In the quiet of night, beneath the moon's soft glow, I remembered Andy, from not long ago. His smile, once a beacon, now dimmed and far, A distant memory, like a faded star.
Weeks turned to months, and seasons did change, Yet my heart held tight to that meeting, so strange. I searched for his laughter in the echoes of the wind, Hoping against hope our paths would cross again.
But fate, it seemed, had a different plan, For Andy, sweet Andy, was a fleeting man. His kindness, his warmth, a mere brush of light, Gone with the morning, swallowed by the night.
I wandered the places where we once had met, The cafe, the park, with a heart full of regret. For in the bustle of life, I had let him slip by, Now longing for moments that time did belie.
His words, once a melody, now haunt my dreams, A chorus of what-ifs, and might-have-beens. I search the horizon, the crowded street, For Andy, sweet Andy, whose presence was fleet.
In my solitude, I find comfort in the past, In the memory of Andy, though it couldn't last. A bittersweet reminder of joy and of pain, Of a chance encounter, never to happen again.
For meeting dear Andy, so kind and sweet, Was a lesson in cherishing the people we meet. Though our paths diverged and left me forlorn, His memory, a beacon, forever shall adorn.

Idk about you guys but I've always loved how a shower felt after a bunch of work. Something special about it. Anyway thanks for reading! :)
They were both offered showers by town citizens happy to open their homes. Gareth found showers immensely awkward but didn’t need to worry as a few townsfolk drew him a bath. With some extra help from Deag, who had taken a short trip to the ship, he treated the water and was finally able to eat something. It was no traditional Weilan spa, but it was… close enough. If he was being entirely honest, he was just glad to finally be able to eat something. He may have fibbed to Pen when they talked about food. He wasn’t near starving quite yet and even though being carried had allowed him to conserve a lot of energy, it wouldn’t have helped much longer.
He looked down at his poor shell. Its color greatly diminished from the lack of food and immense stress of the whole ordeal. He could feel the buildup of toxins in his system before and it was wonderful to feel them washing out. He sighed and slumped down under the water. Again, he inspected his shell. Wilting and greying all over his eyes wandered to the crack made by Pen when she pulled him out of the way of the turret. Probably another two months to heal but it was coming along. She must have remembered it too when they were falling. She was gentler. It honestly surprised him that he managed to survive that fall without any major injury.
Gareth let his thoughts drift aimlessly as he soaked under the water. After a few minutes, though, he heard a thump from outside the tub. He rose up from the water and peeked over the lip of the tub. A small human child stared back from the washroom door. Small by human standards that is. He was shorter than Gareth but only by a few inches. If Ton’et’s human biology lessons were serving him well the boy wouldn’t remain much smaller than him for more than a year or so. He should be quickly entering a time of quick growth that humans experience periodically in their formative years.
“Mmmhmmmb” the boy mumbled, still hiding most of himself behind the door.
“What was that?” Gareth asked.
The boy shirked slightly but found his voice after a moment.
“You… You’re weird looking.”
Gareth chuckled.
“You’re the weird looking one.”
The boy's brow furrowed, easier to read than Pen by far. The child wore his emotions on his face.
“Nuh uh…”
“Yuh huh.” Gareth mimicked the child.
“No, you don’t look like anyone else here.”
“Well, I’m not from here, am I? I’m from a place where everyone looks like me and nobody looks like you.”
This seemed to puzzle the boy.
“How many people?”
Gareth tilted his head. An odd question.
“Lots? Trillions.”
“Is that more than here?”
It dawned on him the math the boy was doing.
“Definitely.”
“Darn…”
The boy lightly tapped the doorframe with his foot.
“You could go see them.” Gareth offered.
“Really?” A shine came to his eyes.
“Oh definitely, there's a ton to see. More places out there than trees in that forest outside.”
The boy didn’t understand trillions but that comparison made sense to him.
“Waoooaahhh,” a frown came to his face quickly, “but I like it here though. I have friends here.”
“So when you miss them, just come on back. No reason you cant enjoy both right?”
Gareth's words were a joyous revelation to the boy.
“I’d love that I think…”
“I think you would to.” Gareth chuckled.
“You may be weird but you're pretty cool. My names Cameron by the way.”
“Pleasure to meet you Cameron, I’m Gareth. I think you’re weird and cool too.”
Cameron giggled and sprinted away, stopped, turned around, closed the door gently, then turned back around and sprinted away again. Gareth sunk back down into the tub smiling.
Pen stepped under the shower head with her face turned up. Steaming hot water hit her face and ran down taking all the stress and sweat with it.
A proper shower was exactly what Pen needed. She was no stranger to dirt and sweat and when needs must, she had no issue. That said, filthy was by no means a preferred state and after two days hard march, sleeping in the dirt, and only washing off in a river, a proper shower felt divine. It almost reminded her of washing off after a particularly arduous drop. There was something especially satisfying about it.
Soap, warm water, and more time to enjoy it than she’d ever have been given on the Basho. After getting clean she turned the heat up as high as it could go and propped herself against the wall of the shower letting the water run over her shoulders and back. The heat melted through the tension and washed it down the drain.
Ahhhhhh. Perfect.
Something tickled her neck and she brought her right hand up to it. She pulled a long strand of hair away. It struck her as odd and brought her attention to her hair. It had gotten longer. The strand in her hand was almost alien due to how long it had been since she’d allowed it to grow out beyond a few inches.
She brought both her hands up now, raking them through the newfound length. She’d start having to wear it up if she didn’t want to cut it.
She kind of didn’t. Why should she?
After a nice long while in the hot shower she turned the water off and stepped out. The bathroom was heavy with steam, but she saw that towels and clothes had been set by the sink for her. She dried herself and examined the clothing. It was a simple handwoven dress, loose cut and floor length. The dress was dyed olive green and parchment white with a humble little leaf-like pattern embroidered around the wrists and neckline.
It certainly wasn’t her normal fare, but it was clearly a kind gesture and matched the clothing most wore around town. With how little worn and well taken care of it looked Pen could guess that it meant a lot to the person who donated it.
Pen donned it and looked to the mirror only to find it utterly fogged up.
A light knock came from the other side of the door.
“Are you alright miss?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yea…” Pen faltered.
“Oh does the dress not fit? Or would you prefer something else?”
“No, no, it fits fine,” it did reach the floor though perhaps not as much as it was intended to, “How about you tell me how I look.”
Pen opened the door. Steam rolled out as she moved into the room with the young woman. She was a stranger to Pen but looked like the older lady whose house this was. Pen guessed a daughter.
“Oh my, I think you look quite nice! Olive is definitely one of your colors. Here!” The girl fumbled somewhat but showed Pen to a tall mirror in the far corner of the room.
It was… certainly a look. Not one she was used to but that was expected. The dress fit fine and it did look nice. Pen couldn’t help but notice, though, that it sat oddly on her. Not tight or revealing by any means, just… a gentler looking piece of clothing on a less than gently built frame. It wasn’t exactly made to be worn by a muscled body.
“Oh erm here miss,” the young woman handed her a hair tie but pulled back, “or if you want I could help you put it up? Its at that weird point where its not long enough to… you know but too long to uh it can be difficult. If you want I can…”
“I… appreciate it but I’ll be fine. I think I'll leave it down for now.”
“Right. Well, here. Just in case you want to.”
She again handed the hair tie but this time let Pen take it. Pen stowed it around her wrist.
“Is Gareth?”
“Oh yes your friend is across the street at the Patterson's. I can bring you over if you like.”
“Lead the way.”
“Of course.”
The girl led her out of the house and across the street. Pen saw a couple putting up woven cloth streamers across the road. They anchored them in trees with some parallel and others crossing.
As the girl stepped up the front porch of the, apparently, Patterson's house she waved to an older gentleman in a rocking chair.
“Evening Mr. Patterson. This is Penelope, she was just calling on her friend.”
“Evening dear. Evening miss. Yer friend hasn’t come out yet but you can head on up. To the left at the top, far end door.”
“Thanks.”
His hand came up to keep her just a moment.
“Thank you miss.” He said accentuating the ‘you’.
He looked at her like they all did. She knew what he meant and as awkwardly as it always was she smiled and nodded before she pushed past him. At least he had the good sense not to salute.
As she climbed the stairs just inside the door to the house she heard the man ask a question of the girl.
“Dear, could you ask your mother about a few fertilizer spikes? The peach is looking like it needs some help.”
Pen continued too far to make out her reply but could guess by its warm tone that it was a yes. She turned at the top of the stairs and walked to the end of the hall. Knocking on the door she called out to Gareth.
“You still soaking?”
“Just suiting up. I’ll be out in a min.”
A ‘min’ huh? Pen thought.
Previous
First

