Don’t ever tell me that marching band isn’t important.
I have had so many problems with public schools putting all the emphasis on athletics. When a school’s budget is cut, they don’t choose to take a little from each program. No. They choose to completely eradicate the arts programs, usually starting with the marching band. If you don’t play sports, you’re not a valuable asset, you’re not qualified for scholarships, and you mean nothing. Marching band? Why would we be impressed that you’re in marching band?
Anyone can do that.
Okay, fine. Anyone can do marching band. Anyone can spend hours on the field doing the same forty-second section over and over and over and over. Anyone can hit over 75 precise dots on the field with the correct step sizes, the correct amount of steps, the correct timing, without being so much as an inch to either side, in order and without looking at the yard line markers or the field. Anyone can memorize all of those extremely specific points on the grass and varying counts for steps and then execute them with a shako visor pulled down over your eyes and looking up at the press box the whole time. If you look down at the yard line markers to see where you are, congratulations, you just lost points for the group.
Anyone can memorize eight pages of notes, rhythms, dynamics, phrasing, and tempos. (But of course, before you do that you have to learn an instrument with hundreds of different fingerings and learn how to make slight changes in your lips to change notes and stay in tune.) Memorize all seven and a half minutes of music and then marry it to the seventy-five pages of drill you memorized. Do them both perfectly and at the same time. But you can’t just do what you memorized. You have to do it in perfect sync with everyone around you and know how to make the slightest adjustments to fit perfectly within the group. If you’re an inch to the right or barely a thousandth of a step sharp, it’ll throw everything off.
But anyone can do that.
Then add in the fact that you don’t get any individual credit for doing this. The closest you’ll come to recognition is your identity lumped into “The Such-and-Such Marching Band” as you all march onto the field looking exactly the same. You don’t have a number on your back. You have a uniform intended to erase you and turn you into dot T14 and nothing more.
But, for some reason you can’t explain, you love it. You love throwing everything you have into this ridiculously precise pursuit and then not getting any credit for it. You start thanking people when they call you a band geek. You start taping pictures of marching bands into your locker. You start wearing your band shirt everywhere you go. Because you look at the person in an identical uniform next to you and you know that you’ve done this for them and they’ve done this for you. This is more than just a team, this is a family; and if one person is missing from the form, the show can’t ever be the same.
It costs so much money, so much time. You’re out there on the field in the blazing sun for fourteen hours a day during summer band camp, out in the street getting frostbite on your fingertips during the holiday parade. If anyone knew what you went through for this, they would wonder what made it all worth it.
And the truth is, what makes it all worth it cannot be described. It’s the camaraderie between you and the center snare, the colorguard newbie, the tenor sax player in the set in front of you. It’s the sunset behind you lighting up the back of your plume. It’s the hazy nostalgia that racks your chest with emotion. There’s something about the family you’ve chosen and the experience you’ve internalized that gives you the passion to throw everything down onto that field like nothing else matters in the world… because in that moment, it’s true.
Your nerves are damaged from the cold. Your skin is damaged from the sun. Your joints are damaged from marching and marching and marching. You’re physically and mentally drained, your body is irreversibly compromised, you’re broke as hell, and all you have to show for it is a polyester jacket and a couple of blurry photographs.
But sports are what require hard work and dedication, not marching band.
Even though you complained basically the entire time you marched and even though you’re done with it, you pull out those photographs and you remember. You remember your first day of high school band camp when you had absolutely no idea what you were getting yourself into. You remember your first final retreat when they announced your band’s name as state champions, and you wanted to cry with happiness but you weren’t allowed to move, so you just clenched your fists so tight that your fingernails dug white crescents into your palms. You remember coming back the next year and thinking you knew everything as a sophomore, only to realize there was still so much to learn. You remember the band trips you spent months fundraising for, all the lame tourist attractions you visited between performances, and how you wouldn’t trade those memories for all the money in the world. You remember being a junior and getting nervous because people looked up to you now: as an upperclassman, as a section leader, as a friend. And then you were a senior and you cried on the final day of band camp. You remember how your life became a series of lasts. You had to decide which of the freshmen would inherit your band cubby, your lucky bottle of valve oil, your bus seat. You went to graduation but it didn’t mean anything because you still had one last band trip coming up. You didn’t shed a tear when you tossed your cap but you cried like a child after your last parade. You remember on the plane ride home, you expected to feel devastated and heartbroken, but you just felt… empty.
You remember printing out what seemed like the most difficult solo in the world. You remember driving up to your college and entering a room with a chair and a stand and a couple of people giving you skeptical looks. You remember getting an email from the college marching band with your audition results and reading it with tears of joy in your eyes because you realized it was starting all over again.
But marching band doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter.
Tell me that it doesn’t matter. Tell me as many times as you want. You could scream it in my face and I still wouldn’t hear because the music we’re making is too damn loud to let anything else in.
Tell me that it doesn’t matter when I’m standing on the field for the last time, knowing that everything behind me will last forever and that nothing will ever mean more to me than this… and all you’ve got is some money and a jersey with a number on the back.
Do not ever tell me that marching band isn’t important. It is everything to me, and it is everything to millions of other band geeks across the world.
When you refuse to support kids because they participate in the arts rather than athletics, you’re no better than the football player who takes lunch money from nerds.
To all of my fellow band geeks… keep marching, even if the world tells you it’s not worth it. It is. God, it is worth it, in ways no one else but you will ever understand. Continue your band career in college. Audition for a drum corps. Stay active in your high school band as an alumnus supporter. You are all my family.
Title: A Song for the Dead Chapter: 1/1 (?) Paring: Gaston/Witch!Reader Words: 2,639 Summary: You are a young witch living alone in the woods, until one day you feel odd. You are led to a man, dead, in the woods. Using your powers, you mange to revive him. A/N: okay this was intended to be a oneshot, but?? i’m not opposed to turning this into a series if you guys want? like, it’d have the same premise, but it’d go into depth about the events that happen after he wakes up and stuff? idk also papa bless the lovely @darkwing-katy for editing this pos wOO BOY
As soon as you left your home that evening, you could sense something was wrong. Very wrong.
The forest was especially quiet that day, and there were restless spirits about.
You cursed yourself for believing that Kylo would still be there.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” Kylo said as he walked out of the bathroom, fully dressed but not yet wearing his helmet. He threw you a clean towel, “Shower up. Hux has detected storms on our course back so we’ll need to leave as soon as possible.”
You were still trying to process that fact that Kylo had stayed in your bed all night when you were faced with the realisation that you would have to say goodbye to your family soon. The sorrow you felt on the last occasion still seemed so raw, and yet it was also so long ago.
