I’ve found it to be a tricky bitch trying to figure out which of the Foxes would put Pineapple on Pizza but I’m going to give it a good honest try:
Andrew: Of course he likes pineapple on pizza. First of all, he prefers his pizza to be a cookie pizza made entirely of chocolate chip and covered in frosting. But pineapple is a sweet enough substitute that he’ll take it. And though he pretends to not give a flying fuck what others think, he secretly enjoys being an absolute menace about this. For instance, during a good ol’ fashioned foxes movie night, Andrew orders two large pies. The entire team perks up, completely flabbergasted by Andrew’s sudden generosity, before realizing that they are both completely covered in pineapples. And for those few on the team who do like pineapples, he doesn’t share anyway.
Neil: Food is food? Andrew shares his pineapple pizza with Neil only because 1. Neil doesn’t make a fuss about what’s on the pizza and 2. this pisses everybody who is anti-pineapple off. Neil just shrugs and says, “I don’t get what the big deal is,” as he puts away his fourth slice.
I Had This Dream, That in Another World, I Was Someone Else, Someone Not Me.
Part of my hospital chaplaincy duties is to write a reflection on how it’s going. Identities may be altered for privacy. All the writings are here.
The patient, Jerome, had a trapezoid-shaped hole in his head, and he told me it was from his son.
Jerome’s son had waited in his father’s home until he came back from work, and then he robbed him. Jerome fought back. In the struggle, his son had picked up one of those bright and shiny geode rocks the size of a torso, lifted it to the sky, and wham, in a sick, slicing arc, brought it down into his father’s head. The son was still at large. The father, after six months in physical therapy, still could not get the blood stain out of the carpet in his house. Jerome had lost his job at the oil rig; his wife had left him; his other son took two jobs to pay off the hospital bills, but one evening after dropping off his dad for PT, had been struck by a sixteen-wheeler and died on impact.
“Chaplain, I had this dream,” Jerome said, scratching his old wound, “that in another world, I was someone else, I was someone better, that I have two sons who love me, my wife never left, I was still at the rig with the boys … I had a dream that I was someone not me. It was extraordinary. It was wo—”
He fell asleep, which he told me would happen. His brain needed to shut down when it overworked itself. A few seconds later, he woke up and apologized.
“I had this dream, chaplain. Do you ever dream that you are someone in another world, a different you?”
I visited another patient, Donnie, who weighed about 1400 pounds. His legs had been amputated and he was nearly blind. He had a neurological deficiency in which he couldn’t stop eating; he had become diabetic and was recovering from Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, or as it’s also known, broken heart syndrome.
“Chaplain, I just think,” he said, eating his third plate of pasta, “I was meant to do … something, anything. Anything. Not this. Everyone tells you that your life is meant to help people, but how the hell can I do that here? Look at me.”
In our chaplain training, we call this intrapsychic grief, the pain of losing what could’ve been and will never be. It is the loss of future, the theft of invested time. It’s not a tangible, physical loss, but an internal shipwreck, the imperceptible emotional shriek in our chest when the picture of life we had planned for so long simply dies.
Donnie, the blind, obese, bedridden man with no legs, ordered pizza for the whole floor. That was, he felt, the best he could do. I told him it was even better than that.
Another patient, Lorenzo, had been in a car accident a few days before, and he suffered anterograde amnesia. He was having trouble remembering the words he had just spoken.
“Chap—you the chap, right?” He rocked back and forth in his bed, nearly clapping his hands in frustration. “My girlfriend is real worried about me, man, she real worried. I think I’ll be fine though, but my girlfriend, she real worried about me. I’m not worried, I think I’ll be fine, chap. You the chap, right?”
He repeated himself, perhaps, to find security in the canvas of his own assurances. His brain had resorted to a safe mode, to grip onto the word-balloons which were floating away, by constantly making new ones.
I was astounded and bewildered by how much a mass of gray pulp between our ears can determine the course of a life, and inside the soul-box of our neurology is the possibility of a hundred lifetimes, and I was angry that the tiniest neuron could so effectively demolish an entire world.
What separated me from someone else not me, except by the tiniest shred of a neuron, one misfired synapse, one slender thread of chance?
Another patient, Tony, was telling me that he had gotten weaker and weaker in his legs until one day, on the way home, he had collapsed at the ATM and there were floating heads around him asking what was wrong, but they looked like demon faces, and he tried to kick them off but he couldn’t move anymore. Tony had some sort of encephalopathy that had caused brain lesions and he was seeing things that weren’t there.
