TwiLyghtSansSparkles

Lightwards is going to have a hell of a time if Sam inherits Pappy's powers.

You just spoiled the twist ending.

And if she flees, he responds with Song of Songs 2:14. (I like to think this is a parallel universe where he never met Sam's mom because she had already married Vondra. )

He's so forgiving. I'll keep looking. (I just flipped through that book to see what would be the funniest for her to shout at him. I like to think she shouts "Song of Songs 3:6!" as he appears, causing momentary confusion but soon turning the entire scene into a romantic comedy. With Bible verses. And dead Nighthound.)

Metronome is best Epic. Now to arrange a coffee date between Obliteration and Nighthound. (And am I the only one wondering if Ray's Bible reference would be from the Song of Songs? )

The worst museum I've ever visited is the Bohemia Mining Company Museum in Cottage Grove, Oregon. It's small, dingy, and full of relics that were boring back when they were brand-new, but all of the old people (including my grandmother, naturally) are determined to think it's the coolest place with the coolest stuff in the history of coolness, so every time she visits Cottage Grove, guess who has to see the stupid mining museum.

You have been assured correctly.

It still makes more sense than Teen Titans Go.

If losing his parents was his core trauma, what would Batman look like as an Epic?

Then I should tell you about how helping my grandmother move was like walking through a museum. She had one of those powdered sauce packets that expired in 1977, a bottle of Pepto-Bismol that expired in the 80s, coupons with expiration dates ranging between the early 70s and late 90s, and a ham. Oh, dear Calamity, the ham. I wasn't there for it. Somehow, I had managed to land cooking duty, so I was in the kitchen making potato soup (with ingredients my parents had brought, of course). But my brother told me about it. He said that the ham was entirely freezer burnt on the outside, it had been in there so long. My grandmother, being the sort of frugal person who saves coupons from the 1970s, insisted they cut it open. It couldn't have gone bad, she said. She sees the freezer as this magical preservation box that keeps all food from spoiling. So they cut it open. He says that when they did, a putrid stench arose. Rather than a healthy pink, the ham was grey, all the way through. The freezer was not a magical preservation box. It had betrayed them.

If you two are at opposite ends of the spectrum, I think I'm somewhere in the middle: I do enjoy museums, but I prefer to wander them alone or with one friend who likes to make snarky comments as much as I do, but also likes to stay quiet and just enjoy the facts. My parents (and grandmother, come to think of it) are a bit too fond of moralizing at the exhibits, and I'd rather just read the facts and toss off a quip or two. That said, I'm sorry your family is dragging you to something you hate. Would it help if we all made jokes about museums?

You don't want to talk about how Curveball couldn't hit the broad side of a barnacle? Or how Regalia's claims to be fighting the corruption were abalone?

While I also loved the human-to-human interactions (and spent much of the movie longing for more) I found the time spent inside Riley's head to be a profound and insightful look at how trauma messes with you. She spends most of the first quarter trying to stay happy. She's an optimist; she not only doesn't like being sad, but she appears to believe there's something wrong with it. Early interactions between Joy and Sadness—where Joy attempts to bring her focus onto positive thoughts but Sadness always sees the melancholy side of those thoughts—illustrate Riley's attempts to push all of her sorrow at moving deep down. Joy continually reminds Riley of fun, positive things to do and see, but Sadness keeps intruding on her happy memories. Those memories were connected with Minnesota, and she's not in Minnesota anymore. Then, San Francisco starts to grate on Riley. Joy's good ideas go sour, and the other Emotions are quick to point that out—most notably with the broccoli pizza. But it's all right, Joy keeps saying. It'll be all right. Something good has to be around the next bend. And then comes her first day of school. Riley's nerves get the better of her, the events of the last few days catch up—and she cries in front of the class. It's her first completely sad core memory—her first rude awakening that life isn't always happy. She knows she'll remember it for the rest of her life, but she doesn't want to. She tries to push it down, tries to hang onto the happiness in her other core memories. She tries not to feel sad, but she can't feel happy, either. Joy and Sadness get sent off to Long-Term, and for a while, Riley forgets how to be happy or sad. She's just angry, fearful, and disgusted with the whole mess. When her Islands of Personality begin to crumble, she's losing parts of herself. When Goofball Island falls, Riley has decided that being a goofball isn't worth it. It didn't bring her the joy it used to, and as happened with the rail earlier, thinking of all the other times she enjoyed being a goofball just made her sad. It's not worth the pain, so she shuts down that part of herself. The memory remains, but she doesn't want to risk Sadness getting ahold of it, so she makes a deliberate choice not to think about it or act on it. Similar things happen when other Islands crumble: It isn't just another setback on Joy and Sadness' quest to return to HQ; it's Riley blocking out good and happy memories in an attempt to stave off sorrow. Unfortunately, doing so also makes it that much more difficult for Riley to feel anything remotely positive. Riley's psyche attempts to get her back to emotional health, but as a child, Riley doesn't quite comprehend the importance of Sadness. All she knows is that she used to be happy, and now she's not. When she feels she has a chance to be happy again, she tries for it—but she pushes her sorrow down. She still won't come to terms with the move and how it affected her. As a result, many of the things that made her happy begin to crumble—glitter is dumped out, a giant teddy bear is ripped to shreds, Bing Bong dissolves into nothing. The trauma of the move leads to the end of her childhood, and she doesn't want to think about what she's losing. Meanwhile, Anger, Fear and Disgust know they're not doing well. They can't keep Riley functioning, with Joy and Sadness wandering the depths of her mind, so in a moment of desperation, Anger hatches a plan: Get Riley back to Minnesota. Riley's refusal to confront her feelings over the move has led her to choose a poor course of action in a last-ditch attempt to be happy again. In her anger, she has pinpointed external factors as the cause of her state, rather than confronting the emotional fallout. When Riley boards the bus, we see the true extent of her trauma: Apathy. Refusal to think of her good memories for fear they'll make her sad; allowing Anger, Fear, and Disgust to guide her; and shutting down essential components of who she is have left her unable to feel at all. She no longer thinks; she simply reacts. This is a dangerous state for a young girl to be in, and Riley has entered it. Then, on the bus, she allows herself to remember. She feels a little blue—and realizes she has to get back to her family. Despite Anger's previous assertions that her parents are to blame for Riley's mood; despite Fear wondering if they'll still take her back, Riley returns. And instead of telling her she has to be happy, they remind her that it's okay to feel sad. This leads not only to a reconciliation, but to the first blended memory, paving the way for greater emotional complexity in days to come. I do agree that Inside Out was different from Pixar's other works. It was certainly unexpected. But I say that it's every bit as ageless as films like Toy Story and Monsters, Inc.

