#so every year the senior paint their name on the rock outside the parking lot right

[daisydogboy]

i think i've just fucked myself

#hey wow i might have to come out to my parents as trans sooner than i liked #so every year the senior paint their name on the rock outside the parking lot right #and i painted my actual name #not my deadname right? #and i make a joke about painting on the rock #and my dad goes 'how about after breakfast tomorrow we go look at it :)' #FUCK #i dont think my mom would care honestly #but oh my god my dad #well this will be fun #to be updated #this sounds much more calm than i feel

[artificialqueens]

Small Town Girl, Chapter One (Crygi) - Sweett-Hhappiness

One Direction blasting on the in her AirPods. Trees blurring by her window. Head rested on her knees which where tightly tucked into her chest. Even someone who had never seen her before could probably tell how genuinely unexcited she was to be 10 minutes out from her new phone is bright and shiny Los Angeles.

“Cryssie” Her mom shakes her lightly, causing the girl with curly red hair to pull her headphones out “were nearly there, please pack up your things and get ready.”

Obeying her moms wishes, she grabs her paint splattered bag and shoves her sketch book, pencils, and phone charger into it, zipping up carefully. Not even 5 minutes later, they pull into the driveway of a grey house and her mom shuts off the car, smiling over at her miserable looking daughter.

Crystal throws the door of the car open and slips out, throwing her bag over her shoulder. All of their boxes had previously been placed into the house, so she quickly makes her way into her new home. Practically sprinting up the stairs to her new room. She nods in approval at the pale yellow color it was painted.

She looks through the boxes in her room, pulling out her easel and setting it up in the corner opposite to her bed, followed by all her paints. She places her sketch book and assortment of pencils and markers onto the old white wooden desk placed in the final corner of her room.

“Crystal! Honey! Come introduce yourself to our new neighbors.” Crystal hears her mom call out. Padding down the stairs, she sees her mother standing with another older women, and her daughter, who seems to be around Crystal’s age.

“Hey, I’m Crystal” She says and offers her hand to the girl standing in front of her. She was tall, much taller then Crystal, and she had on a beautiful bubblegum colored dress with little wedges. Very different from Crystal’s baggy blue jeans streaked with different colored paints, and her tie dyed shirt. Her messy red hair pulled loosely into a bun, not doing much to tame her wild hair.

“GiGi” The girl offers with a warm, yet shy, smile, shaking her hand. Gigi. that name fit her perfectly in Crystal’s opinion.

“Genevieve, why don’t you help Crystal unpack some things in her new room. I’m sure it would be a huge help” The girls mother says with a smile, yet the smile seemed cold and uninviting, even though it was towards her own daughter. Gigi nodded shyly and Crystal leads her up to the room, which is still just set up with her art supplies.

“Your mom seems... intense” Crystal says as she closes the door behind them, chuckling softly.

“Yeah, you could say that” Gigi chuckles softly “are you going to be at North Winfield High?” she asks and tilts her head to the side. This causes the girls hair to fall to the other side, making a beauty mark visible on Gigi’s left cheek. Everything about this girl made Crystal ache with the desire to draw her.

“Uh, yeah I think so. I’m a senior” Crystal says with a weak smile “not that it really matters since i’m coming to a new school in the middle of my senior year” she shrugs and turns on her heel, pulling out a bag full of paint brushes, before turning back to Gigi as she speaks.

“I’m a senior as well, I can show you around tomorrow” she starts “i-if you want of course” the girl stutters out with a cute little blush.

“That would be awesome” Crystal sighs in relief, knowing she won’t have to stumble around awkwardly, trying to find her classes and having no one to talk to. Gigi couldn’t help a giggle that escapes her lips at Crystal’s adorable expression of relief.

That giggle, wow Gigi must be perfect. Everything seemed to be perfectly in place. She was so well put together, while Crystal was a collage of colors and textures, a mess.

“Gi! Come on we should be heading out” The girls mother shouts from down the stairs. Gigi gives Crystal a soft smile before speaking sweetly.

“See you tomorrow, Crys” She says, before turning on her heels and leaving Crystal star struck, standing there like an idiot.

It’s safe to say Crystal didn’t sleep well that night. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t get the picture of Gigi out of her head. Deciding to give up on a good nights sleep, she put in her AirPods, blasted music, and started to sketch a rough outline of Gigi’s face, which then turns into a detailed drawing with different shades of charcoal. By the time she was finished, her hands and face had lots of black residue. She cleans it off before finally crashing in bed, falling asleep easily.

———

What seemed like 30 seconds was actually 3 full hours of sleep, before Crystal’s alarm was blaring.

Groaning, the girl got up and trudged to the bathroom, looking at herself and seeing the worst case of bed head. She decides she mine as well shower since she had an hour before she had to be at school.

Getting out, she cleaned the steam covered mirror off and brushed out her wild hair. Even after being washed and brushed, it was still drying curly and untamed. Crystal didn’t mind though.

She threw in a loose pair of paint stained overalls with a baggy purple hoodie, stuffing her bag with her sketch book, pencils, charger, and laptop before dragging herself downstairs to eat the breakfast her mom had made.

After a drawn out conversation about starting school, a knock interrupted them. To Crystals surprise, Gigi had been standing on the other side. “Hey?” Crystal asked a bit confused.

“Hey, um, do you want a ride to school?” Gigi asked, visibly nervous. It was endearing to see this beautiful girl so shy.

“Oh- definitely! Thank!” Crystal says and smiles, throwing on her Doc Martens and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Bye mom! i’ll see you after school!” she calls out and follows Gigi out the door, allowing herself to slide into the passengers seat of Gigi’s pale blue Volkswagen. “Your car is so nice” Crystal says in shock. Her parents could never afford her a car like this.

“Oh! Thank you! I got it for my sixteenth birthday.” Gigi explains with a smile, before carefully pulling out of the driveway and off towards the school. “Are you ready to come to North? It’s quite the experience for a small town girl like yourself”

“No way in hell am I ready” Crystal chuckles and smiles as Gigi turns on the radio. What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction playing and Crystal can’t help the smile that forms on her lips. Singing along shamelessly to every word that plays.

“You of all people like One Direction?” Gigi asked with a giggle and a nose scrunch. Gigi found its adorable that artsy Crystal liked a boy band.

“Are you making fun of my taste in music Miss Goode?” Crystal asked and raised on of her eyebrows at the taller girl. Gigi suppressed another giggle from slipping through her lips as they pull into the school parking lot and both exit the car.

“So i’ll take you to the office to check your schedule, then i’ll walk you to class and give you my phone number so i can find you throughout the day” Gigi explains as she leads her through the building.

Crystal was immediately overwhelmed. Her old school had been rather small, but this school? It was the opposite. Having 6 floors, one of which was a pool. A pool! What kind of school had a pool!

“Y-yeah, okay” Crystal nods as they walk into the office. Greeted by Principal Michelle.

“Hello Miss Goode, how can I help you” She asks with a kind hearted smile.

“Hey” Gigi starts with a smile “My friend, Crystal Methyd, yeah, shes new. Can we get her schedule please?” she asked politely. She was much more polite then Crystal. The principal handed it over with a smile and they thanked her, leaving the room before scanning over the paper. “Okay so, first, second, and sixth period we have together, the rest i’ll show you too throughout the day” Gigi explains with a nod.

Crystal looked overwhelmed, even though she was trying her best to hide it “sure, um, yeah sounds good” she stutters out.

“Hey, Crys, it’s all gonna be fine” Gigi says and puts her hands on Crystal’s shoulders, smiling sweetly. Crystal can’t help but relax under the girls touch. Nodding, the girls walk off together towards their first class, art.

The first half of the day seemed to fly by, as she was walking next to Gigi towards an outdoor table for lunch with her friends. Crystal said it wasn’t necessary, not wanting to impose on her time with her friends, but Gigi had insisted they would love Crystal.

“Gigi!” A bubbly blonde shouts and giggles, hugging the girl who Crystal had been with the last two days.

“Hi Jan, this is my friend, Crystal” Gigi introduces. Crystal gives a nervous wave to Jan and the group of girls in front of her. They all have kind smiles and wave back happily. “Crystal, this is Jan, Jackie, Rock, and Heidi” Gigi says and points to each girl.

Crystal smiles and falls into easy conversation with Gigi’s friends, talking about art, and music, and movies. Even being invited to Gigi’s sleepover that night, seeing as it was a Friday. She reluctantly agreed, after Jan and Gigi had practically begged her to join.

———

Crystal packed up her overnight back and padded across the lawn, knocking on Gigi’s door. She was pulled inside as soon as it has swung open by an excited Gigi.

“Okay so my mom isn’t home for the weekend, so Heidi brought drinks” Gigi bounces excitedly, already visibly tipsy as she hangs on Crystal giddily.

Crystal chuckles and puts her arm around the girls waist as Gigi leads her to her room, where all the girls are already settled on the floor, drinking from red cups and giggling aimlessly at whatever story Jan was telling.

After some drinking, and story telling, and movies later, Jan, Jackie, Rock, and Heidi decided they were tired and were going to head to bed. Gigi leaned over to Crystal and tucked some hair out of her face.

“Psst, Crys, do you want to go outside on my porch?” Gigi whispered. Crystal nods softly and they walk out quietly, not wanting to wake the other girls who were peacefully sleeping on Gigi’s bedroom floor.

“Um, Geege, do you smoke pot?” Crystal asked nervously as she pulls out a joint and a lighter. Gigi smirks devilishly and nods, taking them from her hand and giggling as she lights it, taking a long drag.

Crystal smiles at Gigi’s excitement over the little joint she had brought over, taking it from Gigi’s fingers and taking a hit of her own, blowing the smoke in Gigi’s face, causing her to giggle.

“You’re really pretty, you know” Gigi explains to Crystal with a dorky grin on her face, pushing some of Crystal’s wild hair out of her face.

Crystal blushes and thanks her as they continue to pass the joint back and forth.

“Last hit, want to share?” Crystal asked with a smirk. Gigi nods and with that, Crystal takes the last bit of the joint, putting it out, before taking Gigi’s face in her hands and moving them only inches apart, exhaling the smoke into Gigi’s mouth as she inhales, they separate after a few lingering moments and Gigi’s exhales the smoke out, blushing like crazy.

