national-pastime

Resistance to Trump has become a new national pastime, at least for the millions who swelled Women’s Marches across the country, besieged airports, upended town halls and who continue to hound politicos on everything from healthcare to immigration. This summer, when LGBTQ people and their allies hit the streets for annual Pride celebrations – in cities from coast to coast, in states red and blue – they will confront the question of how to mix partying with protest. It’s a question that’s faded in and out of urgency over the past half-century as the gay rights movement rode the currents of post-Stonewall liberation, AIDS anxiety, “don’t ask, don’t tell” compromises and same-sex marriage, all the way to last summer’s massacre at Pulse nightclub in Orlando. This year, with a far-right administration taking office, the stakes are once again high. Pride organizers – who, at this point, oversee a year-round operation that’s far bigger than one day or one parade – are looking to history for inspiration. Activists like Firas Nasr, meanwhile, see the coming culture war less as a battleground than as a dance floor. Pride 2017 has three months to figure out its message.
—  Gay Pride in the Age of Trump | Jeremy Lybarger for Rolling Stone
Because harassing Wes is the (best) national pastime...

The other day scrollingdown and I were entertaining the idea that Wes Weston was actually part ghost. And by part ghost we mean 1/128th ghost… as in his ghostly heritage is diluted by 7 or 8 generations of perfectly normal human beings entering in the family tree, to the point that he has no ‘ghost form’ and no ghost powers, and likely doesn’t have any living relatives even aware that there was a halfa in the family tree. The only physical manifestation of that heritage are his green eyes, and maybe some above average night vision (which makes it slightly easier for him to sneak around and gather clues, but nothing to write home about). His weak ghostly aura may also be a mildly passive yet contributing factor to why absolutely no one will believe his wild theories and why he’s obsessed with exposing Danny.

But, while he has no ghost abilities, he does have some ghost limitations and attributes…

Ghost Plants:

  • Blood Blossoms are practically poisonous kryptonite to ghosts… but Wes? It’s more like an allergic reaction or hay fever. If the pollen reaches his nose, he starts sneezing and if he comes into physical contact he breaks out in a rash.
  • Ghost Nip on the other hand probably doesn’t make him drunk or high, but probably lifts his mood slightly like a mild anti-depressant.

Fenton Ghost Shields:

  • Unlike Vlad and Danny, Wes can’t turn off his ghostly attributes… so say in a disaster like in Reign Storm with Pariah Dark’s attack, and Wes finds himself on the wrong side of one of those ghost proof Fenton Shields when it gets turned on, he’s going to be stuck on that side. Whoops! Good luck facing that skeleton army on your own Wes! Remember! There’s a skeleton in all of us!

Intangible Objects:

  • Danny’s running late for class, so he goes ghost, turns invisible & intangible and flies through the hallway passing through classmates and teachers frictionlessly. Meanwhile, Wes is minding his own business (for once) when out of the blue he’s struck by some invisible force and launched across the hallway until he hits the wall. Being spontaneously struck by invisible objects is not an isolated incident… Wes develops this paranoia of being hit without reason or provocation. He FEARS mimes.

Tangibility in the Ghost Zone

  • Imagine for whatever reason, Wes gets trapped in the Ghost Zone… specifically Walker’s prison, and Danny shows up to break him out. Danny turns human to phase through the cell, grabs Wes, dashes to the nearest wall and BONK. Danny phases through just fine, but Wes just hits the wall dead on. Confused, Danny tries again only for Wes to bluntly hit the wall a second time. Then Danny starts experimentally tugging Wes into the wall. Wap-Wap-Wap-Wap. Wes retaliates by explaining he’s seriously reconsidering his promise to stop trying to blow Danny’s secret if he doesn’t cut that out.

Freakshow’s Staff

  • Wes’s ghostly ansestor is so far displaced when compared with Danny, so it can’t plant commands or even subliminal messages. But it is mesmerizing like a lava lamp. Easily shrugged off, but he looses his train of thought. But Wes dismisses the notion that the staff had any effect over him. “Have you never WATCHED a lava lamp?”

