It’s a good thing I’m still on holiday, cause this is in no way safe for work.

I’ve never written a fanfic before. One of my friends is hosting a competitive erotic fanfiction party tomorrow night. There was the option of finding something to read online, but I thought it’d be a fun chance to delve into something new.

 

Beth felt… listless, With Jerry gone the house was quiet. Empty. Sure, Morty had been grounded after taking in a stray Klaxion war criminal, and Rick’s attempt at making braces for Summer had left her with three rows of pearly Great White teeth. “You’ll never have to worry about her dental bills again.” He said. “If she loses any she’ll just grow more.” She’d been working late nights at the horse hospital to pick up the slack Jerry left behind. Somebody had to keep this family afloat. Still, it seemed like something was missing. She felt… thirsty. Maybe a glass of wine could scratch that itch.

She opened the cupboard to see an array of reds stretched out before her. And a bottle of something… pickled? Curious, she reached for it until she noticed two glowing green eyes staring back at her. She flinched and went for a pinot instead. If she needed to know what that thing was, she was sure Rick would’ve told her. She pulled the bottle down and grabbed a glass when suddenly the thrumming of coalescing energies erupted behind her. She turned and dropped the bottle. Her father emerged from a green portal. Beth sighed. “Jesus Dad, give me some warning next time. That’s the third bottle this…” “Tell it to your therapist…” Rick interrupted “Next week I’ll take you to a dimension where angels piss the stuff. There’s no time right now. Daddy needs your help.” Her eyes widened and hope filled her heart. Her father, the brilliant scientist, needed HER help? “Of course Dad. Whatever you need.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the portal. She heard the whipping of wind as the whirling energies enveloped her.

She emerged in a swanky living room. A large window overlooked the… Hollywoo… Hills? Where the fuck was she? “Welcome to Hollywoo.” Her father barked. “We can check out Disneyland later. The flaming coaster is the shiiiiiit.” He strode through the living room and pushed open a set of double doors. “This is why we’re here.” She followed and stopped in her tracks. In a plush king sized bed lay… Was it a horse? A man? Some kind of.. Horseman? Whatever it was, it looked like shit. Her nose caught up with her. Vomit, blood and, well, she had a teenage boy. That smell was unmistakeable. “Daddy’s drinking buddy ain’t doing so well. I’d take care of it, but the Ball Fondlers premiere starts in ten minutes and Noob Noob’s holding my seat. Anyway, you’re a Horse Vet…” Beth cut in angrily “For fuck’s sake Dad, I’m a Horse Surgeon!” “Even better.” He responded. “You’ll figure it out.” He fired his portal gun at the wall and was gone. The thing on the bed stirred, turned to the side and vomited. In its hand it was clutching a magnum of Jack Daniels. It looked at her and spoke. “Yeah, room service? Another bottle. This one’s almost done.” It promptly passed out. Well Beth, she thought as always you’re left to clean up another man’s mess. At least, I think it’s a man. She approached the side of the bed to get a better look. She leant down, resting her hand on the sheet. It landed on something… large. Her eyebrows lifted. That’s a man alright, she thought to herself, smirking. That strange thirst began stirring in her for some reason. She reached into her pocket for her scalpel and a pair of rubber gloves, then pulled the gloves on with a snap. Ugh, here goes, Beth. Always with the fucking Hayppocratic Oath.

Beth stirred groggily. Her head felt like fire. In fact she felt sore all over. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was pouring herself a drink or two after the successful operation on that horse… thing. She sat up and opened her eyes. She was in bed. She was naked. She wasn’t alone. Then the smell hit her and she nearly passed out. What happened? She looked to her right to see that same horse man snoring loudly. Her eyes widened with shock, then hazy memories drifted back to her.

She was on all fours, a large cock plunging deep into her repeatedly. In and out like a piston, filling her totally. She hadn’t felt like this in… had she ever felt like this? Hands grasped her waist tightly, holding her fast and pulling her into each thrust. She moaned as it filled spaces that’d never felt the touch of another. A hand reached up and sharply yanked her hair. She gasped, the sensations of pain and pleasure entwining in an indistinguishable strand. “SAY MY NAME” coaxed a voice from behind her. “I’M CLOSE, SAY MY NAME.” She stammered between thrusts “I have no… fucking clue… what your name is”. She shrieked and pushed her hips back involuntarily, only for the thrusting to stop cold. His hands dropped to his side.