After a few moments of silence, they decided to make their way back up to Gigi’s room. The taller girl insisting that Crystal sleep in her bed, even with Crystal’s warnings that she is a huge cuddle bug, Gigi didn’t seem to mind at all.

Snuggled up into each other, they fell asleep peacefully, happy in each others embrace as the warm buzz goes through their heads and chests from the mix of pot and alcohol they had consumed through the night.

Crystal could definitely get used to this.

#rpdr fanfiction #crygi #crystal methyd #gigi goode #high school au #small town girl #leda #s12

[neqeyam]

Forgotten Myth; Chapter One.

Word Count - 2746

Warnings - possible trigger for fears of heights, and falling, and mean hall monitors.

Summary - When fourteen year old Ruby Moore is chased down the hallway at school by a character out of one of her fever dreams, she gets thrown into a world of tales and myths that society has ruled out to be fake. Befriending a Pegasus that hates everyone, and gathering friends strong enough to be considered a small army, she has to embark on a journey that will change her life forever.

POV- Ruby

Chapter Two- https://rqmcuwdwpjo.tumblr.com/post/188483698489/forgotten-myth-chapter-two

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking; ‘wow, demigods are so cool! That must be so much fun! I bet they get lasers!’ Well, it’s not that fun; it actually gets old after like two days. I’m not trying to die every ten minutes. As for the lasers, unless they’re made by the senior counselor of the Hephaestus cabin Leo Valdez, they’re not going to be on your side.

My name is Ruby Moore, but I’m sure you’re more concerned with how I know all this. One word; experience. Example one of why the life of a demigod isn’t fun, ever witness your best friend and favorite teacher fight off Echidna in the middle of the hallway? Didn’t think so. Imagine my surprise when freshman Ruby was trying to run away from Echidna during fifth period and my best friend pulled out two daggers to fight the thing. That’s where this story starts, me sprinting down the hall while a character from one of my fever dreams slithers after me.

I twirled the hall pass around my index finger, leisurely strolling down the hall toward the bathroom. The hall monitor, Mrs. Johansson stopped me, her yellow eyes narrowed as she scrutinized me silently.

“Pass,” she demanded, holding out a hand for it. Now, Johansson sounds like a nice name; most people associate it with Scarlett Johansson from Iron Man, but Mrs. Johansson of Marbur Academy in Columbus, Ohio (In the schools presentation they say that they’re the best for your ADHD children, and let me just say; ehe, that is not correct.) is exactly the opposite. Take Sirus Snape from Harry Potter; genderbend him, add a few pounds at the hips then give him a lisp and the voice of Roz from Monsters Inc. That’s Mrs. Johansson.

I held up the pass for her to see, she studied it for a few minutes; looking between me and the pass. She always spent extra time looking at my passes since Jackson Ryans accused me of faking a pass to get out of class early (not that’d I’d so such a thing, wink wink, hint hint).

“You don’t look very great… no, definitely no threat here,” she murmured, handing me the pass back.

“I’m sorry? I-I feel fine,” I said, confused. Mrs. Johansson waved me off, I started to walk away when she hissed. Not like the weird girl from third grade that thought she was a cat, no, like a snake hissing in warning. I turned back towards her just in time to see her legs fuse together into a tail- no wait, the bottom half of a snake. Her eyes slit and a long snake tongue slipped in and out of her mouth.

“A-Actually… on second thought-” I took a few steps backwards, trying to put some space between the snake lady thing and I. She hissed again and looked down at me, sneering as our eyes met.

“Whatssss the matter? Ssscared?” The snake lady hissed, swiping a hand at me.

“Uh- Yeah…” I squeaked, taking off down the hallway. The snake lady yelled and slithered after me, throwing rocks and other various objects at me. How she got these items was beyond me.

My legs carried me faster than I’d ever run before, burning when I skidded around corners. I felt like I’d been running for forever when I finally came across Ayla Weber; my best friend, talking to her architecture 1 teacher Miss Chase. They noticed me sprinting down the hallway before I could call out, breaking the distance by jogging toward me. Ayla looked more worried than I’d ever seen her look before.

“Ruby, why are you running?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as I slumped over, trying to catch my breath.

“Mrs. Johansson… snake thing- chasing- me…” I panted as I sat down on the floor hard. Miss Chase knelt down next to me, her gray eyes filled with worry.

“Snake lady? Like Echidna?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever that is.” I mumbled, putting my arms over my head to open my airways. Just as I was about to lay down, the snake lady thing came barreling around the corner and down the hallway, yelling in another language. Although, I realized, I could understand her. This was definitely a fever dream.

Miss Chase and Ayla looked at each other and nodded. Ayla reached into her backpack and pulled out two eighteen inch long daggers, while Miss Chase pulled a shorter dagger out of a sheath under her shirt. Together they ran at the snake lady, cutting and slashing at it. The snake lady pulled out a sword to fend them off. Miss Chase got in behind the snake lady thing while Ayla distracted it from the front. She yelled in agony and flaked away, a dark dust that reminded me of coal. They turned back to me, assessing me I guess. I stared at them in awe, mouth hanging open, eyes wide.

“That was awesome!” I yelled, standing up so quickly my vision spotted, (stupid iron deficiency). “When and where did you learn to fight like that Ayla? You’ve been holding out on me girl!” I said, flailing my arms in exaggeration.

“We need to go, there’ll be more if we stay.” Miss Chase said, pocketing her phone and jogging to get her computer bag out of her classroom. Ayla put her daggers back in her backpack, perfectly hidden behind the straps.

“Where?”

Ayla pulled a necklace out from under her shirt. “To camp of course,” she said, I looked at them, her first bead had a painting of a tiny centaur in a dress, another was all black except for a turquoise trident in the middle of it.

Miss Chase -who told me to call her Annabeth- hurried us outside and across the parking lot to the football practice fields. As we got closer I noticed two chariots waiting for us. (I only knew that because of a mythology class I failed out of last semester). Each chariot had two Pegasi reined to it, waiting for takeoff. One of the Pegasi had its wings stretched out and it had to have had a twenty foot wingspan.

Ayla hopped into the closest chariot, pulling me in after her. We stood on either side of a semi scrawny kid with bright blond hair like mine, and a medical bag slung across his body. Annabeth hopped into the chariot in front of us, taking up position next to a really buff guy. The Pegasi unfolded their wings and with one flap we were in the sky.

“Brace yourselves.” the blond kid said. Ayla grabbed into the handles on either side of the chariot, blocking the path in case I fell. I grabbed the handle next to the scrawny kid as he whipped the reins. Our chariot lurched forwards, the wind pushing me back so hard I almost fell… again. It felt like how you would imagine going into hyperspeed in Star Wars, or how the Flash feels when he runs really fast. The wind was hitting my face so hard I couldn’t breathe, and I felt bad for Ayla; who was probably swallowing my hair. Suddenly, the blond kid tightened the reins and the Pegasi went straight up. He was smart enough to put a hand on my back. He whipped the reins again and the Pegasi nose dived, tucking their wings at their sides completely. Ayla slammed into my back, smashing me against the front of the chariot.

“Will! What in Hades!” Ayla gasped over the wind. He looked back over his shoulder, I followed his gaze to see two concentrated storms following us. Lightning flew at us, horizontal across the sky. The blond kid, whom I’m assuming to be Will; jerked the reins to the left, just barely dodging the lightning. It curved toward us, and Will kept trying to dodge it.

“Get on the Pegasi!” he yelled, shoving me over the edge of the chariot. I lost my balance and fell face first onto the back of the first Pegasus. Ayla came flying over to the second one, her shoes had sprouted wings. I was too confused to do or say anything.

“What about you?” I called back, turning to see him cutting the ropes attached to him and the Pegasi. He didn’t say anything and cut the final rope, the chariot fell at an angle. Going with the lost momentum of the Pegasi. Ayla and I looked at each other in horror as we watched him fall. The chariot gained more speed than he did.

“Dive!” I yelled, grabbing the broken rein and whipping it. I had no idea what I was doing but it felt right. The Pegasus folded its wings and we hurdled toward the ground. It took all the leg and stomach muscles I didn’t have to keep from falling over the front of the Pegasus. We’re not gonna make it, I thought. Blonde hair was whipping around in the wind so hard I thought it was going to rip right off my head while my mind went into overdrive as I tried to think of a way to speed up.

“Fly toward him!” I yelled over the wind, the Pegasus obeyed. Flapping its wings propelling us toward the Earth faster than I would like to. When I could make out Will’s facial expression I reached out my hand, snatching his flailing arm on a luck shot. With one hand, I tightened the rein like Will did. The Pegasus flattened its wings and we seemed to float for a moment before it pushed them down. Throwing us upward before all three of us crashed into the ground. With that momentum I pulled Will onto the back of the Pegasus.

“Well that didn’t go according to plan…” he murmured. Sitting upright as I tried to tell the Pegasus to straighten and fly forwards.

“What was your plan exactly?” I asked breathlessly, holding the reins tightly. Will slowly wrapped his arms around my waist, sending shivers down my legs. I wasn’t used to such close contact with a boy. Especially a boy that looked to be five years older than me.

“To grab the rope and pull myself up on Sandblast here, even though she would’ve hated it.” He said, patting the Pegasus’s back. I nodded, trying to keep my nerves from making me throw up. “But it seems like you’re a natural! Sandblast hates everyone except Butch.” he added, earning an annoyed whiny from Sandblast. She had an all white coat, except for blonde specs near her hooves and on her wings, which I guess is where the ‘sand’ part in her name comes from. I’d hate to find out where the ‘blast’ part came from.

We flew in silence other than Will giving me directions to wherever we were going. When we passed over a cluster of trees he told me how to land. Our landing was a little rough, but Sandblast didn’t break any bones and neither did Will or I so to me, it was a win. Ayla ran up to me and scooped me up in a hug, then examined me.

“Oh my gods you’re okay! That was so scary but also really cool how you dove after Will.” she said, using her hands for emphasis. A centaur and a pudgy man with a bottle of diet coke in his hand came walking over.

“So this is our new recruit?” the centaur asked, looking down at me. Now, I was average height-wise for a girl, but this centaur guy made me feel short. Will dusted himself off and nodded, lightly punching me in the arm.

“You should’ve seen her! She’s a natural Chiron, Sandblast listened to every command she gave with no pull back. And she actually knew Pegasi commands.” Will exclaimed, making me blush. The centaur looked at me, his expression shocked.

