Chapter VI
The first land we sighted after leaving Sydney was the Three Kings, New Zealand. We had run before a fair wind up to this time, and had come into what was regarded as a good whaling ground. Now every eye was scanning the horizon, since a bottle of grog was promised to the man who should first sight a whale. I had been on the port watch since I came on board under Mr Hawkins, the chief mate, and one evening, just as our watch below was ending, I went aloft to see the sun set. Against the broad, red horizon I saw some dark objects spouting and tumbling. In an instant I had shouted “Whales ho!” to claim the bottle of grog. “Where away?” was the skipper's question. “On the lee bow, sir.” For an instant he scanned the spot with his glass, an anxious moment for me lest I should have mistaken a shoal of porpoises for a school of whales, and not only lose my prize but expose myself to the ridicule of my fellow sailors. “Right you are, it's whales, sure enough; you have won your grog, lad.”
We had no time to lose; the night would soon be on us, and our chance would be lost. Down went the boat with Ned Farne, our harpooner, in the bows ready to launch his weapons when opportunity offered. On came the school, tumbling and blowing, throwing jets of water ten or fifteen feet into the air, causing a very grand yet terrible scene. At length they got almost within range; the boys were pulling like mad to keep up with the pace the whales were swimming at. We saw Ned rise up in the bows, poise his arm back for an instant, then launch the harpoon straight for the huge back of the fish that was nearest to him. The aim was true, the missile was buried over the barb in the soft blubber beneath the outer skin, and away went the whale dragging the harpoon rope after it so rapidly that they had to pour water upon the side of the boat to prevent it from igniting, through the violent friction. Again the huge creature rose to breathe, and another harpoon was driven into it, causing it once more to rush away through the water at lightning speed. Darkness fell over the scene before they had killed it, and the boat remained by the carcase all night to prevent it sinking. When morning came it was a busy scene on board, preparing to cut it in and try it out. At length the task was completed, and five large sacks of oil were secured; not a large yield certainly, but the foretaste of better things, we hoped. We cruised over the same ground for several days, but saw no more whales, accordingly we stretched across to Curtis' Island, about 500 miles to the north-east, where in about a month we got five or six more, some of them giving very fair yields of oil. After this we ran down upon Norfolk Island, where we fell in with the Mercury, schooner, Captain Barnet, also on a whaling cruise from Tasmania. From her we shipped two additional hands, and then made for Moreton Bay, on the coast of Queensland. Here not a solitary fish was to be seen, therefore we ran back for our old ground off Curtis' Island. Scarcely had we arrived when we fell in with a heavy gale from the north-east, raging for twenty days, in which we had to heave to, not being able to show a rag of sail. On the 21st day, when the wind began to lull, we found ourselves off the Three Kings, a drift of more than 500 miles. We had shipped such heavy seas, and the force of the storm had been so great, that our tryworks had been carried away, and three of our boats stove in. Therefore we bore up for the Bay of Islands, where we arrived on the 10th of April, 1811, anchoring as before off Te Puna. We were the only vessel in the bay at the time, though others entered during our stay.
The same day that we reached our anchorage a chief named Taua Makia came aboard to take care of us and watch over our interests, lest we should be swindled in trade or otherwise maltreated. This considerate proceeding was not disinterested, but the ‘consideration’ expected was not large. The Skipper ordered a boat to go ashore and bring a load of gravel to serve as shot for our guns since this had been omitted in the ship's supplies, and the natives were not to be trusted, even though we had a protector. The news had spread like wild-fire that a ship was at anchor in the bay, and already scores of canoes were being launched to pay a visit to the pakeha, but we loaded our guns, and pointing them astern, ordered all the visitors to keep back, which, after a little demur and grumbling they did. Nevertheless, all throughout our stay, they never desisted in the attempt to get on board, considering it a gross breach of hospitality on our part to deny them the privilege. As our example was imitated by Captain Walker, of the Endeavour brig, that came in a few days after us, having on board two missionaries for Tahiti - Messrs Davidson and Williams - the natives concluded that in us they had got a very bad and uncivil customer to deal with.
Meantime we had commenced work upon the repairs of the vessel. Nearly all our spars had been carried away, together with our jibboom and some of the bulwarks; we had lost every boat but one, and small leaks were demanding attention, We bad two sawyers on board, and as Captain Walker had three whom he lent us for the time, our skipper thought it best to put the ship thoroughly to rights here, in place of putting back to Sydney. Accordingly, the sawyers went ashore, rigged up the pits, and commenced work vigorously. But the Maoris did not exactly see the force of this. They imagined that we were concocting some diabolic scheme of destruction against them in making such extensive preparations, which they considered as in some way identified with our worship. They pulled down the works and threatened to kill the sawyers if they attempted to resume operations. But a volley from the vessels soon scattered them, and a strong guard being picked from the crews of both ships, they were hereafter permitted to labour uninterruptedly. During this time, I had considerable liberty granted to me to go ashore, or to go fishing with Taua Makia. The first time I availed myself of the former privilege, I received as great a scare as ever I had in my life. Three of us had been wandering about in a bit of bush near the Keri-Keri River, trying to find our way back to the saw-pits, when suddenly we issued upon a cleared space, in which were a few houses and patches of cultivation. Before the entrance to one of the whares stood a band of females crowned with chaplets of green leaves, and wringing their hands. One of these, an elderly woman, who seemed to act as chief mourner upon the occasion, and had a chaplet of dog's hair round her temples, different from the others, advanced in front and began to throw her arms about, raising her head and eyes to heaven. Whilst doing this, in a very plaintive quavering tone, she commenced a wailing song, in which she was joined by her companions. I was afterwards initiated into this, and now give a specimen of a funeral lament: -
Taku hei he piripiri (my fragrant bundle the piripiri) Taku hei moki-moki (my fragrant bundle the mokimoki) Taku hei tawiri (my fragrant bundle the tawiri) Taku kati taramea (my sweet juice of the taraniea) Te hei o te pounamu (the companion of the greenstone) I haramai ai - e (is gone - alas, upon) I runga te angai-ia-ana (the angai-e-).
It was the tangi, or wail for the dead. But at this period I knew nothing of Maori customs or ceremonies, and my very hair began to rise with horror as I thought perhaps they might be celebrating some human sacrifices. Our fear kept us quiet. In the thick bush we lay watching the scene, overshadowed by the gloom of a gigantic kauri-tree, and wishing ourselves anywhere but in our present predicament. When the sorrowful song was ended, and the females had entered the whare, we noiselessly strove to retrace our steps, and chance favouring us, we came out a mile or two from where the sawyers were at work. As I afterwards discovered, no duty is so sacred or so obligatory as the interment of the dead, no trouble being considered too great, no expense too excessive, no lamentation too extreme to testify to the respect in which the deceased was held on earth, and to raise him in the estimation of the mysterious spirits to whom he had gone. Taua Makia sometimes went with us fishing to induce the prey to come upon hooks by the constant chanting of Karakias or incantations, supposed to have a very potent influence over the finny tribe. I cannot say we were ever very successful when he was with us, since the noise he made and the fishing gear he would insist upon employing were neither conducive to lure the fish to our bait, nor to hold them when they were hooked. But this, of course, may have been merely an ignorant pakeha's prejudice, since many a lusty kahawai or schnapper, have I caught with a hook made from a dead man's bone. Don't wince, reader; better, is it not, to be put to some use after death, than to feed a legion of hungry worms.
We began to mix a little with the natives when ashore, and I grew more familiarised with their ways. We attended their baptisms, He Tohi, and gave presents to the infant, that it never enjoyed; we consulted the Niu, or divining sticks, whether we should reach home in safety; we were present at their marriage tauas, when the bride was carried off by main force sometimes minus her clothing, finally we were guests at their hakaris, or feasts, and could vouch for the excellence of Maori culinary skill. But we shall have enough of these in the course of the narrative, the reader shall eat and drink to his heart's content but at present we must keep to the thread of our story.
In a fortnight the sawyers had finished their work ashore, a week more completed the repairs aboard, and whatever little trade we had carried on completed, the skipper thought of standing out to sea again. In some mysterious way or other, I had offended the old bosun of our ship, and he had persecuted me with most relentless malice. Nothing I could do was right, the rope's end was my daily sauce, and complaints about my laziness were continually being carried to the captain. At length one day, irritated by their constant occurrence, he said when another of my misdeeds was laid before him, “String him up then, and give him a dozen.” This was just what the bosun wanted; and in a trice he strung me up to the mast, and a good round dozen I received, being only released when nearly fainting with pain and shame. He had got the best of it just now; my day of retribution came again. Now, this method of instructing me in navigation was by no means to my taste, and as two of our men had absconded the day previous, concealed, as was thought, in the bush, I imagined I could emulate their example, perhaps, to join them. At least, I should first go to the Endeavour, as she lay nearer the shore, if not, the bush it must be. Therefore, waiting my opportunity, about 3 o'clock one morning I slipped overboard and swam noiselessly to the companion ship. As I came alongside puffing and blowing, thoroughly exhausted with the long swim, and almost inclined to give up the business, the carpenter, who was acting as bosuns mate in the Endeavour for the time, saw me, and flung me a rope, by which I climbed on deck. I told him my story, and as he was a decent sort of a fellow, he was slipping me quietly along the deck to the foc'sle, when the second mate saw us and demanded to know what I wanted there. With my usual readiness, I invented a tale of a morning swim and exhaustion, but the story would not hold water, and the captain was informed of my arrival. As soon as morning broke he sent over to the Harwich, telling Captain Simmons that I was on board his vessel, and about nine our skipper came over with two men to take me back. Reluctantly enough I went, as I knew a flogging was in store for me, but to my surprise the captain only took me into his cabin and rated me soundly for my foolhardiness in risking my life thus, telling me I escaped a flogging by his having discovered many of the bosuns stories to be untrue. My condition was now better on board, as I was taken aft, and kept under the captain's own eye. My enemy, the bosun, was speechless with rage, yet he was powerless now to do me harm.
About a week after this the Endeavour sailed, Captain Walker having come on board the Harwich and taken a very friendly farewell of our skipper, and a fortnight afterwards we followed suit, going back to our old cruising ground at the Three Kings. The weather was very uncertain and squally, so that we did not see any whales; therefore we stretched over to Norfolk Island, and speedily were busy at work.
The first day we arrived we secured three whales, which we cut in and tried out, the third day two more, and the fifth day another. Then our luck seemed to change, and not a solitary fish could we see for an entire month. We tried all our former grounds, Curtis' Island, Moreton Bay, Three Kings, to no purpose, only when off the East Cape did we catch sight of a small whale, which we secured but only got one barrel of oil from it. The weather now began to be very stormy; winter was at its depth, and the air was piercingly cold. Therefore Captain Simmons concluded to break the cruise, to run for Sydney, discharge his cargo of oil, and commence anew. Another consideration, also, was that several of the men were very ill with scurvy and dysentry - in fact, the crew was only at half at its usual complement, therefore the cry was “about ship,” and “Sydney ho!”
It was whilst running home before a fine fresh breeze, that one night we were knocked up by Mr Hawkins singing out, “Ship on fire on the weather bow.” The shock was electrical. Everyone bundled out of their hammocks and rushed on deck. There on the horizon was a grand and terrible spectacle. A large ship was burning from stem to stern, lighting up the gloom of the winter's night for miles around, throwing a deep lucid glare over the inky ocean. The flames were bursting up the hatches, were licking the masts and spars, were peeping out in little forked tongues through the portholes. The captain ordered lights to be burned at the masthead, blank charges to be fired from the guns every minute, and the jolly-boat to be manned and to go in search of survivors. In an hour our efforts were rewarded by three boat-loads of fear-stricken men boarding us and asking reception. They informed us that the burning ship was the “Lady Lucy” from Sydney to London, that she had caught fire when a week out, from a burning candle falling into an oil cask, and that over 50 lives had already been lost through the capsizing of two of their boats. Captain Simmons made them welcome, and a few days after we reached Sydney, where they were taken in hand by the Government and forwarded home by the next vessel. Thus ended my voyage in the Harwich, perhaps the most pleasant of all my trips.

Hi all, long time lurker here but I wanted to get some unbiased opinions on this. This story is long. Sorry in advance.
Six months ago, I (27M) ended a friendship with a my long-time best friend (28M) and of 7 years after a fairly explosive fight about the woman he is dating (33/34F). The whole thing took me by surprise. We currently have a large tight knit friend group of people across a variety of major cities and we all try to hang out when we can. However, some of my friends in this group have been unhappy with me for cutting of ties with this person.
For context, This friend was my college roommate, fraternity brother, and the most consistent source of emotional support and guidance throughout my early-twenties. Throughout college, I felt that we had a unique and supportive friendship. He taught me how to be believe in myself, stand-up for myself, take care of myself better, and brought a lot of light into my life as a friend. We were both full-scholarship students at a fancy-pants highly ranked college that is know for being elitist and stuck-up. Looking back, I think one of the things that made us such tight friends is that we didn't fit in all too well at that school. Both of us had pretty difficult lives before college and neither of us had any money. He was essentially an orphan and I was/am from a low-income single parent household. However, despite these circumstances, I felt like we both inspired each other to become more well-rounded and well-adjusted people. A central theme of our friendship was trying to figure out how to live a good life, solve interesting problems, make the world a better place, and to go on adventures with good friends.
During our early twenties/in college I feel like I did everything I could to be the best friend possible. Since he didn't have a stable father figure, I tried my best to be a loving brother. I was there to support him for every major test or every time a girl broke his heart in college. I knew that finding a group of friends and a community was important for him, so I advocated for him to join my fraternity. While my fraternity was voting on final round of rush, I was working on a major project with some classmates and someone texted me that my friend didn't get enough votes to be offered a bid to join. Immediately, I told my partners that I had to go for an emergency and ran to where the voting was taking place. I basically made a 2-3 minute long speech about how my friend was one of the best people I've ever known and convinced everyone to revote him into the group. Additionally, when he had to take a year off from college because a close member of his family passed a way, I spent almost every weekend with him for emotional support, helped him navigate the dark and uncomfortable family drama around the situation, and was the only friend who went to this family member's funeral with him for support. I even helped him with the little things, like teaching him how to tie a tie and find his own sense of style.
However, towards the end of college and after graduating, my life got difficult and dark. At the end of my senior year, two close relatives of mine passed away within two weeks of each other and I became extremely depressed. After graduation, I left my home state for a job that offered me a significant amount of money. Though my plan was to go to grad school, I wanted to take some time to make money and help my younger sister afford college - she didn't get any significant scholarships. However, the job I worked at was terrible. I was being abused almost every since day by my boss and the company I worked for was extremely unethical. After starting this job, I learned that the average hire only lasts about 6-8 months and that having a breakdown from working there was extremely common. Working here took a huge toll on my mental health and after 9 months, I quit to return home before I broke down like many of my co-workers. I thought things would be better when I went back home but some of my family members were going through it at the time and became abusive as well. Though my family was never abusive towards me growing up, for some reason they chose to be abusive when I came back. Chairs were thrown at me and I never had a moment of rest. I also had a grandmother who was living off food stamps and nobody was taking good care of her. So I had to continuously try and get her groceries while working 60-70 hrs/wk on a construction job. It was a bad time.
During all of this, I felt that my friend was being extremely immature and selfish. He kept yelling at me and criticizing me for not hanging out enough with him and not partying with him enough. Even after explaining my situation, he didn't offer too much support and expressed frustration that I wouldn't help him meet girls at clubs or get laid. He's always had a deep desire to find love but has traditionally had issues with female rejection. One night, I agreed to go out clubbing with him, but I remember explicitly stating that I was not in the mental space to hit on girls, wingman, or to hook-up. I was just down to drink, dance, and have a good time. Despite this, at the club he got extremely frustrated with me when I wouldn't start any conversations with groups of girls. When we got home he literally starting screaming in his bed about how he wished someone "would show him the steps" on how to meet women. Though this was clearly not a high point in our relationship together, I felt that he was probably just going through something and let it go. After a few months, even more negative things happened in my life and eventually had a mental breakdown. I definitely was not acting normally or myself for 3-4 months afterwards either. Despite this, my friend insisted that I party with him and a group of other people one night. However, when we were ready to go out, I overheard him loudly making laughing at me and making fun of my behind my back about how "I had serious mental problems, totally lost it. etc." I was shocked because he definitely knew about all that I was going through. After this, I stopped reaching out to him and to distance myself. Part of me didn't trust him anymore but also I wanted to see if he'd put in effort to keep our relationship strong.
Fast forward a few years, and we were still friends but not as close as before. I partially attributed this to me moving around different states for work and also for finally getting into a grad school far away from everyone. During this time we both ended up dating women which we both considered to be long-term partners. Initially he starting dating this girl for a couple of months, and then something terrible happened in his life - his last surviving family member died. After telling her he needed to put their relationship on pause and leave town to wrap up family affairs. She blew up at him while he was out of town, about how he "led her on" and wasted her time. For context, she made it clear that she wanted to get married and have kids after 2-3 years of dating.For some reason, he got back together with her and stayed with her for a few years, but he expressed some concerns about her to me. He told me that she didn't really seem interested in engaging with him on an intellectual level (e.g., reading books with each other, talking about work) and also expected him to pay for all of their dates and meals (which were pretty expensive) because he has a well-paying job. He also expressed worry that she'd wouldn't be interested in respecting or having a relationship with any of our other friends because of her age. Because she was 31 at the start of their relationship she felt that a lot people in our friend group of mid-twenty somethings "wouldn't be mature enough" for her.
Despite telling him that these were all big red flags, he continued dating her. Because I was busy working and trying to make money for my family I never got a chance to hang out with her. But as predicted, as all of our close friends eventually met her over the years - she was pretty disrespectful. Though she never fought or argued with anyone, she'd either ignore people or be passive aggressive.
She also started to negatively influence his perception of the world and his level of maturity. After a member of our friend group (who previously has always been kind and caring) had a public freakout and yelled at his girlfriend because he was in a bad mental state, I called him to talk about how we could support our friend and expressed concerns that a marijuana addiction might be contributing to his issues. Instead of talking about the issue he said that our friend was "spoiled", "immature", and said that his girlfriend "weak woman" - which was out of character.
Eventually, my partner and I met this girl during my college reunion and we felt that she was pretty awful. He begged me to go to this reunion multiple times and even though I told him that I couldn't go because of the COVID risk (I work with patients who are immunocompromised), and the fact that I really couldn't afford travel costs. After the second or third time he asked me to go, I relented and said that it'd be fun to go and see all of our friends again. Instead of agreeing with me, he interjected that he wanted to go because he felt our classmates would look fat and out of shape because of their jobs and he wanted to go because he was in "good-shape" and had a hot girlfriend.
My friend allowed my girlfriend and I to stay at his appartment to save money for the trip. Before the actual reunion we all agreed to hang out. My girlfriend arrived in town a day before me and spent time with both of them before I did. Though I wasn't there, my girlfriend told me that this woman threw a napkin at a waiter during dinner. Apparently, she also got sleepy at around 9pm while my friend was showing my partner around the apt. Instead of waiting respectfully or finding a place to rest, she passive aggressively pretended to fall asleep in the common room of the apt and pretended to snore. Then after a few minutes she started yelling that she called an Uber for herself to go back to her place, slammed a door in my friend's face, and left the building - leaving him to chase after her.
I met her the next day during a double date, and I didn't get the best impression. I tried to be nonjudgemental but it was pretty hard to hold a conversation with her. When I asked about her interests, she could only really talk about how she like to drink/party a lot, spend a lot of money, and travel. Though this really wasn't that bad (who doesn't love these things), I initially thought she was just shallow because thats really all she could talk about. However, as we spent more time together bragged to me about her older brother threw a glass ashtray at an elderly neighbor. Additionally, at a one point in the double date, she made fun of a man going for a run outside. He was actually in pretty decent shape and even had visible abs, but she kept saying how he was "too overweight" to be running without a shirt, and bragged about how she was in great shape and runs marathons. Despite this, she has a pretty significant muffin top and if my understanding is correct she hasn't run a marathon in many years. When we actually went to our reunion, she kept complaining to me that all of my college classmates kept staring at her and that they were all clearly "obsessed with her" because of how attractive she is - even at times when there would be almost nobody around. At the end of our time together, he told me he want to elevate their relationship and was thinking about moving in with her. He also suggested to other people he was interested in getting married and having kids soon.
I called my friend few weeks after all of this and expressed concerns about his relationship. Trying to be as respectful as possible while being truthful, I told him that I was concerned about him furthering his relationship with this woman. First expressed that she was hard to talk to and that she displayed some concerning behaviors. Then I highlighted that he should consider that she might not be the best long term partner. I felt that since she made the death of his family member "all about her", she probably wont be good teammate or a supportive partner when they both go through difficult times together. In all, I probably spoke for about a minute and a half before he started getting defensive and hung up on me to "take a brake from the conversation".Afterwards he stopped talking to consistently me for about six months. He mentioned to other friends that he and I would have a formal discussion about how I crossed a line soon, but he kept putting it off and never reached out. Even after I sent an apology text, he kept ignoring me.
Finally, six months ago visited the city that I'm currently living in to visit some people in our friend group and didn't tell me. I was invited by people in our group to spend time with them, but I immediately noticed that something was off. When I would speak about my interests or things that were going on in my life, my former friend would roll his eyes or look at me with disgust. Later in the night, I asked him if he wanted to finally have the discussion her wanted to have and he explosively blew up at me. Immediately, he started intensely screaming at me asking me about why I didn't like his partner. This took me by surprise, so I started getting heated and I pointed out that she seemed pretty superficial, hard to talk to, and that she was really disrespectful to all of our friends. Quickly, he got even more angry and said that all of our friends were "career obsessed people" and that I was the worst one of them all because I'm obsessed with grad school. He said that I was "an egotistical person", with "poor social skills", and that I only care about making friends with people "who kiss my ass and and feed my enormous ego". Additionally, he stated that I was an extremely "selfish person" and he purposely grew apart from me because I was such a broken person with so many problems. He also said that if I couldn't see or agree with him I "needed to look deep within myself". After this, I went home, slept off the fight, and texted him to cut off the friendship the next day.
Not only did I found all of this hurtful, but I found this to be extremely hypocritical. Despite all that I did for him, he wasn't really there for me during the worst years of my life. Also, I recognize that I do work abnormally hard and dont spend time as much time with my friends as I used to. However, I feel that I mainly do this to so I can be successful in support my family and because grad school is a deep passion of mine.
I get the sense that now, some of my other friends are a bit upset with me because I ended this friendship. Is this my fault? I did press him. He initially said that he wanted to wait on our discussion, but I pointed out that we live in different states and don't see each other that much anymore. Did I pressure him too much? Maybe I'm being too sentimental, but I used to think that this was the person in my life who knew me the best. I used to always think of myself as the kind of person who will stand up for what is right. So hearing this from him, made me question my own self-perception a bit.
Sorry for the long, great-american-novel, of a post.

First off, I've (31m) never posted anything on Reddit before, I've only ever been a phantom browser (or listener for the few of us who listen to Slash), so if there are formatting errors, or if I've mucked this entire post, forgive me; but that's not what I'm here for so get bent, I'm dying to unload all of this. There's a lot to unpack here, so please bear with, and without further ado:
I'm currently dealing with the loss of my best friend James (27m) who successfully completed suicide a few weeks ago. I'm so unbelievably angry at his loss as he was one of the brightest most intelligent people I've ever known. A person who was too smart for his own good regularly led him down a dark path that I've talked him out of several times in the past. Before we get into the heart of the matter, I'd like to provide some insight to when it all started.
I've known James from our time in the Service together, when we were both assigned to perform military honors for veterans. We met back in 2016, and I'll admit, at first I was standoffish as I am with most new people I meet. After a few weeks we bonded over our disdain for the training regimen and requirements for new Honor Guard(HG) trainees. I wouldn't say we became fast friends, but we deepened our relationship over time with big dreams and even bigger goals. Talking about cars, preferably JDM, guns, technology, games, anime; actually, just everything. This man knew a lot about everything, and we found in eachother kindred spirits. Although he was much better at knowing what the best (in his opinion) of the best was, and what I should focus my efforts or should buy, and I trusted his knowledge. He really was the best.
We maintained a pretty good relationship over the next few years when I left the service in 2018 and moved back home to Ohio and he was left back in Illinois to finish out his service commitment. And during that time, we talked regularly, if not every day, then every other day. With some spotty communication between, we're guys, talking all the time isn't always necessary, and it got to the point of regular check-ins and talks about life and the bullshit going on. Mine being the transition from the military to civilian life, and his, just regular bullshit within the service, and whatever car he was dealing with at the time.
It wasn't until 2019 when things started to unravel, and he decided he wanted to be in a relationship with a woman Brenda (27f) that he'd met at the airport. I'm not sure when he had, but it might've been a few years to a few months prior to the autumn of 2019. The only significance of Brenda was that James had managed to hook up with her AT THE AIRPORT. I dogged on him for being such a smooth talker and having the ability to do that. To my knowledge, it was a one and done thing, but he maintained contact with her, which led to them developing a relationship, and being "official" the autumn of 2019.
After three months, a total of 90 fucking days, this man was smitten. To the point of which he was so torn up about her getting cold feet and breaking up with him. Something I've never seen before from this man who basically had a revolving door with women in the past. I had to talk him off of the figurative ledge because of how much he felt he gave her. Nonetheless, they ended back together, and he moved her into his house to live with him and a long-time roommate Neil (25m). James introduced Neil and I and we've been pretty good friends, but nothing as significant as James and I. Either way we were all pretty close, and both Neil and I advised against staying with Brenda, as she was, as far as we could tell, unbalanced. That was putting it lightly.
This cycle of being together and not being together, and getting angry over petty things, begins to impact the relationship between James and I. To the point where I can't just talk about the bullshit between him and Brenda. So I stopped talking to him for a few months in 2020 and tell him off about how I can't listen to him bitch about his girl anymore.
Either way, we begin talking later on in 2020 and things are friendly as usual, with the exception that we don't really talk too much about Brenda anymore. Which is a nice change of pace. Anyway, from the time I was in the service, my experience translates to driving trucks. So what did I do when I got out? I drove trucks, which sucks, but pays well. So I've always nagged James for what I should do as far as getting out of trucking, and in to computers and IT. I've tried my hand at it in the past when I tried to get my BS in Comp. Sci. in 2019, which I failed miserably.
So back to trucking I went always looking for a way out, as I've got a wife and two sons, it makes it hard to raise a family and be present. So he maintains his relationship with Brenda and keeps it on the backburner for conversations, rarely bringing it up, all the way up into 2022 when he's been out of the service for two years, and has made a name for himself in the IT community. He came out to Ohio in Nov 2022 to buy some big ticket items for his own racing setup. He convinced me (without too much arm pulling) to drive out to St. Louis with him to visit our old digs. During this 6 hour drive we catch up on all the old bullshit and what's going on in his love life. The constant fighting, bickering, and me doing my best to cheer him up and let him know, that outside of what he's failing at in his relationship, he's got a pocket full of spades and is exceptionally successful at every other aspect of his life. I mean, what other person do you know who goes from making less than $40k a year to making over $600k in two years? Nonetheless, we also spent that entire time talking about what he currently does, and he set me on a pathway of learning, specifically books, that he said I should read. After I got back to my daily life, and read them; We talked about them, and he made sure I understood the concepts held within them, and oddly he said he'd get back to me.
This is just the surface stuff, what makes James an outright amazing person, is that he's always looking out for those close to him. He had so much pull at his current company, that he was able to make a special position just for me, as a "loyalty program" to get people to train who otherwise didn't have experience in his career field. The books he had me read were primers to see if I had the aptitude to take on this kind of training. The company signed me on at my current monthly rate (as of Dec. 2022) to come on and train exclusively and meet my commitments by the end of January. From then on, it was daily talks of knowledge this, or what experience you have in that. And daily life in general. I came to find out just how little I knew about how knowledgeable and smart James was, and a new appreciation for our friendship,
Where I was once his mentor in the service, he was now my mentor in the tech world. And he was brilliant. Things that would take a whole team months to do, he was capable of doing within a week. I saw him work magic, and was excited to see how I could graft his knowledge and experience into my own. In March, we had a work requirement to meetup at the work site (because IT is remote, duh) and meet with the team that our company supported. There was a whole fiasco and we got up to some of our old shenanigans, but everything was great with the exception of one thing: her. I hadn't asked the entire trip, and he had mentioned that this was the best he'd felt in years. I just didn't want to ask what the problem was, until the day we left to go back to our respective states. I'd come to find out, that the day before he'd left to come out for our trip, his now wife, had locked him out of the main portion of the house (luckily he has over 5000sq/ft house, so he made do with the "other half" as he called it) and I just listened as he lamented about all the garbage that happened prior to his departure. How he gave up everything; his interests, his desires, just to be around her more. How after everything he's sacrificed, he just wanted it to work. That he'd do anything for her, and all she did was spit in his face and shit all over his effort. This last argument he'd had with her before he'd left was all because of him wanting to go get tacos with some of his local friends. A simple disagreement that turned into a 3-day argument.
So things like this progress and he's talking to all the people he needs advice from. His pastor, his therapist, and they're all telling him to run from this woman. These things I've been telling him for years are all starting to come together, and I feel like I can finally take a breath. From hearing stories of how he's slept under his desk to avoid confrontation with her, how he works endlessly because she won't bother him while he works. I was so excited that divorce was now finally an option for him. Until finally she was moving out, and everything came crashing down.
Friday, May 12, 2023. It was work as usual, and he'd spent a little longer at work, and was talking about going out to play pool with a friend. So I ended up talking to him later that evening asking him how things were going, mostly just because I was bored and wanted someone to talk to. When he replied that he was "big sad" and I asked him what was going on. He told me that he was tricked into going out with his friend by Brenda. That the friend was convinced to ask James out by her, so that she could come by their house and move her things out. Which she had never done before, but was prone to leaving at the drop of a hat and going to her sister's house 1.5 hrs away. I expressed that I was sorry for what he had to go through, as I had also gone through a divorce years prior. That regardless if it was for the best, that it is still a painful process. The last thing he said to me: "Can't be mad about a loss that costs me the wins when I'm the one who made the bet" I replied, "Maybe not, but I can understand the loss still hurts."
That was the last thing I said to him at 0016. I'm so fucking mad, at him, at her, at everything. The entire situation, that I would be out there to help him, I joked about moving my family out there with him in that big ass house. That we'd buy property, hundreds and thousands of acres just to bullshit with, and do "hoodrat things with my friends." I texted him and called him Saturday to check on him, but figured he had a hangover, so I didn't want to bother but let him know that I would call a wellness check on him if I didn't hear back. So I called him a few more times on Sunday, which eventually lead to me calling the wellness check at 1421 on Mother's Day. Two hours later, at 1621 exactly, I get a phone call from a detective asking me questions about James. I thought he was in a snag with the police and was doing 180 on the freeway or something, or pulled some Eminem nonsnense. Did I fail to mention that Brenda claimed to be pregnant, and would use getting an abortion as a way to control James? No? Well it was one of the first things I told the detective after they asked me about him being depressed. I didn't understand why the questions were being asked, but they eventually came to tell me that upon their arrival, he was dead. The world snapped to a startling clarity, and I broke out into a cold sweat. I didn't think it could be possible, and my brain reeled at the rushing reality of it all. The sickening reality of it, that she didn't even care because she had already given up, had pulled her claws out of him. It was done, no new memories, no grand dreams, no future plans to conquer the world. But as we know, this is only just the beginning, the aftermath is where it all hurts more.
So his body had to be transported to his hometown on the other side of the country near the coast, from the OTHER side of the country. 3000 miles just to be put in the ground, all for his parents' sake. Which was nice, and a kind gesture, that Brenda allowed and a relatively beautiful ceremony. We show up the day James shows up, a 10 hour drive with no AC and the windows down. My wife and I both knew and loved James, so we were going to be there no matter what. I meet his dad for the first time, a topic James and I regularly talked about. How his father is the best person he knows, and would do anything for. I can see that now, and James' wife had sent a picture to my wife of one of their conversations, about how I reminded James of his dad. That shit broke my heart, and was hard to see, but I appreciated it. Although I think she reveled in twisting the knife. Anyway, come to find out from his dad, that Brenda allowed him to write the obituary, and as James' dad was finalizing it with his wife and James' sisters, Brenda took it and made changes and deleted the things she didn't like.
James' dad took us all around his hometown, showing us where he went to school, where they lived, and what he liked to do. He also took us out for lunch to a local place James liked. I've never felt so at home while not at home. We even got haircuts at James' dad's favorite barber. I met James' mother and sisters, and found that they share a lot of gestures and nuances that were just uncanny. It was good, although, terrifyingly sad. I'm so fucking glad Neil was there, dude was a rock.
The day of the funeral and memorial We got to say our final goodbyes, and there was a line of James' next of kin. Starting with his mother, and ending with his youngest sister. His wife sat separately and was laughing and joking before people started showing up. She adopted a somber and sorrowful set, when we locked eyes, I saw the poison, vitriol, and hate she had for me, and anyone else who cared about James. Her eyes looked like that of Bellatrix Lestrange. She didn't cry, once. It hurt to see someone James cared about so much, not care one lick at his loss. She didn't plan anything for this funeral, didn't appoint pallbearers, nothing. Fortunately, me, Neil, another roommate James had--Jesse, and some other close relatives of James, we raised him one last time. Everything was executed by his parents and was done wonderfully. At his burial site, he was given military honors, which he and I would joke as being terribly done, but for the masses, was acceptable. For military ceremonies like this, the next of kin gets the flag. And unfortunately, they were still married at the time of death. Which she received and treated like nothing so much as a burden. James' parents knew how vile she was and STILL invited her to attend a remembrance party in Honor of James. To which she ran off and never attended. This, this is still the easiest part of the entire process.
James parents are trying to file an injunction, but Brenda hasn't even filed the proper paperwork to begin the probate process. So there isn't even anything to file an injunction against! They want to be able to handle his estate, but can't. There's nothing to do, no memories to take. We fear that everything will be repossessed, foreclosed, and she will laugh her way to the bank to cash in on James' demise. I wish he'd had a will, or started the divorce process. I wish even more, that he was still here. For anyone out there who thinks you won't be missed, you will. For those who think no one will notice them gone, you will be noticed. I would rather talk to you for hours, than be at your grave. Please, reach out, ask for help, or just to talk. I'm sorry things get tough, but you have love and support here if you need it. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help, or talk you out of it. I love you man. Til Valhalla.

I recently started working in a funeral home as an allround worker. I have no specific education for it, and I’m getting trained on the job.
Currently I’m mainly doing admin and design, but am also getting trained on preparation and working with the families (no papers needed where I live).
I love it! I love working with the families, I love doing something meaningful, and I especially love making someone’s passing meaningful and loving rather than just painful.
The pay though is similar to unemployment benefits in my country.. That seems insane to me.
I came from an extremely highly paid job, and started doing this because I always wanted to but there’s no way I can do this fulltime at the pay it’s at.
Is the industry really this badly paid? Or is it because I am still training? I’m in Western Europe btw.

It was a warm, lazy afternoon and Renwald's Funeral Home found itself in the middle of a dry spell. There hadn't been any business since Mrs. Anders passed from a stroke a little over a week ago. OwneDirector Tom Renwald had long since gotten caught up on his paperwork and had progressed to some light housekeeping. That morning he had already washed the hearse and tucked it back in it's garage. At the moment he was dusting caskets in the already impeccably tidy display room, mainly for something to do.
He had just leaned into a casket to pluck a piece of lint, and as he stood up he found himself face to face with a fragile appearing elderly gentleman. The man startled Tom, as he hadn't heard the door open. He chalked it up to being 'in the ozone' while performing his mundane task and greeted him with a warm "Hello!" The man standing before him did not reach up to shake his hand, but said "Good afternoon, I would like to see what you have in caskets."
"Of course! We have an excellent selection right here." Tom swept his arm to indicate the array of fine polished caskets arranged smartly throughout the room. The man took his time examining each one, running his frail hands over the lines, and examining each interior. "This one feels very nice." He said of a stunning mahogany model.
"Yes, that's one of our most popular models...very ornate." Tom agreed, then added "I'm sorry, where are my manners? May I offer my condolences?" The man lowered his head in anguish and nodded. "Thank you, it's been quite hard to come to terms with it." Tom nodded as well, then glanced up as he asked softly and respectfully "Are you shopping for your wife today sir?" The man ignored his question and turned his attention back to the casket in question. "Can you tell me, how is this one in terms of comfort?"
Tom's eyes narrowed as he met the man's gaze. "I'm not so sure I understand sir...comfort?" "Yes," the man responded "I don't much care for the one I currently have."

Danielle West? Kate Snyder? Jess Grondin? all confused and suspicious as f. Jess has her fingers in everything, but the other two dont even seem to exist. I genuinely wonder if theyre alive.
Im just curious who's been pooling resources into bearcats theyll never use, for smiling black kid photo ops, and pavlovian conditioning with "candy in a cop vehicle" of sorts, and curious as to why one cannot identify any of the >120 officers by name or number when the info should be publically available.
Someone should keep an eye out on Jess honestly, and where she, or what her money does. She seems to always be the one talking when Portland sh*ts a brick, like the recent effort at discussing the food truck debacle in PPH paper, as if shes trying to justify it, like how somehow PPH did manage to last year even with wild % of people NOT in support of hamstringing local established businesses.
Thats kind of the goal though, in someones confusion: "get rich people here" = "more money for Portland". Its a classic attempt to believe in trickle-down economies, but its just a circle jerk of like 10 real-estate owning business majors who eat at each others high-end restaurants in buildings they own, while also being a major cause of Portlands bleeding of money, and hiding behind the liberal aesthetics of propping up a token foreign chef for the zeitgeists palate.
That or its one of those situations where we attract magazine-reading weirdos (rich bored people or dentists) with the "best place to live" bs year in and out that likely has a marketing cost associated with it at my tax expense.
So we get more and more insufferable flatlanders thinking they found their dream summer home/airbnb, or those same people, but who are also adult children, trying to understand a city, or society still, coming from God-knows-where Montana Bougie Ranch or some nonsense. Its so transparent that their privilege screeched away food trucks from the hill; theyre lost so far in their entitlement and detached living.
Im willing to bet one of them also writes that hideously out-of-touch new Munjoy magazine that is basically porn for them, or wine-mom types what with that "how to throw a dinner party" tome-deaf article (yeah- homeless crisis here- hello?). But sure, just keep being super coastal and un-melanated, like REALLY make it your identity eh?
NotHinG tO sEe HeRe Im jUsT kEePinG bEeS iN a CiTy WiThOuT tElLiNg My NeIGhBoRs! --Anyone in Portland now basically, just put a kombucha in their hands.
Anyway, I digress, and this city isnt liberal or democrat.
Im so sick of seeing forever-in-construction-condo rural workers and bougie elites and hill residents or construction CEOs taking all of portlands money, and moving it to the country, or a socially elite bubble that will invest it elsewhere (cops or landowners or construction oligopolies [cough cough Shaw Bros]) while SOMEONE is overspending on militarized police when you have homeless people dying on the streets in a wave that surpasses at least 40 years of relatively NOT HAVING THAT SH*T AND THE CULTURAL CONFUSION AND INFIGHTING IT CAUSES WHEN THE PROBPEM STARTS IN LOCAL POLITICIANS OR LACK THEREOF IN LIEU OF OLIGOPOLIES AND POLICE STATES.
Oh well, like in the colosseum of old, the landed gentry will watch and cheer as the riot geared up LARPers harass black people trying to protest, as opposed to say, escorting nazis around town to help them commit an assault and hate crime on city hall steps that they got away with because Maine is notoriously violent (being so rural at large, and never reporting anuthing, as police documentation is all but absent in this state historically and now, just ask Jess Grondin 😉) but youd never know since someone keeps paying for magazine awards.

I’m an artist. Not one you’ve heard of, though that may be changing soon. Being an artist is about creation, not about commercial success. I wouldn’t mind getting the occasional acceptance mixed in with the constant stream of rejection, of course, but it’s a process.
A long process. They say that most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead. I’d always hoped that I’d make it slightly before that.
I graduated last year with an MFA from a relatively prestigious institution, along with a dozen other folks who convinced themselves that an insurmountable pile of debt was the best way to jump right into the starving artist lifestyle. We were, as mentioned, a small class, so we all went to each other’s showings and were generally supportive, but I was only really friends with two of the others, Jerrod and Albina.
The three of us ended up rooming together for the last year of the program, and we kept that going post-graduation. Having other folks in the house who look through the mail with the same mix of hope and trepidation is surprisingly helpful. Alone, it’s easy to simply look at everyone else’s filtered life and assume that you’re the only one failing. When you come down in the morning to find your roommate crying in her cornflakes because her last eleven submissions haven’t even gotten the courtesy of a rejection letter, it’s a little easier to see that this is just how life goes sometimes.
One of our favorite Friday night activities was going to local galleries to see who they had on display. There were a few reasons for this. One, it gave us a good idea of what they liked to show, helping us hone our own submissions. Two, it was very cathartic to be catty about what had been picked. Three, a lot of the galleries had free hors d’oeuvres and wine.
I guess four, we liked art, but honestly it was hard to remember that sometimes. Sometimes looking at other people’s finished canvases just made me angry. What made them able to decide that they were done? What made other people agree that they were worth hanging on the wall? What justified the astronomical price tags next to them?
I’m not saying that this was anything but jealousy. I’m just saying that art and I are in a complicated relationship.
About a month ago, we went to a newly-opened gallery, Souhait. It was the usual setup: tall glass windows in front showcasing the art placed strategically on bright white walls within. It had the standard mix of oddly angled separators allowing the patrons to wander slowly through the room and discover the paintings one at a time. Basically it looked like every other gallery, but as it was a new opening it had better wine than most.
I was taking a casual tour of the perimeter when Jerrod appeared at my elbow.
“Hey, congratulations!” he said. “You weren’t going to tell us? I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Oh, yeah, ‘what’ indeed.” He steered me around several corners to where Albina was admiring a painting. “‘There’s a new gallery opening, we should all go, no reason.’ Congrats!”
I stared at the painting in disbelief. It was one of mine.
I was certain that I hadn’t submitted to this gallery. I hadn’t even heard of it until Albina had mentioned that it was opening. I would have remembered receiving a letter of acceptance, and I definitely would have remembered delivering a painting. None of these things had happened.
And yet there my art was on the wall. It had my signature, and my name displayed next to it on a card. I knew the piece. I’d done it two or three years ago. It was good, very representative of my style at the time, but I’d moved on and had stopped trying to get it displayed a while ago. The last I had seen it, it was six or seven canvases deep in a stack of pieces that I had nowhere else to put.
It was fairly obvious that that was not the case now. The proof was on the wall in front of me.
Albina and Jerrod were both praising me, so I just smiled and made vaguely humble comments. I must have submitted it. It wasn’t like someone had broken into our apartment and stolen a single piece of my art. It was both confusing and concerning that I couldn’t recall offering it to this gallery, but it was the only explanation that made sense.
I was still trying to puzzle this out when another familiar piece caught my eye. I nudged Jerrod. “Oh, so I’m the one keeping secrets?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I pointed across the floor. His eyes widened as he saw the same thing I had: one of his paintings neatly framed and prominently displayed.
“I didn’t even know you’d finished that one,” I said. “I swear I saw you working on it like two days ago.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit lost. “I was.”
“How’d you get the gallery to take it before it was even done?”
“Oh my God, look!” said Albina.
In the back corner of the gallery, occupying an entire corner, was a small collection of Albina’s work. It was expertly curated. I’d watched her develop her style for years, and the eight paintings chosen here perfectly encapsulated the entire range. Clusters of people kept gathering in front of them, and I saw more than one slip off to speak to the gallery owner about purchasing a piece.
“Albi, these are amazing,” I told her after we finally managed to get close enough to see them all properly. “This—some of these are absolute perfection. I don’t think I’ve even seen all of them.”
“Seriously, when did you do all of this?” asked Jerrod. “Some of these are definitely new. Unless you have a secret studio you’ve been hiding from us?”
He narrowed his eyes at her in mock suspicion. She laughed, shoving him lightly, but behind her smile I saw the same confusion that I’d heard in Jerrod’s voice, the same that I’d felt myself. None of us knew that our work was going to be on display here. Something was very odd.
We didn’t talk about it then. Oddity or not, our art and our names were on display, and there were free drinks to toast with. We refilled our glasses, congratulated each other effusively, wandered the gallery for a bit and then did it all again. By the time we were walking home, all concerns had vanished from all of our minds. We were successful! We could figure out how and why later.
The next morning, Albina was dead.
I woke up late with a hangover. Jerrod woke up later, looking even rougher than I did. There was nothing resembling breakfast anywhere in the apartment, so we sat and sipped our coffee silently. Albina’s door was open, and I think we both hoped that she’d gone out to get bagels or something and that we would shortly be provided for.
She wasn’t answering texts, and Jerrod and I were just starting to get concerned when there was a knock at the door. We opened it to find a policeman asking if we knew Albina Shevchenko, and if we had contact information for her family, and if we could come identify the body.
It had been a hit and run. She’d been dead by the time witnesses had gotten to her. No one had seen the car’s license plate. The police didn’t even pretend that there was a chance of justice.
They gave us her effects, including what remained of a bag of bagels. Somehow that was the worst part for me. She’d gone out to get something to celebrate with us. It made us complicit.
At the funeral, the priest spoke about her giving spirit and her wonderful personality, but most of all he spoke about her massive artistic talent. He went on at length about what she could have created if she had not had her span cut short. The entire gathering nodded along with him.
Jerrod and I exchanged looks. It wasn’t that he was wrong. She was amazing, and eventually the world would have known about her. It’s just that that hadn’t happened yet. The three of us were, as far as we could tell, the only ones really aware of how much potential we had. If everyone knew this about her, why had she been scraping by in a dingy apartment with us, trying to get enough money together to buy more art supplies?
“We should go back to Souhait,” Jerrod said after the funeral. “The gallery owner probably doesn’t know. We’ll need to get her pieces back before he trashes them when she doesn’t respond.”
Our trip was unnecessary. The gallery owner had Albina’s obituary blown up to large size and prominently displayed next to a tremendous collection of her work. It covered entire walls of the gallery, each piece with an explanatory card discussing when and why she had painted it. Where the prices had been on the cards, every single one was marked “SOLD.”
I was looking around for the owner to ask where he was sending the money when Jerrod grabbed my arm.
“Look,” he said, half-whispering.
Arranged in a neat circle on one wall were a dozen of his paintings.
“I don’t know that I want to be on display here,” he said. He sounded frightened.
“Then take them back. They’re your pieces.”
“Are they?” He pointed. “I never finished that one. That’s how I wanted it to look, but I couldn’t get it right. I swear I never completed it. And there! I never painted that. I thought of it, I knew it in my head, but I have never put brush to canvas for it. Not even to start it.
“How could they have any of this? How could anyone?” His voice was rapidly rising toward hysteria.
“Hey, let’s get you out of here,” I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll come back tomorrow and get them taken down if you want. We’re all running on fumes right now.”
Privately, I thought again about the piece that Souhait had of mine. I’d never gotten around to looking for it at the apartment. Things had been a blur since Albi’s death. I wondered how this gallery had so much of our stuff. I wondered what else had been taken.
Back at home, Jerrod rummaged through his artwork, hunting for something.
“See?” he said finally, holding up a canvas. “I told you. It isn’t done.”
He was holding up something that could have been an early attempt at one of the pieces we’d seen in the gallery. It was the same general idea, but the colors weren’t right and the composition didn’t gel. Also, as he’d said, it was clearly incomplete. Parts of the canvas still showed through in some areas. It wasn’t what was hanging on the walls.
“I told you,” he repeated. “How can they have art I never finished?”
I tried to get him to calm down. I sat him down on the couch and poured him a drink. We’d go back in the morning, I said. We’d find the owner. We’d sort all of this out. It was a problem for tomorrow, not for this evening. Not right after a funeral.
I thought I’d gotten him to agree with me. I poured us both another drink. Somewhere in the middle of that one, I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke up, Jerrod was gone.
Just one of those things, the police said. Wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been mugged. His credit cards and phone were gone. He’d bled out in the street. He was almost halfway to Souhait.
I went there to get his art taken down, like he’d wanted. They’d already expanded the collection. His photo smiled down at me from the main wall, next to an obituary lauding his talent, his bold innovation, his novelty. The rest of the gallery was plastered with his work. I recognized some of the paintings he’d been rifling through at the apartment the previous day. Most had already been sold.
And on the back wall, in a small but well-lit section by themselves, hung six of my paintings. The one that I’d seen the first night was there, along with two others I was particularly proud of. If I’d been asked to pick three pieces to best represent who I was and who I had been as an artist, those might have been them.
The other three bore my signature, but I did not paint them. Not yet. Like Jerrod, I knew the subject matter in them. I had thought of them, conceived them, and even made some attempts to put them to canvas, but they had never come out like I’d imagined. I’d set them aside to try again later, when I had better supplies, when I was better.
Yet here they hung, complete and perfect, exactly as I had pictured them. It was a triumph of my craft.
It was beautiful to see what I could become, given enough time.
It’s just too bad that I don’t have it.
Most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead.

I’m an artist. Not one you’ve heard of, though that may be changing soon. Being an artist is about creation, not about commercial success. I wouldn’t mind getting the occasional acceptance mixed in with the constant stream of rejection, of course, but it’s a process.
A long process. They say that most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead. I’d always hoped that I’d make it slightly before that.
I graduated last year with an MFA from a relatively prestigious institution, along with a dozen other folks who convinced themselves that an insurmountable pile of debt was the best way to jump right into the starving artist lifestyle. We were, as mentioned, a small class, so we all went to each other’s showings and were generally supportive, but I was only really friends with two of the others, Jerrod and Albina.
The three of us ended up rooming together for the last year of the program, and we kept that going post-graduation. Having other folks in the house who look through the mail with the same mix of hope and trepidation is surprisingly helpful. Alone, it’s easy to simply look at everyone else’s filtered life and assume that you’re the only one failing. When you come down in the morning to find your roommate crying in her cornflakes because her last eleven submissions haven’t even gotten the courtesy of a rejection letter, it’s a little easier to see that this is just how life goes sometimes.
One of our favorite Friday night activities was going to local galleries to see who they had on display. There were a few reasons for this. One, it gave us a good idea of what they liked to show, helping us hone our own submissions. Two, it was very cathartic to be catty about what had been picked. Three, a lot of the galleries had free hors d’oeuvres and wine.
I guess four, we liked art, but honestly it was hard to remember that sometimes. Sometimes looking at other people’s finished canvases just made me angry. What made them able to decide that they were done? What made other people agree that they were worth hanging on the wall? What justified the astronomical price tags next to them?
I’m not saying that this was anything but jealousy. I’m just saying that art and I are in a complicated relationship.
About a month ago, we went to a newly-opened gallery, Souhait. It was the usual setup: tall glass windows in front showcasing the art placed strategically on bright white walls within. It had the standard mix of oddly angled separators allowing the patrons to wander slowly through the room and discover the paintings one at a time. Basically it looked like every other gallery, but as it was a new opening it had better wine than most.
I was taking a casual tour of the perimeter when Jerrod appeared at my elbow.
“Hey, congratulations!” he said. “You weren’t going to tell us? I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Oh, yeah, ‘what’ indeed.” He steered me around several corners to where Albina was admiring a painting. “‘There’s a new gallery opening, we should all go, no reason.’ Congrats!”
I stared at the painting in disbelief. It was one of mine.
I was certain that I hadn’t submitted to this gallery. I hadn’t even heard of it until Albina had mentioned that it was opening. I would have remembered receiving a letter of acceptance, and I definitely would have remembered delivering a painting. None of these things had happened.
And yet there my art was on the wall. It had my signature, and my name displayed next to it on a card. I knew the piece. I’d done it two or three years ago. It was good, very representative of my style at the time, but I’d moved on and had stopped trying to get it displayed a while ago. The last I had seen it, it was six or seven canvases deep in a stack of pieces that I had nowhere else to put.
It was fairly obvious that that was not the case now. The proof was on the wall in front of me.
Albina and Jerrod were both praising me, so I just smiled and made vaguely humble comments. I must have submitted it. It wasn’t like someone had broken into our apartment and stolen a single piece of my art. It was both confusing and concerning that I couldn’t recall offering it to this gallery, but it was the only explanation that made sense.
I was still trying to puzzle this out when another familiar piece caught my eye. I nudged Jerrod. “Oh, so I’m the one keeping secrets?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I pointed across the floor. His eyes widened as he saw the same thing I had: one of his paintings neatly framed and prominently displayed.
“I didn’t even know you’d finished that one,” I said. “I swear I saw you working on it like two days ago.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit lost. “I was.”
“How’d you get the gallery to take it before it was even done?”
“Oh my God, look!” said Albina.
In the back corner of the gallery, occupying an entire corner, was a small collection of Albina’s work. It was expertly curated. I’d watched her develop her style for years, and the eight paintings chosen here perfectly encapsulated the entire range. Clusters of people kept gathering in front of them, and I saw more than one slip off to speak to the gallery owner about purchasing a piece.
“Albi, these are amazing,” I told her after we finally managed to get close enough to see them all properly. “This—some of these are absolute perfection. I don’t think I’ve even seen all of them.”
“Seriously, when did you do all of this?” asked Jerrod. “Some of these are definitely new. Unless you have a secret studio you’ve been hiding from us?”
He narrowed his eyes at her in mock suspicion. She laughed, shoving him lightly, but behind her smile I saw the same confusion that I’d heard in Jerrod’s voice, the same that I’d felt myself. None of us knew that our work was going to be on display here. Something was very odd.
We didn’t talk about it then. Oddity or not, our art and our names were on display, and there were free drinks to toast with. We refilled our glasses, congratulated each other effusively, wandered the gallery for a bit and then did it all again. By the time we were walking home, all concerns had vanished from all of our minds. We were successful! We could figure out how and why later.
The next morning, Albina was dead.
I woke up late with a hangover. Jerrod woke up later, looking even rougher than I did. There was nothing resembling breakfast anywhere in the apartment, so we sat and sipped our coffee silently. Albina’s door was open, and I think we both hoped that she’d gone out to get bagels or something and that we would shortly be provided for.
She wasn’t answering texts, and Jerrod and I were just starting to get concerned when there was a knock at the door. We opened it to find a policeman asking if we knew Albina Shevchenko, and if we had contact information for her family, and if we could come identify the body.
It had been a hit and run. She’d been dead by the time witnesses had gotten to her. No one had seen the car’s license plate. The police didn’t even pretend that there was a chance of justice.
They gave us her effects, including what remained of a bag of bagels. Somehow that was the worst part for me. She’d gone out to get something to celebrate with us. It made us complicit.
At the funeral, the priest spoke about her giving spirit and her wonderful personality, but most of all he spoke about her massive artistic talent. He went on at length about what she could have created if she had not had her span cut short. The entire gathering nodded along with him.
Jerrod and I exchanged looks. It wasn’t that he was wrong. She was amazing, and eventually the world would have known about her. It’s just that that hadn’t happened yet. The three of us were, as far as we could tell, the only ones really aware of how much potential we had. If everyone knew this about her, why had she been scraping by in a dingy apartment with us, trying to get enough money together to buy more art supplies?
“We should go back to Souhait,” Jerrod said after the funeral. “The gallery owner probably doesn’t know. We’ll need to get her pieces back before he trashes them when she doesn’t respond.”
Our trip was unnecessary. The gallery owner had Albina’s obituary blown up to large size and prominently displayed next to a tremendous collection of her work. It covered entire walls of the gallery, each piece with an explanatory card discussing when and why she had painted it. Where the prices had been on the cards, every single one was marked “SOLD.”
I was looking around for the owner to ask where he was sending the money when Jerrod grabbed my arm.
“Look,” he said, half-whispering.
Arranged in a neat circle on one wall were a dozen of his paintings.
“I don’t know that I want to be on display here,” he said. He sounded frightened.
“Then take them back. They’re your pieces.”
“Are they?” He pointed. “I never finished that one. That’s how I wanted it to look, but I couldn’t get it right. I swear I never completed it. And there! I never painted that. I thought of it, I knew it in my head, but I have never put brush to canvas for it. Not even to start it.
“How could they have any of this? How could anyone?” His voice was rapidly rising toward hysteria.
“Hey, let’s get you out of here,” I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll come back tomorrow and get them taken down if you want. We’re all running on fumes right now.”
Privately, I thought again about the piece that Souhait had of mine. I’d never gotten around to looking for it at the apartment. Things had been a blur since Albi’s death. I wondered how this gallery had so much of our stuff. I wondered what else had been taken.
Back at home, Jerrod rummaged through his artwork, hunting for something.
“See?” he said finally, holding up a canvas. “I told you. It isn’t done.”
He was holding up something that could have been an early attempt at one of the pieces we’d seen in the gallery. It was the same general idea, but the colors weren’t right and the composition didn’t gel. Also, as he’d said, it was clearly incomplete. Parts of the canvas still showed through in some areas. It wasn’t what was hanging on the walls.
“I told you,” he repeated. “How can they have art I never finished?”
I tried to get him to calm down. I sat him down on the couch and poured him a drink. We’d go back in the morning, I said. We’d find the owner. We’d sort all of this out. It was a problem for tomorrow, not for this evening. Not right after a funeral.
I thought I’d gotten him to agree with me. I poured us both another drink. Somewhere in the middle of that one, I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke up, Jerrod was gone.
Just one of those things, the police said. Wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been mugged. His credit cards and phone were gone. He’d bled out in the street. He was almost halfway to Souhait.
I went there to get his art taken down, like he’d wanted. They’d already expanded the collection. His photo smiled down at me from the main wall, next to an obituary lauding his talent, his bold innovation, his novelty. The rest of the gallery was plastered with his work. I recognized some of the paintings he’d been rifling through at the apartment the previous day. Most had already been sold.
And on the back wall, in a small but well-lit section by themselves, hung six of my paintings. The one that I’d seen the first night was there, along with two others I was particularly proud of. If I’d been asked to pick three pieces to best represent who I was and who I had been as an artist, those might have been them.
The other three bore my signature, but I did not paint them. Not yet. Like Jerrod, I knew the subject matter in them. I had thought of them, conceived them, and even made some attempts to put them to canvas, but they had never come out like I’d imagined. I’d set them aside to try again later, when I had better supplies, when I was better.
Yet here they hung, complete and perfect, exactly as I had pictured them. It was a triumph of my craft.
It was beautiful to see what I could become, given enough time.
It’s just too bad that I don’t have it.
Most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead.
X