Kylo saw the frown displayed quite clearly on your face. “I told you, you don’t have to come back—”
“And I told youthat I want to come back,” you said, flashing him a half-hearted smile. But before he could respond, you went into the bathroom.
“Cheer up, Princess, I’m sure Ren will convince the Supreme Leader to have another one of these ‘diplomatic missions’ with your planet in the near future,” Hux teased.
“That’s enough, Hux,” Kylo responded calmly. Almost too calmly. It was as if he was trying particularly hard not to lash out at him at that very moment.
You could sense Kylo’s gaze on you, though you couldn’t be sure with his helmet on. You turned away from both of the men, fixing your stare on the ground of the Command Shuttle.
Saying goodbye to your family hadn’t been as hard as you imagined it would be. It seemed that your training had been useful in helping to contain your emotions in situations like these.
So at this moment, when you had expected yourself to be feeling sad after leaving your family, all you felt was confusion. You were confused at yourself for refusing to accept Kylo’s offer and stay on your home planet. But mostly, you were confused about why Kylo would even offer such a thing.
You finally felt as if you and Kylo were actually making some progress. Ever so slowly, he was beginning to open himself up to you. You sharing your bed last night was evidence of that. Certainly, nothing had actually happened between you two, but it felt like a step in the right direction. Whether this was a friendship blossoming between you two or perhaps something more, you were just thankful that something was happening.
That’s when you felt it. The familiar tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach. The same one that you had felt when you had first met Kylo over a month ago in your palace’s throne room.
You furrowed your brows as you looked over to Kylo, almost certain that it had something to do with him. In that same moment, he also looked to you, as if he too felt the same thing.
Hux’s exclamation snapped you from Kylo’s gaze and you stood up, “What is it?”
“The engine is failing,” Hux told you. The Shuttle dipped as if in response to him and you steadied yourself.
“Why?” Kylo spoke this time, marching towards the cockpit.
The pilot, quite clearly frightened with both the General and the Commander towering over him, managed to stutter a response, “I-I’m n-not sure…It’s p-possible that debris from the storm has become… s-stuck in the e-engine…Sir.”
You made your way towards the cockpit, “Is there anything we can do?”
“I-I’m afraid not, Y/N—”
“Your Highness,” Kylo spat.
You raised an eyebrow and looked to Kylo incredulously. Now really wasn’t the time.
“S-sorry, Your Highness,” the pilot correct himself, “There’s nothing that can be done this far from Starkiller Base. The engine’s functioning capacity is dropping too quickly.”
“I don’t even know where we are,” Hux muttered to himself, “I’m going to die, and I don’t know where we are,” panic was laced in every word he said.
You rolled your eyes, “We are not going to die, General.” You turned back to the pilot, “What is your name?”
He seemed taken aback by your question, but quietly spoke, “James, Your Highness.”
You smiled, “Call me Y/N, I insist.” He nodded slowly.
“Can you make a safe landing anywhere James?” You asked him, pleased that you were able to keep calm despite the very real possibility that Hux was right and you were all about to crash land somewhere.
He studied the radar carefully before pointing to a small dot on the screen, “I can send us into Hyperdrive with just enough power to land safely on this planet—”
“Not there,”Kylo interjected.
“This is not the time to be childish Ren, you can’t pick and choose!” Hux snapped at him.
You sighed, there was obviously a reason behind Kylo’s desire to avoid that planet. “Is there anywhere else?”
“Nowhere,” James responded with absolute certainty.
You looked at Kylo carefully, though the helmet gave nothing away. You turned back to face the radar, “We will all die if he doesn’t land here,” you thought.
There was a momentary pause. “So be it,” you heard Kylo’s voice in your head before he stormed out of the cockpit.
You gave James a quick nod and he sent the Shuttle into Hyperdrive while Hux let out a sigh of relief.
“What happens when we land, James?” You asked him, though you feared you knew the answer.
“We will be stranded there until a First Order starship can retrieve us.”
“How long will that take?”
“It could be hours… or days, possibly longer,” Hux responded absent-mindedly, it appeared as if the panic had once more set in.
You sighed but nodded your head curtly before leaving the cockpit.
You found Kylo pacing quickly, mumbling something under his breath.
“Is everything all right?”
“What do you think?” He responded, letting out a frustrated huff.
You crossed your arms, “I’m only trying to help. You don’t have to snap at me.”
“I don’t need your help, I’m fine.”
“You’re clearly not fine, it sounded as if you would rather die than land on that planet!”
“Death doesn’t scare me.”
“Don’t speak like that, you don’t mean it,” you said through gritted teeth.
“You know nothing of how I feel.”
“Then tell me!” You exclaimed. So much for the two of you making progress.
A few moments passed between you in silence, but when Kylo spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, “The planet we’re going to. It was once one of the most sacred sites of the Jedi Order,” Kylo sighed, “Death doesn’t scare me. But just the thought of losing you to the Light terrifies me.”
Tag List(Send me a message if you want to be included!)
listen fred was one of those hoes who always knew he was gonna have kids and start a family and had names picked out for his kids at like age eight and took meticulous notes on everything his dad did for him when he was growing up so he could do the same for his kids one day and he’d love archie grandkids or not but he was kind of planning for grandfatherhood the day archie came outta the womb and now archie is calling him grandpa in front of his own face talking about how he’d like to raise his kids with fred in their life and fred doesnt know if hes gonna get those grandkids because he doesnt know if archie is safe enough in riverdale to live into adulthood because jason didnt get to live to make clifford a grandpa so what the fuck
Plenty of people admit to forgetting most of what they read, no matter how much they enjoyed the text.
But just because forgetting is a human phenomenon doesn’t mean you should simply accept it. In fact, there are plenty of simple, creative strategies for retaining more of what you read — whether that’s novels, news articles, or scientific textbooks.
To find out what some of those techniques are, we perused the Quora thread, “How do you remember what you’ve just read?” and scoured the web for advice from other readers.
Below are eight of the most practical techniques — bonus points if you can remember all eight tomorrow.
1. Take notes on the page. “Never read without a pencil,” says Quora user Deniz Ateş. “Underline sentences you find confusing, interesting, or important. Draw lines along the side of important paragraphs. Draw diagrams to see the structure of key ideas.”
2. Ask yourself questions about the material. Ingrid Spielman recommends interacting with the text by asking yourself questions as you go along.
If you’re reading a textbook, the question can be as simple as, “What is the main idea of this section?”
