REBEAT’s Official Record Store Day Shopping List

For some, it’s the most wonderful time of the year, outranking birthdays and major gift-giving holidays. Yes, it’s the one day where vinyl trumps all other physical and digital musical vehicles, and indie record stores experience mobs and hysteria akin to a Midwestern Wal-Mart at 12:01 a.m. on Black Friday. Of course, I’m talking about Record Store Day, the movement to get consumers shopping in person at their local brick-and-mortar vinyl outlets (with some sales happening online, too).

RSD 2015 is this Saturday, April 18, and we imagine that most of you already have a rough outline or two of what you’re scouting for, but if you’re still looking for a few coveted exclusives to add to your collection, here are our top 10-ish (I mean, how can you pick just 10?!) releases to grab — if you can find them. They’re not called exclusives for nothing, you know!

Click here to see the full list of our @RecordStoreDay picks!
Wreck-It Ralph Beta Outline: Chapter 5

Chapter 5: CyBugs Ate My Neighbors


-       Back in Sweet Racers

  • Taffyta and the others are getting the race track ready for the big race between her and Vanellope. And by “preparing”, I mean they’re mostly taking selfies together with Taffyta posing with a trophy. All except Candlehead, who is fretfully checking the clock and waiting as sunrise ticks closer and closer, Vanellope nowhere in sight. 
    • She tries asking Taffyta if they could go looking for her, but Taffyta brushes off her worries as nothings. If Vanellope doesn’t show, then Taffyta wins by default. Why should they be concerned?

-       In the real world, Young Eddie Litwak comes to Nana’s early to open up the arcade, like any good grandson working a summer job at his nana’s shop would. 

  • As the young techie starts running check on the hardwired-games, he idly notices that the Sweet Racers’ Main Menu screen is missing one certain mystery racer, posing like she always did. 
  • Doesn’t think much of it– it could just be a cinematic he never noticed before, and opens up shop for the early birds (mostly college kids and some of his nerdier high school dropout friends).

-       Back with Vanellope, in CyBugs Ate My Neighbors.

  • For a game that was full of bright RGB colors and synthesized midi tones, Vanellope quickly realizes the blocky neighborhood full of marine brats and robot bugs is nothing short of crazy. She thought tough games were limited to the classics. She’d expected a game from the 80s to be more mundane, fundamental, pixely. CAMN is nothing short of a brightly-colored death trap!
    • She and Markowski nearly get 86’d several times as they try crossing the first level. Vanellope was used to game deaths, like getting run over by a car spinning out of getting pile-driven into an embankment– but this was a game intended for kids between 7 and 12, and she sees several other soldier boys eaten alive!
    • Note: The default CyBugs from CAMN are more squarish  and cute-sy, like they’re in perma-baby mode, but they were no less dangerous. 
    • “Have video games always been this violent and scary?!” Vanellope scoffs. 
    • They can be dangerous in droves though, and they can assimilate anything they eat. The game has a problem (a BUG, if you will), where they often generate too many bugs for the game to handle, so at the end of every game they have to activate a Bug Zapper as big as a five story building. The bright blue light and millions of watts of electricity (somewhat resembling V’s glitch) attracts the bugs and upon electrocution they are all reverted to their egg forms. 
  • IMPORTANT: Markowski explains that the Bug Zapper runs on pure concentrated END GAME code, which is generated through an old failsafe the programmers put into the game to make it more marketable. The game is like it’s own self-contained reset button, and gets rid of any viruses, glitches, and reverts something programming to it’s factory setting. 
    • The McGuffin that generates the Bug Zapper is found inside the Bug Zapper, and is awarded to the player at the end of the game. Winning the medal resets the bugs, and thus the game. 
      • Markowski says she can borrow it for a couple hours but that’s IT. Any longer and Calhoun would kick his butt. 
      • V can’t believe her luck. This was exactly what she was looking for! No more glitching! The race was as good as won!
  • They make their way to the final level victory room, which is riddled with leftover cy-eggs. V’s giddy with imagining the beat down Taffyta’s gonna get–
    • When who should suddenly enter but the Markowski impersonator himself. And wouldn’t you guess it, he’s after the medal too!
  • The scrappy, giant kid and V (neither of them able to see each others’ faces past V’s helmet and the impostor’s disguise) fight over the medal, accidentally landing in an escape pod made of duct tape and plywood. 
    • The shuttle shoots off with V, the fake Markowski, the Medal, and an activated Cy-Egg inside. 
    • Markowski gulps. He was in for one heck of a earful from the chief. 

