show-of-the-century

anonymous asked:

Have you talked about the time you almost died because that sounds like a very good story (to hear; I'm sure it was terrifying to live through!)

Okay I’ve racked up like a dozen more theatre story requests (from fictionfangirllove​, gandalfsgaybeard​, to name a few) and now seems like the time. I actually have multiple ‘once upon a time I almost died’ stories and I can’t remember which one this is referring to so we’re going to pull one out of the memory hat at random, ya dig?

Once upon a time I was in this show called She Stoops to Conquer, but because I was also in a production of Much Ado and splitting time between rehearsals, I only played David Garrick for the prologue (and once a drunk servant when another actor didn’t show up). Anywhoo, I was dressed in the height of eighteenth century fucking fashion in like breeches and frock coat etc. etc. with all my girly hair piled up inside this stupid fucking hat because I’m supposed to be a dude. So the director has this totally-clever, this-has-never-been-done-before idea to stick me in the audience as soon as the house opens, so as people like file in an sit down there’s this time-travelling cross-dressed motherfucker just sobbing in the front row for no obvious reason. 

When the house lights go down and the stage lights come up, I turn around like I’ve just fucking noticed the 300 or so people sitting behind me and the fact that there’s a fucking follow-spot pointed right at my fucking face and I’m like “Oh, ha ha, I totally didn’t see you there, let me tell you why I’m sobbing like thirteen-year-old girl who just got dumped.” (I fucking hate this gimmick.) So anyway as the monologue goes on I get up and start running around the auditorium, messing with audience members, like you do, because watching an actor sit on their ass and just talk at you is boring as shit. 

Because I was one of the more seasoned actors in the department (this was high school, bear in mind, and I’d already been working on and offstage for about ten years) the director basically gave me free rein to do whatever I wanted, so towards the end of the speech I had a bit where I jumped up onto the arms of some poor sod’s chair–like, a foot on each arm, right?–and it’s hilarious because they’re really surprised and their face is kind of exactly level with my crotch and everyone’s laughing, hardy har har, jokes about genitals never get old. So closing night of show I jump up on this lady’s chair without realizing that she’s thrown her jacket over one arm, and it’s one of those freakin’ slippery windbreaker things. Now, just to make matters worse, I’m wearing like these ridiculous fucking buckled shoes that have literally zero traction, and I’m staring into this blinding spotlight and it’s like looking straight into a goddamn solar flare or some shit. But I’m perched up there and gesticulating wildly, and I shit you not as soon as I get to the line, “Let not your virtue trip; who trips may stumble, / And virtue be not virtue if she tumble,” this lady I’m basically fucking standing on tries to pull her damned plastic jacket across her lap BECAUSE THAT COULDN’T POSSIBLY HAVE WAITED A MOTHERFUCKING MOMENT LONGER and yanks it out from under me. 

I go windmilling backward and land flat on my back on the concrete floor so hard I’m pretty sure I saw entire fucking galaxies, nevermind plain fucking stars. But the problem is I’ve landed right in the aisle and because most theatre seats are stadium seats, it’s on like a 30-degree incline, so I go rolling backward, ass over elbow, like a runaway armadillo. And when I flip right side up again, WHAM. I slam into the front of the stage so fucking hard my fucking hat flies off, goes spinning over my head and disappears. And for a minute I’m just sitting there, kind of dazed, legs splayed out in front of me, stockings falling down, wind totally knocked out of me, and all these bitches in the audience are just laughing their asses off because they think it was intentional. So I kind of cough a bit and pull myself to my feet and limp around, wheezing the rest of my lines. And I’m fumbling around, trying to find my damn hat, but here’s the thing–when you’re already about to pass out and you’ve had a spotlight like the wrath of Apollo pointed straight at your face for like half an hour, it is really fucking hard to see a black fucking hat in the fucking dark. 

