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I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.
-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a
~*Spiritual Experience*~
I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.
Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.
He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only
BARELY
enough space for the fireworks
and certainly none for his truck.
So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand.
This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.
He begins,
and this is crucial to what happens next,
by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it
unsecured
on his lawn.
Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.
His process for unloading the fireworks is to
1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls.
2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile
He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things.
3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed
4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup.
5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her.
6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house.
7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too.
8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate
9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed
10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.
Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man?
Answer: Absolutely Not.
There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else.
(This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual)
Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally.
Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.
I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.
However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up.
and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop"
And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."
For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."
I move under the eaves.
"Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled."
"Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not."
"Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."
Sometimes,
the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.
The Gods were not merciful today.
It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this,
But I got to see it today.
Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before.
Oh. I realized as it got closer.
That's RAIN.
Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say,
five to tent square miles,
is instead concentrated into an area of say,
my neighborhood exactly.
So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.
The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel.
Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge.
Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.
My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp.
They do not have a tarp.
They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.
Which is when the hail begins.
"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy.
"HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!"
"OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"
I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic.
The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor.
Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.
So.
I was raised Agnostic
-but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.
---
(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)
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I hate when king arthur has all these fussy little steps in the instructions and you're like "no way do these fussy little steps matter" but you try it and they do. they matter so much.
I thought you meant Camelot quests and I was like "that's fair, 'never pick a four leaf clover on the last Wednesday of the month' IS a fussy little step that shouldn't matter" but then I was like "wait isn't that also a flour company"
LOL so this is based off of an ask that @nekoboydreams answered regarding how Pierrot would react if the MC just straight-up kissed him as he's asking about their boss. I love the idea behind this XD and had to drawwww. Felt he would probably lose it a bit sooner if this actually happened :P
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I never liked those posts that reduce the Disney princesses to âgirl who overacts about something and dramatically flings herself down and bawlsâ (super popular in the early 10âs and somehow thatâs how a shocking majority view the classics now) but after an Aladdin (1992) rewatch, itâs especially egregious that they ever included Jasmine in that.
This part. This is the part Iâm talking about
This is not a woman falling to pieces because her father wonât let her marry a man she just met.
This is a woman born to a life she has very little say in. She has never had a genuine friend (besides a tiger). She is facing a marriage to a man she doesnât know and doesnât like but duty (and the law) demands it. So she took a risk, ran away, ran to a world she doesnât know or understand and when she landed in trouble (serious, serious trouble) a stranger came to her aid. She finally (finally!) made a real connection with someone but they didnât get much time together before the guards showed up and she had to reveal who she was.
This moment when sheâs crying her heart out? It comes after sheâs been told that the first person she ever connected with, the first person to be genuinely interested in her for who she is and not what she is, the first real friend she has ever made, was executed⊠because of her.
She believes a good, innocent person has lost their life because of her actions, and whatâs more, it brings home the reality for her that she cannot have a normal life or normal relationships, because see the consequences one little attempt wrought?
I actually love this trope. People treat crying like some kind of moral failure. Boys shouldn't cry, girls *can* cry, but that's also what makes them inferior. If this is not an example of toxic masculity, I don't know what is.
Crying is normal. Even if it's over something trivial. We all face a lot of struggles in their lives, whether we acknowledge it or not. Something minor might end up breaking the camel's back.
Anyway, here's one of my favorite scenes in Beauty and the Beast:
Belle's reaction is completely understandable. I think Mrs. Potts put it best: "The girl lost her father and her freedom all in one day." That's not overreacting!
Really, none of the classic princesses deserve the misinterpretation.
Cinderella?
Again, this is not after someone told her âyOu CaNât MaRrY a MaN yOu JuSt MeTââthis is after she went to great lengths to get ready for the ball, adhering to the intentionally difficult (meant to be impossible) stipulations set by her abusive step-mother for her to be allowed to attend (when really she was invited and had as much right as the others to attend). She made that dress (I canât recall off the top of my head if the classic animated version was also her motherâs old dress she restyled or not but still, she put in a ton of work on top of all the extra house work) and what did her step-family do? They tore to shreds while she was wearing it. Of course sheâs lost hope: itâs the final straw after years and years of doggedly remaining optimistic despite constant harsh treatment.
Letâs go to another favourite: Mulan.
Mulanâs just had the worst day.
She tried her hardest to live up to her familyâs and her societyâs expectations and vision of a perfect bride but she failed. Not only did it go wrong, but she was publicly humiliated by the Matchmakerâby extension, humiliating her family.
Granted, her family has been kind and sympathetic about the whole thing. Her father even goes to encourage her, assuring her of his unconditional love for her and his confidence that sheâll get it right next time.
Sheâs just beginning to smile when the drums pound and news of war reaches their village. Her fatherâher beloved father whoâs already a veteran and lives with a disabilityâis expected as the only male in their family to suit up and head out in the morning.
Mulan canât help. Nothing she says will be listened to and she canât take his place (until, of course, she thinks of a way to do so which this moment of crying it out in the rain leads toâscore one for having a good cry and clearing your head).
Thereâs of course more. Take any princessâ dramatic crying momentTM and review the context and Iâll bet youâll see itâs never as trivial as some have framed it. And, yes, like prev pointed out, itâs this awful thing of people believing boys canât cry and girls can but then they can never be taken seriously.
Crying is healthy. And crying in response to emotional distress is totally normal. Writers and storytellers across the ages have understood it and portrayed it.
She didn't deserve to see the things that she held dearly destroyed right before her eyes by her own father. No, it wasn't just about the cute guy she just met. Her family had never approved of her interests and she felt so isolated that she hid them away. Just collecting random stuff that she felt oddly inspired by. Then Triton obliterated it. Her memories, all the care she put into organizing it and keeping it safeâgone. He couldn't accept her passion because it didn't align with his beliefs, so he destroyed it. The ultimate rejection from a parent, the very people who are supposed to love you and make you feel safe.
My girl deservedâwhich she ultimately got in the endâbut still.
She's not just crying because her aunts/the three fairies told her she couldn't be with this guy she just met. She's crying because she just found out her entire life is a lie. She's not a simple peasant girl living with her eccentric aunties, she's a princess. She's a princess of a kingdom she knows little about, has parents she's never met, she's going to go see them today, they're going to leave their little cottage to go to this castle she doesn't even remember, meet people she can't remember... The 'hunter' she met in the woods? She can't keep visiting him after all, she's a princess and has to leave everything about this life behind her today
and on top of all of that, it is her goddamn birthday when she learns all this.
Snow White didn't collapse prettily somewhere, she tripped and fell while running for her life and was too scared/exhausted to get back up.
She's a young woman who was reduced to a servant in her own home by her abusive stepmother, and who knows how long the abuse was going on before her father died, and then one day she's told she can wear a nice dress again and go out with the huntsman to pick flowers. Happy day! She's finally being given a day off! She's leaving the castle! She's going to see the flowers, to be among nature! How wonderful! She has a wonderful time, she comforts a baby bird... huh. That's an awfully long shadow behind her........
So she turns around and the huntsman is standing over her with his knife out to stab her. That alone would be traumatizing to anyone, but then even as he can't do it he tells her that her stepmother has ordered her killed. Her stepmom is no longer satisfied with demeaning her and keeping her as a servant, she wants her dead. So he shouts for her to run, run and never come back, and while she's running in a panic through a forest she's never been in before, trying to comprehend and make sense of what she was just told and what nearly happened to her, her own terror makes everything look monstrous, scaring her even worse.
She's completely justified in just lying there and crying after she's finally lost her footing and collapsed, she has had a horrible last half hour on top of years of abuse.
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