-       Meanwhile back at Sweet Racers, the game has been rendered entirely unplayable. And everyone is in a panic. 

  • The PCs and NPCs didn’t realize just how much work Vanellope had to do maintaining the main menu until they tried working it themselves. Without Vanellope, there’s no one to help the players pick their racer, kart and track. Snowanna, Minty and even Taffyta all try to play stand-in for her on the main menu, but they keep forgetting their lines or causing error screens, frustrating the players to quit. 
    • They need their checkered-flag girl. 
  • Taffyta stubbornly refuses to believe it’s true, even as young Eddie Litwak reluctantly slaps an OUT OF ORDER flyer on the outer screen. 
  • Panicking, Candlehead grabs Taffyta and they run off to go look for Vanellope. They make it to GCS, where find Turbo, who tattles on Vanellope, saying he last saw her heading to CAMN. 
    • Note: Turbo can only speak in car SFX, like Herbie the love bug. Candlehead can vaguely understand him, but it’s like Felix trying to comprehend Q*Bertese. 
  • Just as Candlehead and Taffyta make a bee-line for CAMN, a plywood and duct tape blur rockets out of the same game’s terminal. It ricochets across GCS, nearly Game Overs Candlehead, Taffyta and the Turbotime kids, and flies back out.
    • Candlehead was able to catch a glimpse of Vanellope’s helmet in the shuttle. She despairingly stares after the plug terminal she disappeared into. 
    • It reads Niceland Crossing. 

Be scared, y'all: my muse is shyly, cautiously, laying out an outline for a 27 Dresses Larry AU.

I’ve never written non-het anything before, though I’ve done nothing the last three months except read Larry fics– it’s quite nerve-wracking. I’m an ace girl that wants to get this right.

That, and I don’t write much anymore for various personal reasons, and the idea of writing again makes me anxious. I can’t think what could be worse - lots of attention and therefore pressure, or no attention and my effort means nothing.


I’ll keep you posted.

Random Ramblings

I fell in love with you immediately.  Dark hair line receding, thin body, a face that didn’t smile to easily. Whenever I saw you, happiness had to strain itself through your pores. But  I…I fell in love with your words. The worst thing you could have given me was a passage through your mind. I fell for every broken line on the screen. You had me when your tongue touched mine, and I could feel your sadness slipping down throat. I feel emotions too easily. I tend to drown in others’ authenticity. I started to imagine riding your waves, letting your dick wander round my dark caves, as my secrets echoed in your ear. I wanted to feel your sharp edges cut me through because I’m broken too, and the damaged ones always seemed to have a more interesting outline.  Just knowing your name has made my fingers type out lines I haven’t dare explore for years. Yet I know this means nothing at all. I will not wake to find our love splattered on morning walls, and have your scent linger in my sheets, but you have helped me breathe life back into my creativity. I don’t know why I write in prose, but read this like poetry. But maybe you were supposed to a muse, and I…..I don’t mind you flowing through me.

oh my godddd look im so excited I still have to fix some stuff but YEAH wow I’m either gonna fill it in or fill the outside of her and originally I was gonna fill it in but now im thinking I wanna fill in all around her? what made me change my mind was I was going to put like “still not asking for it” like down her leg but now I wanna fill the outside of the outline so I can put like a speech bubble that says like “not asking for it” or “saying nothing isn’t saying yes” and putting like a “no” inside of a heart between her legs (I mean I’m gonna fill the entire page [minus the inside of the outline] but these are just some ideas I have) idk why I felt the need to post this I don’t normally post my art but wow YEAH I’m excited for this one idk also this thing is huge I had to stand on a step stool thing to take the picture haaa

I managed to reach PEAK STRESS last night after I got home from work. I have a USB that I have all of my files for one of my final papers on (I would usually also have them saved on my computer, but I’ve mostly been working on this at work).  I thought I put it in my purse as I was leaving, but when I got home, it wasn’t there.  I went out and checked my car with a flashlight.  And then drove back to the library and went over the parking lot with a flashlight.  Nothing.

