after school play

When I was nine, possibly ten, an author came to our school to talk about writing. His name was Hugh Scott, and I doubt he’s known outside of Scotland. And even then I haven’t seen him on many shelves in recent years in Scotland either. But he wrote wonderfully creepy children’s stories, where the supernatural was scary, but it was the mundane that was truly terrifying. At least to little ten year old me. It was Scooby Doo meets Paranormal Activity with a bonny braw Scottish-ness to it that I’d never experienced before.

I remember him as a gangling man with a wiry beard that made him look older than he probably was, and he carried a leather bag filled with paper. He had a pen too that was shaped like a carrot, and he used it to scribble down notes between answering our (frankly disinterested) questions. We had no idea who he was you see, no one had made an effort to introduce us to his books. We were simply told one morning, ‘class 1b, there is an author here to talk to you about writing’, and this you see was our introduction to creative writing. We’d surpassed finger painting and macaroni collages. It was time to attempt Words That Were Untrue.

You could tell from the look on Mrs M’s face she thought it was a waste of time. I remember her sitting off to one side marking papers while this tall man sat down on our ridiculously short chairs, and tried to talk to us about what it meant to tell a story. She wasn’t big on telling stories, Mrs M. She was also one of the teachers who used to take my books away from me because they were “too complicated” for me, despite the fact that I was reading them with both interest and ease. When dad found out he hit the roof. It’s the one and only time he ever showed up to the school when it wasn’t parents night or the school play. After that she just left me alone, but she made it clear to my parents that she resented the fact that a ten year old used words like ‘ubiquitous’ in their essays. Presumably because she had to look it up.

Anyway, Mr Scott, was doing his best to talk to us while Mrs M made scoffing noises from her corner every so often, and you could just tell he was deflating faster than a bouncy castle at a knife sharpening party, so when he asked if any of us had any further questions and no one put their hand up I felt awful. I knew this was not only insulting but also humiliating, even if we were only little children. So I did the only thing I could think of, put my hand up and said “Why do you write?”

I’d always read about characters blinking owlishly, but I’d never actually seen it before. But that’s what he did, peering down at me from behind his wire rim spectacles and dragging tired fingers through his curly beard. I don’t think he expected anyone to ask why he wrote stories. What he wrote about, and where he got his ideas from maybe, and certainly why he wrote about ghosts and other creepy things, but probably not why do you write. And I think he thought perhaps he could have got away with “because it’s fun, and learning is fun, right kids?!”, but part of me will always remember the way the world shifted ever so slightly as it does when something important is about to happen, and this tall streak of a man looked down at me, narrowed his eyes in an assessing manner and said, “Because people told me not to, and words are important.”

I nodded, very seriously in the way children do, and knew this to be a truth. In my limited experience at that point, I knew certain people (with a sidelong glance to Mrs M who was in turn looking at me as though she’d just known it’d be me that type of question) didn’t like fiction. At least certain types of fiction. I knew for instance that Mrs M liked to read Pride and Prejudice on her lunch break but only because it was sensible fiction, about people that could conceivably be real. The idea that one could not relate to a character simply because they had pointy ears or a jet pack had never occurred to me, and the fact that it’s now twenty years later and people are still arguing about the validity of genre fiction is beyond me, but right there in that little moment, I knew something important had just transpired, with my teacher glaring at me, and this man who told stories to live beginning to smile. After that the audience turned into a two person conversation, with gradually more and more of my classmates joining in because suddenly it was fun. Mrs M was pissed and this bedraggled looking man who might have been Santa after some serious dieting, was starting to enjoy himself. As it turned out we had all of his books in our tiny corner library, and in the words of my friend Andrew “hey there’s a giant spider fighting a ghost on this cover! neat!” and the presentation devolved into chaos as we all began reading different books at once and asking questions about each one. “Does she live?”— “What about the talking trees” —“is the ghost evil?” —“can I go to the bathroom, Miss?” —“Wow neat, more spiders!”