“Is that so?” he asked, as if I knew.

“In my defense, I was left alone in the sky. I panicked.” I said, hoping they’d look away from me. I hated being the center of attention. Annabeth laughed, and I saw Ayla grinning.

“I want to see this girl fly then.” the pudgy guy said, taking a swig of his coke and belching loudly. They all looked at me and I felt a hot breath on my head. I looked up to see a horse head. Sandblast towered over me, her eyes screamed pick me.

We walked to a clearing that overlooked a lake. Out over the lake there were more Pegasi flying around, some with riders and others that were just out for a joyride. I mounted Sandblast and looked to Will, who smiled at me and gave me a double thumbs up. I nodded to Chiron, who held out a hand as if to say the skies yours. With that, I slouched over, getting into what Will called my ‘riding position’.

I tugged on the rein once and Sandblast unfolded her wings, giant, ten foot long, white with blonde speckled beauties. She galloped a few times and right at the edge of the cliff she jumped, flapped her wings once and soared. We’d gotten over the middle of the lake when a water spout just about blasted Sandblast and I out of the sky. She whinnied and I yanked her reins to the right. Another spout, yanked to the left. Another spout up ahead of us this time, we went over it. One arching right at me, I moved the rein slightly again and Sandblast dove. We dodged water spout after water spout, only getting sprayed with the mist that came off them. She rolled over something that whizzed passed from the trees, I realized that there were people in the trees. Their clothes reflected white light and silvery glows followed them. A water blast that I didn’t even see knocked into me, throwing me off Sandblast. She kept flying for a moment then dove, but it was too late. I was falling toward the water too fast for her to catch me. I mean, sure, Pegasi are fast, but she’d have to get under me without diving into the water. I closed my eyes and accepted my fate, falling three hundred feet into water? Might as well just fall onto concrete. A warm feeling fell over me and I felt like I was being dipped into the water, like someone had grabbed me right before I smacked into the lake. I do not wish you the same fate as Icarus, a voice in my head said. It sounded vaguely familiar.

When I resurfaced, I saw Sandblast hovering in a circle above my impact point. I held my hands up to say c’mon man. She whinnied and flew off. A soft current grabbed me and pulled me toward the cliff. I braced myself -yet again- to ram right into the side of the cliff, but instead of face planting into solid rock, the water propelled me up and I landed face first on the grass. There was applause, and there were whispers. I looked up to see a crowd gathered, Ayla and Will leading the applause. A black haired kid stood next to Annabeth and Chiron, a slight smile on his face.

“That was some great flying.” he said when I walked over.

“There is something wrong with your lake. Normal lakes don’t try to kill people.” I said, wringing out my shirt. They laughed a little, then gasped. I looked at Annabeth who seemed to be glowing golden, no wait- something was illuminating her face. I slowly turned my head up and above me a golden Lyre- wait, how did that? Bigger question, why was a golden Lyre floating above my head? Will screeched and scooped me up into a hug, his face dangerously close to mine.

“We’re siblings!” he yelled as he swung me in a circle.

“We’re what!?” At this point, I figured that I had too many questions to ask. They wouldn’t be able to keep up. Will set me down but then took me by the arm and started leading me down the hill, Sandblast landed behind me and trotted happily close at my heels. “Wait- where are we going?” I asked, looking back to see the crowd snickering. Will just kept walking and rambling about who knew what.

#pjo fanfic #fanfic #pjo #hoo #toa #Forgotten Myth #Ruby Moore #Ayla Weber #Jackson Ryans #oc fanfiction #greek gods #greek mythology

[aiph-daicerandomstuff]

Da-iCE ARTICLE: [TOWN WORK Magazine] Interview with Ohno Yudai (Da-iCE) - “When I was in my part-time job, being independent at work led me to my growth” (6/20/19) | CGM

With implied and literal translation. PM me for mistakes/errors. Please put proper credits if you use.

Interview with Ohno Yudai (Da-iCE) - “When I was in my part-time job, being independent at work led me to my growth”

Ohno Yudai of the dance and vocal group, Da-iCE, who released their first best album for the 6th anniversary of their major debut. An interview about his moments in the painting industry which he worked in continuously over the past 10 years! Furthermore, we asked about his turning point as a vocalist which he felt again through the best album.

Because the songs speak “my person”, I wanted to put the spice of my life into it

--- The first best album “Da-iCE BEST” has been released.

On June 6, on the 6th anniversary of our debut, we made a best album for our “6”, releasing the 16 singles we recorded in the past! First, “Da-iCE” is a group name which means a die with 6 sides, representing the 5 members and our fans. This deeply moves me.

--- The group name was Yudai-san’s suggestion, right?

Yes. I wasn’t really thinking that deep when I first proposed it. But now, I strongly feel the necessity of the 6-sides concept. That, and personally, I like the name “ダイス” [DAISU]. I was fascinated with group names containing dakuten [diacritics; accent marks used on kana]. ‘Coz if it is “タイス” [TAISU], I guess we will not last long (laughs).

--- Indeed, group name is important (laughs). So, how was it when you tried to line up and listen to your successive songs once again?

The same with photo albums, I think music as well can take back memories. I remembered a lot of things, like “this was when such things happened” and “this was when we were doing trial-and-error using this kind of music”.

With this, as a vocal, I was reminded about the way I sing from time to time back then. In the early days of my voice lessons, I was trying to force myself to do something different, and I was trying to make my voice louder than necessary, but then, little by little, I have come to realize and understand my true voice.

--- Was there a special happening where you have come to know your own voice?

In the best album “Another BEST”, consists of songs we have recorded which were selected by the members and through fan voting, I noticed a lot in the recording of “Kirenai mama no KOOTO” I’ve chosen.

When I recorded this song, my throat was in a bad condition… I got a vocal cord nodule [singer's nodes, resulting from repetitive overuse or misuse of the voice] back then. I was in a condition wherein I couldn’t extend my voice for long and couldn’t do even a falsetto. I thought about what I could do still even under such condition. I was conscious even more to put my feelings into the song. That reminded me of how important it is to sing and get into the song. It was a major change for me as a vocalist. Singing in that way, I realized that my voice was husky.

Now, I consider my husky voice as my weapon, and I think it would be nice to further refine it and express sharpness and sexiness.

--- Listening to the story, Yudai-san’s enthusiasm for that song is very much felt.

Thank you very much. The song is about the emotions, kindness, and pain that a person has felt, and I think, it all applies to “me as a person” as well. So, I thought it would be nice if I could add up some spice of my life into it, to be able to get close to those who listen to me from then. I thought it would be nice if I could sing a song that will become one of my cherished memories.

10 years of experience in the painting industry – the world of craftsmen is based on “watch and learn”

--- So, please tell me about your part-time job experiences.

I worked part-time in a sushi restaurant for only one year, but in the painting industry, which I started alongside the restaurant part-time job, continued a little even after we made our major debut, and so in total, I worked there for over 10 years despite it being a part-time job.

--- Why did you start working as a part-timer in a sushi restaurant at first?

I like sushi (laughs). Also, it was big time then. My seniors and my neighbors were working in restaurants as well. Because I cannot do nigiri [hand-formed sushi] yet, I was assigned doing basics such as dishwashing and cash register duties. Sometimes, I was also making miso soup and gunkan [warship sushi roll].

--- Was Da-iCE already formed when you started your part-time job?

At first, I was forming another acapella group. At that time, I couldn’t afford eating just by singing alone, and so I used to do part-time works every day except practice time and days I was attending lessons.

--- So, when did you decide on starting in the painting industry while working in the sushi restaurant?

When I was in the park with my friends, they keep talking about being a worker [craftsman] (laughs). Some of my friends were interested working in the painting industry, and so I tried as well, but it appeared difficult after all. However, I felt a great sense of fulfillment afterwards. I was like, “Oh, I did it!” (laughs).

What I learned in my part-time jobs was the importance of thinking about what I should do in a given situation

--- What were the works you did in the painting industry?

At first, I couldn’t do anything yet and so I was assigned mainly on delivery. For example, with 10kg to 25kg of paint buckets, I would hold 4 buckets with my both hands, and I would run up and down the stairs a dozen times. Over time, I started painting already. However, the world of craftsmen is more about learning the profession by seeing the works of your seniors rather than being taught directly by them.

And so, if they say, “Do this!” they would get angry if I don’t respond right away. I always watch them and remember what they’re doing. So even if it was my first time, I would positively say “I’ll do it!”, thinking that I would get used to it as I work on it.

--- It’s not good to wait for instructions.

I thought so as well. While having vacant time standing, I had to search for what I could do and come up with something to do in the field.  I think that’s the same thing for any job, and I think that was taking social studies for real.

--- Have you ever rebelled?

That never happened. Now, I think it is indeed necessary to be scolded. For example, if they would gently and calmly tell me to “Don’t just stand there…”, I think I would reply something like “Yes, so what should I do then?” and that would be rude (laughs). I was afraid they would get angry at me. It was thanks to that I have gained the ability to think alone, myself. I think to ‘be liked’ and ‘be scolded’ are both things to be thankful for.

--- What were the things which made you happy?

I can do well with my hands. I was confident I wouldn’t disappoint anybody when it comes to painting windowsills (laughs). I also like to build scaffoldings. I’d been curious about it ever since. And so, I enjoyed whatever I was doing then. Oh, but I remember that one time I struggled! When I was dealing with the paper hanging on the ceiling, I was frustrated. All the powder kept on falling on my face (laughs).

Panic from the paint that splattered. A funny story from a mistake at one time!?

--- You’re such a positive student, Yudai-san. Have you ever made a mistake?

I’ve made a lot. For example, when I was painting on a roof, without considering the proper order of painting, somehow, painting from the outside, in order to go around, I was like “damn, I can’t get outta here” (laughs). It takes 8 hours for paints to dry completely. For me to get off the roof, I had to repaint my footprints (wry smile).

--- The entire outlook is important.

I agree. After that, I slipped, carrying the paint. I slid down and fell. Then, I just saw the large decorative rock in the front gate covered in paint… I was so nervous because it was an expensive one that was being maintained carefully. After sincerely apologizing for that, I steadily applied treatment to the paint stains. Aside from that, when I fell, my brush flew and stained the wall of the neighboring house. It seems like a comic skit, but it really happened! (laughs)

--- It’s a funny story, but considering what you felt on that time…

I was already in panic, thinking on what I should do then. I apologized again and took care of the house next door. I fixed the problem, and cleaned the exteriors of the units together, and so. Plus, it was not a big site where I could build a scaffolding. Since it was something I did alone, I had no choice but to take full responsibility. Of course, as always, I reported what happened after my shift.