“What?” Snorted the voice. “I’m BoJack Horseman. Don’t act like you don’t know.” Beth sighed and replied “nope. Never heard of you. He sunk back into her, but at a disjointed pace. Something was off. “Seriously?” He sputtered, unbelieving, “BoJack? Star of perennial family favourite and 90s classic comedy Horsing Around? Secretariat. Oscar nominee?” “LESS TALKING, MORE FUCKING.” She screamed. “I don’t want to think about it. This is crossing too many lines for me already.” “Fuck you” he mumbled. Beth grew furious “fuck me? Fuck YOU. FUCK ME ALREADY.” She aggressively shoved her hips right to the hilt. They both grunted in unison. “Give it to me BoJack. Give it to me like the love your parents obviously never gave you.” BoJack’s nostrils flared. He brought his hand down to her ass in a vicious arc. It stung, the sensation drove Beth wild. She pulled back to the tip then thrust into him sharply. “Again.” She howled. “Show me you hate me as much as you hate yourself.” He slapped her again. She seethed. That one would leave a mark. She drove back into her stationary hips, pulling in and out. He growled and grabbed a fistful of her hair. He pulled her face to meet hers. “Are you gonna leave me like everybody else?” he demanded, breathing ragged and shallow. She increased her pace and they both groaned. Her eyes narrowed as she stared straight back at his. “I’m already gone.” He shoved her face to the bed and buried himself all the way inside of her. The thrusting reached a fever pitch and Beth’s back arched. BoJack brayed with pleasure. Beth moaned and shuddered, feeling filthy, horny and filled to the brim with fury. She shook as the orgasm spread throughout her body, then her knees gave out and she slid to the bed feeling nothing at all. BoJack fell to her side, unconscious, but breathing.

Back in bed, Beth cradled her head in her hands. This would be one for Dr Wong. She quietly got up, got dressed and gathered her things, pain filling her body with each step. She gently opened the door and stepped out into the living room, closing it after her. She sat down in the corner next to a stack of framed photos of David Boreanaz. The familiar thrumming of an opening portal sounded to her right as Rick stepped into the room. “Sorry I’m late, Daddy had a little bender. Did you know there’s a dimension where the cheese is alcohol? I think I just became lactose intolerant. INTOLERANT OF BOOZE-FREE CHEESE THAT IS. HAHAA PSYCHE. REMEMBER THAT FROM THE 90s? PSYCHE?” She looked up at her dad and sighed. Beth no longer felt thirsty, but booze cheese sounded good right about now. “Show me, Dad. I think I could use a drink.”

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Something something BoJack’s Hor-semen.

I’ve just come from some project completion drinks and I’ve got farewell drinks to get to. In the hopes of legibility, I’m sandwiching my daily writing between the two as opposed to leaving it for the subway ride home. Because I care about you folks, obviously. Or I fear the plague of typos that I’d otherwise shamefully read through the next day. Let’s pretend it’s the former.

A friend of mine is having a competitive erotic fanfiction party and I can’t stop thinking about what to write. It’s silly to the max and I’m excited to put something absurd together. I don’t know if I have it in me to compose anything sincere, so the outcome will likely be pretty out there. I’m also a terrible fiction writer, so I’m not expecting magic to bloom on the page. I’m keen to put together an odd pairing, because in the spirit of things it seems like a neat challenge. My leading concept right now is a cross-fandom venture featuring Beth from Rick and Morty with BoJack Horseman.

It makes sense to me on multiple levels. They’re both depressed alcoholics prone to making stupid decisions while under the influence. They both have repressed trauma stemming from abandonment issues. BoJack is a horse humanoid and Beth is a horse surgeon with an inferiority complex about not being a “real” doctor. I can imagine Rick pulling Beth into a parallel dimension in order to get her to save his drinking buddy BoJack. Cue convalescence and misguided judgement in recovery. Then Poundtown, USA. The tricky thing will be finding justification for Rick needing Beth’s health, since he’s basically a walking god of science. I’ll think on it. I’ve got a few weeks.

Without spoilers, Game of Thrones had a fun and stupid seventh season. Most of the shortcuts taken were probably necessary to tell a primetime television story, but it did feel at times like they’d undercut GRRM’s methodical character plotting in order to skip to something more action-packed and exciting. I’m not saying they sold anything out. I think they definitely had to take measures to deal with the gargantuan texts they’d been dealt for previous seasons. It’s not like the previous few books have been anything to write home about in any case. Still, without the solid guidance of GRRM’s overarching narrative intent, characters floundered and heavy-handed plotting ensued.