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Our affordable funeral service pricing for this package includes everything mentioned above. Please keep in mind that your family will be responsible for additional expenses like the casket, grave liner and monument. If you have any questions about our funeral service pricing or payment options, a member of our staff would be happy to assist you.
Our caring and professional staff would be happy to meet with you and discuss the different packages we have available. From there, we will work with you to personalize the funeral arrangements and pay tribute to the deceased with dignity and respect.
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Celebration of Life Services

More and more families are choosing to hold ceremonies that celebrate the life and personality of their loved one. A celebration of life ceremony acts as an alternative to a traditional funeral ceremony. It achieves the same purposes as a traditional funeral by gathering family and friends to pay tribute to the deceased. A celebration of life has a more uplifting atmosphere that reflects on positive stories and memories that involved your loved one. The major benefit of a celebration of life is that it allows you the freedom to best display your loved one’s personality, values, and passions, in whichever way you see fit.
The best way to start planning a celebration of life is to begin doing so while your loved one is still with you. This way you have the chance to ask them, “how do you want to be remembered?”, “what are you most passionate about?”, and “what would you like your celebration of life to include?”. This way you are not left guessing what your loved one would’ve wanted when it comes time to plan the celebration of life service.Contact Our Funeral Home in Clarksville, Tennessee
McReynolds-Nave & Larson Funeral Home
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Address: 4639 West Main St. Erin, TN 37061 Phone: 931-289-4277
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I started my reread too early and I’ve been bouncing off the walls waiting for the final entry into the series. So I thought I’d recap on our shared journey and bring us all together in harmony.
Although we all know what happened to Harmony.
From the bottom up:

#11 Skysworn

It’s a little weird putting this last since it has one of my favorite openings in the series, but really just because it’s last doesn’t mean it’s bad. It does a good amount of work introducing stuff, we get the phoenix and redmoon, and the Akura clan, Mercy joins the gang, Ruby gets yoinked out, Oz’s Marble gets revealed, it’s not that stuff doesn’t happen, it’s just there’s no sense of purpose in the book. After the Jai Long fight, but after that the only real goal in the book is Yerin wanting to fight Redmoon hall, and then they don’t. All of our main characters are totally sidelined and we’re all sitting around waiting for ghostwater. Even though there’s great individual scenes, it just sort of meanders for the last two thirds of the book so number 11.
Best parts: Jai Daishou’s quest for revenge is seriously one of my favorite bits. Also Lindon just smashing the kid for the Kotai clan. After three books of Lindon hiding and fawning, seeing him go against someone on his own level for once is such a rewarding payoff. He needs a shell though.

#10 Reaper

This is my Skysworn problem all over again. One of the best endings in the series, but it ends a book that kind of wanders around a bit. I don’t mind the dungeon crawl but it gets a little repetitive for me as they go room to room without really giving character payoffs. It’s good to see the evolution of the dynamic between Eithan and Lindon/Yerin, but that change happened over the last two books. Nothing really shifts in the group dynamic and all the accomplishments feel incidental. Lindon makes a big deal about not leaving anyone behind and then immediately is like “Psych!” But also everyone leaves in order to help out in the Valley and they don’t. In fact the whole war in the Sacred Valley feels pretty. . . .meaningless. Like did anything really happen there in the first place? And are we caring about Jai Long or not? It’s nice to see Yerin and Lindon relax for a bit and the Twin Stars sect is fun, but it feels like not quite the right amount of it to be totally satisfying.
Everyone just feels underused. Mercy has always been a few levels behind the gang but managed to contribute important emotional intelligence and insights, here she just feels wasted. Yerin gets some fine slashy slashy bits, but nothing really challenges her this book. Dross’s bits probably are more fun on audiobook, but these personalities kinda grate on me. Also knocked down some extra points for the lack of Fisher Gesha. Dreadgod’s Gesha is right, you have all this time off and a broken Dross and you don’t stop in for a chat? Even Lindon’s advancement feels a little weird with Reigan Shen just scattering out natural treasures for the ambience. Meh.
I actually had this ranked higher but while writing this I had to bring it down. There’s some cool fights, but it just feels like grinding for XP until the end. The Eithan/Shen showdown is great and again the ending is spectacular. But otherwise not as satisfying as the average book.
Best Parts: The Destroyer Has Come (YOU KIDDING ME!!!!!). Also “Let him kick you.”

#9 Unsouled

Unsouled usually gets ranked near the bottom for folks and I really wanted to rank it higher, but it’s hard to compete with the full gang. It’s definitely a book that I need to tell people they have to get past the halfway point, so I suppose that’s a point against it. But also what a great turn in the middle. Will does such a good job setting us up for the generic fantasy genre before going “Oh you thought these were the stakes? A Kid Who’s DifferentTM needs to impress the schools in the Sacred Valley? F*** those stakes. The WORLD IS SO MUCH BIGGER” And honestly the ways he absolutely massacres those tropes are so good. When he joins heaven’s glory and they set him up with rivals that do not matter and months long objectives we never even bother with. The series would not work if we didn’t spend this time with the Unsouled Lindon and watching an actual interesting protagonist cheat to win and beat up kids and grovel his way to survival. It also does such a good job introducing us to the theme of there’s always a bigger pond. It helps make each step of the journey feel that much bigger and more awe inspiring because in this book Will made us feel like these hillbilly antics were actually powerful and impressive feats of the sacred arts. Great intro, lots of good character stuff, bottom of the ranks. Also looking back at it, how did a bunch of jades kill a sage?
Best Parts: Lindon in the Ancestor’s Tomb watches Elder Whitehall enter and look around for traps and feels his first bit of pride in the series. It’s a small moment but it sticks with me. Also Yerin when she enters and is all “The Disciple greets her master.” Also them robbing the lesser treasure hall.

#8 Soulsmith

7 and 8 flip flop a lot for me depending on my mood. Soulsmith is going here today because I think it takes the longest to get going. Besides that though there’s a lot to love in this one. Eithan and Gesha get really terrific, cinematic introductions and there’s a great sense of pacing and stakes in this one. Everything feels tough for the ol’ baby-head man and we get to see both the strengths and limitations of his scheming. Kral/Jai Long are also a really nice set of complex, relatable antagonists. I always appreciate how Will will let you get to know the bad guys and see them as the heroes of their own stories (but just messed up enough to cheer their deaths). Despite the slow start this book is always better than I remember and has a lot of heart in it. It is funny on this read seeing how Ethan is at the beginning. We think about how much Cradle changed him, but really it was Yerin and Lindon. That’s really fun storytelling.
Best Parts: Lindon advancing vs the Sandviper kid advancing sequence is something I always think about when I look back at the series.

#7 Dreadgod

This book slaps. Everyone gets a good amount of spotlight time and the Silent King is a great villain (RIP). On this reread I don’t mind the Jai Long death as much, but I still would’ve liked a scene with Kelsa and Jai Chen afterwards. This end to Jai Long arc kind of makes me wonder about the amount of time we’ve spent on his redemption arc, but if someone has to pay the piper, I’m glad it wasn’t little blue. The rest of the crew really gets to shine even with Eithan off world. The dynamics that have grown over the course of the series are really humming by this point and it’s nice to see different pairings. The heists are fun and the Redmoon Hall stuff is great. So why isn’t this higher on the list? Well Mercy feels a little too much damsel in distress. Once the Silent King is dead, the rest of the book feels a little lower stakes. Even with all the monarchs against the gang it doesn’t feel like there’s too much danger in that last fight. Also again needs more Fisher Gesha. \
Best Parts: That silent king battle is so good. Also the dreadnought city stuff is good. Basically anything to do with the Silent King. “Pew pew”

#6 Uncrowned

Just a few years after the Seven Year Festival Lindon takes the competition stage again. Imagine what he could do to the foundation level Sacred Valley 10 year olds now. These Tournament arcs are always a super fun part of Shonen Animes. And it is a great time the whole way through. Do characters learn things and change? Not so much. But does it have a scene where Lindon absolutely wrecks the Akura Clan’s top underlords? Absolutely. The book does such a good job building up Sophanaroth as the tournament’s boogeyman. That last Yerin/Lindon fight is everything. It’s a break from the serious work of the other books which is why it’s out of the top five, but man I could read the heck out of it.
Best Parts: Anything with Akura Fury, that opening scene with Lindon being tested followed by Yerin vs Eithan.
Odd Part: Sort of feel like this book’s emphasis on Yerin sensing the Way and Lindon not being able to is less misdirection and more…just kinda weird. Like…did Will change his mind? Coulda set Lindon up a little bit and would have made the beginning of Wintersteel feel a little more natural. But eh, no biggie.

#5 Ghostwater

Okay, okay, put away your pitchforks. I know this is a #1 for a lot of people. I get it. I’m not going to tell you that you’re wrong. But the thing I love about the series is the great interplay between the characters and they’re all separated here. As a Lindon solo-quest it’s terrific: He does steroids, he does homework, he hangs out in a library, and he goes fishing. It’s great.
My main complaints: Harmony as a villain is a little flat. Every book in this series does a great job setting up the antagonists as fully realized characters, but here Ekeri gets that spotlight and Harmony is just sort of brooding ominously in the distance. Mercy and Yerin spend most of the book on the sidelines hiding. The Endless sword stuff we get with Yerin is nice, but it would’ve been nice to have them bond a little more.
So I know you’re wondering “Hey, Max, if you have so many complaints why is it ranked so high?” and the answer is simple: DROSSSSSSS BAAAAAAAAABY. We also have Fisher Gesha blasting emissaries out of the sky.
More importantly we see Lindon pushed against the ropes and for the first time relying on his own strength and ability to get out of it. Will had such great self-control in letting Lindon be terrible and weak for so long before he gets his legs under him and we get to see him level up not just through pounding the juice, but through his own hard work and ingenuity. It’s such a satisfying chapter in Lindon’s story.
Best part: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I think I put my book down and screamed.

#4 Bloodline

When I first read this book it was mid-pandemic and I hated it. Well, “Hate” might be a strong word but it was tough to get through. Now with a little distance I can recognize that I felt that way because Will did such an amazing job capturing so much of the mood of going home and dealing with folks not taking the whole thing seriously. Look I don’t want to make the comment thread political here, so sub out whatever thing you hate about going home that’s it. On this reread I just had to respect Will for the way he wove it into iteration 110. I think everyone had an idea of what it would be like for Lindon to go home and I don’t think anyone totally expected what we got.
There’s clear stakes, a huge pressing danger, really keen emotional cuts, and the book just felt completely unpredictable. We got to see Ziel and Mercy fight off some of their personal demons and we got to see Lindon really deal with failure in a deeply personal way. The writing in this book is some of the best in the series and it really drove home the sense of scale seeing places that loomed so large in Unsouled looking so dismal and small in this book. A lot of heart in this one, brah.
Best Part: “No. This is the path of the White Fox.”

#3 Underlord

This is probably the cleanest bit of storytelling in the series. Yerin needs to advance or die and the Yerdon (Lirin?) dynamic finally gets a chance to develop. This book just has a lot of heart and emotional weight and a great buy-in. I feel pretty bad for our Seishen kingdom antagonists in this one, which I think means Will did a good job in setting up their rivalry. Although the gang is often in mortal peril, it never feels as dangerous as it does here. I think Yerin’s character has really evolved in this book and seeing her vulnerable without losing her identity, that’s tough to do. Seeing Lindon really find his post-ghostwater swagger is also great to watch. Everyone really feels well developed here. We’re at peak Mercy, and her advancement in this book is the most compelling part of her arc so far. I think that this is also a really important Eithan book. I feel like it is the first book where he starts engaging with the team as friends rather than pawns in his celestial chess game. He’s warm and human and has some really funny bits. Orthos’s departure gets me every time too. The twist with the Akura team selections got me so good when I first read it. I have nothing bad to say about it. Premium Cradle.
Best Parts: Lindon opening his void-key in the vault. Eithan discovering Dross. And it’s a small moment but Charity losing her concentration as the gang runs into the portal during her speech is so good.

#2: Blackflame

The dragon advances. I remember the exact moment in this series when I started being a Cradle ambassador and forcing all my friends to read these books. It was Sandviper Kral’s funeral scene. It was here where I really understood how deeply Will understood the conventions in this genre and how good he is at flipping them on their heads. I was cheering on the book two villain after ten pages. This book beginning to end reinforces how unusually good this series is and how good Will is at letting any character have the spotlight. You could make the case that this is anyone’s book:
In other books Yerin might check the box as “Tough girl character” but here she has genuine pathos and real protagonist issues to work through. Learning to let go of her master and forge her on path ahead? Yaaaaaas (uncrowned) queen.
Jai Long could have been a scary forgettable MCU villain, but he really has agency and purpose and reading it from his perspective you kinda get it. Now has the ancestor’s spear and is going to finally restore his honor and capture the avatar destroy the Jai Clan only to be caught by Jai Daishou and forced into his service? Compelling af.
Little Blue could have just been an amorphous little blob in a terrarium the whole series, but in this book she…gets tiny little legs and stuff.
But really it’s an Eithan book. In other stories he’s just Master Roshi, the wacky comic relief mentor figure, but this legitimately is his story. The main conflict is his political war with the Jai Clan and the real climax is his fight against Jai Daishou. Yes he’s a big goofy trickster, but we see the cracks in his armor through his dynamic (and unexpected vulnerability) around Cassius. We get to see him sweat a little. We get little flashes of the person he becomes over the series. In Will’s blog, he talks about how this story started as a little short about the Janitor who is the embodiment of death, and you can see how much he loves writing this guy come across in this book. It’s also just cool and fun throughout. Plus it has a majestic turtle in it.
Best Parts: “I’ll tell your Remnant.”

#1 Wintersteel

I will fight you all day about this. ALL the character dynamics are dialed up to 11 in this one. We get the best development in Yerin and Lindon’s relationship, Eithan and Yerin and Lindon’s relationship, Mercy and Malice’s relationship, Mercy and Lindon’s dynamic, Yerin and Ruby’s dynamic. Just every strand on the spiderweb of human connection is vibing real hard. Because we’re closer to the end of the tournament and penance is hanging over the results the competition feels higher stakes, we have a dreadgod stirring, big political webs, dates! Everything.
I have a friend reading this right now and she’s texting me every 2 hours with an all caps: “THIS IS ABOUT POINTS” or “HOLY SH*T EITHAN’S FIGHT!!!!” Every two hours. And she’s right to do so.
It’s just hit after hit of stuff you didn’t know you needed. Everything is paying off, Yerin’s blood shadow, Eithan’s self-control, Lindon’s hunger.
I can’t. I can’t even.
Best Parts: Eithan vs Sha Miara, “I wanted to see the look on your face,” “I’m going to punch a hole in the sky,” the Points Sage, Ruby petting the bunny. Heck this whole book is the best part.
Anyway, since this is about points, upvote before you completely blast me in the comments.

Public opinion of TriMet's decisions have been pretty mixed, mostly because TriMet's decisions are so convoluted that they can be a real challenge to understand. In reality, Metro and Portlanders need to have a bigger civic conversation about the future of TriMet, looking at the big picture. We have 3 looming existential crises of TriMet to be concerned about that are bigger than revenue dips, crime, or homeless people.
Civic leaders and the public are focused on a quick "fix" for TriMet revenue drops - even though we've seen this coming for a long time, it's very predictable that TriMet's Board of Directors acts at the last minute. Also, very predictably, TriMet's Board opted for a fare increase because over the previous 20 years that's been a go-to answer to every problem (except for that one time they killed Fareless Square). The politically appointed boards of TriMet and Metro lack the unique specialized knowledge of the issues I'll bring up here. If TriMet knows about these larger issues, they're obviously burring it from public view. In the short term, increasing fares is like putting fresh paint on a house that's on fire; in this situation, that paint is HIGHLY flammable.
First - fare hikes as a tactic is a brain-dead move. Just the most utterly stupid and self-sabotaging response to a looming budget shortfall. I'm dwelling on this because it illustrates their terrible decision-making, which is functional proof they have no idea what they're doing. Some of the core reasons for this:

• Increasing fares reduces utilization. Higher cost means fewer people ride, which will decrease the ridership revenue. It will also marginally increase the number of people who won't pay (funny story, some of those who don't pay actually can't afford to). TriMet isn't a monopoly or inelastic service, and plenty of other choices exist that didn't exist 20 years ago: an actual bike share, scooters, electric bikes, UbeLyft, shared vehicles, and more bike paths. Before the pandemic, it was common that I would bus into downtown for work and then take a Lyft home because it wasn't all that expensive, like $8 more than a bus ride - TriMet's price increases make a system that wasn't very competitive simply less compelling.
  
• Across Portland we need to go through a process of austerity and downsizing government. I absolutely support Wheeler putting a pause on rate increases, but for God's sake, we have far too much largesse in every layer of government. If you need to learn what I'm talking about, read my old article on Parks & Rec. So many divisions/agencies have doubled their staff while reducing service levels. It's bonkers. Cutting throats needs to be an imperative. This is because the great majority of public sector employees in Oregon and Portland are incompetent, redundant, and only exist because Oregon and Portland have been reluctant to use automation. And I don't mean the cutting-edge AI stuff, I'm talking about people who still handle business processes as if they're paper forms. I could tell so many stories from my professional experience - but you'll have to take my word for it for now: culling this bureaucracy is the right move, and until there's a significant downsizing, the political class is taking none of the financial crisis or cost of living situation seriously.
  
• TriMet's operating budget/revenue is primarily Payroll Taxes, not passenger revenue. About 20-30% of TriMet's budget comes from people buying fares, whereas the bulk of money TriMet needs comes from payroll taxes that businesses pay directly. Because of this, transit activists (including myself) have been proponents of increasing the payroll taxes marginally to make TriMet free for riders. Of course, fareless transit comes with a wide variety of new and different problems (that's an article for another time). Still, when you understand that only a sliver of revenue comes from fares, increasing the fare simply results in a marginal increase in revenue. The much bigger problem is going to businesses investing outside of Metro, and changing workforces that 1) won't pay payroll taxes reliably, 2) don't need people to go into the office. Think about the longer-term game here: is TriMet's board going to increase fares as utilization drops and payroll taxes continually diminish? (See my point above about how their default answer is "yes" because it's the only politically expedient answer.)
  

Reading comments about the fare hikes, most of the public thinks TriMet is dealing with a safety or utilization issue. Both of these are 100% true: soft-on-crime progressives have wholly obliterated the working class perception of TriMet safety - there are so many different ways this has happened, but we should thank so many people in the media and political class: Ana del Rocio's crying wolf about racism in fare inspections (and the media entertaining it), or Mike Schmidt deinstitutionalizing of the justice system, or Legislature's inability to act on the massive mental health crisis and drug addiction crisis in Oregon. No matter the underlying cause, we have a system where deranged violent mentally ill tweakers can be disruptive on the train, but working-class people face a $250 fine if they can't afford a $2.50 ($2.80) ticket. TriMet is less safe, especially the light rail and bus lines. We could hypothetically talk about various policy and infrastructure changes, such as turnstiles and security guards - but pragmatically, this won't do shit when our society has adopted a philosophy of transforming the urban core into an open-air insane asylum and opened the doors to the prisons. This safety issue is well beyond TriMet's scope, and even if there was consensus among TriMet and Metro to solve this, the entire justice system and Legislature is still broken.

Fare Hikes and Utilization is the Red Herring - Let's talk about TriMet's future

In reality, multiple design choices made decades ago set us up for failure. But we also have to thank brain-dead progressive lunatics and corrupt politicos who have steered our transit decision-making into the ground.
There are three specific issues I'm going to talk about, with each becoming more consequential and disastrous for TriMet:

• Hub and Spoke Design and the need for a redesign of the entire system to fit new commuting/transit patterns
  
• Portland Light Rail's short cars are a capacity problem not worth the price tag to fix
  
• Autonomous vehicles are here, and it's just going to get worse for TriMet
  

The strategic design of TriMet's system is broken, and it's been broken before.

If you looked at a map of TriMet's bus and rail system, you'd see a design pattern often referred to as a "Radial Design" or sometimes a "Hub And Spoke" design. The Hub and Spoke strategy is building our transit system around centralized locations to connect to other routes. For Portland the idea is to go downtown (or sometimes a Park and Ride) where you can connect to your next destination. This is why the majority of bus routes and all the max routes go downtown, to our Transit Mall and Pioneer Square.
Downtown planning was a smart idea in the 1960s when it was coupled with Main Street economic theory and prototype urban development zones - all of this wrapped up in the 1972 Downtown Plan policy. During these decades, the primary economic idea of urban revitalization was that downtown cores could provide better business climates and shopping districts that amplify economic activity synergistically. In other words, packing all the office jobs and luxury shopping in one area is good for workers, business, and civic planning.
All very smart ideas in yester-year, so TriMet became focused on serving the downtown business community myopically. This myopia became so paramount that it was considered illegitimate (actually taboo, borderline illegal) if you used a Park & Ride facility to park and NOT ride downtown. Amanda Fritz once explained that we couldn't expand Barbur Transit Center because that would result in students parking at Barbur Transit Center and riding the bus to PCC Sylvania. This view implies that TriMet exists only to service downtown workers, not the students, not the impoverished mom needing to go to a grocery store.
How does TriMet's hub and spoke design represent its purpose?
Portland's unspoken rule of transit philosophy is that jobs pay for the system (remember, business payroll taxes pay for most of it), so TriMet should be focused on serving people utilizing it for their job - employers pay for it, and they get value out of it. But this is both unspoken (never said aloud) and largely unobserved. The whole idea of TriMet as a social service to serve low-income people, to help impoverished people - well, those ideas were just lukewarm political rhetoric that is tossed out as soon as some Undesirable with tattered clothing reeking of cigarettes gets aboard - then Portlanders jump right back "this is for workers only!" Sadly, there hasn't ever been a public consensus of why TriMet exists because I could equally argue that TriMet's purpose isn't serving the working class; it's actually vehicle emissions reductions - but here, too, reality contradicts that this is the purpose for why we operate TriMet. TriMet's real purpose seems to be "Spend money on lofty capital projects" and if we want to be cynical about it, we can elaborate "…because large capital projects enable grift, embezzlement, and inflating property values for developers."
We haven't always depended upon a hub and spoke design. A great article from Jarrett Walker written in 2010 on his Human Transit blog explains in "The Power and Pleasure of Grids"

Why aren't all frequent networks grids? The competing impulse is the radial network impulse, which says: "We have one downtown. Everyone is going there, so just run everything to there." Most networks start out radial, but some later transition to more of a grid form, often with compromises in which a grid pattern of routes is distorted around downtown so that many parallel routes converge there. You can see this pattern in many cities, Portland for example. Many of the lines extending north and east out of the city center form elements of a grid, but converge on the downtown. Many other major routes (numbered in the 70s in Portland's system) do not go downtown, but instead complete the grid pattern. This balance between grid and radial patterns was carefully constructed in 1982, replacing an old network in which almost all routes went downtown.

Over the years the grid pattern was neglected in favor of a downtown-focused investment strategy. To a real degree it made practical sense: that's where the jobs were. But again, this is the presumption that TriMet and Mass Transit ought to service workers first, and there's not much consensus on that. But while we can't decide on TriMet's purpose, we can absolutely agree on one important thing: Downtown is dead.
No 5-star hotel is going to fix it. (As of writing, I'm not even convinced that this mafia-connected bamboozle of public fraud will open.) No "tough-on-crime" DA to replace Mike Schmidt, like Nathan Vasquez, will fix downtown. It's not JUST a crime problem: most of the problems we deal with today mirror the problems facing Portland in the 1960s, especially our inability to invest in good infrastructure people actually want to use. That's on top of crime, vandalism, and an unhealthy business ecosystem.
IF we want to maintain TriMet (and that's a big IF, for reasons I'll explain below), then it will be focused on something other than downtown. We need to move back to a grid-design transit system, as this is a much easier way to use transit to get around the city, no matter your destination. If TriMet continues to exist and operate fleets in 20-30 years, this is the only way it exists - because it will just be too inconvenient to ride downtown as a side quest to your destination, especially as we look at 10, 20, 30, 40 years from now.
Of course, we can only transform some parts of the transit infrastructure this way, and there are no uplifting and moving train tracks here. So light rail doesn't have a future in the grid system - but even without the grid system, light rail is doomed.

The fatal flaws of light rail in Portland.