Eventually I have to give up because I’m all out of lines, so I do the most pathetic bow of all time and kind of hobble offstage, totally hatless. And then all the lights come up on this absolutely pristine drawing room set and BAM. Smack in the middle of the stage is the stupid-ass hat, because apparently that was where it fucking landed. And I’m just looking on, like, Ohhhhhh you have got to be shitting me as the family all comes on for the first scene. And the guy playing Mr. Hardcastle like swans the fuck in and then just stops dead, staring down at this thing on the ground like, “What the fuck is this grimy-ass hat doing in the middle of my living room,” and the audience is still fucking dying because they’ve finally caught on to the fact that OH WAIT THEY DIDN’T PLAN THIS NUTFUCKERY. And for the rest of the scene Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle just go gliding around their parlor, ignoring the hat and just walking in big circles around it like it’s not fucking there which you can’t fucking do in the fucking theatre, because the audience can fucking SEE IT, and I’m dying a thousand deaths in the wings until finally my friend Chris barges onstage as Tony Lumpkin and just fucking boots the fucking hat straight into the wings, turns around and yells, “I’M IN HASTE, MOTHER, DAMN IT.” And the crowd goes wild. 

And that is the story of the time I was not an acrobat and almost died and my runaway hat ruined the opening scene. 

anonymous asked:

hey do you have any cool websites about the māori genocide where the imperialists killed so many of them? i'm trying to research this, it's about the correlation b/t trans women and imperialism's affect. i'm having trouble finding the statistics somewhere

i’m not good at engaging with anons because most of these seem like someone waiting for a Gotcha to catch me out on some minor detail and try to act as though that proves genocide never happened or whatever. 

This page here talks about Cook’s estimates for precontact Māori population size (and why they are almost certainly low), this one shows direct census figures in the 19th century (although it begins after the mass killing of british proxy war in the north) and our decline is severe - from between 100,000 and 200,000 down to low 40s. 

there are also events like Parihaka, where 5% of all Māori alive at the time were rendered homeless and foodless. You see the same in Tūhoe under the crown’s scorched earth approach to invading te Urewera. 

as for māori trans women - there’s little to say. there simply aren’t enough surviving stories. i can recommend Sexuality an the Stories of Indigenous People as a good source on Māori gender stuff but histories regarding trans women are pretty near to obliterated. what we have left has been interpreted through colonialism for the last 100+ years and so it’s difficult to reconstruct how our tūpuna actually lived. 

I think season 3 needs to revolve around Abbie Mills. Season 2 was all about Cranes impending divorce I would like Abbies past. Why she's a witness. I would like a better villian than Henry. I would like a full fledge story with an actual goal.

I also want more time showing Crane adjusting to the new century. Those are great moments. I would like Orion to come back. I liked that guy. He’s an interesting character.
I would like a Jenny and Abbie storyline. I want Jenny to have some character development.
I do not want mopey Crane. A significant time to come to grips with killing his bitch ass wife. 2 episodes is sufficient. I do not want the ghost of Katrina plaguing season 3.
Finally…Bring John Cho back!!!!
We are steadily rising ppl from the dead, traveling to purgatory. Bring back Andy Brooks!

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How come WE HAVEN”T TALKED ABOUT THIS?

JOE SINGING

HEAVY

PATRICK AND ANDY BEING FLAWLESS.

FUCK

If the crew of Voyager had a tumblr:

Janeway posts coffee, dogs, space phenomenon and every once in a while a drunk post that Tuvok deletes immediately but Tom always reblogs first.

Chakotay posts Quotes of the Day, mindfulness tips, pictures of nature and photos of himself with old Maquis friends.

Tuvok claims to not have one but secretly follows everyone from a tumblr called “ask Voyager’s Senior Staff” that answers asks for the Bridge crew and memes. He can also hack into everyone else’s, as necessary.

B’Elanna changes her username every 90 days or so, routinely deletes posts or her entire blog on a whim, has been accused of being a Social Justice Warrior despite at least 80% of her posts being about robotics and engineering.