Hi,
I'm looking for a video remix that uses 3 distinct instrument instructional videos (Drum, Bass and Guitar) and together form a unique remix using all 3 to form one music video.
These Instructional videos are clearly from VHS, though the video did pop up around the late 2000s. The video uses only the source material. It moves the 3 videos around, intercuts them (following their own beats) and shows all of them when all "instruments" are playing. There's not other visual other than the source themselves. It was more a work of mixing the 3 sources together and using their own dialogue to form the new song.
As for the sources:
For the Drums, the source is this video from Louis "Louie Bellson"! Drum Course For Beginners (1980s) VHS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THhMrlsKFmk The intro of the remix uses the same intro as this video for a couple of seconds, then the remix being already mixing in the 3 videos!
The GuitaBass was a younger lady, long black hair and for the GuitaBass it was a 20-30s man with long hair (Rock & Roll type). The sources look to be from around 80s/early 90s max.
I remember it being originally on Vimeo but I did find versions/copies of it on YouTube. I thought I bookmarked or downloaded but I can't seem to find via Google or on Vimeo/YouTube, as adding any of the keywords (instructional, lesson, teacher etc.) return "How to" videos or current videos/remixes.
Much appreciated with the help ! Ask me anything that could help!
Thank you!

OK SO. I remember playing this game in middle school. It was definitely a website one, nothing you had to download. There was a part where you could customize your animal (pig, fox, etc) with jewelry, clothes, and other things buy doing little lessons. There were different types of lessons you could do, like reading, there was a debit/credit one, general math, that kind of stuff. The lessons looked like a path when you completed them (like how duolingo does it)

I am NOT OOP. OOP is u/Chemical-Scarcity964
Originally posted to AITAH
Previous BoRU
[New Update]: AITAH for refusing to help my FIL with a vehicle?
Trigger Warnings: emotional manipulation, deaths of loved ones, financial struggles, cancer
RECAP
Original Post: December 3, 2023
I (38F) have been married to my husband (43M) for almost 15 years. My FIL has never really accepted me as family. He referred to me as "my son's wife" for the first 5 years of my marriage & when he convinced us to go halves on a property insisted on only his & my husband's names on a survivors deed, "in case we divorced". In the last few years, he has struggled financially due mostly to poor choices he made. His wife, husband's step mom, is much older & has medical problems leading him to choose to work mostly from home. He has traded in vehicles numerous times in the last few years, supposedly trying to lower his payments, but is always upside-down on the loans that it doesn't work. He is paying close to $1000 a month on a minivan. Now here is my problem.
My FIL is currently trying to guilt trip my husband into giving him one of several vehicles I inherited. I had two uncles pass away 3 weeks apart during the holidays more than a year ago & I am still going through the probate process because they passed so close together. I do not have the court's permission to do anything with their vehicles yet.
He told my husband how much it would help him to have one of the vehicles so that he could let his car go back on repo & not have to make the payments. I may have considered it too, if he had waited more than a couple weeks after my both uncles passed away. I was, quite litterally, knee deep in a horders paradise, trying to clean out their apartment within the month to avoid having to pay rent because i couldnt afford it and had no access to their money (strike one). He picked out which vehicle he wanted, the most valuable of the 4, rather than asking if we had plans for them yet (strike two). Then he asked my husband to give him said vehicle (strike three). As a cherry on top, asked my husband again (still has never asked me) to give him a $10k vehicle after we pay for all the little repairs it needs, of course.
Here is where I might me the Asshole: Do I need the vehicle? No. Could I use the money from its sale? Yes, but I could live without it, too, as our finances are better now. Will I sign it over to him? Never. This is far from the first time that man has shown utter disrespect for me & he can pay for rides before I give him any vehicle. Yes, I am probably being a little childish. The only reason I hesitate, I actually like his wife & it would help her to some extent.
Edit to add: My husband has already told me that the vehicles are mine & I can do whatever I want with them.
Since it's been mentioned a few times: he has been bought out on the property & my name added.
Edit for clarity & to address the most common responses: My husband acts as a buffer against FIL for the sake of my sanity. He has told FIL multiple times that the vehicles are not his to do anything with, but the man is intentionally dense. His wife cannot legally own a car as it cannot be registered in her name (no license) I will not loan/rent him a vehicle as I can't trust that he will maintain it.
 
Relevant Comments
akhoneygirl: Offer him the worst for 3 or 4000!

OP: That's part of it. He wants us to fix & give him the vehicle. All of them need at least a few hundred in repairs. He has no interest in paying us for anything. He is just set on guilt tripping his son. My husband has told me everything from the start & said it's all up to me, my uncles, my vehicles, my decision.

SawwhetMA: So FIL set you up to lose out on a property if your SO passed away before FIL did? I'm glad to hear you bought him out and that's set now . If you find it in your heart to give him one of the vehicles then you may be a better person than I because I'm not sure if I could, given the history. What if (when probate is set and all) you offer to rent him one of the vehicles? Obviously that isn't what he wants, but you'd get some income but still own it to sell it when he was done with the vehicle?
Good luck!

OP: He would run it into the ground & I would end up having to go get it when he refused to pay. It's just frustrating because I like his wife & would consider doing it to help her, if he would just man up & ask. Instead, he tries to play the poor me card.

Dixieland_Insanity: INFO:
How does he know what you're inheriting from your uncles. Why does he think he's entitles to any of it?

OP: He knew my uncles fairly well since they were basically the last of my family. He doesn't really know what the full inheritance is, but the vehicles were the most obvious. He has told him no a couple of times. Everything FIL gets tight on funds he asks again.

Cdn_Giants_Fan: Not The A•H. But that said I would probably sell him one of the vehicles for its bluebook value and say pay 100 bucks a week. And if he says anything about it saybthat perhaps if you weren't such an asshat to me I would've just let you have it. Then if he starts being nice after it's partially paid off tell him hes good. He learns a lesson and you earn some money.

OP: I would never see a dime. He thinks that being "the father" means he is owed something from my husband and, by extension, me. Honestly, even if he offered me full value in cash, I would probably laugh at him & tell him to shove off.

VadersLoversLover: Gift it to your MIL with a lien on it so he can’t change to title.

OP: Due to a medical issue, she can't drive and had to surrender her license. That makes it impossible to register it in her name because she can't be insured as a driver.

 
Update #1: December 11, 2023
You guys asked for an update, so here you go. I have had a long talk with my husband about FIL & his "request" for one of the vehicles I had inherited. I showed him my original post & he got a good laugh out of some of the suggestions (especially the toy car). We have agreed that the only way to handle his constant hints & requests, is for me to draft an email to him. For reference: FIL loves to send me rude & demanding emails when he "feels unheard."
The email will not be sent until I know that probate is done & is as "polite & civil" as I can possibly write it. The jist of the email I typed up is this:
"I understand that you have been asking husband to gift you one of my uncles' vehicles. Unfortunately, you have chosen to speak to the wrong person. I have told you before that, in some things, his business is his & mine is mine. The vehicles that you keep asking about are mine. As such, I have decided that they will be sold at a fair market value. The funds will be split evenly into savings accounts for my daughters, as a seed for their futures. I already have buyers lined up for the vehicles & will be arranging times for them to be collected shortly. I hope you can understand my desire to ensure that my childrens' futures are secure, as my uncles would have wanted."
I am tempted to sign it as "husband's wife" but am undecided right now.
Thank you to everyone who commented on my previous post. Your thoughts & support helped me a lot. I was genuinely on the fence as to whether or not I was being too sensitive about everything. You were all amazing & supportive about the entire mess. I just hope that this email to him puts an end to his covert begging once & for all (at least about this). And yes, my husband is behind me 100% and has no issues with my approach.
 