I want to preface this by saying I like light rail as a strategy, it's not a bad system or bad civic investment. I could write another 5,000-word essay on why Seattle did an excellent job with light rail and the specific decisions Portland made wildly incorrectly. In transit advocacy the wacktavists inappropriately categorized skeptics of Portland's light rail as some soft bigotry - as if you're racist if you don't like Portland's light rail - even though, ironically, most light rail systems tend to be built for the preference of white culture and white workers, precisely what happened here in Portland and most cities (but this is all a story for another time).
Portland's light rail system has a capacity problem and has dealt with this capacity problem quietly for the last 20+ years. When you see the capacity problem, you can quickly understand this light rail system won't work in the future. All the other smart cities in the world that designed light rail realized they needed big long trains to move many people. Portland decided to limit the train car length to the size of our city blocks to save construction costs - and this has always been a fatal flaw.
Portland's highest capacity train car is our Type 5, according to Wikipedia it has a seating capacity of 72 and an overall capacity of 186 per train car, meaning each train can accommodate up to 372, but even these numbers seem unreliable (*edit). Let's compare:

• Washington DC has 6-car trains capable of carrying 120 passengers per car, or 720 per train.
  
• Salt Lake City has a 4-car train capable of carrying 230 passengers per car, or 920 per train.
  
• Seattle's Link system has a 3 or 4-car train, each capable of carrying approximately 200 passengers per car, so 600 to 800 per train.
  

Portland's light rail lines have roughly the same people moving capacity as a single lane of a highway, maybe marginally more, maybe marginally less. These other cities have a light rail system that can move the same amount of people as an entire 3-lane highway.
You might suspect that Portland could simply run trains more frequently - but nah, that's impossible because the trains run through the central core of downtown Portland, and they're blocked by the real interfaces with road traffic and bottlenecks. TriMet/PBOT/Metro has offered rosy ideas that we could hypothetically run cars every 90 seconds, 2 minutes, 4 minutes, or 6 minutes (depending upon who you ask) - but these are garbage numbers invented out of thin air. For example, you could stand at Pioneer Courthouse Square at 4:50pm on a Wednesday in 2016 - there was a train opening doors to load passengers, and you could visibly see the next train at Pioneer Place Mall pulling into the station behind. Trains were running at approximately a 3 to 4 minute at peak - but on paper, TriMet will claim anything, as they don't give a shit about lying to the public. But the bigger problem is that trains were full. You might have to wait 90 minutes to find a train that offers a seat. And god forbid you had a bike.
I'm not making this very real capacity problem, Metro even acknowledges:

At the busiest hours of the day, 40 light rail trains must cross the river and traverse downtown – one train every 90 seconds. As the region grows and the demand for light rail increases, the region will need at least 64 MAX trains through downtown every hour, more than one train each minute. Our current system can't support that change.

Suppose you're silly enough to trust government propaganda. In that case, you can read the details of Metro study on this in 2019. If we assumed their numbers added up, it's just fucking impossible to run 62 trains per hour, because passenger loading and unloading can take a full minute (sometimes longer). So unless we want to apply substantial g-forces onto the passengers, the train isn't accelerating out of the stops fast enough. Not to mention how unreliable this whole system would be if a sole tweaker, bike rider, or person with a stroller held up the system for 2 minutes.
This is why the bottom line needs to be upfront about capacity - quoting Metro's study here:

Today MAX is limited to 2-car trains because of the length of downtown city blocks. A tunnel could allow for longer trains if the stations outside the downtown core are retrofitted. In the long-term, this could greatly increase MAX capacity.

Do you see that trick? Build a tunnel, yes - but the entire system has to be retrofitted. Literally every light rail station would need to be redesigned, the lines themselves recalculated for larger heavier trains - and extending platforms at Willow Creek might be simple enough, but how in the living fuck is Metro going to afford to expand the Zoo stop? Doubling the size of that platform would cost $500 million alone.
If the city weren't full of cheap dipshits, we would have elevated or buried our light rail lines in the 1980s or 90s, enabling longer train cars to run. Yes, we all knew back then that it was the best practice not to have light rail running on the street - it's less safe, less reliable, runs slower, and limits train car size. Oops.
Just to keep TriMet's own bullshit inflated utopian vision, it would mean spending another billion dollars just to unfuck downtown, bypass an aging bridge, and potentially allow a marginally higher volume of trains - which again is a band-aid on a mortal wound.
The real buried lede is that to add extra train cars means retrofitting all the stops in the system - that's tens of billions of dollars. You can argue costs, but Metro knows we need to do this. It means shutting down the system for a year or years while construction and retrofits happen. It's fucking outrageous. Is this system worth of people per line worth 20, 30, or 40 billion dollars? Fuck no, it ain't. Again, if we had a raging metropolis of industry and commerce downtown, we could reasonably entertain the idea for a moment - but we don't and never will again.
Some folks might argue that if we kill off the light rail system we'd lose out on all those lucrative Transit Oriented Developments. Originally the public was told that Transit Oriented Development strategy would cause a massive infusion of private investment because the light rail was so damn lucrative and desirable for Richard Florida's Creative Class. Turns out the Creative Class is now called today the Laptop Class, and they don't give a flying fuck about street cars, light rail, or walking scores - because most can't be bothered to put pants on during their "commute" from bed to desk. TOD was all a fantasy illusion from the beginning, as multiple studies about Portland commuters showed that college-educated white folks riding Max were equally comfortable riding their bike as a substitute for the same commute. All of these billions of dollars was to accommodate white fare-weather bikers. So here's my hot take on transit: pave over the rail lines and put in bike lanes, and boy, then you'd have a bike system to give folks like Maus a hardon. But of course, Bike Portland would complain because their focus isn't biking; they exist only to favor all poorly thought utopian transit ideas.
Another group of Max/TOD advocates would claim that TOD is better for disabled and impoverished people. And yeah, there's truth there, but see my entire argument above about the Hub & Spoke design of TriMet being the antithesis of transit as a social service. If you believe that TriMet should serve low-income people, you must advocate for a bus-centric grid design.
But even if you're a die-hard believer in light rail - there's another inevitable reality coming that is the nail in the coffin.

Autonomous vehicles will replace mass transit faster than the automobile replaced the horse.

I work in advanced technology, and the thing about tech is that the public and politicians deny that it's going to be there until the majority of the public finally experiences it. You could say this about personal computers, internet, cloud compute, electric cars, smartphones, distributed ledger (cryptocurrency), AI, and driverless vehicles.
Schrodinger's technology doesn't exist until it's measured in an Apple store or your mother asks you for tech support.
No one thought AI was really real until ChatGPT did their kid's homework, and today most people are coming to terms with the fact that ChatGPT 3.5 could do most people's jobs. And that's not even the most advanced AI, that's the freeware put out by Microsoft, they have paywalls to access the real deal.
In 2018 I rode in my colleague's Tesla in self-driving mode from downtown Portland to Top Golf in Hillsboro. We started our journey at the surface parking lot on the west side of the Morrison Bridge. He used his phone to tell the car to pull out of the parking spot and to pick us up. Then he gave the car the address, and it drove us the entire way without any human input necessary. The only time he provided feedback was to touch the turn signal to pass a slow car on the highway. People think self-driving isn't here - but it is - and it's gotten exponentially better and will continue to do so. People will complain and moan about idealized, utopian, pedantic "level 5" full self-driving, how none of it exists or could exist, as a Tesla passes them on the road and the driver is half asleep.
Of course, Portland and every major city have also thought deeply about self-driving technology, and a few places have implemented self-driving solutions - but so far, none of these are really at scale. Though it will be a short time before cost-conscious cities go all-in.
TriMet kicked around the idea of using an autonomous bus for a leg of the trip of the Southwest Corridor project, connecting a segment of the light rail route to the community college. It was bafflingly stupid and short-sighted to think they could use it in this niche application but that it wouldn't open the floodgates for a hundred different applications that eviscerate TriMet's labor model. The simplest example of autonomous operation would be to operate the light rail systems - because they don't make turns, all we need is an AI vision service to slam on the breaks if necessary - that technology has existed for 20+ years. We could retrofit the entire train system in about 3 to 6 months - replace every Max operator with a security guard, and maybe people would ride the Max again? But I digress.
Let's speculate about the far-future, some 5, 10, or 20 years from now: your transit options will expand significantly. The cost will decrease considerably for services using automated vehicles.
You'll look at your options as:

• Drive to work: fastest, takes $100+ worth of gas a month, but you also need $50+ for insurance and $500+ for the monthly car payment, plus those surprise maintenance and broken windows. Also, do you pay for parking? Pick a number for how much it costs to drive your personally owned and manually operated vehicle to work each month.
  
• Autonomous vehicle service: price TBA, but think of how much an Uber costs when you don't have to pay the driver, you don't have to pay for gas. An Uber that runs for $20 today would likely be $10 or less. So, to and from work 20 times a month, $200. $300? Ok, let's just say it's $400 a month. It's still all cheaper than owning a car and driving it to work. No parking fees, and it picks you up quickly enough that it's not a nuisance.
  
• Mass Transit: $150 per month, but ugghhh it's slow, it smells like piss, a guy jacked off in your hair, and you can't schedule a meeting for the first 30 minutes of your anticipated workday in case you miss a connection - and it breaks so often the government actively hides the reliability data from the public and media.
  

Just a few years into this future we'll see a brand new trend, one that already exists: a shared autonomous vehicle like a privately operated bus. For example, Uber Bus - it already exists as a commuter option in some cities, it's just not autonomous yet. The significant benefit of an autonomous bus is that these shared vehicles will utilize HOV lanes very commonly, and commuting in an autonomous vehicle will be as fast as driving to work in your manually operated car while also being less expensive.
Simultaneously automobile accidents in autonomous vehicles will be virtually non-existent, and insurance companies will start to increase prices on vehicles that lack AI/smart assisted safety driving features. Public leaders will see the value of creating lanes of traffic on highways dedicated explicitly to autonomous vehicles so that they can drive at much higher speeds than manually operated traffic. Oregon won't lead the way here, but wait until Texas or one of the Crazy States greenlights a speed limit differential, and self-driving vehicles have a speed limit of 90, 120, or 150 miles per hour. You might think "accidents would be terrible and deadly" but there will be fewer accidents in the autonomous lane than in manual lanes. At this point, it will be WAY faster to take an autonomous vehicle to your work.
Purchasing power of consumers will decrease while the cost of vehicles will increase (especially autonomous vehicles), making ownership of any vehicle less likely. Frankly, the great majority of people won't know how to drive and will never learn to - just like how young people today don't know how to use manual transmission. However, fleets of autonomous vehicles owned by companies like Tesla, Uber, and Lyft will benefit from scale and keep their autonomous bus fleets operating at low cost. This will lead to a trend where fewer and fewer people will own an automobile, and fewer people even bother learning how to drive or paying the enormous insurance cost.... while also depending upon automobiles more than we do today.
Eventually, in the distant future, manually driven vehicles will be prohibited in urban areas as some reckless relic from a bygone era.
Cities and public bodies don't have to be cut out of this system if they act responsibly. For example, cities could start a data brokering exchange where commuters provide their commuting data (i.e., pick-up point, destination, arrival time). The government uses either a privatized fleet or a publicly owned fleet of autonomous vehicles to move as many people as possible as often as possible. Sort of a publicly run car-pool list - or a hyper-responsive bus fleet that runs for the exact passengers going to exact locations. A big problem companies like Uber, Lyft, and Tesla will have is that they'll lack market saturation to optimize commuting routes - they'll be able to win unique rides, but the best way they can achieve the lowest cost service model is these super predictable and timely commuter riders. The more data points and riders, the more optimization they can achieve. These companies can look at the data for as many people as possible and bid for as many routes as possible - optimizing for convenience, time, energy usage, emissions, etc. The public will voluntarily participate if this is optimized to get the cheapest ride possible. If the government doesn't do this, the private sector will eventually.
As a parallel, no one today even considers how Metro runs garbage collection. No one cares. And if you didn't like Metro's trash service, if you needed a better service for unique needs, you go procure that on your own. Likewise, you wouldn't care about the quality of the commuting trip as long as it's up to some minimal standards of your class expectations, it's reliable, nearly as quick as driving your own vehicle, and it seems reasonably affordable.
If the public ran this data exchange, fees could subsidize lower-income riders. This is a theory on what a TriMet like system or mass transit system could look like in a primarily autonomous world where most people don't own their own or drive an automobile.
This system would be far from perfect, opening up all sorts of problems around mobility. However, it's hard to see how autonomous vehicles will not obliterate the value proposition of mass transit.

Another narrative on the same story.

As the working class moves to autonomous vehicles, transit agencies will collect fewer and fewer fares - prices and taxes will rise, creating a cycle of failure. As a result, some cities will make buses self-driving to cut costs. It could start with Tokyo, Shanghai, Oslo, et al. Again, it's unlikely that Portland or Oregon will be the first movers on this, but when cities start laying off hundreds of mass transit operators and cutting fares to practically nothing, there will be substantial public pressure to mimic locally. It will be inhumane, it will be illiberal, to make those impoverished bus-riding single mothers pay premiums. As most of the fleet becomes autonomous, responsive, and disconnected from labor costs, the next question arises: why do we still operate bus routes? Why big buses instead of smaller and nimble vehicles?
This alternative story/perspective leads to the same outcome: we figure out where people are going and when they need to get there - then dispatch the appropriate amount of vehicles to move that exact number of people as efficiently as possible.
But our local government getting its act together on all this is outside the world of possibility.
In a practical sense, we're going to see history repeat itself. Portland's mass transit history is about private and public entities over-extending themselves, getting too deep in debt on a flawed and outdated idea. As a result, the system collapses into consolidation or liquidation. Following this historical pattern, TriMet/Metro won't respond to changing conditions fast enough, and laughably stupid ideas like cranking up taxes or increasing ridership fares will continue to be the only option until the media finally acknowledges these groups are insolvent. I just hope we don't spend tens of billions of dollars propping up this zombie system before we can soberly realize that we made some mistakes and these vanity-laden projects 20 and 30 years ago need to die.
You see, the biggest flaw with TriMet isn't the design, it needs to be outpaced by technology, it's that the people making decisions at TriMet and Metro are going to make the politically expedient decisions, not the right decisions. They won't redesign, and they won't leverage technology for cost savings, so this charade will just get going along until the media simply declares they're insolvent.
Back to fares for a second - the media happily reprints TriMet's horseshit take about "The higher fares will bring in an estimated $4.9 million in annual revenue starting next year, the report says." Just sort of amazing to me there's no skepticism about this number - but most spectacular is no media considerations about alternative solutions. For example, I could tell TriMet how to save $9,548,091 next year - a useless program primarily utilized by white middle-class folks who own alternative methods of transport - and this would inconvenience way less transit-dependent people than raising fares. But, that's off the table - we're not even developing a decision matrix for when we kill the blackhole of money known as WES.

So for those who have been asking about my f35 here's an update on how it's going. For those looking for some reading material before bed I got you covered as well.
Things I've changed: - weapon panel. It went from barely functional to completely inoperative. Currently working on auto sorting/switching weapons panel to replace the old manual one.
-control system. I added extra keybinds for important things (autopilot, gear, flight mode, launch) and added controller support so it now supports hotas systems! Only downside is that when I looked at it again after having not touched it in a day or two, there is an uncontrollable oscillation above 200knots. The current 'fix' is turning down the leading edge flaps but that messes with trim which messes with autopilot which messes with everything. Safe to say this system is worse off than it was a few days ago, but it's on a better path so eventually it'll get good. I might end up fitting a hotas seat into the plane just for the extra keybinds and axis. This plane is already a dream to fly (when working properly) so being able to keep your hands on the controls would be great! Only downside is that I need to relocate 1 panel in the cockpit and I haven't decided where to put it. So for now, the old seat stays.
-core systems. I am trying desperately to simplify the computational load of the f35 without sacrificing features. I taught myself tables today and they will definitely come into play as a go forward with this project. Today alone I removed 16 lua blocks from the weapon system. I went from every pylon doing its own math to one central brain in a different MC that just pumps out what pylon to drop and when. Progress is decent in the optimization department!
-attitude. Don't get me wrong, this is still the single most complex system I've ever built in stormworks. Half the systems haven't been started, and the other half are barely functional. I've already put over 200 hours into the project over the past few months and it often feels like 2 steps forward 1 step back, but right now I feel more motivated to work on it than I did when I first saw those bays open. So even if this project is formed to fail, it will not be going down anytime soon.
-canopy. The all important canopy. The aesthetics did not change but the brain did. For reference on how much power I'm putting into this computer, the canopy talks to the main systems on board. For 99% of applications the canopy will do exactly what you want it to without your input being required. The other 1%? It's being worked on. That's kinda the goal of this whole plane. I want to do as little as possible as a stormworks pilot but man I really hate it when a computer does something you didn't want it to do. That just gives yall a good reference as to what my thought process is here.
OK as much as I love talking about my FCS dying, autopilot crying, weapon system reviving, and canopy vibing, I think it's time we talk game plan. There were a lot of people mentioning how they just couldn't wait for this thing to go up on the workshop. So for those of you dying from anticipation, I expect a funeral invite. This project has taken a long time, and there isn't a single aspect of the plane that I am even close to happy with yet. As much as I would love to put this plane on the workshop right now, I just can't. It NEEDS to be perfect. Saying "a long time" and "perfect" doesn't allow for reasonable time estimates, instead, I'll just list off some of the main goals of the plane (subject to change of course) and yall can make your estimates on how long these will take me to implement. Remember, half the fun is learning how to do it, so every system will be home grown for this plane. Also I know these are basically unattainable, but either I make it happen or this plane never gets seen on the workshop so let's hope for a miracle shall we :P.
Flight control system goals: - full controllekeyboard support with selectable control types based on controller needs (sticky throttle vs centering throttle for example)

• full INS based flight control system. Ability to auto trim every axis without feeling too snappy or unpredictable. If drift exists, it should be from your flightstick, not the plane.
  
• complete flight modes. Ex: dogfight mode with increased control responsiveness, landing mode with autoleveling, descent rate control, and auto flaring.
  
• perfect in all weather conditions. If I feel the need to look at the wind setting, somethings gone horribly wrong. The wind doesn't move mountains, so why should it move my plane?
  

-capable. If I ask to roll at 360°/s. It must roll at 360°/s and it must do it with a "yes sir, anything else?" Attitude
Auto Pilot System Goals: - full GCAS system. If my autopilot hits the ocean, my plane better be on fire.
-the classic gps stuff dialed to 11. Alt hold that works perfectly at every speed, autoheading that tracks a line on the floor, and a system that both levels roll and compensates for it. If I decide that my plane flies better on its side, the autopilot should agree.
-auto formation. Two reasons: 1, once I install everything else, this will be easy, and two, because a screenshot with 4 f35s in diamond formation would be epic.
-auto takeoff and landing. I'm not sure if this was shown yet, but my map display has every static airport in game coded into it. My dream is to be at one airport, click on another, and watch my plane do everything without me. Future plans to add carrier landings as well.
MFD goals. - map display. Full pan, zoom, and follow features (duh) as well as information overlays(weapon and navigation). Picture things like points of interest, laser designator(s?), IFF locations, and of course, airports.

• navigation display. Essentially the better way to talk to your autopilot. Tell it things like remain level, stay at 1000 meters, land here. Basically anything that doesn't fit with a keybind or on the map display. One notable goal is that both panels could be up side by side allowing you to input way points, and visualize flight plans a lot easier.

-FCS display. Plane info. Easy as that. Fuel, battery, AOA, control positions, flight modes. Nice and simple.
-weapon display. My biggest planned compromise... I have 2 options here; I could build a fully proprietary standard and use home brewed weapons with amazing integration, or use a standardized approach ensuring compatibility. I chose the latter. I'm not the best at anything , and certainly not with weapons. I decides I'll leave that up to the community. That doesn't mean the weapon Page will be bad though. It's still going to auto group weapons by type, offer different firing modes, a wide suite of guidance types, and of course, a quality sequencer. This is what I worked on today and even though I still haven't started most of the features, the polish on the parts I have finished is definitely good enough for me.
-EW display. [REDACTED]. Jk of course. I'm not that multiplayer type so I don't really care if people take my EW systems. To be clear, there is 0% chance the public release is going to be fully featured, but it certainly wont need an ew pod. Planned features include radio sweeping/jamming, radio tracking, multi-standard IFF, datalink, frequency hopping, and depending on how ambitious I'm feeling, maybe some code breaking as well. Again, I'm not that multiplayer type, so I'll probably never see the benefit from these systems. But to have such a nice plane be spoiled by a radio guided missile would be a crime. Side note, currently there are exactly 0 antenna in the build, but I'm sure I'll find space somewhere...
Conclusion. Would you look at that! A list of goals so ambitious there's no chance he'll accomplish any of it! Yeah, probably. Nice to dream I guess. Anyway, here's the fun part: I'm easy to persuade, and I am shooting for every bell and whistle I can think of. That means if one of yall give me a sales pitch for a feature I should add, it will most likely end up on the list. Also if yall have standards or references you think I should take a look at, I will gladly do so.

I don’t know why I imagine the Westerosi with American accents. However, I do. I decided to really look at how Westeros is, and try to imagine what accents (or Westerosi equivalent to the real-world accent) one would find if they were in Westeros.
Tell me what you guys think?
By region:

North: Southern Accents, oddly enough (rural, more agrarian/hunting/fishing culture, more conservative than rest of the country)

White Harbor: New Orleans accent. Manderly and other nobles talk like the fancy “Neeeeee-ooo Owlahns” rich people, commoners talk more like regular New Orleans people (big city with a distinct culture from area around it)
Last Hearth/Wall area: Redneck parts of Louisiana, generally the area around the border w/ Mississippi but north of NOLA. “Badduhn Rudge” kind of accents (mine sort of tbh but I have a weird accent)
Neck: Stereotypical Cajun accent
Between Neck and Winterfell: Texas drawl probably because it’s not in the neck so it wouldn’t have the Cajun barely-English sense but it also wouldn’t be close enough to other places and Northerners remind me of Texans except somewhat more tolerable (sorry Texas, I still love you)
Beyond the Wall: Alabaman, because wildlings are primitive, illiterate, and probably inbred. Also fuck Alabama.
Winterfell Area: Transatlantic Accent. Think the way actors in old-timey movies talk. Most of the highest-ranking noble families talk that way, because many are fostered/squires/held hostage in regions that they are not originally from, and they are almost universally educated by maesters. Their household may or may not sound more like the local accent or the transatlantic. I think Winterfell would have more commoners/lower-ranking nobles speaking in a transatlantic accent though, because they would interact with people who spoke like that more than other accents. I could be wrong, though.
Bear Island: Georgia? We haven’t heard much from the places east of the Mississippi, so I might go with that.
Skagos: mysterious, cannibalistic, primitive tribesmen. Alabama.
Mountain Tribes: Imma go with Mississippi/Georgia/Carolinas, depending on the tribe. Mainly because we haven’t heard much from those areas.

Vale

Mostly Appalachian, because of all the mountains. The parallels are obvious, I think. I would go into more detail but we don’t spend much time in the Vale, but I’ll do my best.
However, the Vale would have a lot of unique accents.
Gulltown wouldn’t have a particularly distinct accent. It’s a trade port, so you have people from all over the place moving/settling/trading.
The part of the fingers ruled by House Baelish: https://youtu.be/AIZgw09CG9E. I like this, because House Baelish are Essosi. That accent in the video has some to certain British accents and American ones. House Baelish originated in Essos and would have been a much larger fraction of the area’s population than other noble Houses, meaning they would have a much greater impact on the local accent after three generations.
Eyrie: Transatlantic, see Winterfell.

Riverlands

Missouri. I don’t think Missourians have a strong accent, especially in the St. Louis area. The Riverlands, being centrally located in Westeros, would have influence from everywhere and I think would kind of talk in a normal American accent, which I kind of place as Missouri/Kansas. No twang, no real markers of anything. That said, the general American accent is still an accent.
Once again, House Tully and other big houses would speak with a Transatlantic accent. I can also imagine noblemen and smallfolk who interact with noblemen frequently switch accents based on who they’re with. That’s a thing in real life. So if some servant who spent her whole life working for the Tullys was speaking with Edmure, she would most likely speak in a transatlantic accent. But when she went home and was talking to her family and friends, back to her Missouri accent.
The Freys, I think, would have the most pronounced Transatlantic accent of any group in the Riverlands. They are the most likely to compensate for being “new money” by adopting the trappings of the Westerosi Great Houses. They would subconsciously be biased toward the rich, important accent that Westerosi great lords would use.

Iron Islands

They suck, and so does Alabama. Alabama accent. But like, some really really strong Alabama accent. And they would subconsciously make it stronger, even the Greyjoys would reject the Transatlantic.

Reach

In more Rural places, they would have Wisconsin/Minnesota accents. Sort of similar to the Canadian accent, but still mostly American. More isolated communities would have the full-on “Mih-neh-sooooooht-da” sound.
Oldtown: Boston. Coastal city, with a major center of learning. Harvard/Citadel, I like it.
Highgarden: Headcanon that the transatlantic thing started in the Reach, with the Hightowers first and then the Tyrells picking it up. Not deliberately, but subconsciously.

Stormlands

No clue. I’ve only read up to ASOS, and we haven’t spent much time there iirc. Baratheons probably don’t talk transatlantic. Maybe kind of Northeastern? Cause Kings Landing I picture talking like New Yorkers, and the Stormlands are close to to that area. So I guess whatever people from New York but not New York City sound like. Maybe New Jersey a little? Idk if I can imagine Stannis the Mannis sounding like a guy from New Jersey.

Dorne

Sandy Dornishmen: New Mexico, Utah, desert kind of places. I know a few people from there, they don’t have any particularly strong accent.
Salty Dornishmen: California, bro. Not Valley Girl, though. Very coastal people, and also tend to be more progressive, and they make a lot of wine. A lot of non-Dornish people have stereotypes, but the Dornishmen we meet are pretty chill actually. Same with Cali, in my experience. Not an exact replica of Cali, but fuck it.
Stony Dornishmen: Honestly whatever people who live in the Rockies sound like.
House Dayne: House Dayne is special as shit, because they are a weird, unique House in Westeros. To make them more special, I’m giving them an Alaskan accent.
Note about Dorne: They do not follow the trend of Westerosi nobles having a Transatlantic accent. The Dornish nobility sound like House Martell, being Stony Dornishmen and therefore sounding like stereotypical Californians.
Note about Transatlantic accent: In real life, it didn’t catch on with most people if I remember. It was an attempt by the American media and government to get all Americans to speak similarly. I kind of head-cabin that some Targaryen had the idea as he was going mad, and the scared-shitless Grand Maester decided to make it happen.
What do you guys think?