In short, Wes manages to get the short end of the stick in this deal, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I feel like watching my dating life has become a bit of a national pastime. And I’m just not comfortable providing that kind of entertainment anymore. I don’t like seeing slideshows of guys I’ve apparently dated. I don’t like giving comedians the opportunity to make jokes about me at awards shows. I don’t like it when headlines read ‘Careful, Bro, She’ll Write a Song About You,’ because it trivialises my work. And so, I just don’t date… When your number-one priority is getting a boyfriend, you’re more inclined to see a beautiful girl and think, ‘Oh, she’s gonna get that hot guy I wish I was dating.’ But when you’re not boyfriend-shopping, you’re able to step back and see other girls who are killing it and think, ‘God, I want to be around her.’

All-American

Pairing: Pansy Parkinson x Cormac McLaggen

Setting: Modern, non-magical, college football AU

Word Count: 439 words


When Pansy is born, the very first thing her dad does is wrap her a crimson-red Alabama blanket and high-five the delivery nurse.

“Roll tide roll, baby girl,” he croons while replacing all her glittery pink pacifiers with the ones shaped like footballs. “You’re just the cutest damn thing east of the Mississippi, aren’t you?”

It isn’t a bad way to grow up, honestly.

Her childhood is a crowded grass-stained mishmash of uncomfortable metal bleachers and screaming silver whistles, her dad’s rumpled white coaching polos and his face plastered across a trio of Gatorade billboards next to Sonic. There are candid ESPN interviews in the living room, three unauthorized autobiographies about her dad’s affiliation with Bear Bryant, and the pungent scent of crackling new leather practically embedded in the walls of the house—she learns that Game Day is sacred, tailgating is more of a national pastime than baseball, and that LSU is ‘where assholes go to die, baby girl’.

She wears a pearl-encrusted cross around her neck—a family heirloom—but she knows better.

Football is her religion.

So—

Fast-forward a few years, and it makes sense, what she’s doing.

It makes sense that she’s standing in the fluorescent-lit hallway of a shitty Holiday Inn in College Station, Texas, a beige Burberry trench coat belted tightly around her waist and a pair of oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses perched daintily on the bridge of her nose.

Because Cormac McLaggen is USC’s star third-year quarterback—an upper-middle class playmaking prodigy grown like a beanstalk right out of a neatly terraced suburb south of Boston. And he’s tall and he’s fast and he’s good with the fans but even better with the media and he’s the sole, smarmy-grinned, Tom Brady-wannabe reason that her dad’s championship team is going to fucking lose the next afternoon.

Really, it’s her duty to distract him.

Thoroughly.

Properly.

And she’s prepared. Very prepared. She’s stuffed her panties in her pocket and invested in smear-proof matte red lipstick, waxed her legs and plucked her eyebrows and practiced exaggerating her molasses-warm Southern drawl in the rear-view mirror of her car while listening to a Dolly Parton album on repeat.

She’s fucking ready for this.

“Roll tide roll,” she whispers under her breath, steeling her shoulders like a defensive lineman about to take a particularly vicious hit—

She knocks twice.

The ice-maker whirs.

The door swings open.

A shirtless guy with designer-messy copper-blond hair and a huge gold lion tattooed on his chest looks her up and down and then back up again before he smirks, winks, and says—

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t order you, sweetheart.”