----NEW UPDATE----

Final Update: May 22, 2024 (five months later)
A few people have reached out to ask so here it goes.
Everything is finally settled. The vehicles are sold, except one I decided to keep for my oldest to learn on when she gets her permit.
I didn't send my FIL the email, although I do still have it saved. Turns out I won't have to. As of a few weeks ago, I am getting a divorce. My, now stbx, husband decided that he no longer wants to play house. He moved out & I am in the process of packing his things. Since the vehicles and my house were all inherited, he has no claim to them or the money from their sale. Yes I double checked the law in my state. If he would have waited a few more weeks, I would have paid off every debt we had, but he didn't. So he saved me a bunch of money by telling me before I commingled my inheritance funds with joint assets.
I don't know how his family will act towards me & our kids when he finally tells them all. His brother has called to make sure he is still allowed to keep in touch but he is the only one I've heard from so far.
Oh and as a bonus: the week before I found out about my impending divorce, my mother (who I was never close to) was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She passed away a week later. She was 58 years old, the same age my uncles were. So, yeah, it's basically just me & my kids against the world now.
Anyway, that's the update.
Relevant Comments
OOP on moving forward with her life and personal issues going on in her family especially health issues

OOP: Thank you. Its kinda sad that your kind words are enough to make me want to cry because it's expected that I am the strong one for everyone else. I don't really get to give myself time to be weak. And you are right. If it were not for my kids, I probably would have been completely broken.
My uncles had other health problems, no cancer at all that I know of & most of our family lived into their 70s and 80s. I am definitely working on getting my little health concerns checked out, though.

 

DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7

THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP

I have just been grinding math for the past 1 and a half weeks after ap tests going through the lessons on khan academy and just doing hard problems that I find online through youtube or some website and I was thinking of spending today and half of thrusday doing some more math then switch over to reviewing some reading then on friday take a practice test. or should I just review and not take a practice test. I have already taken an sat and practice sat before the sat in march and practice in february.

Broke up with my partner after my trust had been betrayed. This was his second chance and he let me down. I’m realizing this wasn’t the only thing to push me to my decision. Aside from the negatives of this unhealthy relationship, I can’t help but mourn the great times we did have. The laughter, the love, the special moments. His gentleness, the way he always kissed me before he left for work and when he came back and I was already asleep.
I wanted so bad for him be honest with me and himself, to learn from his mistakes and grow. I told him what would happened if he made this mistake again and it’s almost like he seemed surprised I held my word. Like I TOLD YOU what would happen?!
I created this idea of him in my head that he would become a trustworthy, passionate and dedicated man. Someone who drove me to be the best version of myself and likewise, someone who challenged me and shared similar goals and values. Someone I could rely on and be proud to call my husband one day and father of my children. I can’t even really tell if I’m mourning him or this idea of him I created in my head. Have you ever been in this position? It’s confusing. I can say one lesson I’m taking away from this.. is that I truly need to learn to love myself first and not seek it in every opportunity. Sorry if this sounds like a journal entry but just curious if there’s others who’ve been through similar and could share words of encouragement or advice. Thank you.

“Bingo!” The call echoed through the hall, followed by the collective groans of the other assembled Hellspawn. Askeraz the Malfeasant looked away from the trapped heroes and towards his demon army. They cowed.
“What was that?” Askeraz asked, his voice carried every shadow of the night.
“Uh, sorry, your Dark Lordliness, please ignore me.”
Askeraz looked at the heroes. He had been in the middle of his victory speech. Shouldn’t he just continue? This was his moment of triumph but-
“Let me see what you’re holding,” Askeraz commanded as he held out a fell hand toward the demons. The Demon that had yelled bingo, Kalim the Fleshrender, sheepishly handed the card to Askeraz, who began reading.
He was aghast at the first square.
“Tremble before me?” Askeraz asked, indignant. Based on the other squares, he’d already figured out what the card was. They were playing bingo with his speech but… “Tremble before me is a staple of the craft! A victory speech without it is a classless rant!”
“Sorry sir.”
“And beside it! ‘All Hope is Lost’. Pardon, you might as well be asking me not to use vowels!”
The heroes, trapped in the Soul Cage, were, almost, more confused than frightened. Almost.
“Sorry again, sir.”
Askeraz held out his free hand and collected another card. He repeated the process frantically, checking each and every entry that the Hellspawn had brought to the moment of his triumph.
That they were playing bingo right now? Bad enough, but considering victory was partially about celebration Askeraz could forgive party games. What he couldn’t forgive was the lack of understanding inherent in the cards. That had to be corrected now.
Askeraz waved an arm, and hellish magic swallowed the souls of the heroes. While they screamed, he approached his assembled generals.
“To begin, if you’re including ‘Behold my power’ on the card, you might as well have a free space. Konrad the Black, one of the original masters of dark triumphant speech, a wretched man who truly codified the forms of the modern art, said in his Soulbinding Treatise that a speech which does not include reverence to power, should not be considered a victory, nor a speech.”
Askeraz pulled out a large scroll for notes and continued. “Additionally the position of phrases on the grid completely ignore the accepted structure of the genre. For example, fundamental structural understanding is that a speech cannot have a reference to the power of light and dark within the opening of the monologue. It’s poor form. Both light and shadow motifs are central to the theming of closing statements. If you look into the research of Brimhilda Bladeheart—one of my favorite scholars of the craft—it’s clear her ideas on genre and managing audience expectation are central to my execution. I hope it’s clear at least. She’s an inspiration.”
Askeraz trailed off. There was just so much wrong. He snatched the cards away. He would show them. He would craft a tense game of bingo, where the chance of victory was equal on each card based on a proper understanding of the sacred art of villainous monologue. None of this new-age free-form hippy bullshit. Before he could make a game, though, there were more lessons to teach….
“And furthermore!”

A 4' 10" 85 lbs woman is standing in line when a 6' 10" 280 man cuts in front of her. She's sick of being treated like she doesn't matter just because she's small and wants to teach this douchebag a lesson.
The man is untrained in any hand-to-hand combat discipline. He is 280 lbs of muscle. He lifts 6 days a week and has won several medals in competitions. He can curl more than she weighs.
Is there any conceivable way in which this lady can reliably beat this man in unarmed combat? Perhaps she's a professional mma fighter or jiu-jitsu black belt.
Or is it completely impossible?

Let me begin by saying that I’ve been pretty healthy for most of my life. My first real health scare came in 2021 when I was diagnosed with Covid pneumonia and had to spend 5 days in the hospital. They gave me remdezevir and nightly stomach shots so that I wouldn’t get blood clots from the meds. Then, In November of 2023 I was diagnosed with diverticulitis after a CT scan revealed the infection. The night before I noticed unusual swelling in my rib cage that wrapped around the left side towards my back. I remember the pain actually started in the center of my spine about 2 months prior to going to the emergency room. It felt like a burning sensation and sometimes it would twinge. I mentioned that to my primary care physician and she ordered an X-ray of my rib cage. All was normal. Two weeks later I had my colonoscopy and all came back clear. No divirticulitis but I still didn’t feel good. In January 2024 I asked my gastroenterologist if he could do an upper GI. He went one step further and ordered an ultrasound too. In February 2024 I was also diagnosed with Gastritis and IBS. In March of 2024 I thought I had a dv flare up and ended up in the emergency room but the dr said no flare up just gastritis and gave me some pantaprazile. Here we are now May 2024 and I still feel terrible. Nausea mainly in the morning , not feeling rested, and still with stomach pains but now the pain has spread to my legs, arms , and ribs. Today I was holding a gallon of milk in my right hand and felt a pain in my middle finger. I can’t really move it now without having pain. Not only have I lost like 30 lbs since November but my Dr has refused to send me a referral to the endocrinologist because my weight has remained constant for a month. Even though my blood work was supposedly normal there were some irregularities like an amnion gap below 4 and high neutrophils and low lymphocytes. I feel like even though I know I have these three illnesses I feel like I’m not getting a full diagnosis. I’m constantly having a new pains in my body not related to the GI. I’ve had insomnia, eye pains, unexplained swelling/pain in my mouth, face, nose, jaw, neck, throat,chest, arms, legs, joints, testicles. I can honestly say I feel pain in just about every part of my body. I feel like I’m falling apart and Im half the man I use to be. 49 years old but I feel like I’m 79. I’m not able to stand for too long without feeling pain and fatigue. I can’t wear a belt because it feels painfully uncomfortable around my waist. Sound , especially in the morning is annoying. I hate wearing socks because it hurts my legs. It takes a lot of energy out of me to even do the simplest things. I use to enjoy mowing my lawn but now it’s impossible to complete. Ib guard has become my best friend as I find that is the only med that gives me relief besides ibuprofen and aleve. I just find it hard to believe that my health can diteriurate so fast in such as a short time. So many days I ask God to take the pain away and to make me feel like I use to feel, Alive!!!. Every day is a constant battle of mind , body and soul. If anyone else feels similar or would like to share their story I’m all ears. Maybe if enough of us share our stories we can find some type of therapy in the words and hopefully we can also find what we are all looking for ….peace , hope, health, and a normal life again.