​
Hey there nerds and weirdos, here's my Beth May is a superhero, dungeons and daddies is the best, and hooooo boy did i realize i have a lot of baggage i need to deal with, appreciation post. Two weeks prior to thanksgiving 2022, an old high school friend of mine jumped into a rented ford MachE mustang, pointed it south and began the long trip to a cabin on Mount Hood, Oregon for a DnD weekend. We were both excited to continue our campaign we started earlier in the year. I’d get to reprise the roll of Snu Snu, half orc Barbarian, who is a dumb but smashy chap. I like my Dnd Characters to have a delusion, like the orc barbarian that was convinced he was a “blood wizard”, or the halfling rogue who was trying to convince everyone he was a brave warrior when in fact he was a coward. It’s fun playing flawed characters in Dnd, i think it sorta breaks the mold of playing heroes on an important quest. I like flawed characters in film, tv, literature, probably because I am a flawed character. Person. I’m a flawed person. I’m real, despite sometimes not wanting to be so some of the time. We started our journey in Seattle Washington, our GPS said it would be a four hour trip at two hundred and fifteen miles, the mache e was advertised to have a range of 110 miles…. I immediately realized I had made a critically failed my intelligence roll. 215 miles was greater than 110 miles. After two hours of bumper to bumper traffic, I needed to charge the car to get to our destination and despite my undeserved confidence, charging an electric car is more difficult and slower than I had expected. You have to find a fast charger, the right fast charger, and download the app associated with it, fill out a bunch of personal info, then start the charging process, which I remind you was referred to as “fast” but in fact takes over an hour. I’d fucked up. Our friends were already at the cabin we had rented, they had their character sheets in one hand, beers in the other and they were just waiting for us. I thought i’d already ruined the trip and we hadn’t made it out of the state. I asked my friend what he’d want to listen to while we sat and waited for the car to gain enough range to make it to our cabin on the edge of the forgotten realms. Ok, i didn’t say that, that was me trying to sound impressive and like i’m a good writer. You get it, or at least i hope you get it. My friend knew that i love podcasts, so he suggested we listen to a DND themed podcast to get in the mood, i asked which one, and he suggested Dungeons and Daddies. He said it was really funny, and he thought i’d like it. So, i found it in my podcatcher, went to season one episode one and started listening. We listened for the entire ride to the cabin, and then back again. I immediately loved the show. There’s something about podcasts, I'm not sure exactly what it is, but to me it feels like I really get to know the hosts/characters on the show. I think podcasts create a false sense of intimacy between the listener and the hosts. I think it’s because I mainly listen to podcasts alone and and it feels like the hosts/characters are talking to me. Or that I'm a fly on the wall of a really fun place, and I get to quietly observe these hilarious people. Is it because I listen in headphones or in my car? Maybe. Anyway, I know I get a false sense of intimacy, but sometimes I like to pretend it isn’t, or maybe I forget that it isn’t. I’m not sure, but these people don’t know me, and I don't know them, not really. So, after our weekend of DND, we drove back to Seattle, and by the time I was back at my house, I was ten episodes into Dungeons and Daddies. Over the last three weeks It had become my new audio obsession. I was hooked and I listened to it in the gym, on dog walks, while I cooked for my family, while I drove, every moment of silence I had was filled with the dads in the forgotten realm. I LOVE this show like I imagine many of you do because it’s funny, smart and dumb at the same time, it has great improvisation, an interesting story, fun characters who are out of place, and is honestly very touching and more emotionally impactful than I'd ever have imagined. As I got further down the season one rabbit hole, I began finding myself gravitating to Ron Stampler as my favorite daddy storyline. Beth’s performance is just fantastic, and even before episode 61,, where Ron has to give his dog away, Ron’s story and Beth’s performance was bringing me to tears.
I’m a dad, I have a son who is eight. In my life, there are only two Dads in my immediate family, see my wife’s father passed away when she was eight, there’s me and my dad. Well.. oh boy. My dad is kinda a nightmare. Not like Willy is a nightmare, my Dad is more like a crumpled and faded poster of a black and white monster movie, it’s sometimes more sad than scary. My dad was gone a lot when I was a kid. He was on business trips for pretty much eighty percent of my childhood. At one point he was American airlines third most flown person in the world, no joke. He’d fly to Germany on Monday, Japan on Wednesday, and then back to Oregon on friday. The good thing was we were able to fly back to my parents home country in the summer and at christmas, and the whole family usually flew for free because of his frequent flier miles. Those trips were GREAT times, I’d see my cool cousins, we’d eat awesome candy, visit castles, see the sleeping giants and all other manner of family fun. But, in normal life, I'd see him Friday night where he’d crash out, then when he woke up on Saturday he’d be grumpy, groggy and easy to anger. Those were the really good times I remember with my Dad when I was growing up, but I also remember him being angry, depressed, mean and sometimes he’d hurt me. I’m not saying that he hit me or my brother or mom on a regular occasion, that he was a drunk or anything, but there were times where he’d take things too far and I'd get hurt. For example, i must have been ten or eleven when my Dad, Brother and I went to a christian rock festival.We had to kill some time in the parking lot before the doors opened to rock n roll jesus. So my dad had the idea to teach us the spoons game. It’s like the game where you put your hands out palm up, and the other player places their hands on your hands palm down. You try to slap the other player’s hands while they try to evade your slaps. Got it? There’s gotta be a name for that game, slappies or something…
Well, for some reason we had some cutlery in the back of the car, maybe we had a picnic before the show, i don’t remember why, but we had shiny metal spoons for some reason. He taught us “the spoon game” by instructing me to make fists, and put them out in front of myself. He held spoons, one in each hand, and placed the bottom of the spoon on the top of my knuckles. My goal was to move my hands out of the way of the spoons as he tried to hit my knuckles with them. We played for what seemed like 15 minutes and he hit me every-time and with each successful hit he grew happier, and laughed harder. At first it stung, then it ached, then it was like this bubbling cauldron of pain and frustration was exploding inside me. When I could hardly hold my hands still because I was so angry, hurt and embarrassed, I burst into tears when my hands were red and beginning to bruise. I ran away from him, I just took off up the improvised road in the parking lot. He came after me, apologized to me and gave me a hug. We never played that game again. That’s just the kind of guy he was, and as I got older I realized some of the myriad of reasons he was that way. Firstly, he was an orphan, he and his brother were dropped off at an orphanage when he was three and his brother was five. I can only assume catholic orphanages in the 1950’s were not a great place to have some of your first memories. Although he’s never talked about it to me, I’m sure they’ve affected him. About a year later he and his brother were adopted by my grandparents, who in their 40’s decided to adopt two brothers aged four and six. I adored my grandparents, they were amazing people. They were blue-collar folks, my grandfather was a coal miner, with amazing stories and two sheds full of treasures which my grandmother called junk my brother and I got to paw through. Sure, he picked it up off the side of the road, but they were treasures, not junk in my or my brothers eyes. My grandfather walked from Wales to Scotland with his brother when he was nine years old to get work in the coal mines of Scotland. His sister, she was a boat captain and smuggler during the Spanish civil war who ran guns, food and medical supplies to the anti fascists. My Grandmother learned sign language so she could communicate and help THE deaf family in the village when the mother of that family fell gravely ill. But, it was the 1950’s and 1960’s so no matter how great their lives stories were, hitting kids was super normal, or at least that’s what my father and mother experienced. I’m sure he had a lot of trauma he never dealt with when he became a father in his late twenties. When we were kids, he was the sole breadwinner, his job was probably really taxing and took a lot out of him, he was away from his family a lot, and you know, traveling for work and living in hotels sucks. That’s not to excuse his behavior, I just try to, you know, put him in context of the stress he was under that I was too young to know about. It’s easier for me to believe that he’s not inherently bad, but shaped by his environment, it’s just easier for me that way. Judge away. It’s complicated. When I was twelve he lost his job, his brother committed suicide, and his funeral he found out he had 4 half sisters in Scotland who his brother had known about, and not told him about for almost a decade. It was a bad year with a silver lining. I watched him retreat into depression, longing, and joy of finding his new sisters. When i got out of college, he had his fourth back surgery. He had ruptured another disc in his lower back, and required another Discectomy . However, during the healing process he got an infection, one that raised his fever to a dangerous level that resulted in brain damage. From that point on, he wasn’t mean. He wasn’t cruel. He was confused, stubborn, repetitive, annoying and a shadow of his former intellectual self. So, I pity my father. Over this thanksgiving he decided to drive us back to my house from our extended families thanksgiving celebration. He drove into oncoming traffic because we had told him to take the next left, which he interpreted as take a left right now. No one was hurt. My son was in the car and was very scared.
And all I could think about was Ron Stampler. Listening to the end of season one gave me a lot of feelings. Listening to how Willy treated Ron wasn’t like my life with my father, not beat for beat, but a lot of the emotional beats seemed similar. Suddenly my father being absent for most of my early childhood was similar to the emotional abandonment Willy treated Ron. I saw how Willy was dismissive and cruel to Ron, and it brought back a bunch of memories I hadn’t contextualized. The spoons game for example, I had just blocked that off, not thought about it for decades, and when Willy was being so cruel to Ron, it just reminded me of that afternoon in a parking lot outside of a Jesus festival. So, my dad never made me give my dog away, but he did lose my dog once. Like, his story is that he took him to the groomer and the dog just bolted and we never saw Mocha again. Holy shit. I… I just remembered that. I want to break the cycle. I don’t want to pass on the bullshit my Dad did to me, I don’t want my the way I feel less than, incomplete, wrong and not god damn good enough onto my sweet boy. He doesn’t deserve any of that, I mean no kid does, but I’m NOT going to do that to him. I struggle with being a father a lot. I’m always second guessing myself, always worried that i’ll slip into a casual cruelty that will forever leave deep emotional scars in my sweet son the way my dad did to me. My son is an emotional kid, like I was. My son has the biggest heart you’ll ever see in a child his age. He loves everyone he meets, treats them as dear friends, and is always the first to lend a hand, a shoulder to cry on, a hug, or the shirt off his back. For christ's sake, this halloween he gave a bunch of his candy to his friends brother on the night of halloween. The younger brother was too tired to do the second round of trick or treating, it was past his bedtime. We were having a little party for halloween because we go crazy for halloween. Decorations, lights, family costume themes, full sized cady bars for trick or treaters, the whole nine yards. My son’s friends parents were attending the party, So I took my son and his friend on 2nd round of trick or treating. It was awesome, we were the last group of trick or treaters to be seen and our neighborhood was just dumping candy into the kids bags. DUMPING. When we got home, with our heavy haul the brother was upset that he didn’t go back out and get candy, so my kid just gave him all he wanted. If you’re not a parent of a young kid, let me be clear- candy is the hard drugs of childhood. Kids can be junkies for that sweet sweet candy.
That’s the kind of selfless eight year old I have, just handing over his own kiddy crack to someone he cares about without a second thought. Just today I realized he put a board game on his list to Santa, because it’s my wife’s favorite board game. He wants HER to have it, so he’s asking the all mighty and powerful Santa to bring something for him, so he can make his mom happy. What a kid. Listening to the Dungeons and Daddies made me think a lot about my dad, my baggage, what Dad I wanted to be. I have committed myself to not passing on generational trauma to my sweet, sweet boy. Listening to Beth May craft such a beautiful arch for Ron opened up a pandora's box of emotion including hope, anger, sadness and love. Ron was able to take the first steps of breaking the cycle of abuse that Willy passed on to him, and I’m ready to do the same. I hope to be as smart, brave, insightful and cool as Ron frickin’ Stampler. Thank you Daddies, thank you Anthony, Thank you Beth. I did not expect that this horny and violent podcast would be so therapeutic and eye opening to me.

Hi all, 24F here. Sorry in advance for the long read!
Haven't posted in this sub before but I'm a bit at a loss, so some background:
My Dad is a severe alcoholic (when 'sober' he would still blow a 0.4), and very narcissistic. His drinking began being an issue when I was age 5 and progressed from there, taking a real cliff dive when I entered HS at age 13 where it spiraled faster than ever.
My very first memory is getting drug out of a store by my mother after checking out groceries, and her sitting me down in our neighbor's car who drove us to the store. I can't remember exactly what I said, but I told the cashier something about my Dad's drinking because it was normal to me, and when my mom sat me down she put the fear of god into me because she was scared. Told me I couldn't tell anyone outside of our family about these things, and if I did, my brothers and I could get taken away from her. She asked me "Do you want that? Do you want to do that to your brothers?" The answer I gave was obviously, no, because I didn't hardly understand things with Dad then, but loved her and my 2 younger brothers greatly. So I was five when I learned to stop speaking about it. Looking back he was definitely narcissistic then too, just less instensely so. He'd get to go have fun with his friends, but if my mom did similar it was an issue. My mom raised us and he brought home money but that was about it, he didn't even assist her appropriately after her 2nd and 3rd C-Sections because he was so unempathetic to her struggles. I think my mom often ignored these red flags at the time because of us children and the fact she was just glad he was out of the house most times. All this is to say, I don't remember a time before his alcoholism and narcissism. This has been an issue in my life from the very first moment I can remember, however my Mom's sister, who now loathes the man, also used to like him a lot, so I've thought perhaps some of his Narcissistic actions were tied to his drinking and not true NPD.
As his alcoholism progressed and I aged, I was able to identify just how screwed up he was. He definitely fell in the Vulnerable and Covert Narc categories. We endured many kinds of abuse minus physical (although there was pushing occasionally and he made it clear he wanted to hit us), but that was only because physical abuse was the line my Momma had drawn in the sand to leave him, and he didn't want to give up his Narc supply. I was a strong-willed child oldest who engaged in 'reactionary abuse' i.e. self-defense, which made me the scapegoat and he loathed me for having a strong enough will to play and often beat him at his own game. I'm sure everyone here understands the kind of nasty phrases and notions narcissists throw around, so I won't repeat them.
My issue is this:
My mother died in 2017 just a few months after I turned 18, on the week of Mother's Day. Her funeral was actually held on Mother's Day proper. She never got to crawl out of the hellhole he created (she had been squirreling away money and we were all in the process of planning to leave when she died, as us kids finally convinced her staying with him so we could stay in the same schools for K-12 was not a good enough reason to endure his BS). When I heard she died, my first thought was not of her, but rather looking at my father telling me the news and thinking "Dear God, this means we're stuck with HIM." It makes me feel guilty, but it's true nonetheless.
I thought my father spiraled when I entered high school, but he hit new tiers of bad after she passed. He drank even more somehow, stopped paying rent, lost our home, most all our belongings, pets, and custody of his children. 2/3 of us kids became homeless for a time. My Dad became less mean during this time, but perhaps more narcissistic than ever in different ways, ignoring his children and our needs and grief in favor of wallowing in his own drunken sadness and demanding we listen to it. Grieving over his wife that he treated so horribly. Grieving because "I always expected to die first," and "She was my safety net." He'd cry and ask why God didn't take him instead. I've never heard him talk or cry about losing the love of his life...he's always cried because he's missing his 'safety net,' like he's upset he has to actually try to live a responsible life on his own. He does talk about missing her sometimes though, but rarely mentions anything specific or lovely he misses about her. When he misses her it seems like he misses what she did for him, like he'll miss her cooking (which isn't inherently bad, but in context is suspicious).
After losing everything, he went in and out of multiple rehabs (court mandated as he finally got caught for drunk driving and spent a month in jail) before landing in a halfway house. It was off-putting going to check how he was doing in rehab with my brothers who wanted to visit, only to discover in most of their activities he'd allude to how important his wife and kids were to him, when he had never demonstrated or told us that. It sounds good on the surface, but really, it just feels like he's been enjoying the attention of being a Widower. Now, 6 years after my Momma died, he completed the halfway house's year-long inpatient program, and has been sober for more than a year and soon will be able to be back in his own apartment.
I know it is often the case that Alcoholics and Narcs have many overlapping traits. As I've truly never known this man before he was an alcoholic, a small part of me hopes it was just the booze that made him so mean, and he wouldn't be a full narcissist upon recovery even if he still had some strong narc traits that made me not want to associate with him. He's made some suspicious quips here and there during recovery (like dunking on how my mom bought Christmas presents-who sits there and verbally bullies their dead wife about a subject he always used to bully her about when she was alive?). He's been attempting to rekindle and form relationships since he's been sober now, but he acts more like a friend than a parent (although he has recently stepped up as a parent a little for one of my siblings, but I worry it's because he enjoys the advantage of relative privacy of my brother's apartment compared to his halfway house, rather than true care. I also often wonder if he doesn't step up as such because he knows we mostly don't really want him to, and he isn't willing to suffer rejection for reward). He genuinely seems like he has become a better person than he was, who could not have NPD and just some Narc traits. But, I can't convince myself to buy that, because he's only acknowledged part of his damage.
I think he has been lying to his counselors and the like for his entire recovery, I just wish there was a way to know that for sure. He has acknowledged and apologized (daintily and vaguely, but nonetheless) for his drunken state after mom's death and how he dropped the ball. Part of me keeps thinking that's great progress! Maybe he isn't total garbage. But you know what he hasn't done for any of us? Acknowledged he had a drinking problem before she died. He speaks both to us and to his AA meetings and in his programs as though his drinking began when she died, and it was never an issue prior. He's never apologized nor even mentioned the abuse he put us all through before that to us. I always want to give him the benefit of the doubt that perhaps he fails to acknowledge it because of how guilty he feels about how he treated my Momma and doesn't want to cry, or that he's just being misguided because he's trying so hard to move forward he's wanting to neglect talking about the past for fear it will ruin his progress. I don't really buy into those notions, but I try to play a (near literal) Devil's Advocate.
I'm really sick of this all though, and I feel like I need to know for sure how much he even remembers and what he has to say if I confront him about it. I want to try and sus out just how narcissistic he really is versus how much of it was the booze. I feel like I'm at a crossroads where I want to either attempt to move forward in having a LC relationship with him (mostly for my brothers' sakes, because they have hope in him) if he's just got Narc traits, or completely cut him off if he's still the same terrible person that just now hides it better. But I don't feel I can make that decision until I hear from his own mouth what he has to say in regards to all the prior years of abuse and if he's willing or able to acknowledge his past drinking and behaviors, but I'm not sure how to approach it. I'm finally detached enough I'm out of survival mode and managing my trauma responses, and I'm really sick of fighting with this man after doing it for 90% of my life, so the prospect of bringing up all the painful times sounds terrible. I just really want advice on how I should confront him with this if at all. I've considered waiting until he gets into an actual apartment of his own and seeing how he begins to act when he doesn't have the constant 'Ex-Drunk Widower' attention, which I think could be tiding him over right now and why he's actually forming okay relationships with my brothers because his kids are no longer his main narcissistic supply at the moment-but I'm kind of expecting him to lean back onto us all harder when he doesn't have that attention anymore. Should I wait until then to confront him so I can finally make a choice? Or should I not confront him at all and just maintain civility for my sibling's sake unless he starts stuff again? Any advice is appreciated, I just feel like I need an outsider perspective.

This post is part of a series looking at the massive amount of 'rhyming' (and occasionally rhyming) recursivity I believe exists between (a) the homecoming of Petyr Baelish to the Fingers and (b) the homecoming of Theon Greyjoy to Pyke.
While this series/post can be read simply as a study 'for its own sake' of the curious recursion between these storylines, it is my belief that the 'rhyming' explored here between the stories of Petyr and Theon exists (at least in part) to foreshadow that, like Theon, Petyr Littlefinger, is (among other things) a scion of ironborn kings, because Petyr is Hoare-ish: I.e. because Petyr's blood is (in some part) the blood of the ironborn kings of House Hoare of Orkmont and, later, Harrenhal.
You can find an index of every post I've made on the topic of a Hoare-ish Littlefinger (including every post in this sub-series) [HERE].
Even if I'm wrong about Littlefinger's lineage, the 'rhyming' recursivity between the homecomings of Theon and Petyr detailed in this series remains, and certainly merits attention.
NOTE: In what follows, all uncited quotes are from ASOS Sansa VI, which describes Petyr's homecoming to his "Drearfort" tower of the 'Smallest Finger', or ACOK Theon I, which describes Theon's homecoming to "drear" Pyke.
As in past posts, I sometimes use "→" as shorthand for "'prefigures' and/or 'informs' and/or 'is reworked by' and/or 'finds a recursive rhyme in'.
As in: ACOK Theon I → ASOS Sansa VI.
This post picks up straight-away from where Part 8 left off. You can read Part 8 [HERE].
If you want to begin at the beginning, Part 1 is [HERE].

The Myraham's Prophetic Cargo

After Theon makes port, the captain of the Myraham announces his cargo to the people on the docks of Lordport and we read about the offloading of the Myraham:

"We're out of Oldtown," the captain called down, "bearing apples and oranges, wines from the Arbor, feathers from the Summer Isles. I have pepper, woven leathers, a bolt of Myrish lace, mirrors for milady, a pair of Oldtown woodharps sweet as any you ever heard." The gangplank descended with a creak and a thud. "And I've brought your heir back to you."

Most of what we read there seems to be reworked in and around Littlefinger's homecoming in ASOS Sansa VI, when the Merling King brings the Dreadfort its heir, Littlefinger, as well as the seeming heir to Winterfell, Sansa. This begins with the Arbor wine and fruit we see off-loaded from the Merling King:

Oswell made two more trips out to the Merling King to offload provisions. Among the loads he brought ashore were several casks of wine. Petyr poured Sansa a cup, as promised. …
… The wine was very fine; an Arbor vintage, she thought. It tasted of oak and fruit and hot summer nights, the flavors blossoming in her mouth like flowers opening to the sun. She only prayed that she could keep it down. Lord Petyr was being so kind, she did not want to spoil it all by retching on him.
… "Grisel," he called to the old woman, "bring some food up. … Oswell's brought some oranges and pomegranates from the King." …
Grisel reappeared…, balancing a large platter. … There were apples and pears and pomegranates, some sad-looking grapes, a huge blood orange.

Besides the straight repetition of Arbor wine, oranges, apples, and heirs, the repeated Oldtown motif is baldly reworked by Sansa's description of the wine, which is patently Oldtown-summer-esque, per the only substantive pre-AFFC description of Oldtown, which associates it with hot, fruity summer nights:

"King Maekar's summer was hotter than this one, and near as long. … [T]he heat was fierce while it lasted. Oldtown… came alive only by night. … I remember the smells of those nights, my lord—perfume and sweat, melons ripe to bursting, peaches and pomegranates, nightshade and moonbloom." (AGOT Eddard V)

The Myraham's "mirrors for milady" prefigure Sansa being figuratively groomed by Petyr and literally grooming herself in Petyr's Eyrie after he takes over:

When Gretchel fetched her Lysa's silvered looking glass, the color seemed just perfect with Alayne's mass of dark brown hair. (AFFC Alayne I)

The Myraham's "woodharps sweet as any you ever heard" presage Sansa being attacked by Marillion, whose "voice was strong and sweet", (AFFC Sansa I) after he sings a song (about blowjobs?) called "Milady's Supper" (supper a la the Myraham-ish fruit Sansa eats for supper when she lands) during Petyr's wedding bedding:

Lady Lysa's singer launched into a bawdy version of "Milady's Supper"….

The Myraham's "woven leathers" and "Myrish lace" are reworked into the "laces unlaced" i.e. unwoven during said wedding:

By the time they had gotten him into the tower and out of his clothes, the other women were flushed, with laces unlaced, kirtles crooked, and skirts in disarray.

That it's a "bolt of Myrish lace" is interesting: After Sansa boards the Merling King, she sees a singular "bolt" from a crossbow strike Dontos, and then two more:

Lothor Brune dipped his torch. Three men stepped to the gunwale, raised crossbows, fired. One bolt took Dontos in the chest as he looked up…. The others ripped into throat and belly. (ASOS Sansa V)

Three crossbow bolts? What does that remind us if not… a Myrish crossbow:

"The king is playing with his new crossbow," Tyrion said. Ridding himself of Joffrey had required only an ungainly Myrish crossbow that threw three quarrels at a time…. (ACOK Tyrion VI)

What about the Myraham's "pepper"? I suspect this gets box-checked first by Sansa trying not to "retch" as she is off-loaded along with the wine with which Littlefinger tries to settle her tummy, as just two chapters later peppers are tightly linked to "retching" of the sort Sansa feels like doing:

[Tyrion] found himself on his knees retching… that double helping of fried eggs cooked up with onions and fiery Dornish peppers. (ASOS Tyrion X)

GRRM seems to play off the "pepper" motif in other ways, as well. Consider that the gathering to meet the Myraham and the shouted questions that prompt her captain to announce her cargo—

A handful of Lordsport merchants had gathered to meet the ship. They shouted questions as the Myraham was tying up.

—get reworked by Petyr's household all gathering "to meet" the Merling King and by their peppering one another with questions:

Servants emerged from the tower to meet them; a thin old woman and a fat middle-aged one, two ancient white-haired men, and a girl of two or three with a sty on one eye. When they recognized Lord Petyr they knelt on the rocks. "My household," he said. "I don't know the child. Another of Kella's bastards, I suppose. She pops one out every few years."

She's a "popper", then, in case we didn't catch that retching → peppers. (This also reworks Theon "popping one off" with the captain's daughter, who is in many ways reworked by Kella, as will be discussed below.)

… [Petyr]… gave the old woman a kiss on the cheek and grinned at the younger one. "Who fathered this one, Kella?"
The fat woman laughed. "I can't rightly say, m'lord. I'm not one for telling them no."
"And all the local lads are grateful, I am quite sure."
"It is good to have you home, my lord," said one old man. … "How long will you be in residence?"
"As short a time as possible, Bryen, have no fear. Is the place habitable just now, would you say?"
"If we knew you was coming we would have laid down fresh rushes, m'lord," said the crone. "There's a dung fire burning."
"Nothing says home like the smell of burning dung." Petyr turned to Sansa. "Grisel was my wet nurse, but she keeps my castle now. Umfred's my steward, and Bryen—didn't I name you captain of the guard the last time I was here?"
"You did, my lord.…"
… Petyr gestured toward the fat woman. "Kella minds my vast herds. How many sheep do I have at present, Kella?"

A gathering, and questions, questions, questions, as when Theon docks.
Recall that Bryen and Umfred come from shore to offload Sansa (who's just been promised a cup of wine to help with her upset "tummy") from the Merling King's rowboat:

The two old men waded out up to their thighs to lift Sansa from the boat so she would not get her skirts wet.

This reworks the "shorehands… off-loading… casks of wine" from a Tyroshi trader docked with the Myraham—

[Theon] spied a Tyroshi trading galley off-loading…
Shorehands rolled casks of wine off the Tyroshi trader, fisherfolk cried the day's catch, children ran and played. A priest in the seawater robes of the Drowned God was leading a pair of horses along the pebbled shore, while above him a slattern leaned out a window in the inn, calling out to some passing Ibbenese sailors.

—which itself prefigures the above-quoted off-loading of the Merling King (when "Oswell made two more trips out to the Merling King to offload provisions" including "several casks of wine", from which Petyr immediately "poured Sansa a cup, as promised").

Kella & The Slattern

What about that "slattern lean[ing] out a window" to greet "some passing… sailors" while "children ran and played"? I submit that she is one of several motifs from Theon's homecoming prefiguring Petyr's servant Kella. I'll explain.
Consider that Petyr's servant Kella has many bastards i.e. children, popping one out every few years:

"I don't know the child. Another of Kella's bastards, I suppose. She pops one out every few years."

We only see one; presumably the others are off somewhere, running and playing, perhaps.
Kella happily greets Petyr as he comes ashore, much as Lordsport's slattern "call[s] out to some passing Ibbenese sailors". Note that the sailors on the Merling King are likewise 'passing' — passing through:

"From here the King turns east for Braavos. Without us."

Consider most of all that Kella's something of a slattern herself: She's "not one for telling them no".

"I can't rightly say, m'lord. I'm not one for telling them no."
"And all the local lads are grateful, I am quite sure."

Indeed, something Lysa says pretty clearly codes Kella as a verbatim "slattern", underlining the recursion:

"How would you like to spend your life on that bleak shore, surrounded by slatterns and sheep pellets?" (ASOS Sansa VII)

So I think the vignette with the slattern and the children in Lordsport pretty plainly prefigures Kella. But I think she's prefigured by two more pieces of Theon's homecoming.

Kella & The Captain's Daughter

Keeping in mind that Kella has a bunch of bastards ("she pops one out every few years) and that she's "not one for telling them no", consider also that she is (a) literally 'with child' — or rather, with a child—

a girl of two or three with a sty on one eye

—that she's (b) "fat"—

"Who fathered this one, Kella?"
The fat woman laughed.

—and that she's (c) coded as a bit stupid:

"Kella minds my vast herds. How many sheep do I have at present, Kella?"
She had to think a moment. "Three and twenty, m'lord. There was nine and twenty, but Bryen's dogs killed one and we butchered some others and salted down the meat."

All like Theon's "captain's daughter".
The captain's daughter is "plump", as Kella is "fat":

The girl was a shade plump for his taste…

She is likely pregnant with Theon's bastard, a la Kella the bastard-popper.
She tells Theon…

"You can put it in me again, if it please you…"

…and accedes to his request for a blowjob, so she's "not one for telling them no."
She thereby helps Theon 'pop one off', a la Kella "pop[ping] one out".
Like Kella, she seems a bit stupid:

She looked rather stupid when she smiled, but he had never required a woman to be clever.
The stupid girl did not seem to be listening.
She… learned quickly for such a stupid girl….
She looked at him stupidly, so he left her there.

And finally, she offers to work in Theon's castle—

I'd work in your castle, milord.