And then today during my lunchtime I went to the library so I could check my desk and the surrounding areas.  Nothing!  So I decided the only thing I could do was email my professor and beg for an extension.

When I say all my work for this (20 page!) paper was on this USB, I mean EVERYTHING except for a couple print sources.  Outline, notes, research/articles, and what I’ve written of the paper so far.  To be fair, it’s only about three pages, and reconstructing it would have been easy.  The hard part would have been finding all the articles again, as I have about 30-40 I am planning to cite, and some of them are pretty obscure and only turned up on page 60 of a JSTOR search.

Anyway, as I was leaving school today, I looked in my purse to get my car keys, and there was my USB.  In the purse I took everything out of last night to try to find it.  I don’t know where it could have been, because I feel like it would have been impossible for me to miss.  I think the universe is just messing with me.  As if I’m not under enough stress!

My professor did give me an extension, but I think I’ll tell her the reconstruction is coming along faster that I thought it would so I don’t think I’ll need the extra time after all.  I don’t want to tell her I’m an idiot and I found the USB an hour after I emailed her.

k but what im really worried about here isn’t myself but the other group mates because ace has been doing nothing but drawing and the other guy has only been doing an outline

i mean theyre gonna have hardly any prep for the actual presentation

i really hope he doesnt have us go tomorrow

“He remained annoyed with himself until he realized that not knowing what he wanted was quite natural.
We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can never compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.
There is no means of testing which decision is better, because there is no basis for comparison. We live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself. That is why life is a sketch. No, "sketch” is not quite the word, because sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture.“ -Tomas

I deeply fell into this book, I’m only on the first 10 pages yet. This feeling though, is the reason why I read A. LOT.


#TheUnbearableLightnessOfBeing #MilanKundara #MyBooks #Books #Love #Quotes #Booktography #Coffee #TousLesJours

Alrighty. So, some low life that has nothing better to do reblogged my previous post and talked shit. No one fucking asked you for your opinion. I won’t let you sit back and talk shit about me. This tattoo means the world to me, so your pathetic opinion means not shit.

Soooo. I got my outline for my Daughter of Smoke and Bone tattoo last night! I’m very content with just how it looks at the moment, but there’s still much more to be done to this piece. This is only the beginning for this original piece (:

kuvirawrites asked:

hc + cry + ruth

Ooh. Ummm. Ruth doesn’t cry? I mean, as an adult, she’s taken on the philosophy of stoicism which basically outlines that everything is impermanent therefore nothing is important or worth harmful attachment to. So, she doesn’t cry as an adult because it’s not part of her mindset that things are worth shedding tears over. However, as a kid, she probably cried that one time her dad cleaned her room and accidentally threw her stuffed tiger into a donation bag of old stuff. You bet your foot she made him go to the center to get Mr. Stripes back.


Four hours until sunset. Nothing has changed. The tension running between us is palpable. Todd and Roger keep going over the plan together. They’ve managed to sketch out a rough floor plan of the basement, as least in between the stairwell and the security office. Henry has been breaking down the storage racks, taking all the binders and filing boxes down and disconnecting the shelving from the walls. I think he’s trying to turn them into some sort of improvised weaponry. I don’t know how effective flimsy aluminum shelves are going to be as a deterrent, but it’s still a better idea than using the binders themselves. probably a better idea than letting Henry try his hand at firearms again, too. If nothing else, it’ll be less noisy.

