white long sleeve button up with slacks and dress shoes, it seemed that he had removed his tie for comfort before hand, yet he was still tucked in. The man thought to himself that this newcomer, seemingly from the upper echelons of society, was out of place in the bar, but was he in a position to make such a claim? The man himself worked for a high tier company. He himself didn’t need to dress so sharply, but he certainly earned enough to be considered upper society. Was he though, did money itself make him upper society? Did money itself make him a better human being? Absolutely not, the notion itself was ridiculous, or was it? The ideal world and the real world were not one and the same.

The man let these thoughts go. He didn’t mind the newcomer, he was going to relax and enjoy his beer. Unexpectedly the newcomer started to talk to him, but deep in the back of his mind the man expected it, almost anticipating the moment that this snazzy man would start talking to him.

“How’s it going buddy.”

“Its going good, pal.”

The man didn’t like the newcomers tone, so he had responded in kind. This sort of situation had never occurred to him, everyone usually kept to their own here.

“Nice shoes you got there, flashy color”,

“Ya, reds my favorite color”,

“No shit, reds my favorite color as well! My names Dmitri by the way. Yours?“

“I’m Adrian, good to meet you”, the man responded.

This was a battle, Adrian thought immediately. Dmitri’s tone of voice, words, poise and body language all led to the same conclusion. A battle to see who could win the other over. Adrian sensed no malevolence, or bad intentions, but he neither sensed benevolence or good intentions. This was a game for Dmitri, and Adrian instinctively knew this.

Adrian was curious about the man. He felt drawn to him, more so they were both drawn to each other. Both knew the game they were playing, and both were willing to play.

Mary interjected.“Hey honey, are you having the usual.” She asked Dmitri.“Ya, thank you Mary.”

Adrians phone started to vibrate. He took a quick glance. His boss had sent him a text telling him to take over weekend job duties that Sunday.

“Ahh”, Adrian thought to himself. Memories of his dream that morning started to flood him.

‘’’It wasn’t thunder, it was gunfire. He recoiled for a second, then quickly scanned the area. Lying next to the deer carcass was one the younger members of the pack. His chest was heaving and struggling to expand out, the pure white snow below him was already being stained bright red.

Through the brush and the pine trees he had spotted moving bodies in the distance. They were about 150m out, with 2 upright creatures, as well as 5 domesticated wolves alongside with them. These domestic wolves were helping the upright creatures hunt their own kind. “Were they traitors?” He thought. “No. They were born and given a place. I was also born and given a place on this earth.” It wasn’t his place to judge who was in the right and who in the wrong, his only responsibility and care in the world were to protect and ensure the survival of his pack. To protect his young who would make up the next generation and to protect those who would teach them. That was his place and responsibility.

He had analyzed his surroundings and had thought these thoughts within a fraction of a second. His mind was running at a pace unknown to him previously before. His muscles started to twitch and spasm as the adrenaline flooded into his system. His movements no longer needed thought, his muscles contracted and expanded naturally, by instinct and experience. He felt an immense increase of pressure in his chest. At this moment life was no longer a passive exercise, it required of him his absolute and undivided attention, his body and actions, his immediate decisions, it demanded of him his whole being.

The air beside him cracked and bent as a gunshot went past him. He took another glance at the party that was pursuing them, their goal was to kill. The hunting dogs were let loose. This would be his final act.

There are 11 pack members, now 10. 3 cubs, 2 older members, 1 youngster, and 4 able hunters including himself. His pack needed to move now to avoid gunfire.

“Could they outrun the hunting dogs while carrying the cubs? No.”

They couldn’t sit still and defend the area either, they would be picked off by the hunters one by one.

“What if they all ran in the same direction and fought only when the hunting dogs came close? No, 3 of us need to carry cubs which would slow us down, that leaves 4 to fight against their 5, but what if their 5th decided to attack the ones carrying the cubs, this would allow the 2 legged hunters to close in on all of us.”

“3 of us will stay and delay the hunting dogs. This would allow the rest of the pack to move toward safety. All 5 of the hunting dogs would attack us as well, they wouldn’t chase the others. 5 against 3 are odds to tempting to let go.”

He looked at the members of his pack. He didn’t need to give out orders. With a look they knew his intentions and his command. The older members and the youngster each grabbed a cub by the scruff, they started to run off in the distance along with his best hunter.

He ran over to the fallen member. His chest slowly heaving, with misty and glossed over eyes. He was at the boundary of this realm and the next. He tapped the fallen members nose with his nose, a solemn and quick goodbye was all he could give. As if waiting for that moment the fallen member closed his eyes, and the heaving stopped. Peace. The deer from yesterday and his friend today, they were different creatures altogether when alive, but here next to each other and in death they were all too similar. No, he thought, they are the same.

As bullet after bullet passed by, he and his 2 hunters moved intentionally and slowly toward a nearby mound, baiting the dogs to that location. The 2 legged hunters would have no clear shot, no line of site. “This will give them 3. No, 2 minutes at most to fight and kill off as many of the dogs as they could”. He snarled and growled, his muscles twisted and wound up ready to explode, anticipating the next second. The dogs were now 20m away.‘’’

Adrian awoke with a start.