—just as Kella works for Petyr.

Kella: The Spreading Patch of the Smallest Finger?

Besides the "slattern" and the captain's daughter, I suspect Kella may also riff on — of all things — the "spreading patches" of "lichen" on "wet" Pyke as Theon sails by:

[Pyke was] wet by the same salt waves, festooned with the same spreading patches of dark green lichen, speckled by the droppings of the same seabirds.

Get it? A spreading 'patch'? In combination with "lichen" a la "licking" and Pyke being "wet"? And not just wet, but "wet by… salt waves", when as we know from the captain's daughter, semen tastes "salty", "like the sea". It's like Pyke is being described as a turned-on "slattern" with her legs spread.
A Hoare, we might say.
This connects to Kella, specifically because of her name: Kella is a near anagram for "kale", a dark green plant, like the "dark green lichen".
Actually, the name Kella may have anothere precursor in Theon's story: "Qalen", the maester Theon asks Helya about upon his arrival at Pyke:

"And what of Maester Qalen, where is he?"

Qalen would be pronounced Kalen. Qalen → Kalen → Kale → Kela → Kella. Anyway…

Grisel & The Captain's Daughter

Something similar is going on with Petyr's servant Grisel, the "thin old woman" who was his wet nurse but who "keeps [his] castle now":

"Grisel was my wet nurse, but she keeps my castle now.

Grisel is similarly prefigured by two people from Theon's homecoming, including first the captain's daughter who wants to work in Theon's castle as Grisel works in Petyr's "castle".
Consider first that Grisel, like the captain's daughter, seems slightly stupid (but eager to please), as she fails to grasp Petyr's sarcasm and takes his derisive joke about gulls' eggs and seaweed soup as an order:

"Ah, cold salt mutton. I must be home. When I break my fast on gulls' eggs and seaweed soup, I'll be certain of it."
"If you like, m'lord," said the old woman Grisel.
Lord Petyr made a face.

Then there is the captain daughter's resume:

"I'd work in your castle, milord. I can clean fish and bake bread and churn butter. Father says my peppercrab stew is the best he's ever tasted. You could find me a place in your kitchens and I could make you peppercrab stew."

This surely prefigures what we're told about Grisel making a sea-based soup of her own (i.e. the just mentioned "seaweed soup"), baking bread, and churning butter for Petyr:

Grisel reappeared before he could say more, balancing a large platter. She set it down between them. … The old woman had brought a round of bread as well, and a crock of butter.
Grisel climbed up to the bedchamber to serve the lord and lady a tray of morning bread, with butter, honey, fruit, and cream.

Where Grisel used to be Petyr's wet nurse, Theon suckles the captain daughter's nipple as if she's a wet nurse:

Theon's finger circled one heavy teat, spiraling in toward the fat brown nipple. … He took her nipple in his mouth….
"You can put it in me again, if it please you," she whispered in his ear as he sucked.

And finally, where Theon kisses the captain's daughter on the ear—

[Theon] drew the captain's daughter close and kissed her on her ear.

—Littlefinger kisses Grisel on the cheek:

Oswell and Lothor splashed their way ashore, as did Littlefinger himself. He gave the old woman a kiss on the cheek and grinned at the younger one.

Helya & Grisel (& Gretchel)

Grisel also rhymes with and reworks Helya, who keeps Balon's castle:

A bentback old crone in a shapeless grey dress approached him warily. "M'lord, I am sent to show you to chambers."
"And who are you?"
"Helya, who keeps this castle for your lord father."

Get it? "Helya and Grisel", a la "Hansel and Gretel".
(Gretel is a variant of "Greta". "Grisel" sounds like gristle, whereas in Hansel and Gretel the witch is trying to fatten Hansel up — she don't want no stringy meat! Note the thematic symmetry as well: By treating Hansel kindly and feeding him delicious treats, the witch is essentially "grooming" him for her own benefit/consumption, as Theon and Petyr groom the captain's daughter and Sansa, respectively, for their own benefit. Finally, note that "pebbles" are a key motif in Hansel and Gretel, prefiguring the proliferation of "pebbles" on Pyke, the 'rhyming' "pellets" on Petyr's Finger, and the isle of "Pebble" that leads to Petyr's Finger.)
The two "old" castle keepers neatly invert one another. Consider Grisel's comments about the old rushes and fire in Petyr's tower:

"If we knew you was coming we would have laid down fresh rushes, m'lord," said the crone. "There's a dung fire burning."
"Nothing says home like the smell of burning dung."

That's a recursive reversal of Helya's (lack of) preparation for Theon's visit: Where Grisel has a fire going even though she didn't know Petyr was coming, and where she proactively apologizes for not changing the rushes, telling him "we would have laid down fresh rushes… if we knew you were coming", Helya neither lit a fire nor changed the heavily foregrounded "old and brittle" rushes in the rooms Theon is given—

"I'll have a basin of hot water and a fire in this hearth," he told the crone. "See that they light braziers in the other rooms to drive out some of the chill. And gods be good, get someone in here at once to change these rushes."

—despite having ample forewarning of his coming:

It was not as though they had no word of his arrival. Robb had sent ravens from Riverrun, and… Jason Mallister had sent his own birds to Pyke….

The joke is underlined by the introduction of "Gretchel" — Gretel with a borrowed H from Helya/Hansel — who fetches washbasins of water (which, see below), "la[ys] a fire in the hearth" and "tend[s] to the fire", brings food and discusses food storage in Petyr's Eyrie in AFFC Sansa I & Alayne I. (In other words, she 'keeps his castle.')

'Rhyming' Interiors

That's just the beginning of the reversals in the many recursions between Theon's lodgings at Pyke and Sansa's in the Drearfort.
Where Helya leads Theon to his rooms on his orders—

"Show me to my chambers, woman," he commanded. Bowing stiffly, [Helya] led him across the headland to the bridge. …
Whenever he'd imagined his homecoming, he had always pictured himself returning to the snug bedchamber in the Sea Tower, where he'd slept as a child. Instead the old woman led him to the Bloody Keep.

—it's Petyr who leads the way into his tower, casually inviting Grisel (and everyone else) to follow him:

"If you like, m'lord," said the old woman Grisel.
Lord Petyr made a face. "Come, let's see if my hall is as dreary as I recall." He led them up the strand…

Petyr jokes about his hall being "dreary", and perhaps it is, but while it's "small" and "even smaller" within, his tower is also home to his servants, and hence very well lived-in.

Within, the tower seemed even smaller. An open stone stair wound round the inside wall, from undercroft to roof. Each floor was but a single room. The servants lived and slept in the kitchen at ground level, sharing the space with a huge brindled mastiff and a half-dozen sheep-dogs. Above that was a modest hall, and higher still the bedchamber.

(Note that the "mastiff", which we see as Petyr leads Grisel in, recalls Helya bowing "stiffly" before leading Theon to his rooms.)
This sharply reverses the situation Theon finds at Pyke, when he's deposited not in a single room shared by a bunch of people who've lived in it forever and warmed by a hearth with a burning fire, a la Sansa, nor in the "snug bedchamber" in the Sea Tower he'd anticipated (which sounds like Littlefinger's little "tower" by the sea), but in the Bloody Keep, in a whole-ass "suite" of large but "chilly", even "cold" rooms with incredibly high ceilings — rooms which haven't even been opened, much less lived-in, for "years", and which are the very definition of "dreary":

The halls here were larger and better furnished, if no less cold nor damp. Theon was given a suite of chilly rooms with ceilings so high that they were lost in gloom. [Omitted but see below.]
[Omitted but see below.] It was not fear of ghosts that made him glance about with distaste. The wall hangings were green with mildew, the mattress musty-smelling and sagging, the rushes old and brittle. Years had come and gone since these chambers had last been opened. The damp went bone deep. "I'll have a basin of hot water and a fire in this hearth," he told the crone. See that they light braziers in the other rooms to drive out some of the chill. And gods be good, get someone in here at once to change these rushes."

A ton of the motifs here (including the omitted stuff, which I'll return to) get recycled and reworked in Petyr's tower.
Most obviously, Theon's request for hot water prefigures Sansa's request for a hot bath:

"Might I have a hot bath as well?" asked Sansa.
"I'll have Kella draw some water, m'lady."

Note that Kella fulfills the request, not Grisel. This 'fits', as it's not Helya who brings Theon's water, but "two thralls".
Note also that Sansa requests her bath after thinking…

She desperately needed a bath and a change of clothes.

…whereas Theon changes his clothes immediately after the quoted passages.
Slightly less obviously, the "wall hangings [that] were green with mildew" are reworked by Petyr's own green 'wall hanging': his grandfather's shield, which is painted with a "light green field" and which "hung… above the hearth". The "mildew" is reworked by the fact that the paint is "cracked and flaking" i.e. flawed. And maybe also by the "light green field", since a field grows crops which get milled and which get dewy.

Brittle Bryen's Brigantine, Brindled Mastiff, & Old Blind Dog

As mentioned, the motif of unchanged rushes from Theon's homecoming recurs when Petyr comes home. But Petyr's homecoming also lexically riffs on Theon's rushes being quote-unquote "old and brittle" by giving us Bryen in "brigantine" who is very "old" but not, seemingly, brittle, as he still walks watches, not with his "old blind dog", but with a "brindled mastiff":

"It is good to have you home, my lord," said one old man. He looked to be at least eighty, but he wore a studded brigantine and a longsword at his side. …
"Bryen—didn't I name you captain of the guard the last time I was here?"
"You did, my lord. You said you'd be getting some more men too, but you never did. Me and the dogs stand all the watches."
Sansa found Bryen's old blind dog in her little alcove beneath the steps…
The servants lived and slept in the kitchen at ground level, sharing the space with a huge brindled mastiff and a half-dozen sheep-dogs.

Is the brindled dog a "mastiff" 'only' a wink at Theon going mast-stiff for Asha? (See Part 4.) Maybe. But it's worth mentioning that when Theon is first being stirred by Pyke's banner and it's being battered about like the shield we see in the Drearfort three sentences after the mastiff, it's also (a) flying from a very stiff "mast" and (b) juxtaposed with a very large 'dog' of sorts:

The banner streamed from an iron mast, shivering and twisting as the wind gusted like a bird struggling to take flight. And here at least the direwolf of Stark did not fly above, casting its shadow down upon the Greyjoy kraken.

Musty Old Mattresses

The old, "musty-smelling and sagging" mattress (in the chamber that has just been re-opened after long periods of being closed and uninhabited) from Theon's homecoming is answered in Petyr's homecomiong by Lysa, who arrives a few pages later in the chapter, eager to finally have sex again with Petyr. "Mattress" is slang for a sexually available woman (https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=mattress) and Lysa sags—

Lady Lysa was two years younger than Mother, but this woman looked ten years older. Thick auburn tresses fell down past her waist, but beneath the costly velvet gown and jeweled bodice her body sagged and bulged.

—and smells stale. (Note that Lysa is on a mattress here.)

Her aunt was drenched in sweet scent, though under that was a sour milky smell. Her cheek tasted of paint and powder.

Lysa's "cheek tast[ing] of paint and powder" riffs on the line about Theon's "distaste" and "fear of ghosts":

It was not fear of ghosts that made him glance about with distaste.

The distaste wordplay is obvious: Lysa tastes bad. As for the "fear of ghosts", Lysa (whom Sansa fears) being covered in "powder" reminds us of Sansa being afraid of a "spirit" covered in powdery flour:

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs…. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. (AGOT Arya IV)

This line—

The halls here were larger and better furnished, if no less cold nor damp.

—is reworked by Lysa as well, who is big and well-dressed ("better furnished", so to speak)—

[B]eneath the costly velvet gown and jeweled bodice her body sagged and bulged. Her face was pink and painted, her breasts heavy, her limbs thick. She was taller than Littlefinger, and heavier; nor did she show any grace in the clumsy way she climbed down off her horse.

—but cold to Sansa and horny/wet/"damp" for Petyr.
Given that Theon's rooms are in several ways like Lysa (newly 'open for business' after a long period of being closed and untouched by men, etc.), and pronouncing aunt like antler, we also might say that where the Lysa-like rooms are "cold" and "damp", Lysa herself is Sansa's "cold" aunt. Rhyming 'rhyming'.
That "years had come and gone since" the room with the Lysa-like mattress "had last been opened" is reworked not just by Lysa getting laid, but textually when Sansa is told Lysa is coming to the Drearfort (where she is 're-opened', so to speak):

It had been years since Sansa last saw her mother's sister…"

I wonder whether Lysa crying and speaking to Sansa of being "bound by blood" to her—

Tears welled suddenly in Lady Lysa's eyes. "We are women alone now, you and I. Are you afraid, child? Be brave. I would never turn away Cat's daughter. We are bound by blood."

—might not be in part a play on the fact that "the damp went bone deep" in the Bloody Keep. By saying that, Sansa's damp (i.e. crying) aunt "went bone deep", so to speak. (If you're "bound by blood" to someone, you have a "bone deep" bond with them. Also, bone → bound wordplay?)

Braziers → Bracing?

Did Theon's attempt to drive away "the chill" and damp of the salty sea air of Pyke using "braziers"—

See that they light braziers in the other rooms to drive out some of the chill.

—inform (via wordplay: braziers → bracing) Petyr's line when the Merling King pulls up to the Drearfort?

Lord Petyr came up beside her, cheerful as ever. "Good morrow. The salt air is bracing, don't you think? It always sharpens my appetite."

And/or is that "sharpening" motif a recursion of Theon sharpening his dirk immediately after said braziers are lit?

After some time, they brought the hot water he had asked for. … While two thralls lit his braziers, Theon stripped off his travel-stained clothing and dressed to meet his father. … He hung a dirk at one hip and a longsword at the other…. Drawing the dirk, he … pulled a whetstone from his belt pouch, and gave it a few licks. He prided himself on keeping his weapons sharp.

Gods Be Good!

The motifs of Theon yelling "gods be good" at his servant and of "ceilings so high that they were lost in gloom" are recursively reworked when Lysa summons Sansa (like a servant) to speak with her the morning after she weds Petyr. Sansa responds to the summons by thinking, verbatim, "gods be good", and is then told they'll be heading to the Eyrie, which we know is "so high you can stand on the parapets and look down on the clouds", i.e. it has parapets 'so high that they were lost in the clouds':

Lady Lysa was still abed [like a good mattress!], but Lord Petyr was up and dressed. "Your aunt wishes to speak with you," he told Sansa, as he pulled on a boot. "I've told her who you are."
Gods be good. "I . . . I thank you, my lord."
Petyr yanked on the other boot. "I've had about as much home as I can stomach. We'll leave for the Eyrie this afternoon."
Seven towers, Ned had told her, like white daggers thrust into the belly of the sky, so high you can stand on the parapets and look down on the clouds. (AGOT Catelyn VI)

The notion of a "ceiling" so high it is lost in gloom is perhaps also reworked by the story Lysa tells Sansa about Petyr's "rise" to power: She says she "always knew how high [Petyr would] rise", and it's my belief that said rise has likely seen him 'lost', spiritually, in 'darkness'. (Note that ceilings are a frequently invoked metaphor when talking about climbing the corporate ladder.)

"Half his teeth were gone, and his breath smelled like bad cheese. I cannot abide a man with foul breath. Petyr's breath is always fresh . . . he was the first man I ever kissed, you know. My father said he was too lowborn, but I knew how high he'd rise. Jon gave him the customs for Gulltown to please me, but when he increased the incomes tenfold my lord husband saw how clever he was and gave him other appointments, even brought him to King's Landing to be master of coin. That was hard, to see him every day and still be wed to that old cold man.

(Recall that the motif of bad/fresh breath there reworks the "winey stench of the old man's [Sylas Sourmouth's] breath", which Theon thinks about roughly ¼ page prior to being shown his suite in the Bloody Keep.)

Butchered Sons & Brothers

Lysa continues to rant:

"Jon did his duty in the bedchamber, but he could no more give me pleasure than he could give me children. His seed was old and weak. All my babies died but Robert, three girls and two boys. All my sweet little babies dead, and that old man just went on and on with his stinking breath. So you see, I have suffered too." Lady Lysa sniffed. "You do know that your poor mother is dead?"
"Tyrion told me," said Sansa. "He said the Freys murdered her at The Twins, with Robb."

Those references to (a) a bunch of dead "babies", including two brothers, one of which was "murdered" when Lysa's father, Hoster Tully, who ruled the Riverlands, betrayed Lysa's trust; and to (b) foul smelling breath, a la Sylas, and finally to (c) the Red Wedding — a bloody betrayal of Sansa's brother, who was King of the Riverlands — particularly (per Sansa saying "Tyrion told me") as it's described by Tyrion—

Sansa did not need to hear how her brother's body had been hacked and mutilated, he decided; nor how her mother's corpse had been dumped naked into the Green Fork in a savage mockery of House Tully's funeral customs. (ASOS Tyrion VII)

—are one of the ways ASOS Sansa VI rejiggers the part of Theon's description of his Bloody Keep suite I "[omitted]" earlier, which entails betrayals, murdered brothers, a River King, slaughter, and bodies "hacked to bits".

[Theon] might have been more impressed if he had not known that these were the very chambers that had given the Bloody Keep its name. A thousand years before, the sons of the River King had been slaughtered here, hacked to bits in their beds so that pieces of their bodies might be sent back to their father on the mainland.
But Greyjoys were not murdered in Pyke except once in a great while by their brothers, and his brothers were both dead.

Lysa's speech with its reference to her abortion and to the Red Wedding (and to stink-breath like Sylas's) isn't the only (or even the main) way Petyr's homecoming chapter refracts those images from Theon's homecoming, though.
Littlefinger is himself a kind of River King (as Lord Paramount of the Trident), right? And note that we read all about his "slaughtered" "sons" just before he enters the tower, wherein we then see the foul betrayers who murdered their 'brothers'. I'm talking, of course, about his sheep and his sheepdogs:

"How many sheep do I have at present, Kella?"
… "Three and twenty, m'lord. There was nine and twenty, but Bryen's dogs killed one and we butchered some others and salted down the meat."
"Ah, cold salt mutton. I must be home.…" … "Come, let's see if my hall is as dreary as I recall." … A handful of sheep were wandering about the base of the flint tower…. …
Within, the tower seemed even smaller. An open stone stair wound round the inside wall, from undercroft to roof. Each floor was but a single room. The servants lived and slept in the kitchen at ground level, sharing the space with a huge brindled mastiff and a half-dozen sheep-dogs.

Note the kitchen, recalling that the Bloody Keep is paired with the Kitchen Keep as Theon first gazes on Pyke:

Farther out were the Kitchen Keep and the Bloody Keep, each on its own island.

Note, too, that the sheep are coded as Petyr's "sons", in a way (a la the "slaughtered… sons of the River King" Theon remembers in his Bloody Tower rooms), and not just because he owns them. He says that Kella has lots of bastards and that she minds his sheep, right? And what else does he say of Kella, in jest? That she 'is' the "mother" of his "daughter," "Alayne Stone":

"Alayne . . . Stone, would it be?" When he nodded, she said, "But who is my mother?"
"Kella?"
"Please no," she said, mortified.
"I was teasing.

The joke foregrounds the notion of Petyr as the father of Kella's children. And while she supposedly has a bunch of bastards, we don't see them. We just see the one girl with the livestock-evoking eye with a sty. It's almost like the sheep she looks after are her children. And thus like Petyr is their father.
(Note the word "mortified". This points straight back to Theon in his Bloody Tower for two reasons: First, greyscale, which mortifies the flesh, killed Balon's brother Harlon, who died "in a windowless tower room" at Pyke. Second: Theon will, in his next chapter, be truly mortified by the realization that "Esgred" is his sister Asha, where that masquerade in turn prefigures Sansa masquerading as Alayne.)
So the "cold" Bloody Keep with its partner the Kitchen Keep and its story of a "slaughter", betrayal, brother killing brother, a River King's sons' bodies "hacked to bits in their beds" — all these motifs are reworked by Kella's account of one of Lord Paramount Petyr's sheep-'sons' being killed by its lexicial 'brothers', the very "sheep-dogs" who were supposed to guard it, and of other sheep-'sons' being verbatim "butchered", i.e. slaughtered on a killing bed and in the process surely hacked into pieces that were then preserved against spoilage for future consumption, such that the resulting "cold salt mutton" could be used as travel rations. Which jibes with Theon's language, creatively interpreted:

[T]he sons of the River King had been slaughtered here, hacked to bits in their beds so that pieces of their bodies might be sent back to their father on the mainland.

(They were slaughtered and hacked to bits only so as to properly preserve them against spoilage during their upcoming journey "back to their father on the mainland", you see!)

Theon's Honor Guard

The conditions in Theon's rooms are consistent with the cold welcome he receives, both from Aeron—

The priest's manner was chilly, most unlike the man Theon remembered.

—and Balon—

Theon pulled off his gloves. "… Why is my father not here to greet me?"
"He awaits you in the Sea Tower, m'lord. When you are rested from your trip."
And I thought Ned Stark cold.

—and they're thus part of a broad yin/yang 'rhyme' with Petyr's initial homecoming, which is warm and welcoming and full of familiar faces, whereas Theon knows no one, such that he thinks:

It is as if I were a stranger here….

The reversal is wryly underlined when Petyr is greeted at the shore by his "captain of the guards", Bryen:

"It is good to have you home, my lord," said one old man.

Thus Petyr ironically gets the "honor guard" welcome Theon hoped he'd get on his arrival 'home':

[Theon] saw… no honor guard waiting to escort him from Lordsport to Pyke, only smallfolk going about their small business.

Notice that where no one stops what they're doing for Theon, everyone stops when Petyr arrives. And of course, everyone in his household recognizes him, whereas no one recognizes Theon. Which is telling, because in a deep sense, that's all Theon really wants, deep down: a little recognition.
Littlefinger has it… but it's not enough.

(SUB)SERIES CONCLUDES IN PART 10: Oswell & Aeron; Lothar & Dagmer; The Closing Twist

This post is part of a series looking at the massive amount of 'rhyming' (and occasionally rhyming) recursivity I believe exists between (a) the homecoming of Petyr Baelish to the Fingers and (b) the homecoming of Theon Greyjoy to Pyke.
While this series/post can be read simply as a study 'for its own sake' of the curious recursion between these storylines, it is my belief that the 'rhyming' explored here between the stories of Petyr and Theon exists (at least in part) to foreshadow that, like Theon, Petyr Littlefinger, is (among other things) a scion of ironborn kings, because Petyr is Hoare-ish: I.e. because Petyr's blood is (in some part) the blood of the ironborn kings of House Hoare of Orkmont and, later, Harrenhal.
You can find an index of every post I've made on the topic of a Hoare-ish Littlefinger (including every post in this sub-series) [HERE].
Even if I'm wrong about Littlefinger's lineage, the 'rhyming' recursivity between the homecomings of Theon and Petyr detailed in this series remains, and certainly merits attention.
NOTE: In what follows, all uncited quotes are from ASOS Sansa VI, which describes Petyr's homecoming to his "Drearfort" tower of the 'Smallest Finger', or ACOK Theon I, which describes Theon's homecoming to "drear" Pyke.
As in past posts, I sometimes use "→" as shorthand for "'prefigures' and/or 'informs' and/or 'is reworked by' and/or 'finds a recursive rhyme in'.
As in: ACOK Theon I → ASOS Sansa VI.
This post picks up straight-away from where Part 8 left off. You can read Part 8 [HERE].
If you want to begin at the beginning, Part 1 is [HERE].

The Myraham's Prophetic Cargo

After Theon makes port, the captain of the Myraham announces his cargo to the people on the docks of Lordport and we read about the offloading of the Myraham:

"We're out of Oldtown," the captain called down, "bearing apples and oranges, wines from the Arbor, feathers from the Summer Isles. I have pepper, woven leathers, a bolt of Myrish lace, mirrors for milady, a pair of Oldtown woodharps sweet as any you ever heard." The gangplank descended with a creak and a thud. "And I've brought your heir back to you."

Most of what we read there seems to be reworked in and around Littlefinger's homecoming in ASOS Sansa VI, when the Merling King brings the Dreadfort its heir, Littlefinger, as well as the seeming heir to Winterfell, Sansa. This begins with the Arbor wine and fruit we see off-loaded from the Merling King:

Oswell made two more trips out to the Merling King to offload provisions. Among the loads he brought ashore were several casks of wine. Petyr poured Sansa a cup, as promised. …
… The wine was very fine; an Arbor vintage, she thought. It tasted of oak and fruit and hot summer nights, the flavors blossoming in her mouth like flowers opening to the sun. She only prayed that she could keep it down. Lord Petyr was being so kind, she did not want to spoil it all by retching on him.
… "Grisel," he called to the old woman, "bring some food up. … Oswell's brought some oranges and pomegranates from the King." …
Grisel reappeared…, balancing a large platter. … There were apples and pears and pomegranates, some sad-looking grapes, a huge blood orange.

Besides the straight repetition of Arbor wine, oranges, apples, and heirs, the repeated Oldtown motif is baldly reworked by Sansa's description of the wine, which is patently Oldtown-summer-esque, per the only substantive pre-AFFC description of Oldtown, which associates it with hot, fruity summer nights:

"King Maekar's summer was hotter than this one, and near as long. … [T]he heat was fierce while it lasted. Oldtown… came alive only by night. … I remember the smells of those nights, my lord—perfume and sweat, melons ripe to bursting, peaches and pomegranates, nightshade and moonbloom." (AGOT Eddard V)

The Myraham's "mirrors for milady" prefigure Sansa being figuratively groomed by Petyr and literally grooming herself in Petyr's Eyrie after he takes over:

When Gretchel fetched her Lysa's silvered looking glass, the color seemed just perfect with Alayne's mass of dark brown hair. (AFFC Alayne I)

The Myraham's "woodharps sweet as any you ever heard" presage Sansa being attacked by Marillion, whose "voice was strong and sweet", (AFFC Sansa I) after he sings a song (about blowjobs?) called "Milady's Supper" (supper a la the Myraham-ish fruit Sansa eats for supper when she lands) during Petyr's wedding bedding:

Lady Lysa's singer launched into a bawdy version of "Milady's Supper"….

The Myraham's "woven leathers" and "Myrish lace" are reworked into the "laces unlaced" i.e. unwoven during said wedding:

By the time they had gotten him into the tower and out of his clothes, the other women were flushed, with laces unlaced, kirtles crooked, and skirts in disarray.

That it's a "bolt of Myrish lace" is interesting: After Sansa boards the Merling King, she sees a singular "bolt" from a crossbow strike Dontos, and then two more:

Lothor Brune dipped his torch. Three men stepped to the gunwale, raised crossbows, fired. One bolt took Dontos in the chest as he looked up…. The others ripped into throat and belly. (ASOS Sansa V)

Three crossbow bolts? What does that remind us if not… a Myrish crossbow:

"The king is playing with his new crossbow," Tyrion said. Ridding himself of Joffrey had required only an ungainly Myrish crossbow that threw three quarrels at a time…. (ACOK Tyrion VI)

What about the Myraham's "pepper"? I suspect this gets box-checked first by Sansa trying not to "retch" as she is off-loaded along with the wine with which Littlefinger tries to settle her tummy, as just two chapters later peppers are tightly linked to "retching" of the sort Sansa feels like doing:

[Tyrion] found himself on his knees retching… that double helping of fried eggs cooked up with onions and fiery Dornish peppers. (ASOS Tyrion X)

GRRM seems to play off the "pepper" motif in other ways, as well. Consider that the gathering to meet the Myraham and the shouted questions that prompt her captain to announce her cargo—

A handful of Lordsport merchants had gathered to meet the ship. They shouted questions as the Myraham was tying up.

—get reworked by Petyr's household all gathering "to meet" the Merling King and by their peppering one another with questions:

Servants emerged from the tower to meet them; a thin old woman and a fat middle-aged one, two ancient white-haired men, and a girl of two or three with a sty on one eye. When they recognized Lord Petyr they knelt on the rocks. "My household," he said. "I don't know the child. Another of Kella's bastards, I suppose. She pops one out every few years."