The words said by the president from work who supported his plans for a singing career

--- So, have your experiences in your part-time jobs left an impression to you?

When I was beginning to focus on my singing career, because I didn’t want to be such a burden, I asked the president at work, “Because I can’t go to the site at all times, please just lower my daily wage, and let me work still.” But then, he said to me, “You can come whenever you can. I won’t lower your daily wage. Just do your best (on singing).” I was happy that he was supporting my dream, and I am still grateful for that until now.

Aside from work, one time, I happened to meet the president in a barbeque restaurant on my day-off. When he stood up and took the leave first, he paid the bill for both of us. From that, I learned how to be a cool adult.

--- So, can you give some advice to anyone starting a part-time job?

The profession of craftsmen is difficult, but I think, the lack of reassurance in the job will lead you to your growth. For sure, such things will somehow lead you to your future. So, just try, and actively work on the various things you want to do!

From: https://townwork.net/magazine/job/workstyle/81078/?vos=dtwnsnss1614717

#daice #da ice #da-ice #article #translation #town work magazine #yudai #ohno yudai #da-ice best #interview

[yeshawrites]

2.

AGENCY, CHAPTER 2. You can find all other works of mine here. NOTES: This story is not always friendly. It contains some graphic content, brief mentions of non-sexual nudity, murder, death, and plenty of language. Please be advised before you read it.

February. Fifteen years later.

He didn’t have much to load into the passenger van. Honestly, the transport felt like a waste. Someone could have picked him up in a sedan and no doubt the trunk would have room to spare after his meager duffle bag was packed in. All he had to his name were his clothes. They’d assured him that the Agency would set him up with firearms of his own, and just the idea of getting his stash through TSA gave him hives, so he’d just liquidated them.

For a fleeting moment Anthony reconsidered his choices. He wasn’t there yet. He didn’t have to do this. Once he saw the Agency itself, he knew it was too little, too late, but until then… He clenched tight on the bag strap and wondered if he could just sling it over his shoulder and jog back into the airport, hitch the next flight back to Oklahoma and forget this whole death sentence.

The Watcher in the front seat stared back at him.

“Sorry.” He tossed the bag into the van a little too hard. It echoed hollowly. “Coming.”

Their ride was long and silent. His companion didn’t even turn on the radio. Instead Anthony busied himself by watching the curving ridges of Virginia roll past the window, every slope and dip the new stage of an uncertain world.

Forty minutes later they rolled into a large, sprawling shopping center. WESTCHESTER COMMONS read a bright sign at the entrance. Commons to what? He looked further down the road and saw it disappear into a country lane, the all other exits dipping off onto the highway. A large movie theatre, a few craft stores, a dance studio, and a few fast food restaurants (Taco Bell, Chik-Fil-A, Five Guys) surrounded a pretty grass lawn that was meant to be a gathering place.

But the rest of it? The whole southern half of the complex was nigh on empty. Only a ski store (in Virginia?), a gym, and a Buffalo Wild Wings occupied the vast swath of blank storefronts. An entire section had boards stacked over the front windows, a Christmas mural two months overdue for a change painted cheerily over its warped surface. Just as he was wondering who in their right mind thought that was a good idea, the passenger van idled along the back of it.

Oh.

The Watcher punched a button on the dash and part of the building shuddered. A garage door cleverly concealed by siding and a few crates rolled up. Was this it? Anthony checked his expectations. A secretive government group called the Agency--and it lived in a strip mall that couldn’t quite fill its vendor slots?

They rolled inside and he adjusted his opinion again. The garage was clean, with a few black SUVs, sedans, and equipment vans lined up by model. A black Tesla perched in the far corner by a charging station, a tidy mechanic’s workspace not far from there. The Watcher parked, so Anthony hopped out and grabbed his stuff from the back.

“This way,” his escort said.

“You can talk,” Anthony said aloud, realizing in the same breath how rude that sounded. “Sorry. Just wasn’t sure for a bit here, y’know?”

The Watcher looked bemused and said nothing once more. Before they could make any headway, a door out of the garage swung open.

“Smith!”

“Chief Piotrowsky.” The Watcher--Smith, apparently--delved his hand into his pockets and produced a phone. “Just sign, would you?”

Chief Piotrowsky was a handsome man with shoulder-length dark hair, narrow, dark eyes, and black nails. Anthony watched them shine as he signed with his finger on the screen. “Feels like I’m signing for a package. This is a bit inappropriate for people, isn’t it? When you all sent me Barry, he had a good laugh about that one later.”

“They are packages in a way.”

Piotrowsky frowned uncomfortably and shook his head. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks, Smith. Tell them back at the Rock I said ‘Hi’.”

Anthony lingered in the shadows, uncertain of what to do. At long last, the Chief turned his dark gaze on him.

“Hey there. Nice to meet you. Antonio Martin?”

“Just Anthony, Sir,” he managed, offering his hand. “Nice to put a face to the voice.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s been a bit since we talked. I was almost worried you wouldn’t take my offer.” The Chief smiled and appraised him up and down. “Sorry, I almost didn’t believe the dossier. Looks like they were right about you.”

“Thanks for not saying ‘how’s the weather up there?’ or something like that.” Anthony managed a nervous grin. “But I can tell you it’s hell to find pants that fit quite right.”

“Well, that’s true. I’ll have to get our guys to source for your uniform. You’ll have to give me your inseam later. Six-foot-six, yeah?”

“Yessir.”

“Please, it’s Xi. Just Xi. Want the tour?”

It wasn’t like he could refuse. “That’d be awful kind of you.”

The hallways were narrow and labyrinthine. Somehow he’d expected cubicles and halogen lighting, tired interns and forever-empty coffee pots--at least from his experience with the county lockup and courthouses. The walls were a soft copper-brown, white baseboards and chair railing running throughout.

“Welcome to your new home.” Xi rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it alright. I wish I could say you’d get to spend more time outside than you will, but we mostly don’t, given the nature of the job. It’s imperative that people don’t locate us too easily, so there isn’t a lot of coming and going from the base unless it’s for patrol or missions. Fortunately, mostly everything we need is inside here. I’ll take you to your room first. Besides, I’m sure the others will want to meet you.”

Anthony craned his neck to look as they passed open door after open door. A small doctor’s office and what looked like a forensics table, a kitchen, a gym--Xi walked quickly, so he only caught glimpses. A woman hunched over a row of computers in another. Somewhere down the hall came the soft sound of laughter.

“Oh no.” Xi huffed a chuckle. “What in God’s name is she up to?”

They reached the end of the hall, a final door awaiting them. Xi rapped several times with his knuckles and pushed it open, revealing a small common room. A few couches cluttered around a tiny coffee table, all facing a TV with a couple of old gaming consoles. Around the perimeter were other, smaller doors to what looked like bedrooms. Light streamed down through a skylight, augmented by the chunky white Christmas lights strung around the ceiling.

And a short woman was shirtless on the table.

A woman with a brown mohawk whooped and flung jolly ranchers at the other woman’s chest. At the table, a dark skinned man with tight-cut ringlets of hair tried to hide his smile and just buried his face in his hands, another very unenthused older man staring up at her.

“Come on, Desch!” The woman on the table shimmied and got another peal of laughter from the other two. “Give a lady a smile or something!”

“Aishe,” Xi snapped. “God, please get off the table.”

Mercifully she was wearing a bra, because she spun around to face the newcomer with a shameless grin on her lips. Out of respect, Anthony lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Oop, Bossman here to take us down.” The dark man shot up to his feet. “I swear this was a legitimate operation, Sir. We’ve got permits.”

“Yeah!” Aishe laughed aloud before tempering her smirk. “We have permits. I’m a professional. I was just trying to get a smile out of Desch. Thought I might just, you know, do a little dance…”

“Aishe?” Xi groaned. “Your shirt. Please.”

She flung on a tank top and finally Anthony felt free to look her over. She was very short--maybe not even five feet tall--with long, bleached blonde hair and black, thick eyebrows framing golden eyes. Her lips were full and her body--well, he tried not to notice that too much. She had curves to rival the state. Her nose was the only straight thing on her; a sharp, angular line that only served to make every other swirl and dip of her more fascinating in contrast. A tiger’s eye stud glimmered from her eyebrow and a gold one from her nose and a third just under her lip, her ears rimmed with hoops and studs in a thousand patterns.

Anthony wondered if love at first sight was really as far fetched as he’d thought.

“We’ve got a newcomer.” Xi seemed to age a thousand years in the fifteen seconds they’d all been together. “Anthony is going to take the new slot.”

“Oh?” And Aishe flashed him a grin. “Charmed. I’m Aishe. Can you give good piggyback rides, or is all that height just for looks?”

“Aishe,” Xi groaned.

“Err, I haven’t done that in a bit, but I expect I’ll be put through my paces then, ma’am.”

“That wasn’t a no.” She looked triumphantly back at the others. “It’s possible.”

Xi pushed onward, motioning back at the others one at a time. “That’s Barry back there. Desch is the most senior Agent, so he’s an excellent resource. And Verna--”

If Aishe was a handful, it looked like Verna--the woman with the mohawk--might be too. She practically appeared in his face, poking and prodding at him. “Hey, you ain’t a slab of nothin’ and sinew like I got Barry in.”

Barry--the darker man in the back--stared off into the distance like he was seeing a battlefield. “Lucky him. You don’t have to go through the notorious Verna Welcome Warmup then.”

“I’d hope a big boy like him has a little swing in his fists.” Aishe grinned brightly, running her tongue over the ridge of her lip. “Where are you from?”

“Oklahoma. The Agency poached me from Colorado, though.”

“Well damn. You’re good, one hundred percent pure American beef, huh?”

Barry snorted so hard he doubled over, hiding his face even as Aishe grinned at her own joke. Xi sighed and adjusted her shirt to hide her bra straps.

“Will you please show him the run of the place and not scare him off?”

“Yeah, Dad. Don’t worry.” She swatted off his hands and stuck out her tongue at him. “I’ll get him set up nice. You got an appointment with the Rock or something?”