“But you know, chap,” he said, breaking into tears, “I got this long-lost brother up in Boston, he’s my half-brother but he loves me like a full one, Mikey, this guy’s made of money and he offered me a room at his place, his house is on this fifty acre property, it’s a mansion. Can you believe it?”
I spoke with Tony’s sister, who told me that no such brother existed, and there was no room, no mansion, no fifty acres. It was a story that Tony had been telling himself for months now, when his legs began failing him. It’s all he wanted to talk about, this promised land.
Oliver Sacks, in his book The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, writes about disturbed patients who “confabulate,” who spin tales all day long in a constant stream of chatter. They cannot help but conjure completely made-up yarns about meeting celebrities or devising inventions or discovering something remarkable, as if the widening chasms in their brain need a desperate momentum to thrive. Or, worse, such activity drowns out the long fall of personality into the abyss, into the unrecoverable ether. One story after another tumbles over the cliff; I may be the last one to hear them.
It is my role to honor the burial of what can never be done. It is my role to remember what will never become. It’s not just my role; you and I need this more than we think. At every turn, every choice, we die a million deaths each day. How can we stand such a thing, except to tell those stories that never had a shot?
I had this dream …
Suddenly, Jerome, the man with the trapezoid hole in his head, nodded off again, but his eyes fluttered, like someone was still home.
… that in another world …
He spoke, but a voice that sounded thicker, more weight, more verve. He sat up taller, his eyes closed but working. I took a small step back.
… I was someone else …
Jerome’s eyes quivered and he said, “I am the man from the other world.” He smiled, just for a second. “I am a hundred lifetimes, I am one of many. I am not who I could be.”
… someone not me.
“I am a life never had. I am the man in the dream. The dream wishes he could be the man in the other. We all wish to be awake in someone else. There is no perfect dre—”
And he woke up. Jerome blinked, saw me, and he apologized for sleeping again. I wasn’t sure if I should tell him about the other voice.
He said to me, “Chaplain, thank you.” He held my hands, his eyes alive and fiery, wet and fierce. “Thank you for listening. I have to believe my son didn’t mean it. He did the best he could with who he was. I still love my son, in this world or the next.”
I left the room shaking. I questioned if I had really seen what I thought I saw. I repeated his words in my head, I replayed the eerie twitch of his eyes, the way his body slipped into another skin, another dimension.
I wondered if I had glimpsed, even for a second, a keyhole into other possibilities, like dipping a toe into the stream of the infinite, where a son did not ruin his father, where a man missed a car by inches, where a promised land of endless acres was waiting at the other end.
I thought about how we’re always dreaming of being someone else, and the others are dreaming of each other, wishing for a world they couldn’t have.
We survive the nightmare, I think, by dreaming. To dream is to cope. It is the brain’s essential defense against itself. We create new dreams all the time, a new canvas of assurances, to wake against the intolerable. It feels like a lie: but what is hope, really, except a story we tell ourselves in the dark to light the way? If it works, who is to say otherwise? The world continues to be cruel and unfair, but we do the best we can with who we are, to dream amidst the wreckage of what no longer is, to bend with the merciless wind. To even share pizza with the whole floor.
Ok, here are some things y’all need to think about instead of just jumping to conclusions
Yes I was angry when I first watched the clip but,
Julie is the person who treated the topic of MI with so respect and portrayed it so well in S3 that I truly feel she wouldn’t use it as a plot device in this season
There is 2 episodes, 2 WHOLE WEEKS worth of content left, all the topics we want resolving can easily be covered in that time because in the SKAM universe it’s a lot!
A single 5 minute clip with Sana talking to Isak/even/balloon squad could give us the closure we need for Even
Look how quickly the girl squad drama got mostly resolved, in a couple of minutes at the end of a clip
Instagram posts are posted in real time? so Eskild posted those pictures on Isak’s instagram after Willhell had arrived, so surely considering Eskild knows all about what happened he wouldn’t be happily posing for pictures whilst this is happening to Noora
so this means the Noorhelm situation may have resolved pretty quickly after the clip finished (and Noorhelm unfortunately needed to be addressed to give closure)
People being fake woke
posting about how they’re disappointed in this season because it doesn’t centre around Islam,,
Sana is NOT ASHAMED of her religion so why would it focus on Islam?