If you’re reading fiction, you can ask, “What are the motives of the character?” and “If you could rewrite this reading, what would your version be like?”
nine is the highest single digit, representing the highest achievable stat. in many rpgs, 9,999 (or similar) is the damage cap. it represents strength. it represents power. it represents “the absolute”. there are many allusions to the number nine within undertale, some more subtle than others. however, most share the distinction of being specifically related to chara.
so, where do they show up? where are the nines?
at lv 20, hp is 99. atk maxes at 99, max def is 99, max gold is 9,999, and max exp is 99,999. atk and def are reliant on weapon/armour and gold does not need to max out in the genocide route. the only thing chara mentions that cannot include nines at max is LOVE, which is 20 at the highest. sans, the final genocide battle, is fought at lv 19, though.
➋ the locket and the real knife
related to stats. the locket and the real knife provide 99 def and 99 atk respectively.
on the other hand, the heart locket and the worn dagger both provide 15 to their respective stat. only when chara is in control of frisk’s body does this gear feature the number nine.
➌ sans’ deathblow
at the end of the fight with sans, the player can attempt to strike him when he’s sleeping, but it’ll miss. just as sans attempts to mock the player for this, another slash strikes him and fully connects.
as the player has not issued the attack, it seems that only chara could have done it (”SINCE WHEN WERE YOU THE ONE IN CONTROL?”). chara’s devastating attack flashes all nines.
➍ attacking asgore
before asgore can even finish his speech, he’s struck down by a slash. like with sans, the player doesn’t issue this attack. it is presumably chara’s doing.
➎ erasing the world
by far the most obvious case of the number nine. whether or not the player agrees to it, chara will destroy the world at the end of the genocide route. when this occurs, the screen is covered in nines and shakes from side to side.
➏ pacifist-neutral: asgore
if asgore is fought in a neutral route where monsters have been killed, the “talk” ACT will produce only one line of dialogue (unless frisk has been killed by him previously):
But there was nothing to say.
however, if no monsters have been killed, the “talk” ACT will cycle through a number of things each time it is used. the first one depends on whether frisk has died to asgore or not,
but the proceeding dialogue continues as usual.
1.) You quietly tell ASGORE you don’t want to fight him. His hands tremble for a moment. 2.) You tell ASGORE that you don’t want to fight him. His breathing gets funny for a moment. 3.) You firmly tell ASGORE to STOP fighting. Recollection flashes in his eyes… ASGORE’s ATTACK dropped! ASGORE’s DEFENSE dropped! 4.) Seems talking won’t do any more good.
eventually, “seems talking won’t do any more good” just comes up over and over. until the ninth “talk”, that is.
on the ninth “talk”, the flavour text reads: “all you can do is FIGHT”. interestingly, it never occurs again in the same battle. “talk” #9 is the only time this text can be seen. afterwards, it goes back to “seems talking won’t do any more good”.
if it weren’t for this flavour text only appearing on the ninth talk, it could have been linked to either frisk or chara, but as it stands, the nine specifically brings to mind chara. perhaps this is another nod to chara’s presence outside of the genocide route (along with the likes of the woshua jokes, the snowdrake’s mother “laugh”/”heckle” ACTs, and the new home bed dialogue). maybe it’s evidence of chara willing frisk to fight.
Notes: Sorry it took so long, I was totally lost with where to go. Huge shout out to @we-became-the-flowers for giving me some ideas about the direction where to take this fic. They’re also working on their own little side and ALT ending to Smart Mouth so take a look at that when it comes out. This is still the canon fic so don’t worry about that.
This chapter is mostly just Moon dealing with her internal emotional conflicts. I have the rest of the fic planned out so hopefully I’ll be updating this fic more frequently, and eventually finishing it. Sorry if there alot of typos, I literally dozed off trying to proof read this. Anyway enjoy.
Now the question was, should I stay or should I go? Guzma
knew I was stubborn little bitch and never listened to what anyone told me.
When he told me not to be here did he think I would actually listen to him, or
did he deliberately tell me to leave so I would stay? Reverse psychology is
frustrating, if this was reverse psychology.
Guzma could just legitimately not want to see me. Which I could understand I
guess. What just happened between us was far from okay despite how exhilarating
the cognitive functions as stringed musical instruments
Thanks to @mbtipartyblog for letting me write a “cognitive functions for stringed instruments”!
Fe: cello– it is said that the cello sounds most like the human voice of the strings and has a rich voice, appealing to a large audience. It is often the melody along with the violin and takes care of the ensemble with its low voice, even willing to play eight fucking notes over and over again in Pachelbel’s Canon.
Ne: guitar– the guitar is all over the fucking place. From baroque to country, guitars are versatile and can play all sorts of different genres, fulfilling whichever interest that the player has at the current moment.
Se: ukulele– the smaller cousin of the guitar, ukuleles remind people of the Hawaiian islands, filled with white, sandy beaches and sweet hibiscus leis. Fun and enjoying life, ukuleles exemplify the music of the care-free and adventurous. Also aesthetic as fuck.
Te: violin– getting the majority of solos, especially if they play the first part, violins absolutely need to have their shit together. Ambitious and dependable, they must be able to lead the section and, quite frankly, the entire ensemble.
Fi: viola– ya know, the melancholy “big violin”. You have to be really content with the instrument and edgy as fuck to stay with the one instrument that is the butt of jokes and that everyone overlooks. Despite all of this, the viola is unique as it’s one of the few instruments to play the alto clef and just as important to the ensemble as any other instrument.
Ni: harp– harboring one of the most magical tones of all instruments, the harp requires a sense of mysticism and skill that most people do not naturally have. Harps have a hypnotic voice and have definitely transcended standard orchestra fare.
Si: double bass– also severely overlooked by most people, the bass plays one of the most important roles in the orchestra because it usually maintains the tempo and reminds players of the current chord they’re on: the important, tried-and-true things to keep constant to be a successful ensemble.
Ti: piano– because it has 88 keys and pretty much spans the entire musical range, the piano can be very independent. Its range and keys also allows a chance for the player to understand music theory in a visual manner and the mechanics of music.
Warnings: I think there’s light cursing in there. Barely. Which is weird because I curse like a sailor.
Word Count: 3,206. (Yay, rambling.)
A/N: YOU GUYS ARE ALL SO FANTASTIC. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR KIND WORDS AND ALL THE LOVE. Tbh, I expected like, eight notes on the first one, but y'all exceeded my expectations. If I had the money, I would buy all of you puppies and kittens and chocolate and food and the works. Thank you so much!! I present to you an entire load of trash.
SIDE NOTE: Also again, thanks to @ourforgottenboleros for being my second pair of eyes and editing and proofreading. GO READ HER STUFF. I AM HER NUMBER ONE FAN. JOIN MY FANCLUB.
“I’m thinking bagels,” Lin suggested as you both journeyed south 165th Street. “Are you thinking bagels, Doc?”
