Things in the first six episodes of Black Sails that you may or may not be excited or appalled about depending on who you are and what you are into.
Things in the first six episodes of Black Sails that you may or may not be excited or appalled about depending on who you are and what you are into:
- A guy being crushed by a wooden ship
- Seduction of a priest
- Um, some sort of abortion? I’m not sure
- Strangulation by shackles
- A guy biting another guy’s throat out
- Death by shooting through the head
- A larynx getting stomped
- Drug abuse
- Adult language
- So much prostitution
- Spying on prostitutes while they work
- 'The fuck tent'
- Gang rape
- A guy falling on a bomb and being blown up so much that bits of his body get all over everyone else
- A story about a guy resting his testicles on a lady’s shoulder
- Said lady subsequently cutting off said testicles
- Clouds of blood
- Pools of blood
- Spurts of blood
I could get used to that sort of thing.
It snowed last Thursday and it kept snowing through Saturday. It was enough snow to mostly shut the city down. Snow is one of the few things that forces everyone to stop what they’re doing and acknowledge and address it. For a few days, the citizens of Portland’s lives became about snow. It kept us inside to play video games or board games or to read books or Instapaper back logs. Or go outside to sled and throw snowballs. It also meant walking to anywhere you wanted to go.
Some friends of mine had a previously scheduled baby shower and Annalisa and I walked across the bridge through the snow to get there. It was cold and sometimes a little miserable but fun. We looked down into the gray, grim river at the apex of the bridge and talked about what would happen if we jumped in. We stomped on ice and jumped in piles of snow. We succumbed apparent to snow blindness and walked the wrong way for awhile, even to a point where we had to climb over a city-owned fence to get back on track. And we made it to the party and drank good beer in a warm, dark carpenter’s studio, lit by Christmas lights and surrounded by our friends, celebrating the imminent advent of a new life. The soon-to-be-father, Darryl, told me my cheeks looked rosy. Which they were. I told him they were actually frostbitten and that he was dressed like a Bond villain at a ski chalet. Which he was. Like I said, it was fun.
The next morning we walked into the city to find some breakfast. It was sharp, silent and cold, even through my gloves and boots. I told Annalisa it felt like we were in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. I think she kind of rolled her eyes at me but she hadn’t played The Last of Us on Playstation recently. It really felt like that. There were no zombies (or ‘infected’ if you will) but there were no people either. It was beautiful. Portland was full of snow and Portland was our own. I could get used to that sort of thing.
It’s important to tell the truth most of the time, but this time I’ll keep it to myself.
I live in a great condominium. It’s good sized, with one bedroom, a wood-burning fireplace (because the distinction between wood-burning and fake stupid fireplace with fake stupid logs is important), generously sized windows and, most importantly in my mind, a private deck with an absolutely stunning view of my beloved city. I’ve leaned on the railing for hours at a time, peering out there, figuring things out. I can see the Ross Island bridge and the individual cars as they drive across. I can see the life flight helicopters land at OHSU. And even though it feels like I’m just showing off by now, I can see Mt. Hood tremendously well and likely much better than you can see it. The view was comfort when I was catastrophically sick last year. The view was always glorious and belonged only to me as I stumbled my way across the deck on my way home from any given night out. The view and its city lights was relaxation at the end of a long day at work. I’ve asked my view questions and it has given me answers. It’s a special thing, what my view and I have.
I really like this condo and living in it. And the man who owns it is selling it.
My landlord Mike is, by all accounts, a good guy. He has always been polite and fair with me. He let me live in the place for a month for free while the floors had to be unexpectedly replaced. He allowed me to barter him down somewhat on the monthly rent when I originally moved in, which maybe says more about me than him, but it was still cool. But Mike an indecisive man. He has decided to sell the condo twice before, both times taking kind of terrible photos for the listing with his cell phone resulting in very little interest and a 180 after less than a week. I knew he was for real this time when we set up a time for a photographer to come by to take professional photographs of the place. My home has never looked better than it does in those photos but it also means my time living there is short.
Perhaps I’m overly neurotic but I’m not comfortable with strangers coming through my home all day while I’m at work. So Mike and I worked out a system where people could only come by during specific hours when I’m home from work. It sounded great, and easy. I imagined I would barely have to look up from my video games. In reality I’ve become a tour guide.
More than 20 years ago, the complex that claims my condo–the smaller than average, oddly designed unit hanging off the bottom of the grown up units–as one of its own fell down the hill that it lives upon. The stilts gave way and everything changed. I wasn’t there, I was 7 or 8 years old and happily focusing on elementary school and Magic cards, but I often wonder what it was like to be a part of that. We put so much cachet and identity into the homes we create. It’s an identity crisis to have your place violently destroyed. Nature deciding to swallow up your bed for reasons unknown has got to be almost cripplinglyly existential. The condos were lifted back up and fixed. The homeowners association took out a loan to finance a project bracing the whole place on the hill.