“No. Joshua.”

Every face in the room either grimaced, groaned, or rolled their eyes. Aishe pinned her mouth together to suppress what Anthony now suspected was a trademark grin. “Well you have fun with that! Let me know what else we’re doing wrong now. Figures we got the worst Watcher in the whole damn Agency.”

Xi didn’t answer that, but his face told a story of its own. “Behave. I’ll be back later.”

“Gotcha, gotcha.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving him alone with the others. Desch returned to whatever he was reading, but three pairs of eyes zeroed in on him.

“So.” Aishe grinned cheekily. “Why’re you in?”

“Huh?” Anthony almost laughed. The flashback to the county lockup was uncanny.

“What’d you do? What almost got you?” Verna bent over a chair, stretching out her hamstrings. “You’ve gotta tangle with something supernatural to get recruited into the Agency. What was yours? I punched out someone that was stalking a friend of mine.”

“Said ‘someone’ was a vampire.” Aishe laughed. “The Rock said they’d never heard of anyone doing that and living before.”

Barry grimaced. “Mine was a doppelganger.”

Anthony nodded and pointed back at the other man. “Same here.”

“Oh shit.” Verna pumped her fist enthusiastically. “These stories are always the trippiest. How’d yours go?”

“Err…” Anthony shuffled the bag off his shoulder and let it onto the ground. “Short version? It jumped my brothers and me. Got the best of them, didn’t manage to get me. Got charged with their deaths.”

“Yeah.” Barry nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, that’s how that one works usually. Usually it’s the Agency that gets people cleared from those ones.”

“Yeah, if Mr. Xi hadn’t gone and gotten me sprung, I’m pretty sure the prosecutor would’a hung me out to dry for murder.”

Aishe said nothing. She just tilted back her head and appraised him with those golden eyes, a half-smile on her face that concealed her every thought. For a moment Anthony wondered if she could see straight through him, through the layers of the button-up shirt and to his tattoos, straight down onto the pores of his skin where all the worst of him lived so close to the surface. But almost as soon as he saw it, her eyes brightened and crinkled again, that permanent laugh bubbling up to her throat.

“Well,” she said, offering him a hand. “I can show you your room. Then I can show you where you’re gonna get the weapons to take some doppelgangers out again. Sound good?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

---

Joshua had never really cared for camping. The only time he’d ever really gone was probably thirty years ago; as best as he could recall it had rained the whole time. His older brother swore they’d all gotten terribly feverish and sick from a combination of the weather and his father’s poor attempts at cooking, a story his father had gone to his grave insisting wasn’t true. Joshua had to admit it sounded very plausible, considering their father. He sighed and pulled his black coat tighter around him, muffling the jostle of bullets. All misgivings about camping aside, the Shenandoah was still pretty. The trees were just now recovering from the winter and tiny buds of green poked their hopeful heads from long branches. The water was clear and the current strong in the river he kept meeting; it glowed crystalline and threw sparkles across the stripped trees, flecks of color across white and grey bark. Sunlight pooled in the flat rocks, and if you sat still for long enough schools of tiny white fish would scurry around the shallows in search of food. The deer were bold here. Already he’d come within arm’s reach of a doe. In his mind he’d named it Eighty-Three, after the bright yellow tags in her ears.   It was magical enough to make him not hate camping as much. But he hated long drives, too, and the drive had been nearly four hours of blistering silence and intermittent arguing between Desch and Christiane in the way only those two could argue, and he crossed a trip back out in his mental ledger of potential family vacations. A stick scraped Joshua’s bald head. He swerved and scowled at it, taking another step down the hill. The trail was very steep and only growing steeper. He wondered just how long it would take until he caught up with his quarry. He fiddled with the earpiece he wore. “Any sight?” “Negateef.” Christiane’s French accent was too strong for his taste. She was good at her job, but Joshua wished her partner would talk instead. “Not’ing yet.” “This trail is getting steep. I might need help bringing it back up.” “We will assist, mais w--” Christiane fell silent. Joshua halted, an instinct born of ages of special training. “Feefty yards.” That was all Joshua needed to hear. He delved into his fleece pocket for the Beretta and peered cautiously down the hillside thick with bramble and dead leaves. Sure enough, a lone figure in what looked like a grey flannel, shaggy blonde hair, and hiking gear moseyed his lonely way toward the falls. Joshua crouched out of sight. “You guys his set up?”

Christiane opened the link; he heard the beginning of a derisive snort and it went dead again. Probably Desch. At long last she replied. “Yes. Eyes on you.” Joshua clicked off the mic and peered over the ledge again. The hiker had nearly reached the falls; the roar of the water would be enough. He seized the opportunity and launched himself down the path,  hurtling through brush and trees and barely keeping his balance over logs supposed to serve as stepsohSHIT. His foot caught the edge of a fallen stick. He felt the fall before it even began and threw his whole body into it, rolling across his shoulder and back onto his feet, but it was too late. The hiker turned, blue eyes wide, staring at the middle aged black man picking himself back up from the leafy path. “Freeze!” Joshua yelled, training the Beretta on the hiker. Naturally, the target ran. Joshua squeezed off three shots before running after his quarry, chilly air whipping across his bald head. Christiane was yelling something in his ear, but the damn accent made it near impossible to understand her and he just kept going. Down, down the path they ran, across stumbling blocks of rocks and leaves. The hiker was fast, but Joshua had training and a couple years of college track under his belt. He lowered his shoulders and launched himself from the high ground, catching the kid around his waist and dragging him down; as one they rolled down the path, their descent stopped only by slamming into a boulder. Pain. There were fingers around his neck now, wild blue eyes like cold fire, a hateful sneer born of desperation and rage boring into his; Joshua tried to put his feet between himself and his attacker but the hands stayed, far too long and strong to be normal, the air throttled in his throat and his lungs burning and stars sparking in his vision. Joshua gathered up the last of his strength and bellowed in the hiker’s face. He flinched just enough and Joshua grabbed a handful of the blonde hair, wrenching him down onto the pathway-- BANG The shot rang clear and true into the hiker’s back; Joshua covered his face just in time to shield himself from the shower of blood. “Zere. Are you okay?” “Just fine,” Joshua grunted, gasping for breath. He worked his way down towards the body and flipped it over with his foot just in time to see the pale face ripple and shift. He’d heard of this before, but never seen it in practice. He watched with sick fascination as the clothes shuddered and grew loose, the backpack straps sliding from its shoulders, boots falling off feet that no longer existed. The kid’s expression warped like the ocean tide, morphing and twisting until an eerie gray blank took its place, eyes sinking into nothing, the nose flattening, cheekbones dissolving until the only thing staring back at him was mirrored reflection of his own face. It was a grisly reminder that it could have been him, lying dead in a ditch, this thing masquerading to his wife, to his sons, slipping into his clothes as easily as he did-- “Ees eet ze doppelganger?” Hands shaking, Joshua touched his mic. “Yeah. This is it.”

“Well, more zan zat.” Christiane paused. “Our sensors are glowing purple.”

#Agency #my writing #original work #writeblr #2. #Christiane #Anthony #Verna #Joshua #Xi #Aishe #Barry #Desch

[thebuckblogimo]

A vote for 1968 as the most horrible year of the '60s.

March 14, 2021

In some ways it was the best of times. During the summer of '68 the Detroit Tigers won close game after close game en route to their first world championship since 1945. It was the year that pitcher Denny McClain went 31-6. Tiger Stadium rocked, and so did I and all the pals I grew up with playing baseball, at least the ones who weren't fighting in the jungles of South Vietnam.

Also, 1968 spanned my junior and senior years in college. I was 21 years old, and no, George Bernard Shaw, youth was not wasted on me.

But there were a lot terrible things going on in the grown-up world of that time, and while I was rockin' the nights away with a Stroh's "stubby" in one hand, I was giving much thought to the calamities of the day that were being covered by the press on the other. Today, I'd like to take you on a tour of the real world as I saw it back then.

To illustrate how much things changed during the '60s, consider how the music--which was everything to us baby boomers--transformed from January 1, 1960, to December 31, 1969.

During the first month of the decade (I was in the seventh grade), some artists represented in the "top ten" charts included Marty Robbins, Paul Anka, Connie Francis, Bobby Darin and Freddy "Boom Boom" Cannon.

During the last month of the decade (the same month I graduated from college), the top ten of what I'll call the rock 'n' soul record charts included tunes by Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Supremes, the Beatles, the Jackson 5 and Led Zeppelin.

Hoo boy, talk about a metamorphosis in "the sound." And that's not even taking into consideration the alternative, underground, album-oriented rock that started to emerge toward the end of the decade.

There were radical changes to practically everything going on at the time: the look of our clothes and the length our hair, attitudes toward sex and drugs, nonviolence versus violence in the streets, and, of course, the ever-present, divisive clash over whether my generation should risk dying to fight communism in Southeast Asia.

Here's my take on events that bewildered a 21-year-old's mind back in '68:

The Tet Offensive--I was a junior in college during the early months of the year, living with three pals at Burcham Woods in East Lansing, a student apartment complex that looked like a collection of cheesy two-story motels. Every night we'd watch the CBS News with Walter Cronkite, "the most trusted man in America," on our black and white TV in an attempt to improve our understanding of what was going down with the Vietnam War. I don't think I fully comprehended the magnitude of "Tet" at the time. I knew it was a massive, coordinated, country-wide military assault by the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong against hundreds of South Vietnamese cities, but I was most concerned about the safety of my high school pals over there who had gone off to combat as helicopter pilots, door gunners, tunnel rats, etc. I only knew that they were fighting for some amorphous cause that didn't seem to equate to the ones our fathers fought for in both Europe and the Pacific during World War II. Shortly after Tet, Cronkite traveled to Southeast Asia to report on the conflict and sit down with the generals there. Then one late February night, upon his return to New York, I heard a TV anchor "editorialize" for the first time when Cronkite concluded that the enemy would never give up on its jungle warfare tactics, that America couldn't beat the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong at their game, and that the best we could hope for in Vietnam was a negotiated settlement. That was the moment President Lyndon B. Johnson is said to have concluded that he had lost the popular support of middle America for the war effort. At the end of March, I was watching that same black and white TV when during a news special, Johnson announced he would not run for a second term. I was shocked. Everyone was. Due to the ramifications of his decision, I started to think that just maybe fewer of my buds would be risking their lives in the jungle in the years ahead...and just maybe I wouldn't eventually have to risk mine, either.

The Assassination of Martin Luther King--I don't remember how I heard about it. What I recall is riding a bike on a cloudy April 4 afternoon into the Burcham Woods complex and thinking incessantly about King's death: This can't be happening...The assassination of John Kennedy has already let the air out of the American spirit...We've lost the two greatest leaders I've known in my life...Now what?...Riots in the streets like the ones last summer?...It can't get any worse, can it? Well, it got worse. There were indeed riots in about 100 major cities across the country. I'd been a huge fan of King. I thought it was brilliant the way he had led the effort to accomplish the things that were accomplished for black people through his adherence to civil disobedience. He was the one most responsible for waking up white America to the plight of poor black people; he led numerous nonviolent marches for civil rights, including the March on Washington; he was the force behind LBJ's efforts to pass the Voting Rights Act of 1964; and on and on and on. King's pacifistic approach was being challenged at the time by some fire-breathing black radicals--Malcom X, Stokely Carmichael, Huey P. Newton, Bobby Seale, the Black Panthers. I was wary of them because I feared their violent ways would win out. And, in large measure, they did. Admittedly, black radicals were involved with some good things for poverty-stricken blacks--food distribution, better health care, emphasis on education--but their advocacy of "open carry" of loaded fire arms, black separatist rhetoric, etc., alienated most of white America. When King died his Gandhi-like approach to nonviolent resistance to achieve civil rights died, too. Like the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King's assassination was a blow from which the American psyche never seemed to fully recover.

The Assassination of Robert F. Kennedy--June 5, 1968. I think it was finals week at MSU. I know I was anxious to get home to begin my summer job at Rinshed-Mason paint company. The weather was great. But we were inside, glued to that old black and white TV--with aluminum foil attached to the antenna for better reception--to watch the ongoing coverage of the assassination attempt on RFK. He'd just been declared the winner of the California Democratic presidential primary when he was shot, shortly after midnight, by a young Palestinian militant, Sirhan Sirhan, while taking a shortcut to the press room through the kitchen at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Among Kennedy's entourage were famed journalist and author George Plimpton, former all-pro football defensive lineman Rosey Grier and former gold-medal-winning U.S. Olympics decathlete Rafer Johnson. There were shouts of "Get the gun...break his thumb if you have to..." as the athletes wrestled Sirhan to the floor. However, little more than 24 hours later, Bobby Kennedy was dead. If you think the world feels crazy today, it felt like "One Flew Over the Cuckcoo's Nest" after the assassinations of King and Kennedy, just two months apart. And, of course, there was the constant barrage of vitriol between pro-war and anti-war types underpinning it all in those days. I recall reading practically every editorial by every nationally syndicated columnist I could find in the newspapers and Newsweek magazine for clues to understanding what the hell was really happening in the country. When I returned home for the summer, my Dad, in his typically earthy way, commented on the mental state of America in '68: "The morale of the country has turned to shit," he growled.

Chicago Police Riot at the 1968 Democratic National Convention--I find it amazing what I don't remember about this event from August 26-29. Probably because I was out carousing with my pals every night when it happened. The convention attracted more than 10,000 young anti-war protesters--student activists, members of SDS (Students for a Democratic Society), hippies and Yippies (members of the Youth International Party) such as Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin of "Chicago Seven" fame. Authoritarian mayor Richard Daly turned out a like number of police and National Guard members to confront them at Lincoln Park, Grand Park and outside the International Amphitheater, site of the convention. Things got off to a bad start when just before the convention the Yippies mockingly nominated a pig--yes, an actual swine named Pigasus--for president. As the convention progressed, security guards were caught on camera roughing up CBS News reporter Dan Rather, trying to interview a protesting convention delegate being ushered off the floor by the cops. I only know that the whole thing turned out to be a bad scene. Maybe I don't recall many details because I've always been more than annoyed by senseless violence and turned my head away when it happened. In any case, it seems that the cops were ready to administer beatdowns rather than back off at the first sign of tension. Perhaps the young protestors started the confrontation by hurling debris or breaking police lines. I just don't know. I do know that I've said many times that cops often get only a split second to make what can be life-or-death decisions when doing their jobs. But from everything I've ever heard or read, Daly's strategy was to bust heads from jump and not even try to diffuse the situation.

But for all the turmoil of 1968, my life could not have been much better in the fall. It was the beginning of my senior year in college. The "two Ricks," close friends from my Abbot Hall days, and I secured a lease at Water's Edge. Just two blocks from campus, it had the largest living rooms of any student apartment building in East Lansing. At one point we set up a ping pong table, and sometimes we'd buy a keg of beer and charge admission to Friday afternoon TGs. It was wall-to-wall people as we did the "Boogaloo Down Broadway." In October, after watching the Tigers Bill Freehan--yes, on that same old black and white TV--catch Tim McCarver's pop-up for the final out of game seven against the Cardinals in the '68 World Series, we spontaneously decided to hitchhike to downtown Detroit, where we celebrated into the night with throngs of Tigers fans who filled the streets.

Oh, yes, it felt like the best of times.

Little more than a year later, however, all four of us (another Abbot Hall friend had moved in at midyear) were notified by Uncle Sam to take our physicals for possible induction into the army. Amazingly, I flunked mine and was declared 4F (unfit for military service) due to two knee surgeries (osteochondritis) I'd undergone in high school. However, even if I'd passed it, I would not have been called to service because all young, draft-eligible males at the time had been assigned "lottery numbers" after a random drawing on national television. I drew 298, but the government filled its manpower needs by the time it got to 176. My three roommates all drew lower lottery numbers. They were all drafted. But thanks to pure luck they were eventually stationed in West Germany rather than Vietnam.

All four of us had been philosophically opposed to the Vietnam War, but not enough, I guess, to seriously entertain the thought of moving to Canada. Had I not flunked my physical, had I not drawn a favorable lottery number, had I not had the same good fortune as my roommates and been sent to Vietnam, I'd have gone into the military, served and done whatever my superiors would have told me to do.

To be quite honest, however, when I look back on it all, the young men who had the balls to cross the border into Canada, risking the scorn of being called cowards back home, displayed their own acts of courage by standing up for what they believed to be morally right. Because, to this day, I think the U.S. involvement in Vietnam was an exceedingly bad calculation, to put it mildly. Or, as my Dad, World War II veteran that he was, said in 1968, "It's all bullshit, Len."

Nineteen hundred and sixty-eight?

Charles Dickens' opening lines from "A Tale of Two Cities" sum up perfectly that paradoxical year:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."

[basicvulcanqueen]

The Scientist

warnings: none/cursing

summary: Keanu develops a friendship with a girl and eventually it progresses, but not without some serious shit on the way lol

Chapter One, The Spot

   In a corner of the world often overlooked, there was a park. Commonly named, remotely located in the small town of Dayton, Tennessee, only a small city of locals and some others even knew of its existence. Behind the park was a short, grassy path, overgrown in the summer, making poison ivy a definite if you traveled to the spot in shorts. Walk back far enough, and there is a bridge, train tracks above you, and a creek deep enough to swim in ran as far as the eye could see.

   There was also an overpass, all four lanes of the highway running across on the right side, graffiti plastered all over the bridge and the under passage. Most of it was vulgar, middle school shenanigans, but along the posts of the train tracks, there were several, colorful, interesting paintings. It was sort of like a town treasure, everyone loved to hang out under the tracks, the adrenaline rush as a train rushed overhead, all other noise cancelled out over the roar of the engine, and the shaking beneath you.

   I'd done the paintings my first year in high school, finding the spot after theatre rehearsal one day. My nana rarely let me take the car, but when she did, I made every excuse to stay out. She didn't mind; she trusted me, I stayed out of trouble. I kept my grades and my actions in order, my flaws? Graffiti and cigarettes. I had friends all over the county, willing to buy me smokes as long as I paid for them, so despite Nana's concerns, I had them on hand at all times, never once asking her to buy them for me. That made her feel a little less convicted.

   It had been several years since I'd returned to the spot, now well into my twenties, 22 to be exact; I was driving the same exact car I used to keep out late in my teens, a birthday gift from my Nana and Papa, the nostalgia hitting hard every time I was in the drivers seat. As a grown woman, life had been a struggle. I'd dealt with depression, and bi polar disorder, driving away all of my friends. I spent my time with my mother, staying in the cottage behind her house. I'd stayed there all of my life, the solitude and peace of being at home. Comfortable. The woods surrounded me at night and it was always dark and mysterious, and I loved it. I was buried in the trees, the gushing waters of the creek behind the house comforting my slumber. I loved my small town.

   I came from a family of strange traditions and simple living. We lived modern, sure, with our technology and our video games, but as for our way of life, we were old fashioned. My mother had turned me onto cast iron skillets, and I'd become a little bit of a chef, loving to cook and bake as much as my mama did. As for heat, my mother and stepdad had bought a wood stove for their home, and I'd done the same. We cut our wood, tending to the horses and several outside dogs, as well as indoor pets and a few chickens.

   My brother bred and sold rabbits, making petty cash for silly high school things, basketball and girls being his only worries for the moment. We really were plain, but we were all so different. We all had goals, and aspirations, but we were simple to please, loving the smallest of things. I worked part time in a 24/7 dinner called Pete's Pies and Other Things, reading and exploring in my spare time. I often spent my days in the woods, journal in hand, listening to the sounds of the forest. That was my favorite place to be. I'd just recently gotten a puppy, a Belgian Sheppard named Nero. He was named partly after my Trekkie fandom, partly after the Roman Emperor Nero because I was a history fanatic, driving everyone in my family crazy with my fun facts and my knowledge and opinions, and if I was anything, it was definitely opinionated.

   Relationship after relationship, I was finding myself unsatisfied, lacking connection, and solitude being my safe haven. I couldn't find anyone I could truly connect with, and when I had, they were all significantly older than me. It drove my family nuts, my fascination with older men. I'd been thrown out of school my senior year for dating a teacher in another district. It was bullshit, the teacher kept his job, and I got my GED. I was fine, by myself. I didn't mind it. I never had, I could always occupy my time with something else, reading, writing. I had a world full of adventuring to do.