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I feel like watching my dating life has become a bit of a national pastime. And I’m just not comfortable providing that kind of entertainment anymore. I don’t like seeing slide shows of guys I’ve apparently dated. I don’t like giving comedians the opportunity to make jokes about me at awards shows. I don’t like it when headlines read ‘Careful, Bro, She’ll Write a Song About You,’ because it trivializes my work. And most of all, I don’t like how all these factors add up to build the pressure so high in a new relationship that it gets snuffed out before it even has a chance to start.

instagram

“HERE IT IS - Oakley and I play a bit of our national pastime! Tag a friend who should see this one!! 😂😄” ~ Crusoe

#crusoe #crusoethecelebritydachshund #hockey #nhl #mtl #montrealcanadiens #leafs #leafsnation #dachshund #cute #dogsofinstagram

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Walt Disney World Hidden Gem: The Casey’s Corner Pianist

There is nothing like walking down Main Street USA in the Magic Kingdom and hearing live ragtime music fill the air. That little extra bit of magic is provided by the Casey’s Corner Pianist. At the end of Main Street USA is Casey’s Corner, a hot dog stand that pays homage to the American national pastime of baseball, and if you’re lucky the Casey’s Corner Pianist will be there tickling the ivories to ragtime tunes outside. For lunch there’s probably not a better place to be. The view of Cinderella’s Castle, the buzz of the crowds as they glide through Main Street USA, the smell of popcorn and hotdogs can create an unforgettable experience. Memories are definitely what Disney make best, and Casey’s Corner is one of the unexpected ‘memory hotspots’ inside Walt Disney World!

I feel like watching my dating life has become a bit of a national pastime. And I’m just not comfortable providing that kind of entertainment anymore. I don’t like seeing slide shows of guys I’ve apparently dated. I don’t like giving comedians the opportunity to make jokes about me at awards shows. I don’t like it when headlines read ‘Careful, Bro, She’ll Write a Song About You,’ because it trivializes my work. And most of all, I don’t like how all these factors add up to build the pressure so high in a new relationship that it gets snuffed out before it even has a chance to start.

I feel like watching my dating life has become a bit of a national pastime. And I’m just not comfortable providing that kind of entertainment anymore. I don’t like seeing slide shows of guys I’ve apparently dated. I don’t like giving comedians the opportunity to make jokes about me at awards shows. I don’t like it when headlines read ‘Careful, Bro, She’ll Write a Song About You’ because it trivializes my work. And most of all, I don’t like how all these factors add up to build the pressure so high in a new relationship that it gets snuffed out before it even has a chance to start.

2

Jessica Williams photographed by Jill Greenberg for Bust (Feb. 2016)

If those men were women, and especially women of color, who lived in a society that every single day, whether subtly or overtly, reminded them that the world is not made for them, then they would be upset, too. There’s this idea of the ‘Angry Black Woman,’ and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, because I often feel like I’m put in that category. A lot of women of color are put in that category, when I think our anger is justified. I actually think that female anger isn’t that different from male anger. Boxing and football are like, national fucking pastimes. And yet, when a woman expresses that she is unhappy with the way in which our society exists, that’s a big fucking problem. That’s crazy to me.

February 2, 1936
Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth, Honus Wagner, Walter Johnson, and Christy Mathewson are the first five men elected into baseball’s new Hall Fame, which is scheduled to be open in 1939 as part of the game’s celebration of its centennial. A claim made by the former 1905 Mills Commission, that later proves to be erroneous, suggests that the national pastime was invented by Civil War hero Abner Doubleday in Cooperstown, making the small village in upstate New York the perfect place for the induction of the legendary ballplayers.

“I feel like watching my dating life has become a bit of a national pastime. And I’m just not comfortable providing that kind of entertainment anymore. I don’t like seeing slideshows of guys I’ve apparently dated. I don’t like giving comedians the opportunity to make jokes about me at awards shows. I don’t like it when headlines read ‘Careful, Bro, She’ll Write a Song About You,’ because it trivialises my work. And so, I just don’t date… When your number-one priority is getting a boyfriend, you’re more inclined to see a beautiful girl and think, ‘Oh, she’s gonna get that hot guy I wish I was dating.’ But when you’re not boyfriend-shopping, you’re able to step back and see other girls who are killing it and think, ‘God, I want to be around her.”