Just for fun, I decided to google "Disney Illuminati." I thought I'd find a fun, tongue-in-cheek take on the Disney logo to share with you guys. This was the second result:

Perhaps Matti the Pug could help?

Thanks. No, that was a meta meme. Seeing Sadeas respect Adolin's strategy and acknowledge his mastery of dueling almost made me respect him a little bit….but then he went and ruined it with his stupid creepy scheming.

To everyone in America: Happy Fourth of July! To everyone not in America or who doesn't feel like celebrating, have some cute pugs.

That is an awesome chart. I think proportions could be adjusted to reflect how strongly a combination is felt, but I'd say they look pretty accurate.

They'd resist the corruption, but most of them don't have the mussel.

They dream about the traumas that gave them their weaknesses. Nightmares are a somewhat common side effect of trauma, even without Calamity's influence, so many Epics probably just hate going to sleep because they know there's a good chance they'll dream about things they'd rather forget. For them, I'd imagine it's less "Gee, I'll bet this thing I'm dreaming about is my weakness" and more "ARRRRRRGHHHHH MY SUBCONSCIOUS HATES ME I'M GOING TO GO DESTROY A NICE HOUSE IN THE SUBURBS TO TRY AND FORGET THAT DREAM." Edit: I nearly typed "Clamity" instead of "Calamity." And here I thought Calamity was a pug.

No, but he does take care of them. When he cleans them, he'll always walk me through the proper method, and tell horror stories about guns jamming for lack of proper cleaning. I don't own one, but I do want to get one for when I move out. I don't know that I consider myself "in charge" of that game. I mean, I'm the GM, and I know that comes with both authority and responsibility, but the atmosphere among players in the Question threads is more relaxed and collaborative than "Oh, Twi, let me ask your permission on this." And I like it better that way. I don't know everything or catch everything, so I'd rather have an environment where players feel free to voice their concerns and make suggestions than one where I'm "in charge" and everyone knows it. I've been involved with free-form RPGs where the GM was very much "in charge," and at least with the games I played, they weren't much fun. I wound up dropping out of one Incredibles RPG because the GM kept trying to railroad every character, even if his suggestions didn't make sense. What's the fun in that? The players in the Oregon RPG have created some truly memorable characters, and part of what makes them memorable is that they act and think in ways I wouldn't expect. Those are characters that I doubt I could have created, and I'd rather trust their arcs to their creators. We've created a game where the characters drive the plot, and I wouldn't change it for the world. My least favorite book or series….let's see….I had a series, but after strolling through my one-star Goodreads shelf, I realized I don't have a least favorite book. I do, however, have a least favorite type of book. My least favorite type of book is one that does not deliver on its premise, or one where the story is derailed, hijacked, or mishandled by the author. Take The Scarlet Letter as a well-known example of both. First, we have an intriguing setup: A young woman, Hester Prynne, has been branded and shamed by her strict Puritan community for bearing a child outside of wedlock. Although the child's father is seemingly untouched by the scandal, the supernatural meets everyday life, and his secrets begin to unravel. How much of the strange events are real, and how many are projections of Hester and Dimmesdale's guilty consciences? This could be a fascinating story. We could see the perspectives of Hester's Puritan neighbors, as they wonder whether or not this kindhearted woman really deserves to be shamed. We could hear from her ex-husband and ponder what drove him to such lengths. We could hear from little Pearl and wonder whether or not she really is possessed, or if she's simply acting out. But it isn't. Rather than give us a good story, Hawthorne uses far, far too many words to rant and rave against his Puritan ancestors. Members of a flawed and fascinating religious movement are reduced to one-dimensional stereotypes who treat Hester like dirt because OMG SHE CHEATED ON HER CREEPY HUSBAND. Dimmesdale takes no initiative whatsoever. Hester is praised by the narrative for being a doormat. Pearl tears through the novel like a bad-tempered kitten on a caffeine high. I'm no scholar, but I can tell you that I've done more research on the Puritans than Hawthorne ever did, and he was descended from a Puritan minister. (My ancestors, if you were wondering, were Quaker. Kind of the opposite of the Puritans.) By the end of the story, I was sincerely hoping that Chillingsworth would reform and he and Pearl would team up to fight crime back in London and save us from this horrible, boring tract.

I've gone too long without updating this. This time, in ​Memes of Radiance….

A while back, Humans of New York featured a young man who was having one of his plays produced. The story followed a young man who was in love with a girl, who was going off to college. He applied to every college near hers so he could be close to her, but the only school that would accept him was a clown college. And he's terrified of clowns. ….that had nothing to do with anything; I just found it funny. And I think you guys have a better chance than you think. Once you're out of school and you don't have to worry about grade levels or distance between schools, one-year age gaps don't matter all that much.