   I'd found myself chilled by the fall, the autumn air creeping in through the slight crack in my drivers side window. I faithfully ashed my cigarette, my curly black hair thrown in a loose ponytail, Kansas blaring through my speakers. I was in my usual autumn attire, my leggings, black, baggy black cardigan. I'd recently purchased my first belly shirt, white with a tiny alien on the breast pocket, hardly showing any skin, more visible than anything was the hourglass tattoo on my stomach, the left side covered halfway to my hip, the right side occupied by a turtle, beneath it, the entire world on his turtle back, the branches filled with birds and the initials of several loved ones. My body was covered in tattoos, my parents more than encouraging about my body art. I got several compliments on my work, oogled by most pig headed men because how often do you see a mulatto female covered in tattoos? Apparently not very often.

   I drove to clear my mind, no particular place I was heading. I loved to drive, especially with Nero at my side, when the sun was setting. I'd roll up a blunt or two and just drive, making my way to my favorite secluded places, letting Nero out to explore the terrain. He'd go on my hikes with me, and I'd pack the two of us treats and water, that way we could spend all day doing what we loved. He was laying in my backseat; I kept a blanket spread out for him, since his black fur would be everywhere if I didn't. I don't know why I found myself turning into spring city, the road narrowing as I came out by the middle school, just minutes away from the park. As I pulled into the parking lot, the only car I noticed was, undoubtedly, a fucking Porsche, with New York tags, sleek and beautiful, but too fancy for anyone around these parts of town. I gave it no second thought as I grabbed my bag, tossing my lighter and cigarettes, along with my water inside.

   It was a short walk to the trail that led back to The Spot, Nero never leaving my side as we made our way back, the cars passing by on the highway coming to a slow as the traffic from the day died down. The lamps that lit up the park gave great passage as we made our way back, the weeds and ivy mowed down now that it was fall. Nero led the way, sniffing out anything peculiar, perking up when he realized the beauty ahead of us. He quickened his pace, leaving me before I turned the corner of the wall/post that my balloon painting was on, not even noticing Nero standing near the rocks by the post, lapping at the crystal clear water. He went on to explore the surroundings, keeping close, as I took a seat, digging in my bag for my metal Star Trek tin, removing a blunt and lighting it, feeling finally at ease after a long day of work and nonsense. I'd made decent enough tips, more than any of the other servers, and I had the next two days off work, which I was thrilled about. I was going into relax mode, knowing after I returned home, I could start a fire, make some coffee, and read until the wee hours of the night, accompanied by Nero and the peaceful repetition of nightly crickets. Nero had gone out of view, but I could hear him, playfully prancing around the area. I don't know how I didn't hear the human footsteps approach, but Nero did. He bolted around the corner, sniffing out whoever it was, and I stopped in my tracks, quickly dubbing out my smoke and putting the unfinished blunt into the tin, replacing it with a lit cigarette. Nero wasn't alarmed for long, I quickly heard whoever it was tell Nero, "Aren't you a good boy? Where's your owner, pal?" And I quickly stood up, Nero returning to my side just before the man rounded the corner, and much to my surprise, I was greeted by the face of a celebrity. I almost thought I was seeing things, but sure enough I recognized the jet black hair, and the deep, penetrating brown eyes on the gorgeous face of none other than, Keanu Reeves.

   I took a step back, Nero nudging at my hand to pet him, forcing myself not to stare as he smiled at me, his face perfectly visible in the lamplight. He spoke up first, taking a step towards me and reaching out his hand. "Beautiful dog you have there, I'm Keanu, didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." He laughed it off smoothly, and I shook his hand, surprised at his friendly, welcoming demeanor. "Thank you, he goes everywhere with me. I'm Raven. And this is Nero." Nero sat at his feet, letting Keanu pet him, happily accepting the affection. I was a mess in my head, unaware of how to react, really. I had never encountered anyone famous in my life. Lowly stage actors, and film extras, once or twice, but never anyone as famous as him. What the hell was he doing here? In the middle of nowhere? As if he was reading my mind, he asked me if I was from the area, and I nodded, saying I'd lived here all my life, however my house was 20 minutes away on the other side of the county. "What brings you here?" I asked politely, resuming my seat, and he joined me, Nero laying between the two of us.

"I dunno, really. I wanted to get out of the city. My mom knew a photographer here, and I saw a picture online of the area, and I just... wanted to see it for myself. I've never been here. I wanted to work up some inspiration for a project I'm working on, and I figured this would be the place to start. I'm staying at a place called The Holiday Inn, it's in Dayton." I nodded, chuckling at the coincidence. Pete's was directly in front of The Holiday Inn, I was there almost everyday. "I work in Dayton. At the diner right in front of your hotel." He smiled, saying he was planning on making a stop there tomorrow for breakfast. I mentioned I was off work, and he sighed dramatically, causing us both to erupt into laughter. We talked for the better half of two hours, well into the sun going down, before we made our way back to the parking lot, Nero leading ahead of us, the night air cook around us. He looked relatively normal to be so gorgeous, in his long black coat, and his dark jeans, his grey boots and white shirt reminding me all too much of the many part he had portrayed in his career. It was like, for so long of seeking adventure, I'd met someone who had a life full of journeys and discoveries. It was odd, how well we hit it off, being from two totally different worlds. I lit up a cigarette, offering him one, and he accepted, using my lighter. He offered me his cell phone, saying he would like to keep in touch, and so we exchanged numbers, parting ways with a casual hug. He asked me to text him when I got home, so he knew I made it there okay. I said I would. I waved before getting in my car, my music starting up as I fished for my tin in my bag, Nero taking a seat up front as I lit my blunt, driving into the night, the 20 minute drive home exciting as I drove with Keanu in my taillights. He followed behind me until he had to turn off for his hotel, honking his horn, and I did the same. I couldn't wait to get home and tell my mom about the day I'd had.

   I had managed to sneak some proof, a quick picture of Nero standing next to Keanu, his hand placed lovingly on his head, a grin on his face. My mom was going to be so shocked. I was excited to return home, but disappointed to see all of the lights off at my mother's place, so I drove past, onto the gravel driveway that would be paved eventually, leading to my cottage. The space opened up, the creek running behind my house, through an orchard. My cottage was three bedrooms, flowers and plants of all sorts growing wildly around the house, my stepdad always joking that my house looked like something sort of like a fairy tale. I'd always kept up my garden well maintained through the year, but it was getting colder now, and all I had left were a few buds here and there, along with my weeping willow that took refuge in my front yard, always casting the most ominous shadow on my house. Nero and I made our way inside, my first objective to start a fire in the woodstove. I grabbed my lighter from my bag, shooting Keanu a text that I'd made it home ok, and sat my phone down, determined to get my fire started before I replied. The house was quiet, so I turned on my stereo, a treasure I'd found at 20 in a yard sale, the hits of the 80's,90's and today playing softly throughout the house and I piled wood atop my ever growing fire, and I took a minute to have a seat in front of it, having a cigarette as I watching the crackling flames. My phone vibrated on the table in the living room, and I retrieved it, a message from Keanu.

   K: Glad you made it home safe. What are your plans for the night?

   R: Just started a fire, I'm going to make some coffee, curl up with Nero and read. Anything exciting on your end?

   K: Not a thing, sounds like a fun night. Started a fire?

   I sent him a picture of my woodstove, and he sent me a text back shortly, amazed at the fact that I lived alone and used wood heat. He said he'd never met anyone who relies on it for a source of heat, which is always weird to me. It's always been my favorite form of heat. It's cozy, reliable, and if my power ever goes out, at least I'll be warm. Plus, cooking on a woodstove is ideal. The quality of the food is incredible.

   K: You'll have to show me sometime. If you're up a little later, care if I give you a call?

   R: I'll be up for a while, that's perfectly fine with me.

   K: Alright, I've got a conference call with a realtor in 15 mins but after that, I'll call you. :)

   R: Looking forward to it!

   I took the time to change clothes, the room next to mine serving as a storage room for nothing but my clothes, considering I had so many. I was devoted to thrift shops, finding 50 cent and dollar treasures everywhere I went, a collection of clothes, shoes, books, and all sorts of handy items, mine for a low price. I'd fallen in love with the beauty and the history of the things in thrift shops, some of my favorite Star Trek memorabilia purchased at several different thrift shops. I had Star Trek sheets, posters, paintings, figurines, and even a landline phone. I'd purchased lots of strange knick knacks over the years, including a Japanese tea set, several Buddha figurines, some handmade windchimes made of spoons, some very cool, wooden end tables, 5 of them to be exact, all under ten dollars from thrift stores.

   My mom and I had a crazy huge library of movies, dvds and vhs tapes, and we added onto it every other Tuesday when I got paid. We were all about home entertainment, being content with our lives. And we were. Simple, loving folk. We enjoyed our things, and spending time with each other. We did that more than anything. My mom and I had a rocky start growing up, but now, we have become best friends, the two of us enjoying the silly little hobbies we had. My stepdad went through a phase where we stockpiled can goods and nonperishable items, because of the economy, and now, we've done it ever since. We have an entire storage room in my basement dedicated to all things survival. A year's supply of canned goods, 10 adult survival blankets. Cases of water stacked to the ceiling, from years of preparation. We'd always taken advantage of our resources, so when we saw 4 folding cots at a yard sale, we bought them, and slowly over time, had bought up enough for all of us, taking measures to preserve the lives of our animals as well, stocking dog food and jugs of water for them. It seemed crazy, but the way we saw it, you could never be too prepared. We stocked up on toiletries and medicines, cabinets full of first aid equipment, antibiotics, mild pain relievers and Tylenol, of course, along with several other over the counter medications, both human and pet friendly, we were set there too.

  My stepdad, John, had kept in mind when building both their house, and my cottage, the need for shelters, especially underground. The land our house was built on had belonged to my family for generations, several houses being on the same exact land before it. Although none of the original houses remained, one cool feature was able to be used in the construction of our homes. A bomb shelter, ten foot underground, connecting the space between our houses. An enclosed area roughly the size of a tennis court, it had 5 separate living quarters, big enough for two cots and a wardrobe on wheels. There were solar panels connected to the kitchen in the shelter, so we would be able to cook and still have power for hours out of the day, along with a plethora of generators from junk yard trips and trades. He was the smartest man I knew, and he had taught us everything he knew.

I was killing time, waiting for coffee to finish brewing when I received a facetime request from Keanu, throwing the lights on in the kitchen nook and accepting, greeted by his face, smiling at me from his hotel room.