This season is to portray how much of a normal teenager she has with very real normal teenage problems
Sana was ashamed of feeling like she didn’t fit in and this has been addressed throughout the season
Surely to focus the whole season around Islam it would reinforce the idea that Muslims are different and incompatible with western culture which isn’t true and that is exactly what this season is saying
That being said it would still be nice to have a clip where the girls make an effort with Sana and her religion like offering halal pizza for example
And we still need a clip with closure for evens backstory, and for yousana,
But honestly, this season is not as bad as tumblr is making it out to be when you actually think about it seriously and away from the drama. There are two weeks left, which, in s3 A LOT got resolved within those two weeks, so have faith in Julie to resolve everything,,,
and there’s literally 2 weeks left of SKAM… forever, so instead of filling it with drama can we not just enjoy it.
¿ALGÚN TEMA DEL QUE TENGAS UNA OPINIÓN MUY PROFUNDA? ya sea religion, homófobia, guerras, razas, tu gato, la pizza, algo x pero que se haga... pensar
La pizza, hasta el día de hoy no comprendo como algunas personas odian la pizza con piña, digo, la he probado y sabe bien. Supongo que lo hacen para verse interesantes, pero la verdad son odiosos. Ahora hasta te dicen qur tipo de pizza comer .-.
Everything around sana seems to be sex/relationship centric,
First, she lusts over the hot guys. With the music in the background. “None of them work for me. None of the move anything.” They clearly did ;) When she arrives, Isak and Even are full on kissing and being cute together. Magnus throws her a romantic comment about Vilde. She didn’t see, but we got a scene of Magnus and Evak competing over their relationships. Then, we had Vilde grossly going non stop about sex. So much it makes Sana snap. Of course Vilde throw her insecurities at Sana and say she’s sexually frustrated. To which Sana answer that she doesn’t spend every minute thing about boys, which is kinda what she was doing when the clip started. Then Eva talks about Noora and William, and what happened to their relationship.
It’s seems she can’t escape from it. That she’s surrounded by something she chooses not to do, but still has a lot of urges for. Same with the meat in the pizza. She chooses not to eat it, but her friends probably don’t even bat an eyelash about what it implies. It must be so lonely. To choose things not even your friends understand. They respect it, but don’t remember it (they didn’t even ask for special pizza). It’s as if her religion doesn’t fit with the rest of the world. If she chooses her faith she won’t fit in. While religion is a part of her, it must weight on her what she’s giving up because of it.
Glacier is gonna plan for a pizza party for icejins now because ALL THE ICEJINS NEED TO SOCIALIZE OVER PIZZA because of silly shenanigans. So I wanna make it a silly event for rizzle.
For this I thought of everyone drawing their icejin or writing about them and pizza. Or an rp with pizza in it. AS LONG AS PIZZA IS INVOLVED it is part of the party!!! Here’s some ideas to get you started to party hardy:
Draw/rp/write about your icejin with their favorite type of pizza. Steal it from some undeserving Saiyan, raid the local Pizza Hut, get a job as a pizza delivery person and get discounted pizza by the tons, whatever!
Draw/rp/write about your icejin sharing pizza with someone they like. Sharing is caring especially for this delicious disc!!!
Draw/rp/write about your icejin going crazy with their love of pizza. Wearing a pizza costume,making a religion for the pizza monster that is a cousin of the flying spaghetti monster, dressing up their dog as a slice of pizza, dumping their significant other for pizza, ect. LOVE THY PIZZA!!!!
Now time for the pizza party. Draw/rp/write about your icejin at the party and how FREAKING CRAZY IT IS THERE!!! Who invited the stripper? Hyorie is getting pizzed he’s not cutting the pizza and is walking around with a knife! WHO BROKE THE LAMP AND WHY IS THE TOASTER FROZEN AND ON FIRE?? Go as crazy or mild as you want. Maybe it’s a fancy aristocratic pizza ball with pizza butlers and pizza tea! WHO KNOWS???
Now tag everyone you want involved and reblog!! SPREAD THE WORD OF THE PIZZA PARTY!!!!! Remember to #icejinpizzaparty so we can all see the madness.
What had held me inside all those years was the conviction that I needed to be the same person I’d always been, the same as those I loved. This, more than anything, was the iron bar across the exit door. Love was what tied you and kept you inside. Love was what you risked losing if you wanted to choose for yourself.
Religion is people following the words of books written a few thousand years ago, centered around sexism, hatred and prejudice as a whole. There's exceedingly little proof to prove that it is real, and anyone who doesn't believe in it gets shut down as hateful and nihilistic.
Thank our good lord and savior Jesus Christ for pizza
Just finished some religion notes, I’m writing an essay on Hinduism and Islam due to the 20th of March. I usually end up writing the whole thing 3 days before so I’m surprised that I’ve done so well this time!
Later I’m going to help my sister with some maths but first I’ve got a lunch date with a couple of friends ☺️🍕