Tom posts gifs from 20th century TV shows, cars, and shuttlecraft races. And he’s the meme king.

Harry posts performances of Jazz musicians, pictures of Earth, and things he knows the others like tagged with their usernames.

The Doctor posts daily health tips and weekly articles on disgusting medical issues that could happen to the crew if they DON’T COME IN FOR THEIR DAMN VISIT. Also political statements about being alive.

Neelix posts candid photos of the crew, fairy tales from various cultures, recipes, and images of Kes that walk the line between cute and creepy. He also reblogs all of Chakotay’s quotes and The Doctor’s tips.

Kes posts photos of all the interesting species they’ve encountered as well as flowers and plants. Also kittens and kitten equivalents.

Seven doesn’t understand so she just posts her official logs. Janeway tries to explain so she starts posting coffee, dogs, space phenomenon. Janeway sighs and tells her “Seven, NO, things YOU like” so then Seven posts pictures of Janeway. She also posts about Janeway’s service record, which Tuvok promptly deletes starting a war of tumblr attrition because Seven doesn’t like her things being tampered with, even by Tuvok. Eventually he explains to her why her posts are inappropriate and while she disagrees, she stops out of respect for authority. 

(co-conspirator: vasnormandy)

Arizona. The place where everything started for us. We have no idea how many shows we’ve played in our home state at this point, but we know it’s a lot. From working our butts off every show to sell enough tickets as a tiny, brand new local band to playing a sold out headliner years later, it’s been an incredible trip. There will always be a HUGE place in our hearts for Arizona and every fan here. You guys believed in us when nobody knew who we were and we’ll always be grateful to you for everything! On June 13th we’ll be playing our final Arizona show in Phoenix at The Rebel Lounge. It would mean the absolute world if you guys came out and spent this evening with us…and, of course, we plan to hang out as long as possible and talk with everyone who wants to chat! So much love to you everyone in this beautiful state. Let’s make this last show a memorable one!


Tickets are available at http://tinyurl.com/ArizonaTC


-This Century


(Photo by Briana Lin)

In the ‘90s, Scotland Yard told anti-terrorist workers to beware of Star Trek, X-Files, & Roswell fandoms

At the turn of the century, U.K. police apparently feared these shows could unite their fans in dangerous UFO cults reminiscent of Heaven’s Gate.

According to the brief, these shows would press “the psychological buttons” of fans, and thus encourage a “sinister” level of interest from “certain groups and individuals” who cared too much about the content of such programs.

Why these shows in particular? The Met apparently believed they held a peculiar sway over their audience because they united “the various strands of religion, UFOs, conspiracies and mystic events and put them in an entertaining story line.”

Yep. That’s what these shows are all about. Mystic events…

…and harrowing conspiracies.

[Read More]

Omg you guys I am finally watching Poldark AND IT IS SO FUCKING GOOD. It’s everything I want from television and more. Brooding yet sensitive lead male character with dark good looks and a tragic past? Check. Gorgeous period costumes and sets? Check. Beautiful soundtrack comprised largely of string instruments? Check. Impoverished yet earnest salt of the earth people just trying to earn a living in the face of a classist system? Check. Gorgeous extended shots of the English countryside including meadows of wild flowers and rugged coasts? check. MULTIPLE CHARACTERS ANGSTILY STARING OUT OVER THE SEA?? MOTHERFUCKING CHECK.

Most of us by now understand that the Mainstream Media are not in the business of the reporting of facts but rather in the shaping of public opinion.
Across America, 24 hours a day, the media enters our homes and lives not to inform us…… but rather to tell us how we should think.
Whether the issue is Global Warming, marriage equality or civil unrest in American cities………..coverage is less determined by the facts than by what networks and reporters believe the story should be.
Journalism has become a profession peopled by social activists masquerading as impartial reporters of facts.

This however is not a new phenomena…………

In fact a study of papers and periodicals of the 18th and 19th century show wildly inflammatory and misleading opinion being presented as news.
The newspaper business of that day was a wild free for all, where anyone with the resources, could set up a newspaper or periodical and publish virtually anything that they liked.