​

Website https://www.littlepuggames.com/2019/04/11/man/

submitted by /u/rudaloo [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2Z4DAS2

#Blogger #Story

[jodyedgarus]

The A’s Changed Baseball Once. They May Be Changing It Again.

At midseason, the American League seemed decided. The number of tanking teams — some intentional efforts, some unintentional — combined with the AL’s super teams1 were conspiring to strip the league of postseason races. The league’s playoff teams seemed all but set by the All-Star Game.

But then the Oakland A’s came charging out of the baseball wilderness to give us some late-summer drama.

After three consecutive last-place finishes, the Athletics began the year with a 16 percent probability of reaching the postseason and a 6 percent chance of winning the AL West. And just two months ago, they were as many as 11.5 games behind the reigning World Series champion Astros. But after winning 42 of their last 58 games entering Friday, the A’s have cut that deficit to 1.5 games, and they now have an 89 percent chance of advancing to the postseason and a 22 percent chance of winning the AL West.

The surge is no fluke. Oakland has the game’s eighth-best run differential, at +94 runs, and has seen the greatest improvement in FiveThirtyEight’s team rating since the start of the season.2

The A’s meteoric rise

Major league teams by change in Elo from the preseason and the All-Star Game, as of Aug. 22

Elo Change from … Team Preseason All-Star Game Current All-Star Game Preseason Athletics 1490 1528 1551 +23 +61 Red Sox 1549 1590 1602 +12 +53 Braves 1474 1510 1519 +9 +45 Rays 1495 1519 1519 0 +24 Cardinals 1522 1508 1540 +32 +18 Rockies 1503 1510 1519 +9 +16 Diamondbacks 1523 1523 1536 +13 +13 Pirates 1483 1483 1493 +10 +10 Reds 1465 1484 1474 -10 +9 Astros 1577 1599 1585 -14 +8 Phillies 1490 1507 1496 -11 +6 Yankees 1565 1589 1571 -18 +6 Brewers 1510 1519 1515 -4 +5 Angels 1510 1514 1511 -3 +1 Mariners 1508 1522 1507 -15 -1 Giants 1494 1502 1490 -12 -4 Marlins 1443 1449 1439 -10 -4 Rangers 1497 1480 1492 +12 -5 Mets 1491 1464 1484 +20 -7 Tigers 1449 1448 1441 -7 -8 Indians 1576 1555 1566 +11 -10 Padres 1455 1446 1444 -2 -11 Cubs 1558 1568 1543 -25 -15 Dodgers 1568 1560 1553 -7 -15 White Sox 1457 1437 1441 +4 -16 Twins 1510 1494 1493 -1 -17 Nationals 1546 1522 1524 +2 -22 Blue Jays 1507 1488 1480 -8 -27 Royals 1459 1408 1407 -1 -52 Orioles 1475 1422 1416 -6 -59

So how did the A’s get here? This isn’t another “Moneyball” story. The once-undervalued metric of on-base percentage is no longer baseball’s best-kept secret — and it’s not even an Oakland staple. The A’s have instead pursued different paths to become one of the better teams in the major leagues despite opening the season with the game’s lowest payroll.

Keeping it in the air

Because fly balls and line drives are so much more valuable than ground balls, more and more individual players are trying to launch balls into the air. But the A’s have acquired, and ostensibly tried to develop, the skill at a teamwide level since 2013. As MLB.com’s Mike Petriello found, the A’s have posted five of the eight lowest ground-ball seasons since 2004, including this season’s mark so far. Their average launch angle of 14.9 degrees leads baseball.3

While they have acquired fly-ball hitters like Jed Lowrie, Matt Joyce and Khris Davis, they have also developed anti-grounder sluggers in Matt Olson (2012 first-round pick) and Matt Chapman (2014 first-rounder). Lowrie told FiveThirtyEight that he never sat down with an A’s official to talk about his batted-ball profile, but the Stanford University product does use the technology available in the home batting cage for tracking his exit velocity and launch angle to fine-tune his swing.

“My guess is they probably identify guys like that to try and acquire [the skill],” Lowrie said of the A’s front office. “It’s part of their calculus.”

What on-base percentage was to the Moneyball A’s, fly-ball percentage is to this group of upstarts. That’s made them the league’s fourth-most efficient offense despite a near league-average on-base mark of .322.

The A’s are also adapting to their environment. Lowrie notes that Oakland Coliseum is one of the most difficult places in the game to drive the ball, and while the A’s have the lowest ground-ball rate on the road in the majors at 37.8 percent, that rate spikes to 40.9 percent at home, good for eighth-lowest. While Lowrie says teammates Davis, Olson and Chapman can hit the ball “out of Yellowstone,” other A’s alter their approach depending on the ballpark environment. The A’s lead baseball in offensive efficiency on the road with 119 weighted runs created plus (wRC+), a stat that adjusts for park and run environment, with 100 representing league-average performance. But Oakland is only about average at home, with 96 wRC+.