I don’t know if having been there before means these condos are more or less likely to fall down the hill again, but my mother’s friend Sue is a realtor and she claims she will physically restrain me if I think about buying a unit in the building. I trust Sue so I won’t buy this condo or any of the others in the building were they to come up for sale. Despite my relationship with the view. I’ll swallow my urge to tell every prospective buyer about what I know. It’s important to tell the truth most of the time, but this time I’ll keep it to myself.
"I couldn’t recommend it more," I tell the eager buyers instead. Of course, this isn’t true. I truly recommend the experience of living in my condo, but I don’t recommend buying it. You could fall down the hill.
62 web browser tabs.
He had 62 web browser tabs open and every single one told the story of an idea—some nascent, some more fully realized—but each brimming with the potential only really understood by those who haven’t yet tasted the bitter tincture of failure. Except for that one tab—that one was just some surprisingly specific porn. It was pretty weird.
John Vieira’s Best of 2013 Awards Presented by John Vieira
It was everyone’s favorite time of year last night, that special evening where I ruin each of your Facebook feeds giving out awards for several hours while you are trying to celebrate. Congratulations to the winners in 2013, and as always let’s try to be less terrible next year.
2013 Suit of the Year: Beetlejuice’s suit as worn by Blurred Lines— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
2013 Baby of the Year: This award was dangerously close to being cancelled because I can no longer overlook the gross laziness of babies…— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
…in a last minute upset was claimed by Kelly and Jim’s baby for her tight headband game.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
2013 Worst Mirror of the Year: The mirror that fell off the wall, sliced my cheek open and caused me yet another hospital visit.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Animal of the Year 2013: That animal with big eyes that they discovered in Brazil this year. I forgot the name.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
2013 Best Domain Registered of the Year: In a unanimous vote http://t.co/plYoTtpkkr, by me— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Top Drake Body Part of the Year 2013: Drake hands.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Worst saying of the year 2013: “Just saying.”— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Top 2013 Thing to Call Pants of the Year: Dungarees, as used repeatedly in Band of Brothers.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Stupid Dumb Broken Body of the Year 2013: My own for being untrustworthy.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Just Bieber of the year: When Justin Bieber peed in a bucket barely over when Justin Bieber got carried on the Great Wall of china.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Nickname for 2013 I wish I had used for all of 2013 but only now just thought of it: Twenty Flirteen.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
2013 Hybrid Pants of the Year presented by Jegs: Leather Jogging Pants.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Best Thing to Imagine but Worst Thing to Name Your Band: Imagine Dragons— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Best Hashtag of 2013: Just taking something someone said and repeating it with a hashtag in front of it.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Scariest thing of 2013: For the second year in a row, a roving pack of teenagers.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Top Mark Wahlburg of 2013: The Mark Wahlburg who hosts Antique Roadshow.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Best Use of Hugh Jackman of the Year: The part in the Wolverine where he cuts himself open with his own claws to fish out some sort of bug.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Top Jansa of the Year: Patrick Jansa for the immortal Butt Dick.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Top Dan of the Year: Daniel-san in perpetuity. With Dan Parnell being a close second for telling people off on the internet.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Most Missed Type of Party in 2013 but Also Creepiest: Foam party.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
You guys we did it! Sorry about your Facebook feeds and let’s all resolve to be less terrible in 2014.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) January 1, 2014
Tack sharp, stunningly attractive.
And so goes our slow descent into old age–an occasionally intersecting graph of gradually failing physicality paired with a trenchantly growing mental acuity, raising like the trending Bieber and Drake hashtags of our youth.
We eschew the things from our young lives, giving up familiar, often experienced and, honestly, almost comforting hungover Sundays for apocalyptic, teeth-rattling, but thankfully much more rare, hungover Saturdays. Seeking stability in a burgeoning career crafted purposefully with early mornings, flawless client presentations and a work ethic you hope is strong, but really who’s to say?
Perhaps even a family, not created by your parents and their parents before them, but one created by yourself and a tack-sharp, stunningly attractive young woman or man, depending on which you prefer. Let’s not get normative here. We find all of these markers of adulthood, we grow wise, we begin to understand our purpose and our place and yet, we fear.
We fear and we worry that we’ll never discover the answer to the gnawing, burrowing question, the one that keeps us awake late at night in our Tempurpedic beds and fills our mind as we commute to work in our newly leased luxury sedans. The question of: why were we ever so into Linkin Park?
The best thing, and ultimately probably the only thing, about having a blog is that you can write absolutely anything you want to, and yet I apparently choose to write nothing.
I am literally the worst person on the internet.
If you even think about trying to get married without a hashtag associated with your wedding Jesus will make sure you are never trending.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) November 21, 2013
Regarding my previous tweet, I now realize I should have said ‘Jesus will make sure divorce is trending’. I would like to formally apologize— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) November 21, 2013
I hope that the social media community can find it within themselves to forgive me and that we can leave this ugly situation behind us.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) November 21, 2013
I just worry that my Klout score will never recover from this grave error. Please respect my family’s privacy during these trying times.— John Vieira (@supersexypizza) November 21, 2013