A wealthy man once told me
He had made 44 million in 8 years through network marketing. He said that the lesson for him was that money only makes you more of what you were already. If you were nice, you are nicer. Mean, meaner. So im guessing that will be true when wealth comes by way of bitcoin.
What will YOU be more of?

Best Picture- Drama

1. Sing Sing(WINNER)
   
2. Conclave
   
3. Blitz
   
4. Dune Part II
   
5. The Piano Lesson
   
6. Nickel Boys
   

Best Picture- Comedy or Musical

1. Anora(WINNER)
   
2. A Real Pain
   
3. Joker Folie a Deaux
   
4. Emilia Perez
   
5. The End
   
6. Kinds of Kindness
   

Best Actor- Drama

1. Colman Domingo for Sing Sing(WINNER)
   
2. Ralph Fiennes for Conclave
   
3. Daniel Craig for Queer
   
4. John David Washington for The Piano Lesson
   
5. Tom Hanks for Here
   
6. Sebastian Stan for The Apprentice
   

Best Actor- Comedy or Musical

1. Jesse Eisenberg for A Real Pain(WINNER)
   
2. Joaquin Phoenix for Joker Folie a Deaux
   
3. George MacKay for The End
   
4. Glen Powell for Hit Man
   
5. Sebastian Stan for A Different Man
   
6. George Clooney for Wolfs
   

Best Actress- Drama

1. Angelina Jolie for Maria(WINNER)
   
2. Saoirse Ronan for The Outrun
   
3. Robin Wright for Here
   
4. Zendaya for Challengers
   
5. Tilda Swinton for The Room Next Door
   
6. Marianne Jean Baptiste for Hard Truths
   

Best Actress- Comedy or Musical

1. Lady Gaga for Joker Folie a Deaux(WINNER)
   
2. Mikey Madison for Anora
   
3. Tilda Swinton for The End
   
4. Karla Garcia Gascon for Emilia Perez
   
5. Cynthia Erivo for Wicked
   
6. Amy Adams for Nightbitch
   

Best Supporting Actor

1. Samuel L. Jackson for The Piano Lesson(WINNER)
   
2. Kieran Culkin for A Real Pain
   
3. Stanley Tucci for Conclave
   
4. Jesse Plemmons for Kinds of Kindness
   
5. Clarence Maclin for Sing Sing
   
6. Jeremy Strong for The Apprentice
   

Best Supporting Actress

1. Aunjanae Ellis-Taylor for Nickel Boys(WINNER)
   
2. Saoirse Ronan for Blitz
   
3. Isabella Rosellini for Conclave
   
4. Danielle Deadwyler for The Piano Lesson
   
5. Natasha Lyonne for His Three Daughters
   
6. Joan Chen for Didi
   

Best Director

1. Sean Baker for Anora(WINNER)
   
2. Greg Kwedar for Sing Sing
   
3. Edward Berger for Conclave
   
4. Steve McQueen for Blitz
   
5. Denis VIllenueve for Dune Part II
   
6. Jesse Eisenberg for A Real Pain
   

Best Screenplay

1. Greg Kwedar and Clint Bentley for Sing Sing(WINNER)
   
2. Sean Baker for Anora
   
3. Peter Straughan for Conclave
   
4. Jesse Eisenberg for A Real Pain
   

5, Denis Villenueve and Jon Spaihts for Dune Part II

1. Paypal Kapadia for All We Imagine as Light

I don’t even want a relationship. I miss the days when we were friends. We had such a good thing until we decided to date. Lesson learned: Don’t date your good friend. I mean, maybe in some cases it’ll work out, but man does it suck losing the friendship. Things will never be the same.

My daughter is finishing up the 3rd grade. Over the summer I emailed the school district and had her tested for dyslexia. The testing started in Sept. and finished December (they drug it out). She qualifies and now has an IEP. She goes into school for services (reading, writing, and math) 4 days a week for 1.5 hours. This started in January. She still does homeschool at home. Recently they I was told that she is making improvements but she is still 2 grade levels behind. Her processing is slower, so it still takes a little more time when reading and writing things like “d &b”. I have asked what program they use (which I was told in a round about way that I wasn’t trained in it so they never told me).
We have been using “Explode the code”. While it seemed to be working at first such as the cvc words. She struggles with ccvc words. We are currently doing book 2 1/2 (and still have some of book 2 to do, but I wanted to give her more practice where she is struggling). I also have my daughter doing explode the code online. On some of the lessons online she will do really well and earn the paper airplane sticker. When it’s challenging for her, she will memorize the answers because she will have repeated it enough times. The sentences seem to be a stuggle (such as read 2 sentences and pick the correct one that matches the picture).
We have also tried nessy (online) I am not sure if I picked the wrong program, but it was too hard for her. She likes to read the Elephant and piggie books. I have her read bob’s books and decodable readers by reading street and I read to her (and her sister) every night.
Over the summer I would like to get something to focus on phonics/reading (and some light math) to help before going into this next school year.
I was debating on Recipe for reading or All about reading.
I was wondering if anyone has tried Recipe for reading? It is an Orton-Gillingham based program.
My Kindergartener is doing Explode the code as well and is currently on book 2.
Any other suggestions/ideas please send them my way.

I'm deviating away from my usual; instead of music inspiring my writing, this time, it's now theatrical representation.
I've been enjoying multiple times the short-lived Sex/Life on Netflix. I could write a book on the many lessons that I'm still learning from the show. For this piece, this is focused on the title Unattached (written by the show's character Sasha Snow). Though, in the show, this adjective was describing people in terms of their relationship status, for myself, this also refers to my current energy status.
Unattached in regard to the past means that my energy is not tied up in someone who was once a part of my life but has now gone. I'm not wishing back for an ex. I'm not pining away for someone who's already moved on with his life. I'm not wanting to rewrite history and make it like any missed opportunities, or anything gone wrong with any guy from my past was made right and that we should be together. Even more, I'm not chasing "the one who got away" ... I have been in the game of love long enough to know that there is no such thing. All men who have told me "Bye, Felicia", with their words or with their feet, were never the one to begin with.
Unattached in regard to the present moment means that my energy is not tied up in someone unavailable. I'm not spending my evenings home from work, constantly checking my phone and wondering why he's not texting. My mind is not wrapped up in why he would rather choose to text instead of call. I'm not trying to figure out way to make someone who is not interested in me ... interested. I'm not performing all sorts of gymnastics, trying to reformulate myself into what he wants or thinks I should be just to keep him from walking away. I'm not going out of my way to beg for someone to stay when I was never meant to keep him anyway. And, no, I've written off any equity from dating apps. Time wasted in endless swapping on profiles doesn't justify the cost, and I've long since learned that the men on there cannot afford the intellectual price of carrying on a simple, civil and decent conversation besides, "Hey". And for the ones that do, they're so hard up that they turn a brief conversation ~ regardless of how neutral the topic ~ into something sexual. No, thanks.
Unattached in regard to the future is an inverse of the past. My energy is not tied up into building a fantasy of someone in my mind, crafting who this unrealistic person is, and then going into the real world to see if there is any guy who can live up to it. I'm not throwing myself at any guy who gives me the bare minimum effort, basic human kindness in conversation, and letting my imagination run off into the sunset as I somehow treat this guy as if he's this manifestation of the perfect image of the perfect guy I had crafted in my mind (a part of me wonders if I have a future career working for Crown Media Productions ~ the actual team of professionals behind those cheesy Hallmark made-for-TV movies). This has saved me countless moments of unnecessary heartbreak and disappointment when I'd strike up a good conversation with a guy, believing that we're really connecting, and we don't end up connecting beyond it for whatever reason.
Now, here comes the best part ... The Power of Choice. For once in my adult life, I recognize that I have full veto power over the future partner I may welcome into my life.
Regarding the past, I execute my power of choice by refusing to allow my broken history with men and all failed relationships from the past dictate my present behavior. I'm no longer looking for "the ghosts of boyfriends past" in someone else. I'm not using any connections I may form with other guys to heal or soothe the pain left behind from guys that I can't have for whatever reason. I'm not drawn to or magnetized to certain men because they remind me of someone I used to love, or wanted, but I can't have anymore (or that I never did).
Regarding the past, I execute my power of choice by paying more careful attention to the kind of men that I attract and the behaviors from them which I choose (or not) to accept. I understand that, out of billions of guys on this planet, not every guy is going to make the cut. I may have to sort through 1,548,326 bad ones to get to the decent 274 that are out there. Out of those 274, I might be able to connect with possibly 36. And out of those 36, 13 of them make it through. And over time, that 13 dwindles down to 11, then 8, then 5, then 3, and finally, 2. And between those two, the one that's chosen should be obvious. At least, from my experience, my learning what I want with the right partner and the type of relationship I'm willing to pursue comes from learning and understanding what I don't want. And all this can be done efficiently while I'm actively not looking.
I may have already mentioned it, but the universe did send to me a very amazing message when I was getting into work this morning. There was a very well-dressed businessman who had just parked his car and was waiting for his client with a box of freshly picked donuts outside the office door. I had noticed this guy while I was parking, and I had my eye on him while I was walking from the parking lot to the front door. I did my best to play it cool, trying very hard not to stare at him, but he grabbed my attention with his "Good morning". I responded in kind. When I waited for the elevator to pick me up, I looked back at him, and he was looking right back at me. The universe could have brought this guy back my way (where I would have definitely chatted him up and possibly gotten his number if the vibe was right), but that whole interaction conveyed a much better message. When the time is right for the right guy, I will know. There won't be any mysteries to "figure out". I won't have to go out of my way to get his attention. He will be present and available for me. Our communication is thorough, clear, and we're both on the same page. Our energies will not be tied up in the past and our present will be stable and functional to where we will be able to prioritize each other. The universe knows the proper time, as well as the man involved, in which to place us together, so there is no need to hypothesize or construct any type of unrealistic scenario in my mind. When it happens, I will know.
Now going back to Sasha Snow ...
Because her book was an artistic prop in the story, she did present some good points. While I won't go into those final details here, I will close with a very fitting quote that she had shared during her presentation (and I will admit that, at the moment, the original author of the following quote is unknown to me): "I am the master of my fate, the captain of my soul." And so, I set sail, at the helm, and explore new waters and navigate unchartered territory ... Unattached.
That is all.

PLAYBOY Interview With Conan O'Brien Interview by Kevin Cook For Playboy Magazine February 1998
A candid conversation with the preppie prince of "Late Night" about his rocky start, his show's secret one-day cancellation and how David Letterman saved the day.
He was polite. He was funny. He gave us a communicable disease.
At 34 Conan O'Brien is hotter than the fever he was running when we met in his private domain above the "Late Night" sound stage. A gangly freckle-faced ex-high school geek he is "one of TV's hottest properties" according to "People" magazine. The host of "Late Night With Conan O'Brien" has become his generation's king of comedy.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Congested too, but O'Brien has far more to worry about than his head cold. A perfectionist who broods over one bad minute in an otherwise perfect hour of TV, he worries he might be anhedonic, "I have trouble with success," he says, "I was raised to believe that if something good happens something bad is coming." Sure things look good now "Rolling Stone" calls "Late Night" "the hottest comedy show on TV." Ratings are better than ever, particularly among 18- to 34-year-olds, the viewers advertisers crave.
But O'Brien only works harder. Despite his illness he taped two shows in 26 hours on three hours' sleep. He smoothly interviewed Elton John then burst into coughing fits during commercials. Later in his crammed corner office overlooking Manhattan traffic Conan the Cool gulped Dayquil gel caps. He coughed spewing microbes.
"Sorry, sorry," he said. Of course O'Brien can't complain. He came seriously close to falling to being banished behind the scenes as just another failed talk show host.
At his first "Late Night" press conference he corrected a reporter who called him a relative unknown, "Sir I am a complete unknown," he said. That line got a laugh, but soon O'Brien looked doomed. His September 13, 1993 debut began with O'Brien in his dressing room preparing to hang himself only to be interrupted by the start of his show. Before long his career was hanging by a thread. Ratings were terrible. Critics hated the show. Tom Shales of "The Washington Post" called it as "lifeless and messy as roadkill." Shales said O'Brien should quit.
Network officials held urgent meetings discussing the Conan O'Brien debacle. Should they fire him? How should they explain their mistake?
In the end of course he turned it around. The network hung with him long enough for the ratings to improve and the host of the cooler-than-ever "Late Night" now defines comedy's cutting edge just as Letterman did ten years ago.
Even Shales loves "Late Night" these days. He calls O'Brien's turnaround "one of the most amazing transformations in television history."
O'Brien was born on April 18, 1963 in Brookline, Massachusetts. His father, a doctor, is a professor at Harvard Medical School. His mother, a lawyer, is a partner at an elite Boston Law firm. Conan, the third of six children became a lector at church and a misfit at school. Tall and goofy, bedeviled with acne, he tried to impress girls with jokes. That plan usually bombed, but O'Brien eventually found his niche at Harvard where he won the presidency of the "Harvard Lampoon" in 1983 and again in 1984 - the first two-time "Lampoon" president since humorist Robert Benchley held the honor 85 years ago.
After graduating magna cum laude with a double major in literature and American history he turned pro. Writing for HBO's "Not Necessarily The News." O'Brien was earning $100,000 a year before his 24th birthday. But writing was never enough.
He honed his performance skills with the Groundlings, a Los Angeles improv group. There he worked with his onetime girlfriend Lisa Kudrow, now starring on "Friends." But Conan was not such a standout. In 1988 he landed a job at "Saturday Night Live" - but as a writer, not as on-air talent. In almost four years on the show O'Brien made only fleeting appearances, usually as a crowd member or security guard. His writing was more memorable. He wrote (or co-wrote) Tom hanks' "Mr Short-Term Memory" skits as well as the "pump you up" infosatire of Hanz and Franz and the nude beach sketch in which Matthew Broderick and "SNL" members played nudists admiring one another's penises. With dozens of mentions of the word that hit was the most penis-heavy moment in TV history. It helped O'Brien win an Emmy for comedy writing.
In 1991 he quit "SNL" and moved on to "The Simpsons" where he worked for two years. His urge to perform came out in wall-bouncing antics in writers' meetings. "Conan makes you fall out of your chair" said "Simpsons" creator Matt Groening. O'Brien's yen to act out was so strong that he spurned Fox's reported seven-figure offer to continue as a writer. He was driving for the spotlight.
By then David Letterman had announced he was turning shin - leaving NBC taking his ton-rated act to CBS. Suddenly NBC was up a creek without a host. The network turned to Lorne Michaels, O'Brien's "Saturday Night Live" boss. Michaels enlisted Conan's help in the host search planning to use him in a behind-the-scenes job. But when Garry Shandling, Dana Carvey and almost every other star turned down the chore of following Letterman, Michaels finally listened to Conan's crazy suggestion, "Let me do it!" Michaels persuaded the network to entrust it's 12:30 slot which Letterman had turned into a gold mine to an untested wiseass from Harvard.
O'Brien was working on one of his last "Simpsons" episodes when he got the news. He turned "paler than usual," Groening recalled. The Conan moseyed back to where the other writers were working, "I'll come back with the Homer Simspon joke later. I have to go replace Letterman," he said.
NBC executives now get credit for their foresight during those dark days of 1993 and 1994. They snared the axe and now reap the multimillion-dollar spoils of that decision. In fact, the story is not so simple. We sent Contributing Editor Kevin Cook to unravel the tale of O'Brien's survival, which he tells here for the first time. Cook reports:
"His office is chock-full of significa. There's a three-foot plastic pickle the Letterman staff left behind in 1993 - perhaps to suggest what a predicament he was in. There's a copy of Jack Paar's 'I Kid You Not' and a coffee-table book called 'Saturday Night Live: The First 20 Years.' His bulletin board features letters from fans such as John Watters and Bob Dole and an 8" x 10" glossy of Andy Richter with the inscription: "To Conan - Your bitter jealousy warms my black heart. Love and Kisses Andy."
"Of course it's all for show. From the photos of kitch icons Adam West and Robert Stack to the framed Stan Laurel autograph, from the deathbed painting of Abraham Lincoln, to the ironic star taped to Conan's door - they're all clever signals that tell a visitor how to view the star. Lincoln was his collegiate preoccupation: stardom is his occupation. Somewhere between the two I hoped to find the real O'Brien.
"As a Playboy reader he wanted to give me a better-than-average interview. I wanted something more - a definitive look at the guy who may end up being the Johnny Carson of his generation."
"Here's hoping we succeeded. If not I carried his germs 3000 miles and infected dozens of Californians for no good reason.
O'Brien: Yes, this is how to do a Playboy Interview -- completely tanked on cold medicine. I'll pick it up and read, "Yes, I'm gay."
Playboy: We could talk another time. O'Brien: (coughing) No, it's OK. I memorized Dennis Rodman's answers. Can I use them?
Playboy: You sound really sick. Do you ever take a day off? O'Brien: No. The age of talk show hosts taking days off is over. Johnny Carson could go to Africa when he was the only game in town -- "See you in two weeks!" But nobody does that now. I will give you a million dollars on the first day Jay takes off for illness.
Playboy: Do you ever slow down and enjoy your success? O'Brien: If anything, the pace is picking up. Restaurateurs insist on giving me a table even if I'm only passing by, so I'm eating nine meals a night. Women stop me on the street and hand me their phone numbers.
Playboy: So you have groupies? O'Brien: Oh yes. And other fans. Drifters. Prisoners. Insomniacs. Cab Drivers, who must watch a lot of late night TV, seem to love me lately. They keep saying, "You will not pay, you will not pay, you make me happy!"
Playboy: How happy did your new contract make you? O'Brien: Terrified. The network said, "We're all set for five years." I said, "Shut up, shut up! I can't think that far ahead." Tonight, for instance, I do my jokes, then interview Elton John and Tim Meadows. We finished taping about 6:30. By 6:45 my memory was erased and my only thought was, Tomorrow: John Tesh. And I started to obsess about John Tesh. Sad, don't you think?
Playboy: Not too sad. You got off to a rocky start but now you're so hot that People magazine recently said, "that was then, this is wow." O'Brien: I try not to pay much attention. Since I ignored the critics who said I should shoot myself in the head with a German Luger, it would be cheating to tear out nice reviews now and rub them all over my body, giggling. Though I have thought about it.
Playboy: Tell us about your trademark gag. You interview a photo of Bill Clinton or some other celeb, and a pair of superimposed lips provide outrageous answers. O'Brien: We call it the Clutch Cargo bit, after that terrible old cartoon series. They saved money on animation by superimposing real lips on the cartoons. I wanted to do topical jokes in a cartoony way -- not just Conan doing quips at a desk. TV is visual; I want things to look funny. But we're not Saturday Night Live; we couldn't spend $100,000 on it. Hence, the cheap, cheesy lips, You'd be surprised how many people we fool.
Playboy: Viewers believe that's really the president yelling, "Yee-haw! Who's got a joint?" O'Brien: It's strange. You may know intellectually that Clinton doesn't talk like Foghorn Leghorn. Ninety-eight percent of your brain knows the president wouldn't say, "Whoa Conan get a load of that girl!" But there are a few brain cells that aren't sure. When Bob Dole was running for president we had him doing a past-life regression: "My cave, get away." And then back further, "Must form flippers to crawl on to rocky soil," he says. There may be people out there who believe that Bob Dole was the first amphibian.
Playboy: Do you ever go too far? O'Brien: The fun is in going too far. It's a nice device because you get Bill Clinton to do the nastiest Bill Clinton jokes. We'll have Clinton making fart noises while I say "Sir! Please!"
Playboy: Are you enjoying your job now, with your new success? O'Brien: Well, there are surprises. I hate surprises. Like most comics, I'm a control freak. But I am learning that the show works best when things are out of control. Tonight I ask Elton John if he likes being neighbors with Joan Collins. He says he isn't neighbors with Joan Collins. He lives next door to Tina Turner. So I panic -- huge mistake! But Elton saves the day. "Joan Collins, Tina Turner, it doesn't matter. Either way I could borrow a wig," he says. Huge laugh, all because I fucked up. Later he surprised me by blurting out that he's hung like a horse. The camera cuts to me shaking my head: That crazy Elton. What can I do? Of course, I'm delighted that he went too far.
Playboy: That "What can I do?" look resembles a classic take of Jack Benny's. O'Brien: There's an old saying in literature: "Good poets borrow; great poets steal." I think T.S. Eliot stole it from Ezra Pound. Comics steal, too. Constantly. When I watched Johnny Carson, I noticed that he got a few takes from Benny and Bob Hope. When a comedy writer told me how much Woody Allen had borrowed from Hope, I thought, What? They're nothing alike. Then I went back and watched Son of Paleface, and there's Hope, the nervous city guy backing up on his heels, wringing his hands and saying, "Sorry, I'll just be moving along." Now look at early Woody Allen. You see big authority figures and Woody nervously saying, "Look, I'll just be on my way." Of course Woody made it his own, but he must have watched and loved Bob Hope.
Playboy: Who are your role models? O'Brien: Carson. Woody Allen. SCTV. Peter Sellers. When Peter Sellers died I felt such a loss, thinking, There won't be anymore of that. There's some Steve Martin in my false bravado with female guests: "Why, hel-lo there!" And I won't deny having some Letterman in my bones.
Playboy: You were surprise as Letterman's successor. At first you seemed like the wrong choice. O'Brien: I didn't get ratings. That doesn't mean I didn't get laughs. Yes, I had a giant pompadour and I looked like a rockabilly freak. I was too excited, pushed too hard, and people said, "That guy isn't a polished performer." Fine! But it isn't my goal to be Joe Handsomehead cool, smooth talk show host. Late Night with Conan O'Brien is supposed to be a work in progress, and now that we've had some success there's a danger of our getting too polished and morphing into something smoothly professional. Which would suck.
Do you know why I wanted this show? Because Late Night with David Letterman played with the rules and it looked like fun. Here was a place where people did risky comedy every night for millions of people. We had to keep this thing alive. There should be a place on a big network where people are still messing around.
Playboy: How bad were your early days on the show? O'Brien: Bad. Dave left here under a cloud: his fans and the media were angry with NBC. Then NBC picks a guy with crazy hair and a weird name. And the world says, "Harvard? Those guys are assholes." I sincerely hope that the winter of December 1993, our first winter, was the worst time I will ever have. I'd go out to do the warm up and the back two rows of seats would be empty. That's hard to look at. I would tell a joke and then hear someone whisper, "Who's he? Where's Dave?"
Playboy: You had trouble getting guests. O'Brien: Bob Denver canceled on us. We shot a test show with Al Lewis of The Munsters. We did the clutch cargo thing with a photo of Herman Munster. Unfortunately, Fred Gwynne, who played Herman, had recently died, and Al Lewis kept pointing at the screen, saying, "You're dead! I was at your funeral!"
Playboy: For months you got worried notes from network executives. What did they say? O'Brien: They were worried. The fact that Lorne Michaels was involved bought me some time. But Lorne had turned to me at the start and said, "OK, Conan. What do you want to do?" Now television critics were after me and the network was starting to realize what a risk I was. Suggestions came fast and furious. I kept the note that said, "Why don't you just die?"
Playboy: Did they suggest ways to be funnier? O'Brien: They were more specific and tactical. The network gets very specific data. Say there was a drop in ratings between 12:44 and 12:48 when I was talking to Jon Bon Jovi. I'll be told, "Don't ever talk to him again" Or they'll want me to tease viewers into staying with us: "You should tease that -- say, 'We'll have nudity coming up next!'"
Playboy: You did come close to being cancelled. O'Brien: We were cancelled.
Playboy: Really? You have never admitted that. O'Brien: This is the first time I've talked about it. When I had been on for about a year, there was a meeting at the network. They decided to cancel my show. They said, "It's cancelled." Next day they realized they had nothing to put in the 12:30 slot, so we got a reprieve.
Playboy: Were you worried sick? O'Brien: I went into denial. I tried hard not to think, Yes, I'm bad on the air and my show has none of the things a TV show needs to survive. We had no ratings. No critics in our corner. Advertisers didn't like us. Affiliates wanted to drop us. Sometimes I'd meet a programming director from a local station where we had no rating at all. The guy would show me a printout with no number for Late Night's rating, just a hash mark or pound sign. I didn't dare think about that when I went out to do the show.
Playboy: Are you defending denial? O'Brien: How else does anyone get through a terrible experience? The odds were against me. Rationally, I didn't have much chance. Denial was my only friend. When I look back on the first year, it's like a scene from an old war movie: Ordinary guy gets thrown into combat, somehow beats impossible odds, staggers to safety. His buddy say, "You could have been killed!" The guy stops and thinks. "Could have been killed?" he says. His eyes cross and he faints.
Playboy: How did you dodge the bullet? O'Brien: There were people at NBC who stood up for me. I will always be indebted to Don Ohlmeyer, who stuck to his guns. Don said, "We chose this guy. We should stick with him unless we get a better plan." He was brutally honest. He came to me and said, "Give me about a 15 percent bump in the ratings and you'll stay on the air. If not, we're going to move on."
Playboy: Ohlmeyer started his career in the sports division. O'Brien: Exactly, his take was, "You're on our team." Of course, it wasn't exactly rational of Don to hope I'd be 15 percent funnier. It was like telling a farmer, "It better rain this week or we'll take your farm away."
Playboy: What did you say to Ohlmeyer? O'Brien: There wasn't time. I had to go out and do a monologue. But I will always be indebted to Don because he told me the truth. Wait a minute -- you have tricked me into talking lovingly about an NBC executive. Let me say that there were others who were beneath contempt -- executives who wouldn't know a good show if it swam up their asses and lit a campfire.
Playboy: Finally the ratings went your way. Hard work rewarded? O'Brien: Well, I also paid off the Nielsen people. That was $140,000 well spent.
Playboy: Ohlmeyer plus bribery saved you? O'Brien: There was something else. Just when everyone was kicking the crap out of the show, Letterman defended me.
Playboy: Letterman had signed off on NBC saying, "I don't really know Conan O'Brien, but I heard he killed someone." O'Brien: Then I pick up the paper and he's saying he thinks I am going to make it. "They do some interesting, innovative stuff over there," he says. "I think Conan will prevail." And then he came on as a guest. Remember, this was when we were at our nadir. There was no Machiavellian reason for David Letterman, who at the time was the biggest thing in show business, to be on my show.
Playboy: Why did he do it? O'Brien: I'm still not sure. Maybe out of a sense of honor. Fair play. And it woke me up. It made me think. Hey, we have a real fucking television show here.
Of six or seven pivotal points in my short history here, that was the first and maybe the biggest. I wouldn't be sitting here -- I probably wouldn't even exist today -- if he hadn't done our show.
Playboy: The Late Night wars were hardly noted for friendly gestures. O'Brien: How little you understand. Jay, Dave and I pal around all the time. We often ride a bicycle built for three up to the country. "Nice job with Fran Drescher!" "Thanks, pal. You weren't so bad with John Tesh." We sleep in triple-decker bunk beds and snore in unison like the Three Stooges.
Playboy: You talk more about Letterman than your NBC teammate Leno. O'Brien: I hate the "Leno or Letterman, who's better?" question. I can tell you that Jay has been great to me. He calls me occasionally.
Playboy: To say what? O'Brien: (Doing Leno's voice) "Hey, liked that bit you did last night." Or he'll say he saw we got a good rating. I call him at work, too. It can be a strange conversation because we're so different. Jay, for instance, really loves cars. He's got antique cars with kerosene lanterns, cars that run on peat moss. He'll be telling me about some classic car he has, made entirely of brass and leather, and I'll say, "Yeah, man, I got the Taurus with the vinyl." One thing we have in common is bad guests. There are certain actors, celebrities with nothing to say, who move through the talk show world wreaking havoc. They lay waste to Dave's town and Jay's town, then head my way.
Playboy: You must be getting some good guests. Your ratings have shown a marked improvement. O'Brien: Remember, when you're on at 12:30 the Nielsens are based on 80 people. My ratings drop if one person has a head cold and goes to bed early.
Playboy: Actually, you're seen by about 3 million people a night. Your ratings would be even higher if college dorms weren't excluded from the Nielsens. How many points does that cost you? O'Brien: I told you I'm an idiot. Now I have to do math too?
Playboy: Do you still get suggestions from NBC executives? O'Brien: Not as many. The number of notes you get is inversely proportional to your ratings.
Playboy: What keeps you motivated? O'Brien: Superstition. We have a stagehand, Bobby Bowman, who holds up the curtain when I run out for the monologue. He is the last person I see before the show starts, and I have to make him laugh before I go out. It started with mild jabs: "Bobby, you're drunk again." Bobby laughs, "Heehee."" Then it was, "Still having trouble with the wife, Bobby?" But after hundreds of shows, you find yourself running out of lines. It's gotten to where I do crass things at the last second. I'll put his hand on my ass and yell, "You fucking pervert!" Or drop to my knees and say, "Come on, Bobby, I'll give you a blow job!"
"Ha-ha. Conan, you're crazy," he says. But even that stuff wears off. Soon, I'll be making the writers work late to give me new jokes for Bobby.
Playboy: Did you plan to be a talk show host or did you fall into the job? O'Brien: I was an Irish Catholic kid from St. Ignatius parish in Brookline, outside of Boston. And that meant: Don't call attention to yourself. Don't ask for too much when the pie comes around. Don't get a girl pregnant and fuck up your life.
Playboy: Were you an alter boy? O'Brien: I wanted to be an alter boy, but the priest at St. Ignatius said, "No, no. You're good on your feet, kid," and made me a lector. A scripture reader at Mass. He was the one who spotted my talent.
Playboy: What did you think of sex in those days? O'Brien: I was sexually repressed. At 16 I still thought human reproduction was by mitosis.
Playboy: How did you get over your sexual repression? O'Brien: Who says I got over it? My leg has been jiggling this whole time.
Playboy: What were you like in high school? O'Brien: Like a crane galumphing down the hall. A crane with weird hair, bad skin and Clearasil. Big enough for basketball but lousy at it. My older brothers were better. I would compensate by running around the court doing comedy, saying, "Look out, this player has a drug addiction. He's incredibly egotistical."
I was an asshole at home, too. My little brother Justin loved playing cops and robbers, but I kept tying him up with bureaucratic bullshit. When he'd catch me, I'd say, "I get to call my lawyer." Then it was, "OK, Justin, we're at trial and you've been charged with illegal arrest. Fill out these forms in triplicate." Justin was eight; he hated all the lawsuits and countersuits. He just cried.
Playboy: Were you a class clown? O'Brien: Never. I was never someone who walked into a room full of strangers and started telling jokes. You had to get to know me before I could make you laugh. The same thing happened with Late Night. I needed to get the right rhythm with Andy and Max and the audience.
Playboy: So how did you finally learn about sex? O'Brien: My parents gave me a book, but it was useless. At the crucial moment, all it showed was a man and a woman with the bed covers pulled up to their chins. I tried to find out more from friends, but it didn't help. One childhood friend told me it was like parking a car in a garage. I kept worrying about poisonous fumes. What if the fumes build up? Should you shut off the engine?
Playboy: For all your talk about being repressed, you can be rowdy on the air. O'Brien: The show is my escape valve. When I tear off my shirt and gyrate my pelvis like Robert Plant, feigning orgasm into the microphone, that shows how repressed I am -- a guy who wants to push his sex at the lens but can only do it as a joke.
Playboy: Aren't you tempted to live it up? O'Brien: I always imagined that if I were a TV star I would live the way I pictured Johnny Carson living. Carousing, stepping out of a limo wearing a velvet ascot with a model on my arm. Now that I have the TV show, I drive up to Connecticut on the weekends and tool around in my car. I could probably join a free-sex cult, smoke crack between orgies and drive sports cars into swimming pools, and my Catholic guilt would still be there, throbbing like a toothache. Be careful. If something good happens, something bad is on the way.
Playboy: Yet you don't mind licking the supermodels. O'Brien: At one point a few of them lived in my building, women who are so beautiful they almost look weird, like aliens. To me, a woman who has a certain approachable amount of beauty becomes almost funny. It's the same with male supermodels. They look like big puppets. So while I admire their beauty I probably won't be "romantically linked" with a model. I'd catch my reflection in a ballroom mirror and break up laughing.
Playboy: The horny Roy Orbison growl you use on gorgeous guests sounds real enough -- O'Brien: Oh, I've been doing that shit since high school. It just never worked before.
Playboy: Your father is a doctor, your mother an attorney. What do they think of their son the comedian? O'Brien: My dad was the one who told me denial was a virtue. "Denial is how people get through horrible things," he said. He also cut out a newspaper article in which I said I was making money off something for which I should probably be treated. So true, he thought. But when I got an Emmy for helping write Saturday Night Live, my parents put it on the mantel next to the crucifix. Here's Jesus looking over, saying, "Wow, I saved mankind from sin, but I wish I had an Emmy."
Playboy: Ever been in therapy? O'Brien: Yes. I don't trust it. I have told therapists that I don't particularly want to feel good. "Repression and fear, that's my fuel." But the therapists said that I had nothing to worry about. "Don't worry Conan you will always be plenty fucked up."
Playboy: When a female guest comes out, how do you know whether to shake her hand or kiss her? Is that rehearsed O'Brien: No, and it's awkward. If you go to shake her hand and her head starts coming right at you, you have to change strategy fast. I have thought about using the show to make women kiss me, but that would probably creep out the people at home. I decided not to kiss Elton John.
Playboy: Do you get all fired up if Cindy Crawford or Rebecca Romijn does the show? O'Brien: I like making women laugh. Always have, ever since I discovered you can get girls' attention by acting like an ass. That's one of the joys of the show -- I'm working my eyebrows and going grrr and she's laughing, the audience is laughing. It's all a big put-on and I'm thinking. This is great. Here is a beautiful woman who has no choice but to put up with this shit.
But it's not always put on. Sometimes they flirt back. Sometimes there's a bit of chemistry. That happened with Jennifer Connelly of The Rocketeer.
Playboy: One guest, Jill Hennessy, took off her pants for you. Then you removed yours. Even Penn and Teller took off their pants. O'Brien: Something comes over me. It happened with Rebecca Romijn -- I was practically climbing her. Those are the times when Andy and the audience seem to disappear and it's just me and this lovely woman sitting there flirting. I keep expecting a waiter to say, "More wine, Monsieur?"
Playboy: Would you lick the wine bottle? O'Brien: It's true, there's a lot of licking on the show. I have licked guests. I have licked Andy. Comedy professionals will read this and say, "Great work, Conan. Impressive." But I have learned that if you lick a guest, people laugh. If I pick this shoe off the floor, examine it, Hmmm, and then lick it, people laugh. I learned this lesson on The Simpsons, where I was the writer who was forever trying to entertain the other writers. I still try desperately to make our writers laugh, which is probably a sign of sickness since they work for me now. Licking is one of those things that look funny.
Playboy: Johnny Carson never licked Ed McMahon. O'Brien: We are much more physical and more stupid than the old Tonight Show. Even in our offices before the show there's always some writer acting out a scene crashing his head through my door. A behind-the-scenes look at our show might frighten people.
Playboy: One night you showed a doctored photo of Craig T. Nelson having sex with Jerry Van Dyke. Did they complain about it? O'Brien: I haven't heard from them. Of course I'm blessed not to be a part of the celebrity pond. I have a television show in New York, an NBC outpost. I don't run with or even run into many Hollywood people.
Playboy: You also announced that Tori Spelling has a penis. O'Brien: I did not. Polly the Peacock said that.
Playboy: Another character you use to say the outrageous stuff. O'Brien: Polly is not popular with the network.
Playboy: You mock Fabio, too. O'Brien: If he sues me, it'll be the best thing that ever happened. A publicity bonanza: Courtroom sketches of Fabio with his man-boobs quivering, shaking his fist, and me shouting at him across the courtroom. I'm not afraid of Fabio. He knows where to find me. I'm saying it right here for the record: Fabio, let's get it on.
Playboy: Ever have a run-in with an angry celeb? O'Brien: I did a Kelsey Grammar joke a few years ago, something about his interesting lifestyle, then heard through the network that he was upset. He had appeared on my show and expected some support. At this point my intellect says, "Kelsey Grammar is a public figure. I was in the right." Then I saw him in an airport. Kelsey didn't see me at first: I could have kept walking. But there he was, eating a cruller in the airport lounge. I thought I should go over. I said hello and then said, "Kelsey, I'm sorry if I upset you." And he was glad. He looked relieved. He said, "Oh, that's OK." We both felt better.
....See my other post with the last third of the interview