Lowrie noted that the A’s set a record for most consecutive road games with a home run this season4 and that they’ve done much more damage on the road. The Athletics rank 18th in the majors in home runs at home with 67, but they lead the majors in road homers with 106. They are one of the best road teams in baseball at 37-26.

“We are playing on a [home] field that is below sea level, with swirling winds that are generally blowing in from right field,” Lowrie said. “We’ve pitched much better at home,” with a 3.32 home ERA vs. 4.30 on the road. “We’ve found different ways to win at home and on the road.”

Always be closing

The early 2000s A’s rarely overpaid or valued relievers, believing them to be highly fungible. This Oakland team has the most dominant reliever in the game in Blake Treinen and has further bolstered its strong bullpen with trade acquisitions of Jeurys Familia (2.02 fielding-independent pitching, 19 strikeouts in 15 innings with the A’s) from the Mets and former Twins closer Fernando Rodney.

Acquired as a buy-low target with a 5.73 ERA last July in a trade that sent Sean Doolittle and Ryan Madson to Washington, Treinen is second in the majors in relief WAR and owns a 1.00 ERA.

While WAR may not be the optimum way to measure a reliever’s value, win probability added (WPA) accounts for the change in win expectancy between every plate appearance. According to WPA, Treinen has been the most valuable pitcher in baseball this season — ranking ahead of aces Max Scherzer, Jacob deGrom and Aaron Nola. His sinker leads the majors in whiffs per swing, and when put in play, it produces 4.6 ground balls for every fly ball. Per FanGraphs pitch values, it’s the fifth-best sinker in the majors. The pitch, with its combination of elite velocity and movement, can make opponents look foolish.

Blake Treinen with your Standard 98mph Back Foot turbo Sinker. pic.twitter.com/3cAYX5EGyb

— Rob Friedman (@PitchingNinja) August 4, 2018

Treinen also has a slider and cutter that baffle opponents.

Blake Treinen, 89mph Slider, 95mph Cutter and an Overlay (slow) of both pitches. pic.twitter.com/9n6XpS9lb8

— Rob Friedman (@PitchingNinja) August 14, 2018

Diversifying their pitches

While the A’s have a dominant star in the bullpen, the story is different in the rotation. In the early 2000s, the A’s had a trio of front-line starters in Barry Zito, Mark Mulder and Tim Hudson. This year’s A’s team has a rotation populated predominantly by reclamation projects like Trevor Cahill, Brett Anderson, Mike Fiers and Edwin Jackson. Without a legit ace — or even a household name — the A’s rank second to the Red Sox in pitching WPA.

Signed to a one-year, $1.5 million contract in the winter, Cahill has become one of the biggest bargains in baseball in part by reducing the use of his fastball and generating more swing and miss with his slider, more than doubling its usage. Cahill has a 3.44 ERA, and his 2.1 WAR according to FanGraphs is the second-best mark of his career.

Cahill had once been heavily dependent upon his sinker, but he told FiveThirtyEight that the A’s have given him “weighted pitch” data, which he’s used to diversity his overall pitch mix. For the first time since 2012, he has four above-average pitches, according to FanGraphs linear weights.

“If you can throw four different pitches, and they are doing different things in the zone, it’s tough [for batters] to guess,” Cahill said.

The A’s also have pitch-tracking Rapsodo technology for use in between appearances, which Cahill uses to monitor his release point and the underlying characteristics of his pitches — like spin rate — between starts.

“I go look at my curveball and see if the spin rate is higher,” Cahill said. “I look at where I am releasing it.”

The well-traveled, and perhaps forgotten about, Jackson has given the A’s 60 quality innings this season — not bad for a guy playing on his 13th(!) MLB team. Jackson has done this by getting crafty: reducing the use of his fastball from 35.3 percent last season (47.9 percent for his career) to 16.2 percent this season.

Among the changes Fiers has made since joining the A’s is creating more separation in height between his fastball and curveball, as Jeff Sullivan found for FanGraphs. He has a 1.47 ERA in three starts with Oakland.

Saving more runs

The makeshift pitching staff is also aided by one of the best infield defenses in the game. That’s an effort led by Chapman.

While Chapman is an excellent hitter, he’s the best third base defender in the game according to Defensive Runs Saved — and it’s not close. In fact, his 26 Defensive Runs Saved are the best in the game at any position. The next closest third baseman is Travis Shaw of Milwaukee with nine.

Chapman leads an elite Oakland infield defense. According to DRS, the A’s also rank second in DRS at first base and eighth at shortstop in the majors. Moreover, Oakland trails only the Arizona in the difference between expected opponent batting average — based on opponent exit velocity — and actual opponent batting average. The A’s are getting to more ground balls and line drives relative to their infielder rivals.

The Moneyball A’s didn’t prize defense, fly balls or ace relievers, but this club does. While the formula is different than in the early 2000s, what remains the same is that the A’s are finding value where other clubs are not.

Check out our latest MLB predictions.

from News About Sports https://fivethirtyeight.com/features/the-as-changed-baseball-once-they-may-be-changing-it-again/