Subtlety fell out the window as characters betrayed central motivations in order to keep the season running full steam ahead. It’s not that they’ve ruined anything, but moreso that they understand that the show they’re doing has become a different beast altogether. Fanservice and blunt exposition have become mainstays of an IP that’d always been massive in scope. It’s still entertaining to be sure. The production values are beyond compare and it shows. Also I guess with all the dragons, the CGI budget didn’t extend to animating Ghost this season? Small gripes.

I suppose I should head downstairs and say farewell to my co-worker. He was always a nice guy in a job that was severely below his skill level. It’s either that or I continue to sit here blabbing on aimlessly about pop-culture to internet strangers and probably one or two stalkers who know me personally. I hope you’re enjoying these stale hot takes.

Was Dr Jekyll just drinking Four Loko?

Just my luck. I’m always complaining about how early in the year stores stock their shelves for any upcoming holiday. I’m not an idiot, I know that holidays are primarily a commercial exercise. It gets those consumer juices flowing, knowing that they could buy the same shit but with an added on-theme colour. Why yes, I would enjoy a red and green yuletide shewee. I’m no Scrooge. Still, who in their right fucking mind would be putting up Christmas decorations at the start of November? IT’S OKAY TO WAIT FOR THINGS. Patience is next to cleanliness and godliness and Linus van Pelt.

Yet when I want to rummage amongst Halloween accessories, in late August, they’re nowhere to be found.

Yeah, I know it was absurd of me to expect Halloween stuff to be up over two months in advance. That’s pushing the boundaries of even North American dollar stores. As I saw from my visit to Dollarama, they’re clearly at least another day or two away.

They had an assortment of Halloween candy available, but no decorations or costume accessories. For purely selfish reasons, this was not on. I’ve got a Halloween adjacent party coming up on Friday and cheap accoutrements would’ve been handy. There’s a Fake Prom going on, with a classic horror theme. I’m hoping to do a baseline acceptable Jekyll and Hyde costume. It was my girlfriend’s excellent idea. I’ve got an old brown suit and suspenders. I’ll shave half my face and do makeup for the other half. I was looking for bestial fake nails/talons for one hand. One of those big vampire chompers would be cool too, to give one half of my face a sinister sneer. A ton of the makeup I’ve seen online involves over the top green ghoulishness. I’m looking for something more haggard, slightly beastly.

The party is pretty open concept, but I like the idea of a) going as a classic literary horror character and b) dressing in a way that could be somehow prom appropriate. Apprompriate? It’s fun to get all dressed up. A big group of us are renting a limo and getting classy trashed beforehand. I’ve never been in a limo and divided by ten people it only comes out to around $30 per person. It’s no small change as a mode of transit, but the limo is an experience in itself. My girlfriend is working that night, so instead one of my other buddies will be my date. I think he’s coming as Dorian Gray, which is one hell of a creative idea.

So now I need to work out what my costume looks like. My girlfriend suggested buying a shirt from the thrift store and roughing up one side. Fake blood stains, dirt, rips and torn patches. I have some unopened red contact lenses. I could pop one into my Hyde side. If I could find a cheap costume-y monocle, top hat or cane to class up the Jekyll side that’d be choice. Though whether or not I want to be dancing with a ton of accessories is up for debate. Honestly, I just want to wear suspenders. Beyond that, I’m easy.

I mean, given the fact that I haven’t had a heavy drink in months, I think booze will be the serum necessary to bring out my Hyde tendencies. I can’t wait to go out and cause a ruckus, casting unspeakable horrors upon the dance floor. Moreover, I know so many creative people going that’re bound to put together amazing costumes. It feels like ages since I’ve really let loose, and on Friday I’m gonna let Louis… Stephenson, that is.

Shit, it looks like my dark side is coming out early.

I did knot expect to tie that all together.

I’ve been procrastinating about starting this. The Internet has been far too alluring. So to make up for it, I’m gonna let you in on what I’ve been reading. Doesn’t that sound exciting? Sorry, messed up the word order there. Meant to say That doesn’t sound exciting!

Let’s begin.