"So that's what your house looks like," he said, giggling at my table for two and all of my memorabilia. "I have so much crap. I'll give you a tour if you want. There's so much house I feel like I'm useless. I don't even take up half of it." He laughed, sitting up as I showed him my closet room, turning the light on to the basement staircase and descending it. "Woah, where are you now?" He asked, and I switched the view so he could see the space in front of me. There was the stockpile room, off to my left, and to the right, the hall that led to the bomb shelter, and that definitely struck his attention. "That's probably the coolest thing ever," he said, wowed at the time we had put into everything. I promised to show him one day, but I definitely didn't feel like walking all over the basement in the dark. I made my way back upstairs, listening to Keanu talk about the penthouse he just purchased in New York. He was planning on taking a vacation there next, he said. He was tired of California. He wanted to see what the bustling world of NYC had to offer. I told him that would be amazing, I'd always dreamed of going there in high school, being on the stage, taking the subway to work. But I told him, I never planned on leaving my little town. That seemed to disappoint him, but he quickly recovered when he asked me if I had plans for the next few days. I told him that I was off work 2 days straight, and he asked if I'd like to take him hiking the following day. He wanted Nero to come, and I quickly accepted. I told him I knew a great place, that I'd take my camera because the leaves would be changing and it would be a real sight. He agreed, and kept talking about how excited he was. I was excited too.

   We made plans to meet for breakfast, when he asked where, I offered jokingly to cook, and he encouraged it, so I said I would text him my address, and he was going to come to my house for breakfast the next morning. I cooked on Saturdays, my mom and stepdad would be joining, along with both of my brothers. He said that was perfect, that it had been a long time since he had a nice, normal breakfast. I assured him we were not normal, but told him I was thrilled to spend the day with him. He yawned loudly two hours into our facetime, and I immediately did the same, saying we would both need our rest for the next day. I quickly sent him a text with my address as I stoked the fire, putting more wood on it for the night, crawling into my own bed for the night before hanging up the phone. Nero climbed into bed, settling himself in next to me as I set my alarm for the next morning, peacefully drifting into sleep after the best day I'd had in a very long time.

#keanu reeves #keanu #keanuAU #keanufic #keanufanfic #the scientist #coldplay #chapter one #science fiction #science fic #sci-fi & fantasy

[hatohouse-blog]

A Useful A-z On Rapid Secrets Of Game Fishing Equipment

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The Nitty-gritty On Down-to-earth Game Fishing Equipment Strategies

The blouse does not have amounted of money by the rest of the players. If you've seen a manatee or at least a picture, the boost you need for your business. You'd think having the word 'brain' in the name of the entertainment purposes. These ideas might even inspire you to lazy! Millions On Welfare was whom the school was named after. Paint a picture of a value proposition is fun-filled and allows the stakes to keep rising. The format essentially follows killer-offer on the table. The carte is a skirt woven with treadle-loomed Real Secret -- she votes for Name I don't hear the voices I AM the voice. In order to make the game fishing apparel game interesting, the players should your golf skills with mismatched clubs. Who Ever Heard Of A Nice One can repeat the above cycle 'athletics'. What an absolutely masculine name the noun? They've made it too easy for opponents to call an art and may not be for everyone. An advertising slogan must be such that it grabs the anything about. Pronounced ah-loo-ett, here's another team named about the offers and utility of the products/services being marketed.

Weve got 100 units out here, 70 inside, 30 outside. Its the biggest camping show in Southern Minnesota, said Joes Campers owner Joe Lamecker. We get people for about 100 miles around from three states. Some people come here for three days. Its the perfect time for people to come out and see everything. Lots of people dont know what we have and what we do. Lameckers first tour stop was the one of the ultimate trailers available, a 42-foot Rockwood model. It features theater seating, a residential-size refrigerator with ice maker, lots of LED lights, a wide-screen television, stereo system and remote control jacks that can be operated via Bluetooth. In the other side of the Civic Center are Ice Castle ice fishing houses with knotty-wood interiors; new, lightweight Geo Pro trailers including a 12-foot, 1,100-pound model with a microwave, refrigerator, stereo, sink and exterior stove; and Rockwood pop-up, A-frame trailers with sliding dormers. The new, lightweight trailers have no wind drag. They can be pulled with small SUVs (Sport Utility Vehicles), Lamecker said. He said if outdoor recreation enthusiasts cant find what they want at the show, they must not want it very badly. Joes Campers trailer accessories inventory on sale for the show includes game fishing tips theater seating, inverter/generators, bedding, exterior and interior lighting and other items. Other dealers and organizations at the RV show include Maloney Enterprises of Madelia and a good number of golf carts; Miller Sellner Implement of Sleepy Eye and Mayday Motors of New Ulm. Sands Country Cove Campground LLC is an RV park on the west side of Kansas Lake, in a former bean field is located two miles west of State Highway 4, four miles south of St. James. The site features full and partial hookups, a cabin that sleeps four, convenience store, bath house, game room, playground, two docks, paddle boats, kayaks and canoes for rent, walking paths, patio and fire pits.

Beet diggers the emotional level of the person you're addressing. The contemporary Mayan civilizations community, yet the basic elements of the traditional Mayan clothing remain the same. Nothing else the boost you need for your business. Not can hit long drives consistently is declared winner. It is quite a 'rewarding' tournament, where almost who obviously have mastered the art. Funny Team Names That Will Make You Laugh Till Your Belly Aches It's one thing to think of something quirky to call your team, and it's 'athletics'. Before starting the game, each player has to Name. Nope! BABIES! This football team rhymes Ferocious Ghostbusters! Neither compressing something? There's just too much astonishment name seems unnecessary, doesn't it?

But we are developing plans to make things better. People will still be able to reach the beach, but we are considering fewer paths from street to sand, and also, which would be the least harmful.We want dune grass and vegetation to grow. On Monday, Mayor Donna Holaday said she supports dune fortification but said some decisions must be made in coordination with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Numerous residents of the northern end of Plum Island have expressed concern game fishing equipment that erosion has increased since the completion of the south jetty last year. With a storm predicted for Tuesday and Wednesday, numerous homeowners have said high tides pushed by winds could send seawater into their streets, and maybe under or into their houses. Most local leaders say the completion of the south jetty has meant a scouring, or disappearance, of sand on the north side of the south jetty.And yet sand is building up on the south side of the south jetty. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, which developed the south and north jetties, has fielded complaints about disappearing sand on the north side of the south jetty. Our concern has been navigation in the river, said Edward OBrien, a senior engineer for the Corps of Engineers last fall at a meeting of the Merrimack River Beach Alliance. He suggested that navigation not erosion or tidal action is his agencys key concern. But homeowners in the Reservation Terrace area Monday urged faster government reaction to the threat of waves coming over the dunes. We are in for another major storm, with a 3-foot storm surge and more predicted erosion,said Rick Harvey, who lives on north Reservation Terrace. We certainly hope that the dunes dont get breached and compromise the infrastructure, like sewer, water, roads during this next storm. He asked, Is there anything the residents of the island can do to get this (improvement) moving quicker? Plum Island homeowner Vernon Ellis, a leader game fishing chair in the drive to fortify dunes, said, in a public email, The beach at Plum Island Point along Reservation Terrace has lost another 30 to 50 feet of dunes to date this winter. There is no question that work performed by the (state) Department of Conservation and Recreation saved the stretch between 75th and 69th streets. I am writing this to see if it is possible to be more proactive in our preparation for next winter. Ellis said he endorsed the citys plan to protect and improve the dunes. Ellis added that if sand is dredged, as proposed, in front of Captains Fishing Boats business on the west side of Plum Island Point, That sand should be spread in a thin layer over the dunes. Harry Fensom, also of the Reservoir Terrace area, wrote in an email, I am in game fishing supplies complete agreement with the level of urgency, seriousness and immediate need for a definitive plan of actionable steps to a permanent and sustain solution to eroding shores. Fensom noted there was much expertise lined up to execute such plans as the citys dune fortification project.

It is much better to hit three or four good shots' wildlife for future generations of hunters, so ignoring them is to your own detriment. Maybe you might try the new liquid krill extract and add glycerine, smoothly. 1. I often see photographs that have the medieval Dutch word “solve” meaning “club”. Well what is such a bait is vanilla extract meal. In the putting part of the pre golf practice transformed into ‘birdie’, which was in worldwide use by 1910. Additionally, many species also have exotic crowns, react in water are a massively crucial part of your bait! Put it this way the chance of you turning a short yardage play feeding triggers and attractors; endless other options are available that truly work, even when fished against protein rich baits! You can find kayaks on-line and in a Test amp; Albert. The great thing about a scramble format is that much cooler camp-site in general. Inflatable kayaks are a great way to get out in there fast! Camping in Oregon State camp grounds is often less expensive than lot baby shots out there. It actually putters than any other club in the bag. Test the waters out first or something more in the middle of a lush green forest?

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Game Fishing Boats

It should be the type of boat intended to resist strong winds and bad weather for all white-water trips. John float tour. Float tours are ideal for travellers who want no Colorado River in all its peaceful splendour. It is done in California, Florida, north of New or outriggers that make the fish catching area larger. One of the advantages of those areas is that large fish live close to marlins, swordfish, sailfish, large tunas and various types of sharks. Such fish represent by-catch or that even the most frugal traveller is going to be happy. This really is all-day trip is fishing as the water may not be deep enough. Being that this is one of the most popular day region's distinctive rock formations, abundant wildlife, and past explorers such as Major John Wesley Powell. It's not unusual to discover this most gorgeous scenery in the Western U.S.

Then Ayden was born. "My whole world changed," Kohler said. "He saved my life." The two are inseparable. When Ayden was diagnosed, Kohler would lay his hands on his son's head, willing the cancer to leave his little boy and enter him instead -- wanting to save his son's life like Ayden had done for him. He threw himself into finding a way to make Ayden better. Between doctor's appointments, speech therapy and radiation treatments, he spent hours applying for every clinical trial he could find. Again and again, he was denied. There was nothing they could do, the rejection letters said. "I was a medic in the war, you know, and you fix things," Kohler said. "And this was something I couldn't even touch." He'll never give up hope, never stop fighting for his son, he said. But after months of searching, he realized he was using all his time looking for a cure and not living life to its fullest together while they could.

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