“You read my mind,” you replied with a grin. “I’ve been dying for a bagel since yesterday morning. And please, Y/N works just fine.”
It was around 5:15 in the morning, the sun already piercing the night’s veil of darkness, cueing the pigeons to rise and harass the inhabitants of the Big Apple.
This definitely wasn’t what you’d anticipated. You were supposed to do one last round in the ER, make sure you’d discharged everyone, if not already admitted the more serious cases, then gone home to sleep for the mere five hours before it was time to start your life again back at the hospital. And what exactly were you doing now?
Completely disregarding your body’s desperation for sleep. Going for bagels. With a stranger.
No matter how much you wanted to reprimand yourself, it seemed as though part of you had already come up with logical excuses for your irresponsibility.
Disregarding your desperate need for rest? You function perfectly on three hours of sleep. You’ve trained for this. This is your life.
Going for bagels? You haven’t had a solid meal in about eighteen hours. The most you’ve had to eat was a cookie an attending doctor had offered you late yesterday morning.
With a stranger? He’s cute. That’s that. (Because Lord knows you have a handful of other reasons why it’s a good thing to go out with this guy, but let’s not even get you started.)
He nudged you with his elbow as you both made a left on Broadway, breaking you away from your internal interrogation between you and your conscience. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Not wanting to make him feel bad for not only keeping you an hour longer at the hospital but also cutting your time for sleep even shorter than it already is, you simply smiled at him, feigning confusion. “I’m just so hungry, I can’t decide what kind of bagel I wanna get. They all sound so good right now.”
“Well then, don’t let me tell you about what kind of spreads you can get too because that’ll just throw you for a loop.”
Both of you shared a quick laugh and you nudged him right back.
“Thanks for the invite,” you said. “I really appreciate it.”
“Hey, when she’s gorgeous, I can’t just let her slide.” Lin simply shrugged as if this was no revelation to either you. He turned his head to look at you and chuckled a little. “But in all seriousness, I didn’t want the conversation to end, so I took a shot and thankfully, you said yes, and here we are.”
“Well then, I’m glad you didn’t throw it away.”
“Not as glad as I am.”
The two of you walked the rest of the way in content silence, basking in each other’s presence like this was a daily ritual of yours. Your steps fell in sync with his, left foot, right foot, all the way down the busy sidewalk. When you reached the door of Mike’s Bagels, he held it open and gestured for you to enter the lively bagel joint.
He grabbed your hand and pulled you through the growing group of people crowding around the counter, giving you more of a view of the assortment of bagels.
“Onion, sesame, poppy seed, chocolate chip, cinnamon raisin, blueberry, spinach, spinach and cheese, just plain cheese…” He turned his head to look at you, searching for an answer.
You simply stood there looking down at where both of you connected, too distracted by the fact that he still hadn’t let go of your hand.
“There are a lot of choices,” he started. “But might I suggest the cinnamon raisin with strawberry cream cheese? Because that’s what I’m getting and that’s the best one, in my not-so-humble opinion.”
Finally managing to break your gaze away from both of your hands, you flashed him a quick smile.
“Then make it two,” you replied. “I trust your not-so-humble opinion.”
Lin brought you back over to the end of the line (crowd, really, because apparently no one knew about single file here,) and you both waited for your turn. Without a single word, he laced his fingers between yours, intertwining them with ease.
Lord, I’m gonna die by the time this is over, aren’t I? you thought.
“Have you been here before?” He asked you, bringing you back to reality from your internal monologue.
“No, but I walk past it every day. I typically go to Bagel Boss.”
“Looks like we’ve got a new place then.” The corners of his mouth curved upwards into the sweetest of grins, and it was nearly enough to melt you into a puddle of helplessness and glee.
We? What do you mean by ‘we’?
Just as you were about to question his word choice, you were silenced by the sound of the teenage boy clearing his throat from behind the counter in an attempt to capture your attention.
“Two cinnamon raisin bagels with strawberry cream cheese,” Lin ordered before turning to you. “Baby, do you want it toasted?”
You couldn’t do anything but nod with an incredulous look etched on your face.
“Both toasted, dude. Oh, and coffee. Two medium drips? Yeah, medium drips.”
Had he not let go of your hand to reach into his pocket for his wallet, you would’ve stood there for the rest of the day, dumbfounded and speechless.
But hey, Mama didn’t raise no freeloader, and regardless of whether this breakfast was a date or not, you weren’t about to let a stranger pay for your food. You quickly reached into your messenger bag and grabbed your wallet, immediately pulling out your debit card and handing it to the cashier.
“No!” Lin quickly interjected, pushing your hand away. “Please, let me take care of it, Y/N.”
“I can’t let you do that,” you answered with a shake of your head. Bringing your attention back to the poor confused kid behind the counter, you stretched your arm out further, encouraging him to take your card.
After a bit of a struggle, you heard grunt followed by a victory whoop coming from Lin, and next thing you knew, the kid shrugged.
“Sorry, ma’am, he just reached over swiped his card.” The cashier snickered a little as the receipt printed from the machine. He ripped it and handed it to Lin. “You guys are order number 58.”
Lin placed his right hand on the small of your back and ushered you down the long counter before finding your hand to hold again.
“How’d you that? Why’d you do that? I told you not to do that.”
Words were flying out of your mouth, and no matter how hard you tried, they just wouldn’t stop.
He motioned towards an empty booth at the very front of the already tiny, hole-in-the-wall shop, gently pulling you to it.
“Y/N, it wouldn’t be a proper date if I didn’t take care of the tab.” He replied with a laugh. “I told you, I got it.”
You slid into the booth and watched him follow suit with his Rico Suave moves. “But I told you not to–”
He cut you off quickly and patted your hand. “Shh, shh, it’s all over now.”
You tried your hardest to remain frustrated, but the tone of his voice, the warmth of his palm on yours, the sweetness in his eyes – you were melting.
And there you both were, practically front and center of the entire place, gazing into each other’s eyes. It was just as cliché as it sounded. Screw your already fucked up sleeping pattern, forget your dire need to satisfy your voracious appetite, never mind the fact that the man who just invited you out to breakfast on a whim was a complete stranger. Something about this, about him, felt normal.
Lin stood up to pick up your order from the end of the counter, leaving you with both countless thoughts racing through your mind and endless subconscious silence.
“Tada!” He proclaimed as he set the basket in front of you. “Shit, he forgot the cups for coffee. I’ll be back.” He began walking back to the cashier, but came back four steps later. “Cream and sugar?”
You looked up at him and simply smiled, nodding quickly before watching him walk backwards with a sly grin on his face to reciprocate your own.
