Is it time for bird? I just want to stop staring at the godawful bridge, there are artifacts everywhere and mess but it’s been four nights straight picking at it and I just can’t, it’s burned into my retinas. (Thankfully, none of these things is visible in the screencap. Take my word for it.)
Eagle commencing this weekend. First, I’m giving myself a break. Only halfway through the battle, and I’m not getting any faster. -_-
Parasocial interaction (PSI) offers an explanation of the ways in which audience members develop their one-sided relationships with the media being consumed. PSI is described as an illusionary experience, such that media audiences interact with personas (e.g., talk show host, celebrities, characters) as if they are engaged in a reciprocal relationship with them, and feel as though a mediated other is talking directly to them. PSI can be developed to the point where media audiences begin to view the mediated others as"real friends.“
Client, I was doing you a favor by working on a Saturday night. You didn’t have to come for me so hard.
New Mixed Media Landscapes and Still Life that merge photography and impressionism by Stev’nn Hall. The pieces are built from images shot with a 35mm camera, and feature gestures on the surface in the mediums of acrylic, ink, and pastel. These markings serve as both complements to the landscapes and abstract bits of scrawl, simultaneously pushing the underlying photograph to appear more like a painting, and Hall’s painted additions to seem like photographic errors.
Thank you to @kara-lesbihonest for beta’ing this and for the prompt (I want private jet sex).
It had been a long travel week. She had ventured to Metropolis to upstage Lois Lane at the Women in Media Awards, and now she was off to Las Vegas to give a Ted Talk about Feminism in the New Media Landscape. Despite the early hour, she poured herself a bourbon when she boarded her private jet and sat on the soft white sofa. Her assistant sat across from her in one of the chairs that surrounded a decent sized table. She loved her jet more than was likely appropriate. It was clean and comfortable and there was a bed in the back if she wanted to sleep in the air. Also, Lois Lane didn’t have one and that never failed to bring a slight grin to her face.
Her assistant looked over at her and swallowed. “Are you sure that you want that? It isn’t noon…” She trailed off.
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, Keira,” she answered firmly.
“Does the plane ride count?” Her head had cocked to the side in that way that Cat thought made her look like a confused puppy.