After that we were supposed to sit down, quietly (glare glare) and write a short story to show what we had learned from listening to Mr Scott. I wont pretend I wrote anything remotely good, I was ten and all I could come up with was a story about a magic carrot that made you see words in the dark, but Mr Scott seemed to like it. In fact he seemed to like all of them, probably because they were done with such vibrant enthusiasm in defiance of the people who didn’t want us to.

The following year, when I’d moved into Mrs H’s class—the kind of woman that didn’t take away books from children who loved to read and let them write nonsense in the back of their journals provided they got all their work done—a letter arrived to the school, carefully wedged between several copies of a book which was unheard of at the time, by a new author known as J.K. Rowling. Mrs H remarked that it was strange that an author would send copies of books that weren’t even his to a school, but I knew why he’d done it. I knew before Mrs H even read the letter.

Because words are important. Words are magical. They’re powerful. And that power ought to be shared. There’s no petty rivalry between story tellers, although there’s plenty who try to insinuate it. There’s plenty who try to say some words are more valuable than others, that somehow their meaning is more important because of when it was written and by whom. Those are the same people who laud Shakespeare from the heavens but refuse to acknowledge that the quote “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them“ is a dick joke.

And although Mr Scott seems to have faded from public literary consumption, I still think about him. I think about his stories, I think about how he recommended another author and sent copies of her books because he knew our school was a puritan shithole that fought against the Wrong Type of Wordes and would never buy them into the library otherwise. But mostly I think about how he looked at a ten year old like an equal and told her words and important, and people will try to keep you from writing them—so write them anyway.

hey bro. wanna stop on by my house after school. play some tony hawk underground on my ps2.i got two controllers! we pick up some mountain dew livewire at 7-11. listen to some p.o.d.?

This was my first ever D&D campaign (4th edition), being played after school with one of my teachers as the DM (a lot more fun than it sounds.) The team was in the mountains, on their way to fight the final boss.

DM: You hear a low growling from behind you. You dont know what or where it is

Me (ranger): okay I’m gonna try to camouflage myself to blend in with the landscape.

DM: Wait- doesnt your character have intellegence of 2?

Me: …. 1…. why?

DM: Nevermind. Just roll stealth.

Me: *rolls a nat 20*

DM: Alright…. now roll intelligence.

Me: *nat 1* shit…

DM: *Trying not to laugh* Okay. You blend in flawlessly, not even your teammates can see you… but… You’ve done it so well, and youre so stupid that you now /believe/ that you’re a rock.

For the rest of the campaign, my character would only answer to “granite” or “sandstone”, believed she was immune to fire and was terrified of water because “I’m a rock! I’ll sink and drown!”

Consider: Jared Kleinman with access to a kazoo
  • It starts out at a younger cousin’s bar mitzvah
  • There’s a kazoo in his party favor when he leaves
  • Jared has snuck quite a few sips of relatives’ alcohol at this point. He’s tipsy and he has a kazoo
  • You can bet there are gonna be a dozen You On Kazoo reenactments during the car ride home
  • He plays it tunelessly for hours until his mom confiscates it, but he takes it back the next morning before school
  • People can hear a horribly off-key rendition of “Eye Of The Tiger” playing outside of every classroom as he struts down the hall between classes
  • He switches to the theme song for Elmo’s World during lunch
  • Five different students have complained at this point, but teachers are too amused by this almost-adult playing a kid’s song on a golden kazoo to confiscate the thing
  • He heads to Evan’s house after school to play Mario Kart with him and screams the song for every single course (he’s got them all memorized)
  • Twenty minutes in, Connor shows up
  • The X-Files theme immediately begins to sound from Jared’s corner of the room
  • Connor isn’t in the mood for this shit but he’s 100% amused by it
  • “What the hell, Kleinman”
  • Jared takes the kazoo out of his mouth for one of the first times all day to whisper “Evan look it’s a cryptid”
  • Connor sits next to Evan and puts an arm around him
  • Cue “Careless Whisper” being aggressively played from directly behind them
  • “Jared, I will eviscerate you”
  • *kazoo intensifies*
  • This goes on for a solid three days before Connor and Evan finally band together and steal it in the middle of second period
  • Jared comes to school the next day with five more he bought at the party store