The sweet aroma of the warm bagels before you made your head spin, and you suddenly remembered how desperately starving you were. Without missing a single beat, you dove in, practically devouring nearly a quarter of the entire thing in just a single bite. You were one with the bagel. There was no such thing as you and the bagel. It was you and you were it.
You were too focused on relishing the flavor of the cinnamon with the occasional raisin here and there, all intertwined with the creamy strawberry spread between both halves – you were in heaven.
And you would’ve remained in heaven until you’d consumed the entire bagel, but you were interrupted by the scent of coffee rising up, sending the synapses of your brain into near neurosis.
You saw two coffee cups stacked, one standing on top of the other’s lid. For a moment, you didn’t put two and two together and your lack of comprehension broke you away from your split-second of nirvana.
Lin picked up on your brief lapse of confusion and showed you his bandaged left hand, reminding you that the poor guy only had mobility of his free hand, and suddenly, you were hit with an pang of guilt because you knew damn well you should’ve gotten the coffees instead of allowing him to struggle.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I should’ve helped you,” you started to apologize.
“I told you, it’s a date. Not to enforce gender norms, but this is what I do. So this is yours, two creams, two sugars,” he spoke as he handed you the top cup before taking a seat across from you.“I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee, so I went super generic.”
“Either you’re psychic or you’re just fantastic at assumptions,” you replied, graciously taking the cup in front of you and taking a quick sip of its contents. “Hmm, is this French Roast?”
Lin froze and grimaced. “I-I can switch it out for you if you don’t like it. I just didn’t know what–”
“I love French Roast. You really must be psychic.”
“Well, I mean…” he began coyly before breaking into a soft chuckle. “Columbian was out, and that was right next to it, so it was just chance. But hey, if you wanna believe I’m psychic, then I have no problem playing the part for you.”
You threw your head back in laughter and he joined you, his hearty laugh seemingly harmonizing with yours.
He took notice of your partially consumed bagel. “Good, right?”
“The best, honestly. I’ve eaten at Bagel Boss since I moved to the city, but this place has managed to open my eyes.”
“Wait ‘til I show you my version of NYC.” He brought his hand up in the air to mock the presentation of a billboard. “‘Lin’s New York City Tour.’ Restaurants, record shops, bookstores, I’ve got a list of all the hidden gems. Does that sound enticing to you?”
Your mouth full of yet another bite of the bagel, you gave him an affirming nod.
It did sound enticing. Despite the fact that you were born and raised in New York, you still weren’t too familiar with the city. You were accustomed to suburban living having grown up on Long Island. Sure, you and your family ventured into the city every now and then, but there was nothing Long Island didn’t have that you needed to leave it. And even though you’ve lived in the city for a solid eight years, you never really had the time to explore because of how much of your life you spent in a lab or at the hospital. The most you knew about your new surroundings was the fact that your workplace didn’t require you to take the subway and that your upstairs neighbor had two toddlers that enjoyed pretending their apartment was a jungle gym. Of course, you knew more than that, but the point was you never really had the time to familiarize yourself. To this day, this was a foreign place to you and the unfamiliarity of the city only made you wallow in loneliness more and more every second you shared with your own company.
“Alright, I already talked your ear off back at the ER, so I think it’s fair that you get a chance at revenge.”
After taking a long sip of your coffee, you shook your head with a smirk plastered across your face. “You didn’t talk my ear off, Lin. I told you I enjoyed the conversation.”
“Y/N,” he began to whisper, holding a hand to his cheek as he leaned forward. “That was your cue to tell me all about you.” He sat back in the booth, a sly grin growing quickly on his face.
“You could’ve just said it like that, you dork.”
Lin feigned offense, pressing his palm to his chest overdramatically. “Oh, my feelings!”
“I rest my case,” you giggled before finishing the last bite of your bagel. “I don’t really have an interesting story, especially compared to Hamilton.”
“Don’t be so modest, Y/N, you’re already interesting to me and I did all the talking earlier.” He reached across the table and took your hand in his. “And plus, I’m not on a date with the dead white dude on the ten-dollar bill. I’m here with you.”
Damn it, your cheeks were burning yet again, and at this rate, you were positive they were perpetually red. Of course, you had to play it cool though.
You simply rolled your eyes. “Such a charmer.”
“I’d beg to differ,” he teased sweetly. “So, what’s your origin story?”
It wasn’t a fantastic one.
Born in Queens, raised in Hicksville, attended private schools your entire childhood. Your parents divorced when you were thirteen, just three months after your one and only sister was born, leaving you to grow up faster than anticipated. With your father completely out of the picture, you suddenly found yourself being your mother’s rock, your sister’s keeper, and the glue that held the three of you together. High school went by quickly, not only because time suddenly flew, but you were lucky enough to graduate two years sooner than the usual student (despite having to juggle helping your mother parent your sister and homework from your countless AP classes), Pre-Med at Tufts, Allopathic Medical School at Cornell, internship at Columbia University Hospital, and you were currently completing your residency there.
“And now you’re all up to speed. The end.” You brought your cup up to your lips and took a drink, emptying out the remainder of its contents, not making too much of an already boring story.
“Now she’s a big shot with a gigantic needle and stitches.” Lin’s grin spread across his face from ear to ear. “Tell me more.”
“There’s not much more to tell,” you replied truthfully.
There really wasn’t anything else to tell.
“Sure there is,” he quipped.
You brought a hand up to your mouth to cover up a yawn as you shook your head.
“Okay, okay, let’s get you home, sleepyhead,” he said as he started to clean up.
“Told you my story was boring,” you half-joked, lending a hand in tidying up the table. “Even I was on the brink of sleep.”
“Now who’s a dork?”
He made a goofy face at you as you both slid out of the booth and stood up. With the two coffee cups your hand and the empty baskets in Lin’s, the two of you shuffled around the ever-growing crowd in the shop before approaching the trash bin.
And of course, like the sweetheart he was, he held the door open for you and escorted you out of Mike’s Bagels and back onto the sidewalk.
He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close, and you did nothing in protest.
“Thanks for breakfast, Lin,” you murmured softly, your exhaustion reaching its peak. “I had a lot of fun.” In your periphery, you could see a faint smile growing into a toothy grin.
“You made it fun, so thank you.”
Dropping his arm, his hand found yours once more and this time, you had no problem letting your fingers intertwine with his.
“Wait, are we walking in the direction of your place or am I just leading you nowhere?” He asked suddenly, slowing his steps.
“No, we’re going in the right direction. I’m just on 156th Street,” you assured him.
“Good,” he replied with a squeeze of your hand.