McIntyre has been drawing maps on the back of research papers, outlining how to get to the checkpoint from the museum. There’s an almost strait shot there, but it means going past the stadium in order to reach the highway, which is the only way to get up to the bridge. The stadium is still probably filled with infected, even after all this time. It wouldn’t take an entire stadium filled with infected to pose a threat to this group. A couple of dozen stragglers would do. McIntyre has thought of an alternative, though. It’s a bit out of our way, but if nothing goes horribly wrong, we should still make it to the bridge by sunup, long before any large groups notice us.

What am I doing? I’m typing, trying to keep my fingers moving, in an attempt at ignoring my stomach. Don’t think about finger bones. I told McIntyre not to think too far ahead, but the truth is I’m always thinking ahead, always trying to think of the next contingency plan. It’s how I’ve managed to live this long. Well, that and blind dumb luck. So what am I going to do once I get out of here? I can’t imagine the military is going to just let me walk off once we’re past quarantine. I’d need food, of course, but I’d also need transportation, some means of getting away from here, getting to the next city. I’m going to need money too, since there’s no chance in hell I’ll ever get back to my emergency funds. I wonder if hitchhiking would work. That would kill three birds with one thumb, as it were. Get a lift from some tourist, on his way to some vacation spot. Kill him, eat him, take his money and his car, get to a city. There’s always people in cities with the kind of moral flexibility that helps things like me get by. Sell the car for scrap to someone who isn’t interested in whether I have the title or not. Find a place to live owned by someone more concerned with receiving rent money than whether or not my papers are in order. Find someone willing to supply a fake id, preferably someone who doesn’t care what I’m planning on using it for. Find some menial job with an extremely lax hiring policy. Steal a few essentials, get myself set up. Start over again. I remember the first time I did this, what was it, two or three years ago? Must have been two years. Less than, what with the anniversary and all. It’s hard to tell. I honestly can’t remember how long I spent in the wilderness, wandering around. I remember eating at least two campers, but I was young then. I didn’t know how to pace myself.

I remember the first time I had to control myself. I was by the side of the road, and I’d figured out that those large fast boxes slowed down sometimes, if you held out a thumb and pointed it at them. I had also figured out that once you got those fast boxes to stop, they were often filled with meat. At some point, it occurred to me that those boxes full of meat that didn’t stop didn’t actually disappear when they got out of eyesight. I remembered a place full of even larger boxes, boxes that didn’t move, boxes full of people. A lot of people, not just a few like the fast boxes. In my twisted logic, I came to this conclusion: the fast boxes must be taking the meat to the big boxes. Holding my thumb out brought the fast boxes to a stop. If I could get into a fast box, it would take me to the big boxes, where the meat was. However, once I had eaten the meat from inside the fast boxes, they didn’t move anymore. If I stopped myself from eating the meat inside one of them now, I could eat a lot more meat later. I later learned that humans called this “delayed gratification.”

I don’t think the guy who first picked me up ever figured out how lucky he was. He dropped me off at a motel, and drove on his way. That was the first human being I’d ever met that I didn’t immediately try to eat. I kind of wish I could remember more about him, but I was too focused on not eating him at the time to really take note of who he was. After he dropped me off, I ate the owner of the motel (whom I later learned was named “Norman” something) and spent the next month watching children’s programming on television and occasionally eating people who stopped by to rent a room. I also took some time to learn to drive, which resulted in more than a few crashed cars out behind the motel, which was fine. I needed to dispose of them, anyway. The last person I saw at the motel was a chef, or at least someone with  more than a few cookbooks in their car. After killing them, I started reading, and on a whim, I tried out one of the dead chef’s recipes on himself. How it had never occurred to me to try this before, I’ll never know. I’d seen cooking shows before, but they never interested me, since they weren’t cooking food. At least, not the kind of food I cared about. But this, just a simple steak recipe, cut off a slice of leg and fry it in a cast iron pan, it was transformative. Don’t get me wrong, that first rush of blood when your teeth break the skin, it’s unbeatable, but a slice of meat, charred on the outside and still weeping blood on the inside, it was a revelation. I had to have more.

So much for distracting myself. I’m even hungrier now.