I watched the trailer for Ready Player One. I enjoyed the book. It was a silly wish fulfilment narrative. The lead characters weren’t terribly well carved out. The whole thing was pandering stacked upon pandering. It was also a lot of fun, and even if it felt like the evocation of something my friends and I used to play called The Anythink Game. The premise was simple, you could be anyone and do anything you could think of. We used to play it on a trampoline. We’d be Transformers one minute and Ninja Turtles the next. I don’t know if we ever played as everyone’s favourite female Street Shark, but that was obviously a missed opportunity. Ready Player One felt in the same spirit and as such, it was a neat world to slip into. If I’d read it at age 13, I can guarantee you it would’ve been my favourite book of all time. I have no idea how Spielberg’s team is legally gonna get a hold of all that copyrighted material, but they’re the real heroes of the film. The scale of the idea makes sense on the big screen and in watching the trailer you can already see how specifically tailored to 3D they’ve made it. A big dumb film perfectly fit for a cheap Tuesday.

I had forgotten how cringeworthy a bunch of it was though.

I bought a new keyboard. I’m so tired of having to write on my phone while in transit. The Swype keyboard sure speeds things up, but it also gets overworked pretty easily. My poor Moto G can’t keep up with my fingers. I’d been considering buying a tablet or laptop, but if a keyboard can fix all my issues, why not go with the simplest solution? I realised the other day how I still haven’t adjusted to Bluetooth as a technology that exists. I’m a curmudgeon who’s already been made technologically obsolete. I was at the park the other day, marvelling at my friend’s rugged and robust bluetooth speaker. In my head, if it’s not hard-wired, it won’t work. I guess I’ve acclimated to the understanding that I often buy technology that’s behind the curve. Since my gear’s never top of the line, I just assume that all technology is as shitty as mine. The last time I bought something cutting edge was my beloved Samsung Galaxy S2. Even when it was dated, it still worked great. Stupid different Canadian networks not working with my pride and joy.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to constantly carrying a heavy work-around everywhere I go.

Lastly, T.J. Miller. I always thought of him as a provocative performance artist in the vein of Father John Misty. If that’s what he’s going for, judging by this interview he overshot the moon and ended up in another galaxy. Ugh, he comes off as a totally snarky, condescending prick. Just an unrepentant asshole. It’s a pity, his live performance at JFL42 2015 stands as one of my all time favourite comedy experiences. Densely interwoven meta commentary that was both flashy and subtle. He’s always walked that line for me, but if he’s trying so hard to present an unlikable persona, I’m fine accepting him as thus. Bummer. I hope he gets hoisted on his own petard and comes back to earth.

By the time he does, I might even have my own Bluetooth keyboard on which to write about it.

Maybe it’ll be after seeing him in Ready Player One.

We also spent a surprising amount of the lesson talking about characters with hooks for hands.

Taking improv classes was a good decision, not only for having reigniting my joy of performance. It’s been challenging mentally and at times emotionally, but it’s certainly forced me into dealing with discomfort that lies beyond my comfort zone. It’s been so rewarding to notice the class collectively adapting to each new lesson, progressing and coming out of their shells. You’d think we were taking… improve classes or something.

Last night’s class was on character and relationships. Given the rapid fire nature of the format, being able to snap instantly into a character is vital. Character encompasses so much. How big is your character? Are they a “straight man” or something more absurdist? A pivotal part of the scene? Or a mechanic to help along the narrative? What is their relationship with the other characters? High or low status? What is the mantra that they hold on their heart? How could we decide all of this in the instant before we entered the scene?

As always, our teacher encouraged us that we knew this already. That a lifetime of stories had taught us that this was instinctive. If a character was a yoga instructor, what did we already know about them? What about an investment banker? There were no wrong answers. Our first thought was usually right and we just needed to follow those threads.

We tried a technique called The Alexander Method. We walked about the room in a neutral fashion. Neutral pace, posture, expression. She gave us instructions that we slowly incorporated. Light on our feet, quick, indirect How did that inform posture? Breath? Emotion? What did our character think about when they woke up in the morning? Then simply turning to a partner and introducing ourselves, our names and mantras. Committing to the choices we’d made. We tried again, this time heavy, direct. We were instructed to lead with a body part. How did it hold tension? What was our mantra this time? Again we introduced ourselves to sometime, as if at a networking event, gave them our mantra. Then break, back to walking around the room. Light, direct. Who were we? How did we relate to others? Then introducing ourselves to the nearest person as if they were an ex we hadn’t seen in some time.

I knew my character was constantly off in their own head, ceaselessly analysing. My yoga teacher ex was trying to catch up while I was mentally only scantly there. Feeling entrenched in character, I realised that this had always been the case, that she’d been looking for something in me I wasn’t interested in providing. My charger was baffled by human interaction. I could sense her frustration in the moment, but felt so in character. I was genuinely confused. Why did she think she was worth my time? Why would she think to divert my attention. I was adroitly dismissive, looking for an excuse to be physically elsewhere too.