Silence surrounded both of you, and the two of you simply enjoyed it, feeling perfectly content in each other’s company. You strolled past the building traffic along Broadway, amidst the other inhabitants of the city whisking by, in the middle of blaring horns and cursing drivers, there was still nothing more that made you feel more at ease than merely holding his hand.
In a matter of six minutes, you and Lin had journeyed all the way down to your apartment building.
“Well, this is me,” you told him as your footsteps came to a halt. “I really enjoyed your company today.”
His fingers still locked with yours, he turned to face you. “When can I see you again?”
Despite having spent just a few hours with him, you basically knew how to play his game.
“When did you want to see me again?” you asked devilishly.
He wasted no time with his reply.
Even though you thought you knew the answer, his response still caught you by surprise and you found yourself giggling like a goof.
You gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I’m a busy person, so I’m gonna have to check my schedule.” You let go of his hand so you could rummage through your bag for a scratch piece of paper and a pen before jotting down your number.
Taking his hand in yours, you pressed the paper in his palm. Your gaze was locked on his for a moment before you were transfixed by his lips.
He pressed his lips against yours, feeling him grin into it, and you couldn’t stop the corners of your mouth from tugging into a little smile of your own as you reciprocated with just as much tenderness and sweetness.
“Tomorrow,” you whispered against his lips when you pulled apart.
Letting go of his hand, you slowly started up the stairs, still grinning back at him.
Once you reached the door, you unlocked it and stepped inside, waving to him from the other side of the window.
“Tomorrow,” Lin repeated with the same goofy grin still spread across his face, watching you walk away until you were no longer in his line of vision. “Tomorrow.”
Authors note: I’m going away for a few days so the next chapter won’t be up until Thursday or Friday. It’s already written though so I can post it as soon as I get a second when I’m back, just wanted to let you all know. Thanks so much for all the support so far, you guys are amazing! :)
Who do you think is the father of Kit Snicket's baby: Dewey Denouement or Count Olaf?
The matter is deliberately left ambiguous by the author, and that’s just as it should be: Kit and Dewey and Olaf are all dead now, so Lemony has no way to prove Beatrice’s paternity with any degree of certainty.
All we know is that Kit had made some manner of arrangements for Beatrice’s birth and seemed confident that Beatrice would be raised in a stable home:
I’ve scarcely looked at these maps, poems, and blueprints that Charles sent me, or chosen wallpaper for the baby’s room. […] “I know I don’t have to tell you how terrible it feels to lose a family member. I felt so terrible that I vowed I would never leave my bed.” “What happened?” Klaus said. Kit smiled. “I got hungry,” she said, “and when I opened the refrigerator, I found another message waiting for me.” [Kit Snicket & Klaus Baudelaire - The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Two]
There’s also these passages which seem to confirm Dewey and Kit were romantically involved:
For another terrible moment, it felt like the boat was going to sink into the water, just as Dewey Denouement had sunk into the pond, guarding his underwater catalog and all its secrets, and leaving the woman he loved pregnant and distraught. [Lemony Snicket - The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Thirteen]
“I knew you ran into danger there,” Kit said. “We were watching the
skies. We saw the smoke and we knew you were signaling us that it
wasn’t safe to join you. Thank you, Baudelaires. I knew you wouldn’t fail
us. Tell me, is Dewey with you?” [Kit Snicket - The End, Chapter Eight]
Note that this passage betrays her attachment to Dewey since she momentarily forgets that she purposefully hid Dewey’s existence from the Baudelaires in “The Penultimate Peril”. One of the first questions she asks the Baudelaires as she emerges from the wreck is Dewey’s location. Dewey clearly is of prime importance to her. So I would agree with the interpretation that they were in a relationship and that Dewey was supposed to act as Beatrice’s father.
Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean Dewey is her father in the biological sense. We know that books 1 to 13 of “A series of Unfortunate Events” happen over less than a year because the Baudelaires celebrate their birthdays. So it’s entirely possible that Beatrice was conceived BEFORE the Baudelaire fire, at a time when the hostility between both sides of VFD wasn’t really as bad as it used to be, or when Olaf had shown (deceitful) signs of wanting to change his ways. Kit could have been seduced or succombed to her passion until the news of her friends’ murder got out.
Another disturbing possibility to consider is that Kit was raped. Given Olaf’s history of intended pedophily and marital rape, it’s definitely not out of the equation.
All in all Kit’s and Olaf’s past affair seems to come out of the blue in “The End”, but it’s probably intentional: it’s supposed to remind the Baudelaires that the world is a complicated place and that it may still surprise them. People are neither noble nor wicked, they’re just chef’s salads. That said, the fact that the Baudelaires end up as guardians of Olaf’s potential bastard may be the ultimate irony.
What’s interesting is that Violet, just like Kit’s child, was supposed to be born on the Island until Beatrice was banished… And there’s also some suspicion that she may be Lemony’s biological daughter. But in that case too, Lemony seems to value nurture over nature. He doesn’t give much thought about whose DNA Violet or Beatrice Jr descended from. Dewey and Bertrand were the fathers these women chose for their child, and that’s the only relevant part.
I'm a beginner pianist and I'm wondering why canon in D is a joke? I'm sorry for my lack of knowledge :'(
no worries!! i didn’t know about the canon in d thing before i joined classical music tumblr either, so it’s not like it’s a general music knowledge thing anyway.
so basically it’s a thing because it’s so overplayed as that generic “peaceful classical song”, and it’s hella repetitive (it uses the same chords repeated like 147865834565 times).
also, pretty much every cello player twitches when you mention it, because the bass line is played by cello and it’s the same eight notes over…and over…and over…and over…
that being said, it’s still a nice piece and people should chill about hating on it so much (unless you’re a cello player then i don’t blame you), even though i get that it’s a running joke in the classical music community
The Hateful 8 review that I promise was not intended to be some sort of history lesson
Quentin Tarantino’s script for The Hateful Eight notes an undetermined time period after the Civil War. 6 years, 8 years, or 12 years after the unconditional surrender of the Confederates to the Union Army. This is significant in the sense of America in this film is still being in the shadow of the civil war with Reconstruction, with Radical Republicans who wanted the South punished or versus those who wanted the South to get much more lenient treatment, as the Union was ultimately preserved, and a preserved Union needs some kind of ‘fairness’ for the defeated Southerners and Confederates. This was a clear tension in the country, as our characters in The Hateful Eight directly involved in the war have no feelings of togetherness or camaraderie, even if they were on the same side in the fight. But at the same time, this country that was quickly expanding out into territories that went far off the Mason-Dixon line, beyond the borders and alliances forged of North and South during this horrific war. Which brings us to Wyoming, the setting of this film. It didn’t become an official state in the United States until 1890, years after the Civil War and even years after the unclear time frame that Quentin Tarantino throws out there. It leaves the feeling of wide-openness and possibility in a place and space like that that seems so distant from that time and place in history. But there leaves a possibility for evil to creep in. The Hateful Eight is not just about the tensions of North and South but in the aftermath of that war, a war that involved so much bloodshed, sacrifice, alliances forged, grudges held, and certain degrees of betrayal, there may be something worse around the corner. After two consecutive films of alternative history used in the form of revenge by minority characters who were harmed and personally effected by the historical atrocities that Tarantino interrogates in both language and action, we get a film where it ends on one of the darkest notes in his whole filmography. The Hateful Eight is minor Tarantino for me, this is not to undersell its quality that is still quite good, but it seems reeled in, and in such a way that is purposeful. The flourishes in language and dialogue are mostly found in relation to the ruses and lies of these characters while the splattering gore in the violent acts committed in the film clearly take from horror, Italian horror and also the major horror touchstones in America with The Thing and The Exorcist, underlying the grotesquerie and the spectre of the evilness these certain characters confront if not embody themselves.
There are four characters in The Hateful Eight that directly share a history in the Civil War, a split of two on each side in the Union and Confederacy, North and South. For the North there is the lawman John Ruth, as played by Kurt Russell, who we can describe as both the stand-in for the trying to be upstanding white liberal who while trying to maintain the carry out of law and order in the still underdeveloped West is showing cracks. Russell’s performance plays on John Wayne, something he is certainly not unfamiliar with, but particularly in the manor of certain John Wayne performances fighting each other out (certain John Wayne performances that immediately sprung to mind was his roles in Fort Apache and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, particularly when Russell puts on his glasses to get misty-eyed reading Major Warren’s Lincoln Letter). Tarantino is known John Ford skeptic if not critic (and how I hate when a director I admire hates…. another director I admire), and his shades to Ruth are on one hand a man who prefers the hard way, law and order as far as carrying out hangings rather than shooting a known criminal because that would be easier, and on another hand has such reactionary, physical cartoonish impulses that turn violent in attacking his current bounty, Daisy Domergue. Much can be made of the ways the assaults of Domergue play out. At first it is so shocking that you definitely cannot help but let out a laugh, and you may even still laugh when Major Warren himself gets involved, but then it becomes something that is wearing down. Daisy is not letting up despite this abuse (we soon know why and we’ll get to that later) and at some point, for me at least, the assaults turn directly on John Ruth. It begins to show his weakness. He, who interrogates every man he has ever come across in this film as to maintain a certain stability, shows incredible instability in these violent acts. There is something about Domergue that makes it seem he cannot keep his bearings despite being not just on the right side of the law but on the right side of history. So when in the first 10 or so minutes of this feature we have Kurt Russell’s Ruth striking Jennifer Jason Leigh’s Domergue, we are already seeing a decaying sense of law and order in a grotesque and cartoonish fashion. Domergue becomes this rapidly mutating virus toward Ruth- and soon enough personifies that virus meets host.
On John Ruth’s side of the Union is Major Marquis Warren, as played splendidly by Samuel L. Jackson. This is a man we can say has certain grudges and grievances about what happened during the war. He survived and escaped being a POW by burning the whole camp down to be free, and yet, it seems he does still have to be in the mindset of mentally disarming people, even those who shared his views, by associating with the late President Lincoln, the 16th American President continues his presence in American cinema as a God-like figure (we will get to that later). His forge of the Lincoln letter to impress the likes of John Ruth is meant to disarm, to suddenly be seen as a charming black folk who has the approval from Honest Abe to be considered all right to fraternize with other white folk. When Chris Mannix mentions he heard something from the Union side that they thought Warren was too dangerous and radical for the cause, you tend to believe it not because you think Warren went too far, but that you believe that there are more than likely white folks who are scared of Warren for exactly the reasons he laid out, that white people are only comfortable around him unarmed. But in the way Warren uses the Lincoln letter to disarm even the most sympathetic white folks, he raises his own spectre of the most grotesque things imaginable used to dehumanized black men like himself to pretty much rub it in the face of Bruce Dern’s Confederate General Sandy Smithers. There is a direct war connection between these two people in the Battle of Baton Rouge where Warren’s central grievances lie on the fact how the captured black soldiers by the Confederates were treated the equivalent of extra cargo and horses, and murdered. Smithers still defends this act, a man who will never learn or be rehabilitated in his ways. So, and this is my interpretation of the events that lead up to what closes out the chapter (and the first half of the 70mm roadshow), Warren tells Smithers a story of what became of Smithers’ lost son and that he stripped the son naked to only sexually assault him through oral sex in graphic detail. But let us note the detail belongs in words and that the cross-fade of the image of this son at the mercy of Warren is with an image of Smithers, as to point to this image being in Smithers’ head. ‘You seeing pictures now?’ We cannot be sure these events had happened, but we do know that Warren then kills Smithers and instead of Warren just killing Smithers right there at first sight, he instead gives him a parting shot of the worst possible thing Smithers could ever imagine having happened to his son due, in part, to what he had done during the war. I, again, do not actually think the events and actions took place, but that Warren is showing the split dualities of his place in the world, not unsimilar to Ruth, that have been essential to his survival. But that does not necessarily mean he has clear control of these dualities, much like Ruth seems to not have control.
We then move to Chris Mannix (for what should be Walton Goggins’ breakout from television) who has declared he is the future Sheriff of Red Rock, but we cannot be certain for it to have been true. Mannix is from the South and part of a group of Southern bandits who tried to fight back for the Confederacy. He holds a grudge for Warren’s actions during the war and even seems to have these urges of contemplating the ways the South could have maintained their old order. But Mannix still feels out of depth against the likes of Warren and Ruth. Heck, Mannix seems to be more on equal footing with O.B., who drives the stagecoach. But we soon find that him and Warren, and to a certain degree Smithers, are all caught in the web of deceit at Minnie’s Haberdashery that didn’t even involve them.