“How do you sleep with so many hamster plushies?”
HAHAHA – well eventually I had to send some of them over to my sibling’s and parent’s beds  ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

“What about dust?”
My brother’s chores include vacuuming our room at least twice a week ahaha

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Free to Be...You and Me
Running Press is proud to offer this beloved 1974 children's classic. It's the original, innovative book that celebrates diversity, chall...

This was one of my favorite books as a kid. I checked it out of the library about a billion times. 

If you’ve never read it, then you probably don’t know about The Story of Baby X!

1974. Thirty-three years ago. This anthology included a story. About a kid being raised without an assigned gender. As a positive thing. 

I didn’t know I was genderqueer at the time, or that that was a thing, or… anything. But it had a huge influence on me. It made it very easy to imagine raising a kid by using gender-neutral pronouns, and waiting to hear a gender, and/or pronouns, from the kid themself. 

And here it is. 


Once upon a time a baby named X was born. It was named X so that no one could tell whether it was a boy or a girl.

Before it was born, scientists created an Official Instruction Manual that would help the families raise baby X.

Many families were interviewed to find the perfect parents for baby X. Families with grandparents named Milton or Agatha, families with aunts who wanted to knit blue shirts and pink dresses, families with other children who wanted a little brother or sister. All of these families didn’t want a baby X, they wanted a baby girl or boy. 

Finally, scientists found the Jones family The Jones family wanted to raise a healthy, happy baby, no matter what kind. They wanted, most of all, to raise a baby X.

The Jones promised to take turns holding X, feeding X, and singing X to sleep.

They promised to never hire any babysitters, because babysitters might try to peek at baby X’s secret.

The day the Joneses brought home their baby, everyone asked, ”Is it a boy or a girl?” To which Mr. Jones replied proudly, ”It’s an X!”

No one knew what to say. They couldn’t say, “look at her cute dimples” or “look at his husky biceps!” And just saying “kitchy-coo” didn’t seem right either.

The neighbors were unsure, and the relatives were embarrassed. “People will think there is something wrong with it!”

And the Joneses didn’t understand this. “What could be wrong with a perfectly healthy and happy baby?” they sat and wondered.

Suddenly everything changed for the Joneses: The cousins who sent a tiny helmet did not come and visit anymore. The neighbors who sent pink, flowered dresses pulled their shades when the Joneses passed their house.

The Official Instruction Manual had warned the new parents this would happen, so they didn’t worry too much. Besides, they were having too much fun raising baby X.

Mr. & Mrs. Jones had to be very careful. Because if they kept bouncing baby X up in the air and saying how strong and active X is, they’d be treating baby X more like a boy. But, if they cuddle and kiss baby X and tell it how sweet and dainty X is, they’d be treating baby X more like a girl rather than an X.

So they consulted the Official Instruction Manual, and the scientists prescribed, “Plenty of bouncing and plenty of cuddling. X ought to be strong, sweet, and active. Forget about dainty altogether.” [Continued below the cut]

Keep reading

jason scott a.k.a the red ranger, played by the beautiful dacre montgomery in the 2017 Power Rangers movie, is physically disabled. it’s canon, let’s not forget that. 

pass it on.

Why is it such a big deal to Jeremy that Christine is signing up for the after school play?? The girl has an entire song about how much she loves play practice, there’s no way her doing theatre is a new thing in this school, and yet he acts as though he’s never seen her sign up for a play before.