Later in the class we sat down and volunteered to do scenes two at a time. I was paired with a woman and told that we were characters on the verge of divorce, but we’d both unintentionally turned up to collect our child from school. She arrived after I did and instantly I knew. She was always like this. Late, unreliable. She was the “fun one”, but it was always on me to pick up the pieces, be the bad guy, sort out appointments, keep the house in order. The scene became very visceral and raw as it all flooded out. Our child arrived, oblivious to the tension. “Do you think I’m a bad mother?” My partner asked. My eyes narrowed and I felt the pettiness come forth. I wanted to be cruel, to stick the knife in. I replied. “What kind of mother do you think you are?” The test of the class made an involuntary noise, like they’d seen a small animal harmed. The teacher cut the scene. I tried too let go of it, but holy shit were my shoulders tense. I was shaking slightly. Too real. After class I took my scene partner aside and checked in with her. She felt the same way. It worked, but did we ever feel it.

Now I can’t wait for next week.

Any child who hates burritos hates freedom and must be destroyed.

After harping on about how much I loved seeing movies on my own, I went back out last night to watch Baby Driver with company. While I’d been severely tempted to sneak into Baby Driver after my screening of The Big Sick I held off. I’d promised my girlfriend I’d see one of them with her and, much as I love the cinematic experience, I love her more. Well, it’s a different kind of love. Like comparing the love you harbour for a child and how much you cherish burritos. It’s the gun-to-your-head choice that’s easy enough, but loving one doesn’t invalidate your love for the other. That being said, if your child gives you an ultimatum between them and eating burritos ever again, dump that child in a river and find yourself a sweet as fuck burrito.

If I didn’t mention it, the “company” was my girlfriend.

Zero spoilers, Baby Driver was exactly the film I wanted. Hugely stylised, slick and immaculately crafted. The rhythm of the film was in no way limited to the soundtrack (which has already soared up the iTunes charts, of course). It twisted and turned to its own beat. The choreography extended beyond action scenes to give the whole movie a glorious sense of harmony. When (not if) you see it, you’ll understand what I mean, but it’s been so meticulously composed that it’s hard not to walk away slack jawed in awe. Perfect performances all around with a cast of both old favourites and up-and-comers. It’s a film that’ll have you alternating between fits of laughter and white-knuckled clutching at the seat while you wait for your heart to catch up.

One amazing experience wasn’t enough, so my girlfriend and I sneakily crept into The Big Sick while nobody was looking.

I’d already seen it, but I knew it’d be a perfect fit for her tastes. Plus then I’d finally have someone to talk to about it. I usually have no qualms about sneaking into something, but the particular cinema we visited had small theatres that filled up quickly. My sympathy was somewhat mitigated by the fact that they’d dedicated two rows to “prime seating”, exclusive seats that cost another $2 or so per ticket. They’d also crammed an extra row at ground level where there’s usually space for thoroughfare in front of the seating. You know what? Fuck those guys. No regrets.

Once again, zero spoilers. The film was fantastic, even second time around. It gave me a deeper appreciation for structure, how the scenes stacked together. Taking a more analytical approach, it was nice to note how earned all the relationships were. Pay-offs came after trials and actions had consequences. There were nuances to dialogue with a lack of black and white villains. Even smaller characters felt fleshed out in a manner that’s all too rare. A lot of niche, but familiar faces had roles amongst big names and heritage performers. In the second screening there was an obviously Pakistani viewer who got some of the cultural jokes that everyone else missed, which was such a boon to experience. That sensation of understanding that not everything is for me, that there can be neat little jokes hidden for particular audiences, was so refreshing. It reminded me of the experience of seeing Hasan Minhaj perform Homecoming King live (which is also on Netflix now, I believe). That’s pretty high praise, trust me.

If you can, go out and support innovative, original cinema. We’re spoiled rotten having two such quality films getting summer play. Ditch the sun and enjoy the air conditioning, all while talking in a superb flick.

Or two.

Maybe I should’ve worn track pants instead?

Reporting back after Steel Rails 2017, “The Locomotion” was not played even once. A travesty if ever there was one. We did, however, get Vag Halen (the Toronto female rock cover band) busting out a series of rock anthems complete with the appropriate quantity of hip gyration. Let’s call it even.