In a way the first and second halves of the film are about how the first half is about the North and South tensions while the second half reveals a third party, both figurative and literal, that reveals something more evil and worse. It makes sense why this specific story is in the West and a remote location of Wyoming. The American frontier opened up for possibilities of a new life and yet, these second lives of people from the war, that they are holding onto are confronted by something by people without borders, without a real past, not quite tangible. This first comes in the form of Daisy Domergue, who begins the film so feral and so not human-like. She can take these beatings, increasingly looking beyond recognition of a person, let alone a woman. But once you realize what plans were taken on her behalf at Minnie’s Haberdashery, you sense a jocularity to Jennifer Jason Leigh’s performance, such as the over the top hanging gesture, and that she continues to grin in her increasingly toothless (due to increased beatings from John Ruth) smile. The character Daisy Domergue grows in grotesquerie and monstrosity, on the receiving end of one last beating from a poisoned John Ruth, only to have him puke blood in her face that makes her look like the diabolic Carrie White (by the way, Kurt Russell is now in the second grossest Western of the year in addition to being in the first, Bone Tomahawk). She wears his blood almost in pride. We see that the setting of the Haberdashery had been in her favor. Everybody at Minnie’s Haberdashery are of the Domergue gang plus Dern’s Confederate General and have been waiting for Ruth to be there to kill him and take Daisy. They are without borders, without a real back story beyond killing, and can build ruses and charm folks but turn on a dime to kill if it means taking care of their own. The poisoning of John Ruth was a success for Daisy and the Domergue Gang but what was never taken into account was that Mannix and Warren would be involved due to pure happenstance. Daisy’s racist as all can be and would seem sympathetic to the South’s view of blacks, but she nor the Domergue gang take any real stance on the war. They seem to look at the past with a distance, like Oswaldo Mobray declaring the Haberdashery be divided by North and South for the characters involved in the war, something that does not appear to involve any of the Domergue gang. This could be just the case of geography, on the periphery of the war (such as that scene of Blondie and Tuco seeing the Civil War spillover into the New Mexico campaign in Sergio Leone’s The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly that feels so out of their world), but also in time.
Note how in the flashback to Minnie’s Haberdashery that Minnie herself describes Bruce Dern’s Confederate General as an old man in a 'foreign’ uniform. It is an interesting choice of words and given that this is a Tarantino film, it seems on purpose. Minnie, a black woman, seems young enough where she was at most a child during the War and it begs the question of whether or not she was born a free woman due to time or geography. So foreign uniform as the Confederate uniform could represent a type of country that ceased to exist but also just a ‘foreign’ concept to a woman from a different time and place. Again, it shows the possibilities of a growing country that is not specifically tied to a dark past. It is the idea that you can make the rest of America anything you want, and while Minnie’s Haberdashery shows the harmonious side to that oh so very American idea of a post-Civil War inter-racial harmony, Tarantino quickly destroys it by making the Domergue gang the embodiment of evil. The Domergue gang sacking this place by unmercilessly killing everybody in it but one that represent a certain odiousness where it ties back to John Ruth and Major Warren’s debate on frontier justice versus law and order. The Domergue gang know of Ruth’s reputation and prepare accordingly by killing him and any collateral that stands in their way of freeing Daisy.
Over the course of this film is a slow decay of the idea of law and order in the face of frontier justice. For one thing, one of the upholders of the idea of law and order dies, while the others who respect him are splintered against a group of people who forged bonds to save their own fellow outlaw. This situation forces Mannix and Warren into a bind that ultimately does become a bond. Mannix and Warren are facing monsters and shape-shifters of what may or may not be surrounding them in snowy mountains of Wyoming. Mannix chooses Warren’s side when told by Daisy he can be considered 'an innocent’ as opposed to Warren, who shot her brother dead. When I think about why there is so little backstory on the Domergue gang in that we know equally little about their ruses as much as their real identities not to mention the most prominent ones in Jody and Daisy hardly have any calling card beyond their sadistic and masochistic streaks, I truly do think Tarantino has them standing in for spectres and monsters. They are the sickness, the source of rot and decay in America, an infection, a disease that hits whoever touches them. They are more the future of what evil is to hit the rest of the country as opposed to the already damned North and South from the past. So when Mannix and Warren agree to treat Daisy with some frontier justice, they kill what lied there in the Haberdashery, but who knows if those 15 or so gang members are not going to kill them once the credits roll. Or if those 15 or so members exist at all. Mannix and Warren are screwed anyway due to the amount of blood they lost. In this forged bond they take comfort into Warren’s major lie of the Lincoln letter that Warren reads aloud, as though Lincoln is the deity they must face together as much as Jesus Christ. Lincoln himself wanted reunification and the Union preserved in ways that were not appeasing to his Radical Republican counterparts. Ultimately, Mannix and Warren do achieve what Honest Abe wants before their possible last breaths, but North and South seem out of sorts if not prepared for this growing nation that as much as it is haunted by its past, it also has its other forms of evil hiding, shape-shifting, dropping in, or somewhere else in the distance, unclear. The film The Hateful Eight ends with Roy Orbison’s song 'There Won’t Be Many Coming Home’ that seems to invoke the war, after this scene of two characters achieving inter-racial harmony and North/South Harmony. The lyrics are notably anti-war in the sense of that the man you are killing might as well be your brother and a loss is a loss, equal is equal. These two have accepted their equality but right as they are facing their impending death. The sides they opposed each other on were so much cleaner and clearer for them than what they had just faced and could be facing again. American history is messy and I do think the purposeful lack of clarity in the shadow of the Civil War is the exact point of The Hateful Eight. Even if we did get out of the shadow of the Civil War as a country that expanded and grew, what we became as a growing country was a huge mess with its own darkness.
亂噏廿四 [lyun6 ngap1 jaa6 sei3] - talking nonsense, to say random/illogical things (lit. chaotic babbling twenty four)
三唔識七 [saam1 m4 sik1 cat1] - strangers, random ppl you don’t know (lit. three doesn’t know seven)
九唔搭八 [gau2 m4 daap3 baat3] - off topic, random, to give an irrelevant answer (lit. nine doesn’t follow eight)
七七八八 [cat1 cat1 baat3 baat3] - pretty much finished sth, more or less finished sth. (lit. seven seven eight eight)
Note: exists in Mandarin as well (qī qī bā bā)
唔理你三七廿一 [m4 lei5 lei5 saam1 cat1 jaa6 jat1] - to totally disregard one’s situation and do sth. anyways (lit. don’t care about you three seven twenty one)
三口六面 (講清楚) [saam1 hau2 luk6 min6 (gong2 cing1 co2)] - to sit everyone down and make a situation clear, to explain a situation clearly to everyone involved, to talk face-to-face (lit. three mouths six faces)
鬼五馬六 [gwai2 ng5 maa5 luk6] - mysterious, to act strangely (lit. ghost five horse six)
十問九唔應 [sap6 man6 gau2 m4 jing3] - unresponsive, uncooperative when being questioned (lit. ten asks and nine doesn’t respond)
兩三丁人 [loeng5 saam1 ding1 jan4] - only a few people, a couple people (lit. two three tiny bit people)
十個茶壺九個蓋 [sap6 go3 caa4 wu2 gau2 go3 goi3] - demand outnumbers the supply, to not have enough (lit. ten tea pots and nine lids)