EXO as Freshmen

yixing:
~ forgets all of his things at home on the first day
~ shares his lunch with kids who say they’re hungry
~ monotone presentation voice
~ involuntarily screams “OH FUCK!” whenever a ball comes towards him during gym
~ best friends with the waitress at the nearby noodle place
~ sometimes speaks chinese by accident and blushes for the rest of the period

minseok:
~ captain of every sports team except for soccer (luhan got the spot and he’s still mad)
~ teachers like him so much that they bring him lunch and let him leave his stuff in the staff room
~ uses a whole can of hair gel every day
~ lives off nutrition bars (claims they help him stay fit)
~ misses a total of 35 school days to go to competitions
~ secretly a genius if you look at his grades

zitao:
~ wears designer clothes (still hasn’t gotten jumped but it’s coming)
~ threatens to sue when he gets bad grades
~ cries from stress when doing sports but it helps him win somehow
~ spends lunch in the girls washroom giving makeup tips
~ holds the wildest and most lit holiday parties
~ has a crush on half of the senior grade

yifan:
~ bumps into everything
~ has a 60% in art but still thinks he’s the shit
~ king of basketball
~ eats a 3 course meal every lunch
~ wears tank tops in december
~ tried campaigning against junmyeon for class president and lost 28:1 (ugly cried in the bathroom for half an hour afterwards)

luhan:
~ hangs out for like 3 hours after school each day
~ plays soccer in the hallways in between classes
~ “eating in the cafeteria is social suicide”
~ takes 400 pictures whenever he’s on a fieldtrip
~ dabs unironically
~ hair is a different colour every week

jongdae:
~ refuses to use his locker and just lugs everything around
~ takes food from the office despite already having breakfast
~ buys the yearbook just because there’s one good photo of him in it
~ cannot function without a coffee every day
~ screams a lot during class
~ thinks debates and discussions are the right place to start roasting his classmates

baekhyun:
~ “it’s only grade 9, none of this counts”
~ listens to music and sings out loud during work periods
~ snapchats every second of every day
~ half-asses everything during p.e
~ brings tons of snacks to class and shares with his table group
~ the only thing he’s good at is choir, he’s always the star of assemblies

chanyeol:
~ lives in the music room
~ “do teachers accept bribes”
~ refuses to write exams in pen in case he messes up
~ wears band merch head to toe every thursday
~ always claps for too long during presentations or assemblies
~ gets lost all the time and doesn’t figure out the school layout until may

junmyeon:
~ class president
~ writes exam notes for every subject and gives them to kids for $10 bucks a subject
~ forever has a headache and takes 4 tylenols a day
~ always gives the thank you speech for when guests come in
~ “i can’t do anything this month guys, i’m studying!”
~ stress cries during exams but hides it well

kyungsoo:
~ writes with calligraphy pens
~ plays the clarinet for band and takes lessons outside of school
~ will smack you if you talk to him when he’s got his earphones in
~ still has his winter coat in his locker on the last day of school
~ studied for 2 hours the day before exams and still passed
~ has a running mental list of people he hates

jongin:
~ the nicest boy in the entire grade that everyone falls in love with
~ says he’s vegan but everyone knows he eats chicken nuggets in the bathroom during fifth period
~ never does his homework but is charming enough to get away with it
~ the only thing he ever says is “oops”
~ tried to bring his dogs to school once and got send home
~ dances during gym class instead of paying attention so he has no idea what to do half the time

sehun:
~ only ever eats out
~ “this only has 500 calories it should be fine”
~ uses his phone as a mirror every five seconds
~ wears sunglasses inside
~ gets love notes in his locker and keeps them to laugh at when he’s bored
~ talks a whole lot of shit and always gets caught

Chariot hears music outside of her tower window one night. When she goes to investigate, instead of finding Croix holding up a boombox, she sees one of Croix’s roombas with a speaker and iPod attached to it floating outside

She looks down further and finds Croix smiling and floating a few feet below DJ Broomba.

What song(s) did Croix play to serenade Chariot with?

so i joined two community bands but they’re out for the summer so here’s this little trio of Chester as found in the Voxman clarinet trio book.
also this is like the worst angle imaginable but i was sitting on the floor with the book open in my case ¯\_(ツ)_/¯