Not much different from the internet of today.

However…..in the early part of the 20th century journalism took on the mantle of a profession. Reporters and the media were now accorded an increasing respect. Schools of journalism were set up, guidelines and codes of conduct outlined and the media took up its self-appointed role as the “fourth estate, the gate-keeper of western democracy assuring Americans that truth was their highest ideal.

Walter Cronkite changed all that.

Touted as the "most trusted man in America” Cronkite’s role as CBS’s news anchorman took him into American living rooms nightly, to tell the families gathered there, the events of the day, signing off with the assurance  "And that’s the way it is".

The public trust in Walter Cronkite cannot be underestimated.
Which is why his betrayal of that trust and its ongoing consequences is so particularly egregious.

In 1968 Cronkite traveled to Vietnam to report on the aftermath of the Tet Offensive.

America had already endured 7 years of involvement in the Vietnam War. Though Americans were tired of the conflict and there was rising concern about the initial decision to send armed forces, only 10% of those in public polls advocated for a withdrawal from the conflict.
American overwhelmingly wanted the United States to finish the job. The “anti-war movement” despite the modern day  presentation was still largely regarded as a fringe movement led by student activists and hippies. Not unlike the present day Occupy crowd.

Tet……. or rather the reporting of Tet, changed all that.

In the early morning hours of January 31, during the traditional Tet holiday truce, Viet Cong and North Vietnamese forces launched a massive countrywide attack on the cities and towns of South Vietnam.

For the Viet Cong the Tet Offensive was a last roll of the dice.

Having sustained increasing casualties and loss of strategic areas over the last two years, General General No Nguyen Giap, the Supreme Commander of the NVA  and Hoàng Văn Thái leader of the Viet Cong, gambled everything on one last major offensive. They believed that the people of South Vietnam in the face of such overwhelming odds would rise up in and join the insurgent forces in defeating the Americans and the South Vietnamese government.

Their gamble not only failed……..but failed spectacularly.

Not only did the South Vietnamese fail to rise up but they fought ferociously in villages and towns to defeat them.
The North Vietnamese suffered horrific losses with an estimated 80,000 killed or wounded. American casualties by contrast were less than 2500.
Not one of the strategic objectives envisioned by Giap or Thai was achieved and in fact the massive loss of life proved a blow the Viet Cong never fully recovered from and to all intents they ceased to be an effective fighting force.

Into all this strode Walter Cronkite…………

Having commissioned himself to do a “special report” from Vietnam. Cronkite took his cameraman to one of the only areas significantly damaged during the offensive.
With the rubble smoking in the background Cronkite famously declared “It seems now more certain than ever that the bloody experience of Vietnam is to end in a stalemate.”.

This was a massive blow to the American psyche already reeling from the sheer magnitude of the attacks.
Here was the most trusted man in America, telling his fellow Americans that the war was basically lost.

Cronkite did this in full knowledge that Tet was a stunning defeat for the North Vietnamese. Cronkite had decided, perhaps over a period of time, that the facts by necessity must become subservient to his own belief and desire for an American withdrawal.

Whether or not the story of Lyndon B. Johnston’s response “If  I’ve lost Cronkite……..I’ve lost America” is true or not…….what is undeniable was the erosion of public confidence in the outcome of the war.

Cronkite’s straying from reportage into advocacy had repercussions far beyond the removal of American forces in South Vietnam.
The journalistic profession sat up and took notice. Here was one of their own not just reporting the news but actively remoulding public opinion.
No longer would they be just reporters of world events now they would be the active shapers of those events.

A role they gleefully embraced.

The legacy of Walter Cronkite continues to this day. The media once the collators and promulgators of facts have become in the space of one human lifetime…………The gatekeepers of inconvenient truths. Only allowing outside that which serves their beliefs and desires.

Thus is our democracy weakened and the public trust made poorer by the day.

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