He used to follow a girl on Tiktok I saw him asking her to talk with him on insta ( he send his insta account to her). I get advantage of that and make a fake account of that girl and text my boyfriend, he start flirting with her but also he told her a made up story (that there was a girl he loved when he was a teenager but she got married somewhere else and he till now because he loved her so much he never get committed to any girl, and then he send "My photos" to on that fake account that this is the girl he loved) He loved chubby girls Im chubby too but when I asked him who is more pretty me or his ex he said you are more pretty she was fat and he didn't like fat and also that my hands are manly. But on the other hand when I starting degrading my ownself he start defending it that no she wasn't that bad and her figure was sexy blah blah. The I asked him to swear that he dont love that girl anymore and im (the fake girl) the only woman now he wants. He doesn't swear easily and make me struggle alot to make him swear but at last he did it after I insisted. --1) what you think, he loves me or not? Why he is doing all this shit when he cares about me? Also he wanna marry me he talked to my parents, then why he is doing all this shit? . . Now the plan is: I will ask him to come on date (from fake account) Im asking him to come to another city because I live there. He agreed.Now when he comes on the location I will send my male friend instead, I have asked my male friend to make my bf face time through video call. And then I will ask him what he is doing here and why did he cheat and make him look like a fool. --2) what you think about my plan it is a nayy or yayyy?
I LOVE HIM he is not pretty not rich nothing extraordinary but he is the first and my only bf ever. We are in relationship since 2023 summer. We are in long distance relationship but have met multiple times. Haven't dont intercourse yet because im old schooled and I wanna lose my virginity on wedding night. But we have done other things, like kissing, I gave him blowjob: he cummed in my mouth and I just gulped his liquid which was very HOT. Cudding, sucking and all the intimate things we have done but not intercourse. --3) what should I do? Should I leave him after teaching him a lesson without listening to his any shitty excuses or boycott him temporarily.
From few a month Im being rude with him because I had feelings there is something fishy going on, You know that feeling in your stomach when You dont have proof but you just know it. After this all fake account thingy i just cant help it Im burning in fire i wanna burst on him but Im controling it eventually for the right time he might noticed that no? Today on call he told me that he is getting alot of girls request online lately then when I mock him "go talk to them dont call me" he said Im just doing that for passing time i only love you. I asked wdym by passing time and what even are you doing. He didn't answered my question, and changed the topic immediately.

I’m considering going through a career change and going all the way through a part-141 school. I started lessons a few weeks ago and just hit 7 hours.
I have a 2 month trip to visit family members in Europe which starts in August. Unfortunately until that point my schedule is quite choppy with all sorts of obligations. After my 2 month trip it’s completely clear, and was considering leaving my job to train full time.
Would it be best to just to hold off and wait until my trip is over to resume training, that way I can go through uninterrupted? I did the math and will likely be at 25 hours best case scenario before my trip.