Getting back on track after a year spent off the rails, Steel Rails 2017 was some kinda night. My girlfriend and I made a point to dress for the job we wanted (non-stop partying). She had a big fluffy red crinoline skirt, a lilac and black checkered bustier and her trusty kangaroo backpack. I was clad in my black/rainbow cyberdog leggings, a pink/purple zebra striped bra and my green smoker’s jacket (which I unfortunately discovered was not machine washable. Big time). Arriving at the party departure point, we realised very few others had put as much intention into their garb. We took this as a point of pride. It took a while to get picked up and we ended up leaving maybe half an hour after we’d expected. Of course, we had no idea where we were going, merely that a train would be nearby. Some folks were already tailgating in the parking lot. It was gonna be that kind of night.

We rode around in big yellow school buses and excitedly muttered about where we might go. Not knowing the area, it was anyone’s guess. We also played the traditional bus game of waving to bystanders in the hopes that they’d reciprocate. At some point a kid waved energetically at the bus, but nobody waved back at him. Not on my watch. I waved in an overly exaggerated manner. He saw, literally jumped with excitement and waved back. Five seconds of activity was a small price to pay for making a kid’s day. The bus turned into a parking lot next to a driving range and began to slow down. Okay, things were getting interesting. Next to the range was a large white dome. How enigmatic! We tittered and lined up to go inside. Even at the revolving door entrance, we still had no idea of what was five meters in front of us. It was time, we passed the threshold.

On the inside, the dome was massive. Carpeted in fake turf, there was so much for the eyes to take in. A miniature golf course to the left, a couple of projector screens, a bridge overhead stacked with instruments and audio equipment. There were bars set up around the space, plus a wrestling ring in the middle. A small performance space off to the right, a colourful triangle structure with pillows inside ahead. There was a witching tent and a wheel of fortune style “Find Your Apocalypse” scenario (my world will be destroyed by apes). Booze was by donation, as always. I dropped a $20 in the bucket and went hog wild. I also made sure I grabbed a boozy cherry bourbon sour ice block while I was at it. The food was tasty, but all very fast food. They had woodfire pizzas, a grilled cheese food truck and some legit fish and chips (though I swear we waited in line for 40 minutes to get them). Beer successfully soaked.

Then the train. THE TRAIN. We got on and found ourselves surrounded by Trump. We’d unintentionally settled into the Trump car. “Trump Dollars” taped around the place, dumb trump quotes suspended from the ceiling with his stupid fucking face on them. We were stuck there for a while as the train readied to leave. Plus there was a massive line to the bar in the next car, meaning we couldn’t go anywhere. It was strange, but somehow being a) boozed and b) surrounded by Trumpisms led to a rush of boorishness. A bunch of douches and douchebagguettes yelling. Some women started stuffing Trump Bucks into my bra and waistband. I wouldn’t have cared much if only they’d asked first. We got outta there as quickly as we could and checked out the rest.

Space Car was a welcome reprieve. The windows were all blacked out with tinfoil, then speckled with fairy lights and transparent black sheets to transport us to outer space. A musician created some kind of ambient dream pop sound as she plugged away at her effects machines. Space Car was relatively quiet and wound up being our favourite place to hang. Further on was a crown construction car that I didn’t visit, but my girlfriend came back with a nifty cereal box crown. Down the other end in the only carpeted car was the homecoming dance. A photographer had a wearable sash and led partygoers to pose for shots. The DJ was dropping some pretty great tunes, but shitting fuck was it ever sweaty in there. My girlfriend and I jumped into the “sleeper car” for some private time, only to find signs all over the room telling us we were being watched. I mounted her lap and gave them a show. Some dude walked in and slowly backed away. Damn straight.

We had a blast. The booze and food kept going (though having very few non-beer options this year meant we felt all sorts of bloated) all night. I found that as a guy, wearing a bra with no shirt meant people felt super comfortable coming up and grabbing me without consent. Like, I get that it’s unconventional and funny/weird to see a dude in a bra and it’s not like I was mega standoffish, but asking first would’ve gone a long way. It was a weird crowd all the way down. A bunch of magnanimous folks, some hyper normy spectators (in all likelihood, sponsors), performers, volunteers and others dressed in outlandish couture. There were more rad people than the alternative, but given the previous year I was surprised at how large that shitty minority was. At some point I was butt grinding up on my girlfriend and this woman I’d been chatting with earlier decided it was totally fine to insert herself between us. We both quirked our heads until she moved on, but it was a pretty weird moment.

The experience on the whole, though, was all kinds of choice. Tickets may sell out in an instant, but you can bet your arse I’ll be hitting those rails next year too.

STEEL RAILS FO LYFE.