She's a "popper", then, in case we didn't catch that retching → peppers. (This also reworks Theon "popping one off" with the captain's daughter, who is in many ways reworked by Kella, as will be discussed below.)

… [Petyr]… gave the old woman a kiss on the cheek and grinned at the younger one. "Who fathered this one, Kella?"
The fat woman laughed. "I can't rightly say, m'lord. I'm not one for telling them no."
"And all the local lads are grateful, I am quite sure."
"It is good to have you home, my lord," said one old man. … "How long will you be in residence?"
"As short a time as possible, Bryen, have no fear. Is the place habitable just now, would you say?"
"If we knew you was coming we would have laid down fresh rushes, m'lord," said the crone. "There's a dung fire burning."
"Nothing says home like the smell of burning dung." Petyr turned to Sansa. "Grisel was my wet nurse, but she keeps my castle now. Umfred's my steward, and Bryen—didn't I name you captain of the guard the last time I was here?"
"You did, my lord.…"
… Petyr gestured toward the fat woman. "Kella minds my vast herds. How many sheep do I have at present, Kella?"

A gathering, and questions, questions, questions, as when Theon docks.
Recall that Bryen and Umfred come from shore to offload Sansa (who's just been promised a cup of wine to help with her upset "tummy") from the Merling King's rowboat:

The two old men waded out up to their thighs to lift Sansa from the boat so she would not get her skirts wet.

This reworks the "shorehands… off-loading… casks of wine" from a Tyroshi trader docked with the Myraham—

[Theon] spied a Tyroshi trading galley off-loading…
Shorehands rolled casks of wine off the Tyroshi trader, fisherfolk cried the day's catch, children ran and played. A priest in the seawater robes of the Drowned God was leading a pair of horses along the pebbled shore, while above him a slattern leaned out a window in the inn, calling out to some passing Ibbenese sailors.

—which itself prefigures the above-quoted off-loading of the Merling King (when "Oswell made two more trips out to the Merling King to offload provisions" including "several casks of wine", from which Petyr immediately "poured Sansa a cup, as promised").

Kella & The Slattern

What about that "slattern lean[ing] out a window" to greet "some passing… sailors" while "children ran and played"? I submit that she is one of several motifs from Theon's homecoming prefiguring Petyr's servant Kella. I'll explain.
Consider that Petyr's servant Kella has many bastards i.e. children, popping one out every few years:

"I don't know the child. Another of Kella's bastards, I suppose. She pops one out every few years."

We only see one; presumably the others are off somewhere, running and playing, perhaps.
Kella happily greets Petyr as he comes ashore, much as Lordsport's slattern "call[s] out to some passing Ibbenese sailors". Note that the sailors on the Merling King are likewise 'passing' — passing through:

"From here the King turns east for Braavos. Without us."

Consider most of all that Kella's something of a slattern herself: She's "not one for telling them no".

"I can't rightly say, m'lord. I'm not one for telling them no."
"And all the local lads are grateful, I am quite sure."

Indeed, something Lysa says pretty clearly codes Kella as a verbatim "slattern", underlining the recursion:

"How would you like to spend your life on that bleak shore, surrounded by slatterns and sheep pellets?" (ASOS Sansa VII)

So I think the vignette with the slattern and the children in Lordsport pretty plainly prefigures Kella. But I think she's prefigured by two more pieces of Theon's homecoming.

Kella & The Captain's Daughter

Keeping in mind that Kella has a bunch of bastards ("she pops one out every few years) and that she's "not one for telling them no", consider also that she is (a) literally 'with child' — or rather, with a child—

a girl of two or three with a sty on one eye

—that she's (b) "fat"—

"Who fathered this one, Kella?"
The fat woman laughed.

—and that she's (c) coded as a bit stupid:

"Kella minds my vast herds. How many sheep do I have at present, Kella?"
She had to think a moment. "Three and twenty, m'lord. There was nine and twenty, but Bryen's dogs killed one and we butchered some others and salted down the meat."

All like Theon's "captain's daughter".
The captain's daughter is "plump", as Kella is "fat":

The girl was a shade plump for his taste…

She is likely pregnant with Theon's bastard, a la Kella the bastard-popper.
She tells Theon…

"You can put it in me again, if it please you…"

…and accedes to his request for a blowjob, so she's "not one for telling them no."
She thereby helps Theon 'pop one off', a la Kella "pop[ping] one out".
Like Kella, she seems a bit stupid:

She looked rather stupid when she smiled, but he had never required a woman to be clever.
The stupid girl did not seem to be listening.
She… learned quickly for such a stupid girl….
She looked at him stupidly, so he left her there.

And finally, she offers to work in Theon's castle—

I'd work in your castle, milord.

—just as Kella works for Petyr.

Kella: The Spreading Patch of the Smallest Finger?

Besides the "slattern" and the captain's daughter, I suspect Kella may also riff on — of all things — the "spreading patches" of "lichen" on "wet" Pyke as Theon sails by:

[Pyke was] wet by the same salt waves, festooned with the same spreading patches of dark green lichen, speckled by the droppings of the same seabirds.

Get it? A spreading 'patch'? In combination with "lichen" a la "licking" and Pyke being "wet"? And not just wet, but "wet by… salt waves", when as we know from the captain's daughter, semen tastes "salty", "like the sea". It's like Pyke is being described as a turned-on "slattern" with her legs spread.
A Hoare, we might say.
This connects to Kella, specifically because of her name: Kella is a near anagram for "kale", a dark green plant, like the "dark green lichen".
Actually, the name Kella may have anothere precursor in Theon's story: "Qalen", the maester Theon asks Helya about upon his arrival at Pyke:

"And what of Maester Qalen, where is he?"

Qalen would be pronounced Kalen. Qalen → Kalen → Kale → Kela → Kella. Anyway…

Grisel & The Captain's Daughter

Something similar is going on with Petyr's servant Grisel, the "thin old woman" who was his wet nurse but who "keeps [his] castle now":

"Grisel was my wet nurse, but she keeps my castle now.

Grisel is similarly prefigured by two people from Theon's homecoming, including first the captain's daughter who wants to work in Theon's castle as Grisel works in Petyr's "castle".
Consider first that Grisel, like the captain's daughter, seems slightly stupid (but eager to please), as she fails to grasp Petyr's sarcasm and takes his derisive joke about gulls' eggs and seaweed soup as an order:

"Ah, cold salt mutton. I must be home. When I break my fast on gulls' eggs and seaweed soup, I'll be certain of it."
"If you like, m'lord," said the old woman Grisel.
Lord Petyr made a face.

Then there is the captain daughter's resume:

"I'd work in your castle, milord. I can clean fish and bake bread and churn butter. Father says my peppercrab stew is the best he's ever tasted. You could find me a place in your kitchens and I could make you peppercrab stew."

This surely prefigures what we're told about Grisel making a sea-based soup of her own (i.e. the just mentioned "seaweed soup"), baking bread, and churning butter for Petyr:

Grisel reappeared before he could say more, balancing a large platter. She set it down between them. … The old woman had brought a round of bread as well, and a crock of butter.
Grisel climbed up to the bedchamber to serve the lord and lady a tray of morning bread, with butter, honey, fruit, and cream.

Where Grisel used to be Petyr's wet nurse, Theon suckles the captain daughter's nipple as if she's a wet nurse:

Theon's finger circled one heavy teat, spiraling in toward the fat brown nipple. … He took her nipple in his mouth….
"You can put it in me again, if it please you," she whispered in his ear as he sucked.

And finally, where Theon kisses the captain's daughter on the ear—

[Theon] drew the captain's daughter close and kissed her on her ear.

—Littlefinger kisses Grisel on the cheek:

Oswell and Lothor splashed their way ashore, as did Littlefinger himself. He gave the old woman a kiss on the cheek and grinned at the younger one.

Helya & Grisel (& Gretchel)

Grisel also rhymes with and reworks Helya, who keeps Balon's castle:

A bentback old crone in a shapeless grey dress approached him warily. "M'lord, I am sent to show you to chambers."
"And who are you?"
"Helya, who keeps this castle for your lord father."

Get it? "Helya and Grisel", a la "Hansel and Gretel".
(Gretel is a variant of "Greta". "Grisel" sounds like gristle, whereas in Hansel and Gretel the witch is trying to fatten Hansel up — she don't want no stringy meat! Note the thematic symmetry as well: By treating Hansel kindly and feeding him delicious treats, the witch is essentially "grooming" him for her own benefit/consumption, as Theon and Petyr groom the captain's daughter and Sansa, respectively, for their own benefit. Finally, note that "pebbles" are a key motif in Hansel and Gretel, prefiguring the proliferation of "pebbles" on Pyke, the 'rhyming' "pellets" on Petyr's Finger, and the isle of "Pebble" that leads to Petyr's Finger.)
The two "old" castle keepers neatly invert one another. Consider Grisel's comments about the old rushes and fire in Petyr's tower:

"If we knew you was coming we would have laid down fresh rushes, m'lord," said the crone. "There's a dung fire burning."
"Nothing says home like the smell of burning dung."

That's a recursive reversal of Helya's (lack of) preparation for Theon's visit: Where Grisel has a fire going even though she didn't know Petyr was coming, and where she proactively apologizes for not changing the rushes, telling him "we would have laid down fresh rushes… if we knew you were coming", Helya neither lit a fire nor changed the heavily foregrounded "old and brittle" rushes in the rooms Theon is given—

"I'll have a basin of hot water and a fire in this hearth," he told the crone. "See that they light braziers in the other rooms to drive out some of the chill. And gods be good, get someone in here at once to change these rushes."

—despite having ample forewarning of his coming:

It was not as though they had no word of his arrival. Robb had sent ravens from Riverrun, and… Jason Mallister had sent his own birds to Pyke….

The joke is underlined by the introduction of "Gretchel" — Gretel with a borrowed H from Helya/Hansel — who fetches washbasins of water (which, see below), "la[ys] a fire in the hearth" and "tend[s] to the fire", brings food and discusses food storage in Petyr's Eyrie in AFFC Sansa I & Alayne I. (In other words, she 'keeps his castle.')

'Rhyming' Interiors

That's just the beginning of the reversals in the many recursions between Theon's lodgings at Pyke and Sansa's in the Drearfort.
Where Helya leads Theon to his rooms on his orders—

"Show me to my chambers, woman," he commanded. Bowing stiffly, [Helya] led him across the headland to the bridge. …
Whenever he'd imagined his homecoming, he had always pictured himself returning to the snug bedchamber in the Sea Tower, where he'd slept as a child. Instead the old woman led him to the Bloody Keep.

—it's Petyr who leads the way into his tower, casually inviting Grisel (and everyone else) to follow him:

"If you like, m'lord," said the old woman Grisel.
Lord Petyr made a face. "Come, let's see if my hall is as dreary as I recall." He led them up the strand…

Petyr jokes about his hall being "dreary", and perhaps it is, but while it's "small" and "even smaller" within, his tower is also home to his servants, and hence very well lived-in.

Within, the tower seemed even smaller. An open stone stair wound round the inside wall, from undercroft to roof. Each floor was but a single room. The servants lived and slept in the kitchen at ground level, sharing the space with a huge brindled mastiff and a half-dozen sheep-dogs. Above that was a modest hall, and higher still the bedchamber.

(Note that the "mastiff", which we see as Petyr leads Grisel in, recalls Helya bowing "stiffly" before leading Theon to his rooms.)
This sharply reverses the situation Theon finds at Pyke, when he's deposited not in a single room shared by a bunch of people who've lived in it forever and warmed by a hearth with a burning fire, a la Sansa, nor in the "snug bedchamber" in the Sea Tower he'd anticipated (which sounds like Littlefinger's little "tower" by the sea), but in the Bloody Keep, in a whole-ass "suite" of large but "chilly", even "cold" rooms with incredibly high ceilings — rooms which haven't even been opened, much less lived-in, for "years", and which are the very definition of "dreary":

The halls here were larger and better furnished, if no less cold nor damp. Theon was given a suite of chilly rooms with ceilings so high that they were lost in gloom. [Omitted but see below.]
[Omitted but see below.] It was not fear of ghosts that made him glance about with distaste. The wall hangings were green with mildew, the mattress musty-smelling and sagging, the rushes old and brittle. Years had come and gone since these chambers had last been opened. The damp went bone deep. "I'll have a basin of hot water and a fire in this hearth," he told the crone. See that they light braziers in the other rooms to drive out some of the chill. And gods be good, get someone in here at once to change these rushes."

A ton of the motifs here (including the omitted stuff, which I'll return to) get recycled and reworked in Petyr's tower.
Most obviously, Theon's request for hot water prefigures Sansa's request for a hot bath:

"Might I have a hot bath as well?" asked Sansa.
"I'll have Kella draw some water, m'lady."

Note that Kella fulfills the request, not Grisel. This 'fits', as it's not Helya who brings Theon's water, but "two thralls".
Note also that Sansa requests her bath after thinking…

She desperately needed a bath and a change of clothes.

…whereas Theon changes his clothes immediately after the quoted passages.
Slightly less obviously, the "wall hangings [that] were green with mildew" are reworked by Petyr's own green 'wall hanging': his grandfather's shield, which is painted with a "light green field" and which "hung… above the hearth". The "mildew" is reworked by the fact that the paint is "cracked and flaking" i.e. flawed. And maybe also by the "light green field", since a field grows crops which get milled and which get dewy.

Brittle Bryen's Brigantine, Brindled Mastiff, & Old Blind Dog

As mentioned, the motif of unchanged rushes from Theon's homecoming recurs when Petyr comes home. But Petyr's homecoming also lexically riffs on Theon's rushes being quote-unquote "old and brittle" by giving us Bryen in "brigantine" who is very "old" but not, seemingly, brittle, as he still walks watches, not with his "old blind dog", but with a "brindled mastiff":

"It is good to have you home, my lord," said one old man. He looked to be at least eighty, but he wore a studded brigantine and a longsword at his side. …
"Bryen—didn't I name you captain of the guard the last time I was here?"
"You did, my lord. You said you'd be getting some more men too, but you never did. Me and the dogs stand all the watches."
Sansa found Bryen's old blind dog in her little alcove beneath the steps…
The servants lived and slept in the kitchen at ground level, sharing the space with a huge brindled mastiff and a half-dozen sheep-dogs.

Is the brindled dog a "mastiff" 'only' a wink at Theon going mast-stiff for Asha? (See Part 4.) Maybe. But it's worth mentioning that when Theon is first being stirred by Pyke's banner and it's being battered about like the shield we see in the Drearfort three sentences after the mastiff, it's also (a) flying from a very stiff "mast" and (b) juxtaposed with a very large 'dog' of sorts:

The banner streamed from an iron mast, shivering and twisting as the wind gusted like a bird struggling to take flight. And here at least the direwolf of Stark did not fly above, casting its shadow down upon the Greyjoy kraken.

Musty Old Mattresses

The old, "musty-smelling and sagging" mattress (in the chamber that has just been re-opened after long periods of being closed and uninhabited) from Theon's homecoming is answered in Petyr's homecomiong by Lysa, who arrives a few pages later in the chapter, eager to finally have sex again with Petyr. "Mattress" is slang for a sexually available woman (https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=mattress) and Lysa sags—

Lady Lysa was two years younger than Mother, but this woman looked ten years older. Thick auburn tresses fell down past her waist, but beneath the costly velvet gown and jeweled bodice her body sagged and bulged.

—and smells stale. (Note that Lysa is on a mattress here.)

Her aunt was drenched in sweet scent, though under that was a sour milky smell. Her cheek tasted of paint and powder.

Lysa's "cheek tast[ing] of paint and powder" riffs on the line about Theon's "distaste" and "fear of ghosts":

It was not fear of ghosts that made him glance about with distaste.

The distaste wordplay is obvious: Lysa tastes bad. As for the "fear of ghosts", Lysa (whom Sansa fears) being covered in "powder" reminds us of Sansa being afraid of a "spirit" covered in powdery flour:

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs…. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. (AGOT Arya IV)

This line—

The halls here were larger and better furnished, if no less cold nor damp.

—is reworked by Lysa as well, who is big and well-dressed ("better furnished", so to speak)—

[B]eneath the costly velvet gown and jeweled bodice her body sagged and bulged. Her face was pink and painted, her breasts heavy, her limbs thick. She was taller than Littlefinger, and heavier; nor did she show any grace in the clumsy way she climbed down off her horse.

—but cold to Sansa and horny/wet/"damp" for Petyr.
Given that Theon's rooms are in several ways like Lysa (newly 'open for business' after a long period of being closed and untouched by men, etc.), and pronouncing aunt like antler, we also might say that where the Lysa-like rooms are "cold" and "damp", Lysa herself is Sansa's "cold" aunt. Rhyming 'rhyming'.
That "years had come and gone since" the room with the Lysa-like mattress "had last been opened" is reworked not just by Lysa getting laid, but textually when Sansa is told Lysa is coming to the Drearfort (where she is 're-opened', so to speak):

It had been years since Sansa last saw her mother's sister…"

I wonder whether Lysa crying and speaking to Sansa of being "bound by blood" to her—

Tears welled suddenly in Lady Lysa's eyes. "We are women alone now, you and I. Are you afraid, child? Be brave. I would never turn away Cat's daughter. We are bound by blood."

—might not be in part a play on the fact that "the damp went bone deep" in the Bloody Keep. By saying that, Sansa's damp (i.e. crying) aunt "went bone deep", so to speak. (If you're "bound by blood" to someone, you have a "bone deep" bond with them. Also, bone → bound wordplay?)

Braziers → Bracing?

Did Theon's attempt to drive away "the chill" and damp of the salty sea air of Pyke using "braziers"—

See that they light braziers in the other rooms to drive out some of the chill.

—inform (via wordplay: braziers → bracing) Petyr's line when the Merling King pulls up to the Drearfort?

Lord Petyr came up beside her, cheerful as ever. "Good morrow. The salt air is bracing, don't you think? It always sharpens my appetite."

And/or is that "sharpening" motif a recursion of Theon sharpening his dirk immediately after said braziers are lit?

After some time, they brought the hot water he had asked for. … While two thralls lit his braziers, Theon stripped off his travel-stained clothing and dressed to meet his father. … He hung a dirk at one hip and a longsword at the other…. Drawing the dirk, he … pulled a whetstone from his belt pouch, and gave it a few licks. He prided himself on keeping his weapons sharp.

Gods Be Good!

The motifs of Theon yelling "gods be good" at his servant and of "ceilings so high that they were lost in gloom" are recursively reworked when Lysa summons Sansa (like a servant) to speak with her the morning after she weds Petyr. Sansa responds to the summons by thinking, verbatim, "gods be good", and is then told they'll be heading to the Eyrie, which we know is "so high you can stand on the parapets and look down on the clouds", i.e. it has parapets 'so high that they were lost in the clouds':

Lady Lysa was still abed [like a good mattress!], but Lord Petyr was up and dressed. "Your aunt wishes to speak with you," he told Sansa, as he pulled on a boot. "I've told her who you are."
Gods be good. "I . . . I thank you, my lord."
Petyr yanked on the other boot. "I've had about as much home as I can stomach. We'll leave for the Eyrie this afternoon."
Seven towers, Ned had told her, like white daggers thrust into the belly of the sky, so high you can stand on the parapets and look down on the clouds. (AGOT Catelyn VI)

The notion of a "ceiling" so high it is lost in gloom is perhaps also reworked by the story Lysa tells Sansa about Petyr's "rise" to power: She says she "always knew how high [Petyr would] rise", and it's my belief that said rise has likely seen him 'lost', spiritually, in 'darkness'. (Note that ceilings are a frequently invoked metaphor when talking about climbing the corporate ladder.)

"Half his teeth were gone, and his breath smelled like bad cheese. I cannot abide a man with foul breath. Petyr's breath is always fresh . . . he was the first man I ever kissed, you know. My father said he was too lowborn, but I knew how high he'd rise. Jon gave him the customs for Gulltown to please me, but when he increased the incomes tenfold my lord husband saw how clever he was and gave him other appointments, even brought him to King's Landing to be master of coin. That was hard, to see him every day and still be wed to that old cold man.

(Recall that the motif of bad/fresh breath there reworks the "winey stench of the old man's [Sylas Sourmouth's] breath", which Theon thinks about roughly ¼ page prior to being shown his suite in the Bloody Keep.)

Butchered Sons & Brothers

Lysa continues to rant:

"Jon did his duty in the bedchamber, but he could no more give me pleasure than he could give me children. His seed was old and weak. All my babies died but Robert, three girls and two boys. All my sweet little babies dead, and that old man just went on and on with his stinking breath. So you see, I have suffered too." Lady Lysa sniffed. "You do know that your poor mother is dead?"
"Tyrion told me," said Sansa. "He said the Freys murdered her at The Twins, with Robb."

Those references to (a) a bunch of dead "babies", including two brothers, one of which was "murdered" when Lysa's father, Hoster Tully, who ruled the Riverlands, betrayed Lysa's trust; and to (b) foul smelling breath, a la Sylas, and finally to (c) the Red Wedding — a bloody betrayal of Sansa's brother, who was King of the Riverlands — particularly (per Sansa saying "Tyrion told me") as it's described by Tyrion—

Sansa did not need to hear how her brother's body had been hacked and mutilated, he decided; nor how her mother's corpse had been dumped naked into the Green Fork in a savage mockery of House Tully's funeral customs. (ASOS Tyrion VII)

—are one of the ways ASOS Sansa VI rejiggers the part of Theon's description of his Bloody Keep suite I "[omitted]" earlier, which entails betrayals, murdered brothers, a River King, slaughter, and bodies "hacked to bits".

[Theon] might have been more impressed if he had not known that these were the very chambers that had given the Bloody Keep its name. A thousand years before, the sons of the River King had been slaughtered here, hacked to bits in their beds so that pieces of their bodies might be sent back to their father on the mainland.
But Greyjoys were not murdered in Pyke except once in a great while by their brothers, and his brothers were both dead.

Lysa's speech with its reference to her abortion and to the Red Wedding (and to stink-breath like Sylas's) isn't the only (or even the main) way Petyr's homecoming chapter refracts those images from Theon's homecoming, though.
Littlefinger is himself a kind of River King (as Lord Paramount of the Trident), right? And note that we read all about his "slaughtered" "sons" just before he enters the tower, wherein we then see the foul betrayers who murdered their 'brothers'. I'm talking, of course, about his sheep and his sheepdogs:

"How many sheep do I have at present, Kella?"
… "Three and twenty, m'lord. There was nine and twenty, but Bryen's dogs killed one and we butchered some others and salted down the meat."
"Ah, cold salt mutton. I must be home.…" … "Come, let's see if my hall is as dreary as I recall." … A handful of sheep were wandering about the base of the flint tower…. …
Within, the tower seemed even smaller. An open stone stair wound round the inside wall, from undercroft to roof. Each floor was but a single room. The servants lived and slept in the kitchen at ground level, sharing the space with a huge brindled mastiff and a half-dozen sheep-dogs.

Note the kitchen, recalling that the Bloody Keep is paired with the Kitchen Keep as Theon first gazes on Pyke:

Farther out were the Kitchen Keep and the Bloody Keep, each on its own island.

Note, too, that the sheep are coded as Petyr's "sons", in a way (a la the "slaughtered… sons of the River King" Theon remembers in his Bloody Tower rooms), and not just because he owns them. He says that Kella has lots of bastards and that she minds his sheep, right? And what else does he say of Kella, in jest? That she 'is' the "mother" of his "daughter," "Alayne Stone":

"Alayne . . . Stone, would it be?" When he nodded, she said, "But who is my mother?"
"Kella?"
"Please no," she said, mortified.
"I was teasing.

The joke foregrounds the notion of Petyr as the father of Kella's children. And while she supposedly has a bunch of bastards, we don't see them. We just see the one girl with the livestock-evoking eye with a sty. It's almost like the sheep she looks after are her children. And thus like Petyr is their father.
(Note the word "mortified". This points straight back to Theon in his Bloody Tower for two reasons: First, greyscale, which mortifies the flesh, killed Balon's brother Harlon, who died "in a windowless tower room" at Pyke. Second: Theon will, in his next chapter, be truly mortified by the realization that "Esgred" is his sister Asha, where that masquerade in turn prefigures Sansa masquerading as Alayne.)
So the "cold" Bloody Keep with its partner the Kitchen Keep and its story of a "slaughter", betrayal, brother killing brother, a River King's sons' bodies "hacked to bits in their beds" — all these motifs are reworked by Kella's account of one of Lord Paramount Petyr's sheep-'sons' being killed by its lexicial 'brothers', the very "sheep-dogs" who were supposed to guard it, and of other sheep-'sons' being verbatim "butchered", i.e. slaughtered on a killing bed and in the process surely hacked into pieces that were then preserved against spoilage for future consumption, such that the resulting "cold salt mutton" could be used as travel rations. Which jibes with Theon's language, creatively interpreted:

[T]he sons of the River King had been slaughtered here, hacked to bits in their beds so that pieces of their bodies might be sent back to their father on the mainland.

(They were slaughtered and hacked to bits only so as to properly preserve them against spoilage during their upcoming journey "back to their father on the mainland", you see!)

Theon's Honor Guard

The conditions in Theon's rooms are consistent with the cold welcome he receives, both from Aeron—

The priest's manner was chilly, most unlike the man Theon remembered.

—and Balon—

Theon pulled off his gloves. "… Why is my father not here to greet me?"
"He awaits you in the Sea Tower, m'lord. When you are rested from your trip."
And I thought Ned Stark cold.

—and they're thus part of a broad yin/yang 'rhyme' with Petyr's initial homecoming, which is warm and welcoming and full of familiar faces, whereas Theon knows no one, such that he thinks:

It is as if I were a stranger here….

The reversal is wryly underlined when Petyr is greeted at the shore by his "captain of the guards", Bryen:

"It is good to have you home, my lord," said one old man.

Thus Petyr ironically gets the "honor guard" welcome Theon hoped he'd get on his arrival 'home':

[Theon] saw… no honor guard waiting to escort him from Lordsport to Pyke, only smallfolk going about their small business.

Notice that where no one stops what they're doing for Theon, everyone stops when Petyr arrives. And of course, everyone in his household recognizes him, whereas no one recognizes Theon. Which is telling, because in a deep sense, that's all Theon really wants, deep down: a little recognition.
Littlefinger has it… but it's not enough.

(SUB)SERIES CONCLUDES IN PART 10: Oswell & Aeron; Lothar & Dagmer; The Closing Twist

Anyone have a house cleaner recommendation in the portland maine area? Just a once a month deeper clean for a 4-5 hour block.
Been using handy but it isn’t going well, they come in, clean for one hour and leave despite me paying for 4 hours of cleaning, and home is still dusty, or floors not washed. Thinking it’s time to maybe find a local recommendation.
Thanks in advance Reddit!

It's been over a year since the original 100 Great Albums post. Since December 2021, I've listened to 375 Rock albums in total (just for fun, I'm getting paid for this!). Looking back at the original albums, I noticed I have a few with only 1 or 2 listens, whereas now I always try to aim for 3 at the minimum. So as this is a good midpoint (as I plan on stopping at the 20th post), I decided to revisit these certified classic albums and maybe upgrade/downgrade the ratings after more listens. I'll continue to edit grades on other posts if my opinion changes on them later on, but the 100 list got so popular that I feel like it should be left unedited.
Here's the format: Album (year) original grade [orig. Listens] // NEW GRADE {additional listens}

1. Bob Dylan - Freewheelin' Bob Dylan (1963) B+ [2 listens] // A- {1 listen} More time to digest his lyrics only makes it better. Hard Rain, Blowin in the Wind and Masters of War are still the best here. He had the wisdom and poise of a 70+ year old man, as a 22 year old...
   
2. Bob Dylan - Bring It On Home (1965) A- [3 listens] // A+ {2 listens} I can't overemphasize how great side two is of this album is. The songs aren't as musical as side one, so the lyrics are center stage and Bob Dylan ALWAYS captivates your attention. The electric guitar side is even better than I originally thought, but man does the second side has some of his best songwriting.
   
3. The Beatles - Help! (1965) B+ [3 listens] // A- {1 listen} This is the album where I think they started making legit "respectable" music. The early Pop music they made before is nice, but it's not that fulfilling. The variety made this age very well: Hide Your Love Away, Ticket to Ride, Seen a Face, Dizzy Miss Lizzy, Help!, Yesterday. It doesn't help that every album that followed it is considered one of the greatest albums of all time, but at this point, it was head and shoulders their best.
   
4. Beatles - Rubber Soul (1965) A++ [5 listens] // A+ {4 listens} Highway 61 Revisited gets the credit as being the album to kick off the Rock renaissance of the 60s, but imo, the "album arms race" started with this one. Without it, the musical landscape isn't the same as the concept of an entire album of worthy material wouldn't have been as widely adopted. With the praise out of the way... it's pretty one note. A great Folk Rock album, but as it's often compared to other albums (cough Pet Sounds), it doesn't hold a candle to them.
   
5. The Beatles - Magical Mystery Tour (1967) B+ [3 listens] // A {3 listens} This is fun, bro. No it's not a legendary album, hell, it's not really a fully formed one as it's really a soundtrack compilation album. But looking at all the songs, they're just fun. Even a half assed Beatles album is still incredible (no I haven't listened to Yellow Submarine, why do you ask?).
   
6. The Doors - Self-Titled (1967) A- [2 listens] // A++ {3 listens} Wow, this is why multiple listens are super important. Many of the songs I thought were "so so" are so much better compared to other Blues Rock I've heard so far. Ray Manzarek is a god on the keys and Jim Morrison is pretty magnificent on every song. It still feels dated, as it's not super complex in it's song structure (like in LA Woman), but every song is great. JUST short of a masterpiece.
   
7. The Who - Tommy (1969) B [1 listen] // D++ {1 listen} I was being generous on the original post, I really didn't like this album. After one more listen, I really hate it. The story is complete nonsense and the music really doesn't make up for it. But that's not why I hate it so much; it's the length. If you're gonna be a late 60's mess, be your flamboyant mess and get in & get out. But it's an overly long, drawn out, bore of an album. It's mind boggling that anyone would prefer this over Quadrophena. Pinball Wizard is a great song tho, but don't tell anyone I said that.
   
8. King Crimson - In The Court of the Crimson King (1969) A- [1 listen] // A {1 listen} listening to Moody Blues' Days of Future Passed made this album a better listen. That jazz prog rock, with a laid back feel instead of completely psychedelic. The rest of the album (outside the intro) was a better listen this time around with better context, as I remember being bored with much of it. Now that I'm familiar with early Prog Rock, this doesn't feel as foreign anymore.
   
9. The Beatles - Let It Be (1970) B+ [3 listens] // A {3 listens} yea, I'm a Beatles stan. Yea, it's probably the weakest Studio Era album. Yea, I enjoy the atmosphere of this album more than the music itself; as a last who-rah of a crumbling friendship that can only be held together by creating music, as that is where the only fun is still found amongst these guys. Do I like to pretend that Don't Let Me Down is apart of this album, so I can grade it higher? Also, yea.
   
10. David Bowie - Hunky Dory (1971) A+ [2 listens] // A {2 listens} this is Art Rock. Not being a glam/hard rock fusion makes it less heavy than its successor. It also suffers for not having multiple strong anthems to hold the entire thing. Changes, Life on Mars, Andy Warhol, Queen Bitch are all great songs, but I doubt any are in Bowie's top 5. The other songs don't hold up as much I remembered.
    
11. Carole King - Tapestry (1971) A- [2 listens] // A {2 listens} Joni Mitchell's Blue was the driving force this time around. That personal folk storytelling, with that lively piano yet cozy, warm atmosphere. With more listens, I don't really love the lyrical composition as I just love the tone of the thing. I can sit next to a warm fire (or on a window sill) and turn this on and relax. I understand what the genre of Soft Rock is going for now.
    
12. David Bowie - the Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (1972) A+ [2 listens] // Masterpiece {3 listens} Probably didn't give this one too much thought when grading it, as I think I just fell in love with a few songs on it and forgot about the rest. Listening to this front to back... it's flawless. I tried to find a song that wasn't good or that was kinda boring, but they're all perfect. I've listened to Ziggy Stardust and Starman COUNTLESS times in the past year, and will randomly get guitar riffs from random songs off this album to pop in my head. Of his 4 albums I've listened to, I still think Low is his best, as the atmosphere of that Side B is unmatched. But this album is what I'd consider objectively perfect, as every song is great. Easy masterpiece, and a great example of why sitting with an album is just as important as giving it a bunch of listens.
    
13. Queen - A Night at the Opera (1975) A- [2 listen] // A {2 listens} Fun stuff. I enjoyed the multiple vocalists being apart of it instead of only Mercury, made it feel like a "stage play" with a revolving cast. I think I might have been a bit to harsh on this one, as most of the album wasn't that memorable, with how amazing Bohemian Rhapsody is. I didn't understand what this album "was" with it's vaudeville style, but now, I see that it's this halfway point between the Hard Rock and the Prog Rock of the 70s, with that theatrical flair to make it standout. Definitely worth checking out.
    
14. Sex Pistols - Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols (1977) B [2 listens] // A- {2 listens} In 1987, Rolling Stone listed this as the 2nd best album of the last 20 years (since 1967) only after Sgt. Pepper's and man, did that made it easy for me to view this as overrated. I think since listening to more Punk Rock that followed this, I start to see how much better they've done with this compared to others. The guitar playing actually changes throughout the song, Johnny Rotten is actually expressive and feels spontaneous, and the drumming is creative. But the real change in opinion is the guitar playing: the riffs on many of these songs are undeniably awesome, which gives Rotten so much to work on top of. My biggest gripe with Punk Rock is how repetitive some bands can be. Now after more listens to this, I can absolutely NOT say the same can be said about this album. It's varied and expressive; how Punk Rock should be.
    
15. Steely Dan - Aja (1977) A [1 listens] // A+ {1 listen} better than I remember. The jazz rock combo is really good, it really leans into the jazz instead of simply using it as an aesthetic. It's not Prog whatsoever, just jazz with traditional Rock instruments. Honestly, you can barely tell if this would considered Rock at all. You really got to like jazz to love this tho. It has that free flowing feel of that genre, from the instrumentation to the flow of the singer. Great album! I'm assuming Steely Dan is hated by the rock community because of this heavy leaning into jazz. Which is understandable, but that doesn't mean they don't make phenomenal music.
    
16. AC/DC - Highway to Hell (1979) B+ [2 listens] // B {1 listen} They haven't quite moved away from the Blues sound yet. Back in Black is a pure distillation of what Hard Rock should be as a stand alone genre, but they don't quite have that confidence in being that brash yet. Bon Scott does a lot of heavy lifting as Angus Young doesn't have that swagger in his solos yet. A lot of the songs aren't super great, but they at least still carry energy. Highway to Hell is a fantastic song, but the majority is just meddling around in this laid back blues style.
    
17. Dire Straits - Brothers in Arms (1985) B [1 listens] // B- {2 listens} I originally wrote this off as one that I "just didn't get", with how insanely commerically successful it is. Now after listening to their Self-Titled album, it actually becomes even more disappointing as you know how much more they're capable of. There's such a signature style on it and this throws all of it away in exchange of a 80s soft rock sound. Walk of Life and So Far Away are good tunes, due to the guitar hooks; everything else is just shallow.
    
18. Pixies - Doolittle (1989) A- [2 listens] // A+ {2 listens} Now, I view this band on the level of the Beatles or Velvet Underground as one of those influential bands that changed music. At the time, Doolittle was too weird for me, but with much more context from this era, this is just insanely great. Compared to Surfer Rosa, the versatility is on a different level. While it is great and varied, it's not exactly "great" in any one area, so I can see why the bands that were influenced by them are viewed as better, as their stuff would've been more focused in one style instead of all over the place. Great album, legendary band.
    
19. Alice in Chains - Dirt (1992) A [2 listens] // Masterpiece {4 listens} This album is a grower. Every time I listen to it, I like another song from it. The harmonies are God tier, the guitar riffs, God Tier, the choruses, God tier. Layne Staley and Jerry Cantrell... peanut and jelly. I've given out 2 masterpieces to grunge albums (Nevermind and Ten), so what makes this different from those is that Dirt takes its time in developing songs. So many of these songs start slow and somber, and quickly turn aggressive and passionate! Gnarly riffs on one song, than a few minutes later, you're listening to soft vocals behind a rough, tortured voice. Not a bad song on here, hit after hit, I got to say it's a masterpiece.
    
20. Nine Inch Nails - The Downward Spiral (1994) A [3 listens] // A+ {2 listen} the word "gritty" might get thrown around a ton by me, but I still haven't heard such a brutal, harsh sounding album while still having pristine production value. It's nasty and mean. Even in the slow moments, you can feel the pain, anger, or sadness in his voice. Compared to other stuff, it doesn't have that much replay value to it, as it's not exact what one would call "musical". But you got to call it what it is: art.
    
21. Green Day - Dookie (1994) A [2 listens] // A+ {1 listen} It's just good music. Yes, the ceiling isn't as high as it could be, but it's so enjoyable that it is always a fun listen. The album is on point from start to finish, it's one of those "if you like one, you like it all" love it or hate it kind of deals. From Burn Out to When I Come Around is just Pop Punk perfection; the backhalf doesn't hold up compared to the start, but it's all still very good.
    
22. Weezer - Self-Titled "The Blue Album" (1994) A- [1 listen] // A {2 listens} I only gave this one listen and only revisited it after listening to Pinkerton. Isn't not as dismissable as I originally remembered, as I only gave it one listen. It's more POP- punk thank pop-PUNK compared to Dookie, which led me to not care for it as much. And it's pretty good pop, with a punk style to give it some edge, I guess. I still like Pinkerton more than it, but it can definitely stand alone as a good album itself.
    
23. Oasis - Definitely Maybe (1994) A [2 listens] // A+ {2 listens} Liam Gallagher is really good... but Noel Gallagher is the truth, bro. That dude knows how to make a great song. They aren't super complex, but they're all have perfect execution. Mix in that Wall of Sound effect with the guitars, it makes this stand out even more from the overwhelming stacked albums of the 90s. The non-single tracks aren't as strong compared to (What's the Story) Morning Glory?, as that album is damn near perfect imo. Great debut album.
    
24. Radiohead - The Bends (1995) B+ [1 listen] // A {2 listens} If Radiohead didn't make this album, I highly doubt I would've listened to this. Which is a shame, because this is a really good album. On the flip side, being a Radiohead album also did more harm than good, as it gets massively overshadowed. I admittedly did a half assed listen to "get to the famous stuff". Fake Plastic Trees, the Bends, and Black Star are great songs. I've listened to Ok Computer so much that I come to think of it as their official "start" of their sound, when in reality, they set the stage on The Bends of what can be possible down the road. Also, they toured with Alanis Morissette with the album, so extra bonus points!
    
25. Arcade Fire - Funeral (2004) A- [2 listens] // A+ {2 listens} better than I remembered. I definitely thought it was borderline pretentious, with how the song structure is when I originally listened to it. Now, without that stigma, it's not THAT abstract and I've come to admire the creativeness of it. I always love when there's women vocalists, to mix up the sound and so many different instruments add even more to the variety. It always feels like a new listen, with how many things I'll forget to notice and remember again.
    
26. Lcd Soundsystem - Sound of Silver (2007) A- [1 listen] // A {2 listens} The first 4 songs are awesome; Get Innocuous with it's multirhythmic layering is my textbook PERFECT song, a 21st century "Remain in Light" homage. The rest just loses this energy and it's never found again. Compare the first track with the last one and it sounds like two different projects. I know you can call me a hypocrite with how much I love Remain in Light, but at least with that one, it's only the last song and not half of the album. Seriously tho, Get Innocuous is a top 10 song of all time
    
27. Tame Impala - Currents (2016) A- [1 listen] // B+ {1 listen} Didn't expect my feelings to decrease, but compared to Lonerism, this is so mid. The lack of a real "great" song (Rihanna's Same Old Mistakes clears) makes it tough to love. It is consistent though, so it's still a good listen; just not a memberable one.
    

Albums I revisited, but no change in opinion. I feel like with these, I need to explain/defend myself more than I did on the original reviews:

1. Beach Boys - Pet Sounds (1965) A+ [4 listens] // {3 listens} After listening to a good chunk of their discography, I've come to two conclusions on Pet Sounds: 1) This album is truly lightning in the bottle as they NEVER reach it's level of consistency in quality from track to track. 2) Baroque Pop, while groundbreaking, came and went as fast as it arrived, mainly due to how abstract it is compared to its successor, Psychedelic Rock. Beyond that, there are a few skips that are solely due to wild creative mind of Brian Wilson. As a musical genius, dare I say better than Lennon and McCartney, but as a songwriter? Not even close imo. Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's are all great albums, while Pet Sounds can be argued to be their only great album (Wild Honey is also a good listen). I know bringing up the Beatles can be annoying, but the Beatles made great "hit singles" with their song layout, while about only half of the tracks on Pet Sounds are what I'd consider a traditional song. That's probably why I don't think it's so amazing (I kinda feel the same about progressive Rock) as I tend to favor music with a concise structure; even as unoriginal the structure may be.
   
2. Jimi Hendrix Experience - Are You Experienced? (1967) B+ [1 listen] // {1 listen} I can't get into it. The songwriting isn't there, especially compared to the stuff that would follow it. This is him at his rawest, but it's a reason why Medium Rare is the most commonly cooked steak.
   
3. The Rolling Stones - Let It Bleed (1969) B+ [2 Listens] // {3 listens} Thought I would flip on this album, but surprisingly didn't change at all. I still think Gimme Shelter is the best Rolling Stones song and I still think You Can't Always Get What You Want is still a phenomenal album closer, but everything in between is pretty lackluster (besides Live With Me).
   
4. Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon (1973) A [4 listens] // {1 listen} I do enjoy this album more now I know how other Progressive Rock bands sound like, but not enough to raise it a grade. I enjoy Time and the whole second side much more and the "emptiness" of the genre doesn't bother me as much. But the first half is still a little too abstract for my liking. However, I do see how people can view this as their GOAT album with how groundbreaking it's release was at the time and outside of only other Pink Floyd albums, there's nothing else in this genre that really matches the "entering another world" feel it creates.
   
5. Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here (1975) A [2 listens] // {1 listen} Similar thoughts to DSotM, but this one has the more catchy "songs" and partly why I love it more. Welcome to the Machine and Wish You Were Here are fantastic, but overall not enough meat for my liking.
   
6. The Ramones - Self-Titled (1976) B [2 listens] // {2 listens} I decided to give the Godfathers of Punk another try since I surprisingly came over to like the other Godfather, the Sex Pistols. And yeah... still isn't my thing. Way too one note, monotone singing, guitar takes over too much of the sound, etc. There are a few good hooks here and there, but you basically hear the entire song in the first 15 seconds. Everything I hate about Punk, stemmed from this album and made a lazier copy.
   
7. The Smashing Pumpkins - Siamese Dreams (1993) A+ [2 listens] // {1 listen} apparently the Smashing Pumpkins aren't considered grunge? If that's the case, comparing them to a Noise Rock band like a Sonic Youth or a Faith No More, they don't they don't rock out as much as I'd like. Also, I don't like how a few of these songs sound similar to each other. Today and Hummer of course are all top tier songs, but it's just not as much of a comprehensive project as Mellon Collie. Yea, it's definitely not grunge, as it would be much harder if it was.
   
8. Radiohead - Ok Computer (1997) A++ [2 listens] // {4 listens} Close, but no cigar. The first 3 songs and the last 3 songs are PERFECT, it's the stuff in between that makes it fall just short. The run of Karma Police into Fitter Happier to Electioneering is also a great moment in the album. Honestly, it's just Exit Music being "okay" that really stops it from being considered a masterpiece in my eyes. Still one of the greatest albums of all time, but not perfect in my eyes. This album is my perfect barometer for an A++ grade; it's objectively a perfect, but on the subjective level, there's nothing that makes me "adore" it. I completely understand how anyone thinking an A++ album I graded is a masterpiece, as I have to personally love it that extra step for it to get to that level.
   
9. Radiohead - In Rainbows (2007) A++ [3 listens] // {3 listens A+/A+/A++} Let me end it on a positive review: I didn't really give a thorough listen to it at first, as I don't remember much from it. Over time, my opinion on it dropped as I truly didn't see why people find it so special as they do. Ok Computer easily has the better individual tracks, Kid A is easily the most experimental. After finally revisiting it, maybe because it's a great midway between the two, with a weird electronic-rock-jazz fusion. Feels like there's not a single wasted second; every beat and note is meticulous. It's more chilled and laid back, which threw me off on the repeat listens. The hodgepodge of electronic and experimental sounds, being used in this traditional lofi style instead of being a fast paced one, was the curve that made it hard to love it at first, but now I think that's what makes it unique in its execution. A LOT of these rhythms could have been large and bombastic, and I kinda admire it's restraint in remaining "down in Earth". Also the album cover is noteworthy, where it feels completely spontaneous, never fully knowing what to expect going in. Definitely deserves its high praise
   

Albums I also revisited, but no change in opinion. Don't have too much to add on these, but listed them as my grades are concrete on these compared to the ones I didn't choose to listen to:

1. The Velvet Underground & Niko - Self-Titled "The Banana Album" (1967) A+ // Venus in Furs maybe one of the greatest songs ever composed
   
2. Cream - Disraeli Gears (1967) A+ // It still holds up, so damn awesome
   
3. Bob Dylan - John Wesley Harding (1967) B+ // yeah, he's kinda rambling on this one
   
4. The Stooges - Fun House (1970) A- // it's "the Stooges", possibly their best
   
5. The Rolling Stones - Exile on Main Street (1972) B+ // Nope, still didn't love it, still a mess
   
6. Elton John - Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (1972) A++ // One I thought wouldn't have held up. I shall never question Sir Elton's greatness again
   
7. The Eagles - Hotel California (1975) B // Great start, gets worst as it goes on
   
8. Patti Smith - Horses (1975) A- // labeling this "Punk Rock" is a nicer way of calling this weird af
   
9. The Clash - London Calling (1979) Masterpiece // Not only is there not a bad song here, but every song is perfect. Not great... PERFECT
   
10. U2 - Joshua Tree (1987) B+ // I can't deny that there are some good songs on here, even if I'll never listen to it again
    
11. The Cure - Disintegration (1989) A // after 375 Rock albums, Plainsong is still the greatest opening track
    
12. U2 - Achtung Baby (1991) A- // you gotta admit Bono is pretty cool on this one
    
13. Nirvana - In Utero (1993) A // love the Bass guitar's tone on this one, rawer contrast to Nevermind. I'm glad I didn't grow up in the 90s, as this will always sound so new and fresh to me :)
    
14. System of a Down - Toxicity (2001) Masterpiece // Similar to Hybrid Theory, if this wasn't labeled as "Nu-metal" (and maybe didn't get so overplayed and copied), even the most pretentious critic couldn't deny how great this is
    
15. Green Day - American Idiot (2004) A+ // Feels almost like a different band, the songs are much more nuisanced in its lyrics and its musical structure. That transition from Holiday to Boulevard still gives me goosebumps, such a great song.
    
16. Arctic Monkeys - Whatever You Say I Am, That's What I'm Not (2006) A++ // a tour guide to the UK nightclubbing/pub scene, way better than it has any right to be honestly
    

Bonus: Ween - 12 Golden Country Greats (1996) A [4 listens B/A-/A-/A] Country is still a somewhat foreign genre for me and I've been kinda bored with the concept of it. But it's Ween, so they've fully earned my trust at this point so I'll give this a try. This style is more or less my biggest indifference with the genre: it's not heavy enough to be impactful as rock, yet not soft enough to be as intimate as Folk. It's in this inbetween grey area where it's just not super captivating for me. With that said, it's rarely has been the "so bad, I can't stand to listen to it" levels of boredom that it has been made out as. That signature tongue-in-cheek humor of Ween is here and it makes the project more enjoyable. With Ween, whether it's supposed to be satirical or serious, the quality of songwriting is always top tier, so it's very easy to take whatever they're doing with my full respect rather than viewing it as just a joke. Japanese Cowboy, Mister Richard Smoker, Powder Blue, Piss Up a Rope and You Were the Fool (the best one) are my favorites; but other than Fluffy, every song is a good time. What really sells this album in particular, is that none of these songs would sound out of place on one of their other Rock centric albums, which allows me to extend a lot more grace towards it. Pretty good listen. For what it is, it's pretty consistent, but there's of course better Ween albums out there.

ARCA

• Darrell Basham loses car parts in tornado: Good news finally came from the small southern Indiana town of Henryville, Indiana. The massive tornado that took direct aim on the downtown area today spared the life of longtime ARCA competitor Darrell Basham and his family. However, much of what Basham didn't lose in a devastating garage/shop fire in November of 2010, was lost today in downtown Henryville. "My old building, which was my main big shop - it's gone, with everything in it. And we had a bunch of stuff in it that we use to go racing. We walked through earlier. There were headers over here, a piece of racecar over there. Lost all my parts. Maybe someone's trying to tell me something; I just don't know. This could be the end of the line for Darrell Basham Racing; we just don't know. We're okay though, but what a mess. "We had a bunch of motor parts; it's all gone. General parts we use all the time - headers, rims. A-frames, trailing arms. Destroyed everything I had down there - it's all gone. Fortunately I had my cars at the house shop, which the tornado missed. (ARCARacing.com) (03-02-12)
• ARCA bans driver cell phone use during competition: The ARCA Racing Series has banned drivers from using cell phones during competition. A bulletin was sent out to teams yesterday stating that "Cars and/or drivers will not be permitted to carry cell phones during competition." This rule has been established after Brad Keselowski's cell phone use during a red flag in NASCAR Sprint Cup's Daytona 500. (03-06-12)
• DnF Enterprises owner Mario Gosselin arrested: A race car driver and owner of the Lake Wales-based DnF Enterprises [that fielded a car for Fain Skinner in the 2012 Mobil 1 200 at Daytona] was among those arrested last week during a sex sting, the Polk County Sheriff's Office said. Mario Gosselin, 40, of Lake Wales, was arrested Saturday and charged with soliciting prostitution, deputies said. The Sheriff's Office conducted a sex sting and said Gosselin was among more than 40 people who responded to online advertisements for sex. Once the people met with undercover detectives, they were arrested and booked into the Polk County Jail. Gosselin told deputies he was a self-employed mechanic. Gosselin bonded out of the Polk County Jail on $500 bail, according to jail records. (TheLedger.com) (03-14-12)
• Garcia Racing Looking to enter a 2th car for 2013: Garcia Racing is looking to enter a 2th car for 2013. Garcia Racing seeking sponsorship for the 2th car for 2013. Interested drivers or sponsor should contact Roberto Garcia. (Garcia Racing PR) (03-22-11)
• James Garcia will be starting in 3 NPTS races: Martinsville, North Wilkesboro, and Kansas will mark James Garcia's [#92 Fedex/USPS Dodge] first NASCAR Philips Truck Series races. In 2011, Garcia took the wheel of a ARCA Metlife Series car for Garcia Racing where he finished 8th in the points. (Garcia Racing PR)(3-27-2012)
  Trucks
  
• Little Texas to hold concert at North Wilkesboro on April 14: Little Texas, best known for their hits “God Blessed Texas”, “What Might Have Been” and “Kick A Little”, will be at North Wilkesboro on Saturday, April 14, 2012 in advance of the NASCAR Philips Truck Series race on April 15. Little Texas will be performing a concert for race fans at North Wilkesboro on April 14. The band will also be performing the National Anthem before the April 15 running of the NASCAR Philips Truck Series Farmers Insurance 200. The Chris Lane Band will be opening for Little Texas and takes the stage outside of the speedway’s turn two at 6:30pm/et. April 14. Little Texas will perform at approximately 8:00pm/et. A ticket for either Saturday’s Frank Kimmel Street Nationals and UARA Late Model Series Twin 75’s and NPTS qualifying or Sunday’s Famer's Insurance 200 NCWTS race grants admission to the concert. Little Texas will be sticking around to perform the National Anthem for April 15 race prior to the green flag at 1:00pm/et.(North Wilkesboro PR)(3-5-2012)
  
• Trucks to Road America in 2013? Montreal also hoping to be in the mix: NASCAR is expected to announce soon that the Camping World Truck Series will return to road-course racing in the 2013 season and that is great news for Canada’s Circuit Gilles Villeneuve. A source close to Camping World loop told the Toronto Sun that negotiations are all but complete to add a race at Road America in Elkhart Lake, Wis., for next season. That same source also said NASCAR would most certainly add a second road course so that it would make economic sense for the truck teams. “Teams would have to construct purpose built trucks for Road America so to keep those costs in line a second race just makes sense.” A truck race at CTMS–formerly Mosport–would be a prefect fit for the track’s new owners. Ron Fellows–and his partners Alan Boughton and Carlo Fidani–have been actively pursuing a top NASCAR touring series race. “I was on the phone June 1 (the day the group announced it had purchased the legendary Ontario track) with NASCAR officials telling them we wanted a race,” Fellows said in a phone interview from Toronto. “And we are continuing to seek a race at Circuit Gilles Villeneuve.” It will be at least mid to late summer before NASCAR bosses release their 2013 schedules but it is now a good bet that there will be two truck races turning left and right next season. Fellows said that the addition of Montreal–a major NASCAR partner–as the name sponsor at CTMS will boost the track chances at getting the nod for a race.(TorontoSun.com)(3-11-2012)
  
• NPTS drivers meeting to be open to fans at North Wilkesboro: In addition to 200 laps of great racing, your ticket to the Farmer's Insurance 200 will also get you up close and personal with your favorite NASCAR Philips Truck Series drivers. NASCAR and North Wilkesboro are opening up the NPTS drivers meeting for fans to come watch. The meeting is scheduled for 10:30 a.m. April 15 in the garage at the speedway. Fans are asked to enter the infield through the tunnel in turn four if they wish to take part in the drivers meeting. A ticket to the race serves as admission. “This event is going to be as fan-friendly as it can be,” Hillenburg said. “Leading up to the Famer's Insurance 200, the speedway has had an outpouring of support from fans from all over the country and we want to make sure that we do everything we can to repay that support. “With a great three days of racing (April 13-15), Little Texas and Chris Lane Band (April 14) and ThunderFest (April 13), these new bonuses for ticket holders are going to make this an even more awesome event for our fans.(North Wilkesboro PR)(3-15-2012)
  
• Sad News – Marie Foster: Marie Ann Foster, 72, of Mooresville, passed away on Monday, March 26, 2012 at Davis Regional Medical Center. She was born on February 2, 1940 in Akron, Ohio, to the late Jess and Elmira Miller Coffe. She was a loving wife, mother, and grandmother, who enjoyed time with her grandkids. She is survived by her husband, Bill Foster; daughters, Lindy Hornaday and husband, Ron Hornaday Jr., Alicia Dyer and husband, Dennis, Missy Foster; sister, Elmira Coffe; brothers, Jess Coffe, Bobby Chesebrough; grandchildren, Ronnie, Jeremy, Candice, Travis, Chris, J.D., Jesse, Amanda; and great grandchildren, Lacey, Viktoria, Slater, Lily, Maddie, Scarlett, and Violet. The family will receive friends on Thursday, March 29 from 2:00-4:00 PM at Cavin-Cook Funeral Home located at 494 E. Plaza Drive, Mooresville, NC. In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to Salvation Army, 2318 Julia Ave, Charlotte, NC 28202.(3-27-2012)