Thomas Price

Alice Wong, Writer and Relentless Advocate for Disability Rights, Dies at 51

“One of the things that really gives me joy is the fact that there are so many amazing, brilliant, creative disabled people out there. But part of my rage — and it’s a very real rage — is that most people don’t really know about them.”

Obit:

This is what they’re afraid of

The best thing you deserve is to be drummed out of any elected position imaginable and to fade into obscurity, only to be remembered as a feckless suit that failed your constituents, imaginary or otherwise, and the American people.

So where do we tune into Dershowitz’s televised special?

The writers for Welcome to Derry really find birth scary.

I’ve long called for the Steinbeck estate to release his unpublished werewolf novel.

This is the answer to nihilism.

I just finished my 8th or 9th reread of The Haunting of Hill House. Similarly, something new always pops up, and I was also struck by the POV this time, especially the close 3rd. It feels like hearing one side of a conversation. I wondered if we're hearing Eleanor's conversation w/ Hill House.

Tweet from Dan Satterfield Ok, I keep getting asked about how to complain about Kimmel. The best way to complain that will have the biggest impact? See if you have a Sinclair or nexstar station in your area. 2. Watch the local newscast tonight or some time this week. 3. Note the companies that bought tv adverts. 4. Call them and let them know you will boycott them until they quit supporting that media company. Trust me. I worked in tv for 45 years. Nothing you do will have greater impact.

and a retired meteorologist shall lead us

He’s not renaming shit. He’s giving it a nickname.

They're moving Space Command from Colorado to Alabama.

He's out there. They're moving Space Command from Colorado to Alabama.

Strangers with candy - Close your eyes, Jerri. What do you see? [demonic laughter] Nothing unusual.

What the fuck is the walking jack-o’-lantern talking about?

Imagine going back to 1994 and showing this to someone.

BREAKING: Workers at Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Parks just won their union elections.

They are the first national parks to unionize in several years.

Despite not being trained or encouraged, you've got that great calm, even handed, but commanding speaking voice that feels so indicative of broadcast reporters.

Norm McDonald crawling out of Tom Cruise like Laura Flynn Boyle tearing her way through Tangina’s body in Poltergeist 3.

While I don’t enjoy any of this, I do take small comfort from how scared they are. Hope so day they spiral out on their shame, fear, and self loathing.

I'm glad to see this, but it is so weird to me that this wasn't the line from the beginning.

The Halloween costume has arrived

what gif pops up when you type your name?

My son doesn’t eat fish. Any alternative? Replace him with a cat. Cats love fish.

One of the best theater experiences I’ve ever had was watching Hereditary. The tense quiet in that screening, where you could barely breathe w/o making noise, until the car accident where there was this explosion from the audience. Then people could not keep the sounds inside them until the end.

Congress eliminated public media funding, and the president signed it into law. At a time of deep division, public media brings us together.

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"There are three kinds of magic," said Wizzler, handing us each a balloon. "You can control tigers, you can shoot tornadoes from your fingers, or you can fly by holding your breath. The color of confetti inside your balloon will reveal which kind of power you have." I felt the panic rising in me. What if my confetti turned yellow, indicating that I was a Tiger-Talker? My family, a long line of proud Tornado-Fingers, would disown me. Could I ever return home, bearing such shame? I tried to calm myself as I readied the ceremonial safety pin. Green, I thought, willing my hopes into reality. Please be green. I popped the balloon, involuntarily shutting my eyes. When I opened them, would I see the green I hoped for? The yellow I feared? What if, gods forbid, the confetti were blue? I opened my eyes, seeing shock on the faces of my classmates. Wizzler himself stared at me, wide-eye. Looking down, I saw myself covered in confetti... purple confetti.

“I don’t understand,” I growled, my body trembling with pain. “I combined eighty percent Earth-elemental mana with twenty percent Fire-elemental mana (Type B), focused through a twenty-four-sided icositetragon made of yellow topaz. This, in conjunction with my blood type, star sign, sense of humor, and nickname, should have produced a blazing column of lightning to vaporize my enemies. Instead, it made a big bubble that smells like fresh laundry. Why?” Skullgrumbler began to laugh. “You fool! You don’t even realize…” he squealed. “You’re facing east!”

“It’s whatever you want,” explained Magemaster Grampledog. “Magic is just whatever you want.” I knew he was speaking in riddles, but I couldn’t grasp his hidden meaning. “So the rules are…” Grampledog lit a sliver of smokereed. “No rules. You say some words and you wave a stick and whatever you want just happens. You don’t even need the stick.” His wisdom still eluded me. I stared into his face, trying to decipher what he was really saying. “No, listen.” Grampledog snapped his fingers and his desk turned into a pile of chicken nuggets. “I didn’t even know that would happen.” His hat then came alive and began to yodel. “It’s pandemonium,” he explained. “It’s complete nonsense.”

In my experience there are three kinds of fantasy magic novels: