- RobAJG: "Nobody takes Magic seriously as an esport except Magic players."
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- [CSDb] - Nobody by Magic Cracking Force
RobAJG: "Nobody takes Magic seriously as an esport except Magic players."
The magician then descends, claps his hand — making the rope fall neatly back into the basket — and then throws the severed body parts into the basket too. The lid is then put on and a few seconds later the boy emerges from the basket unharmed. Privacy Top 10 Lists Cracked History. LOG IN. Log into your account.
Recover your password. Fact Fiend. Share on Facebook. The singer who saved himself from drowning, with his penis. To be a wiseguy was to own the world. In America, we are raised to believe that there is something intrinsically sick about criminal behavior. It is always wrong to steal, because what we own makes us who we are, because—the logic goes—we have earned it. To steal what belongs to someone else is to steal their virtue, to defraud them of their very identity.
But the logic of this belief system begins to fall apart in a world where money makes more money, where how much wealth you amass has very little to do with how hard you work, and where there are few things more expensive than being poor. And when so much money is all around you—just outside Idlewild, where Henry Hill came of age; just beyond the frayed strip malls and cracked highways that make up the entrance wound surrounding Disney World—you can also see it as passive to the point of insanity to not reach out and take some of the wealth that passes you by.
And if just a little of the money that is flowing and surging and leaping its banks all around you is money that could save you and your child from hunger, from homelessness, from danger you cannot imagine and danger you know all too well—it is difficult to see the immorality in reaching out and taking what you need.
Respecting ownership and property the way you were taught to, as a good American, may mean allowing your child to suffer. There are millions of Americans who seem to see no contradiction in this. There are millions more who are wondering, now, how we got to be this way, and beginning also to wonder if we were ever anything else. The first time I saw the movie, I left the theater astonished by her performance, and was both surprised and somehow not surprised at all when I found out she had never acted before.
It seems fundamentally wrong to call this toughness because we watch her aggression tear through her like fire, hurting her just as much as it hurts the people around her, and in the end damaging her far more. In one scene, we watch her confront a neighbor, then watch her escalate, in the space of a breath, from zero to sixty: she is standing still, and then she is pummeling another woman with unrestrained force, hitting her and hitting her with sickening thuds.
To be capable of anything that could rightly be called a con job means being able to keep yourself under control while watching the people you are conning wilt and succumb to their own impulses and desires. Does his status as a victim of theft make him, automatically, an innocent party? And is this enough to make him innocent of all he has taken from her? He has a job fit for a saint or a tyrant, but tyranny gives him no pleasure and sainthood is too far beyond his reach.
The best Bobby can do is maintain what order he can in this world. He is powerless to change much of anything. Or else he believes he is powerless, which amounts, in the end, to the same thing. But this was still not enough, perhaps, to translate into an Oscar win. Bobby spots the man, identifies him as a threat, and leads him away from the children, scaring him off and sending him running without making a violent scene. This is the drama of The Florida Project : not a quest moving forward, but a period of safety falling apart.
Watching them leave the Magic Castle, you fear for them as much as you fear for their children when they run alongside the highway: they are just as vulnerable, and just as adrift in a world where there is little room for them, a world that was not made with their safety in mind. And then things begin to unravel. It takes so little. Moonee and Scooty and their new friend Jancy wander into an abandoned house—one of many in a state with one of the highest foreclosure rates in the country—and try to set a fire in the fireplace but accidentally burn the house down.
Halley, already unable to find a job, is selling wholesale perfume in resort parking lots, which works until she has to abandon it to escape a hotel rent-a-cop. This perfume is the only thing standing between Halley and eviction, but fleeing is her only choice. You could call it Cinderella grifting: the act of making yourself appear lovable enough to get the world to offer you a little kindness.
Yet there is a stubborn beauty in this place, tough as the unrestrainable Florida flora that is even capable, sometimes, of overtaking the controlled, concrete kingdom of Disney World. At the Magic Castle, a patch of grass and a picnic table can, for a moment, become a scene of harmony, of children alone and safely at play: as long as there are a few resources, a little food, a little stability, a paycheck through next week, this can be enough. That this world suddenly wobbles, falls apart when a little security is lost—a stranger in the parking lot; a friendship broken; a bag of perfume confiscated—is not a matter of weakness in the people doing their best to hold their home together.
It is a testament to how little they really need, and just how much is denied them. And then, wordlessly, carrying the world on her back, she kneels so she can carry her daughter there too. But Halley is already smiling, and Moonee knows this scolding is all imaginary, another kind of prank. Along with the Disney Look, there is Disneyspeak. There are no workers at Disney World. Everyone, from Alice in Wonderland to the costumer who bleaches her pinafore, is a cast member, and they are all so happy to be here. And everyone is a cast member, as far as I can tell, because the performance of pretending there is no work happening here at all is just as important as whatever job you are doing.
Trillin attempted to surrender to the park as well as he could, but Alice had other ideas. As she went on about how hot it must be inside a Mickey Mouse suit, I suddenly realized what she was thinking. Knowing that Disney would have to hire a certain percentage of blacks to avoid trouble, and being acquainted with the theory that too many black faces would spoil the fantasy of escape into the safe old days, she had figured out the logical place to put any black migrant worker who actually was hired: in the Mickey Mouse suit.
When Disney World opened in , it was not only accessible to working-class families but was run by union workers who earned a living wage. The first signs of change came in when Disney launched the Magic Kingdom College Program, hiring two hundred interns to live in a mobile home park called Snow White Village and apprentice in the art of theme park management.
Disney World, then, is also a company town not much different in some ways from those owned by softwood sawmills of the South in the s. And yet the college program workers—sorry, cast members—seem fundamentally unlike the truck drivers and security guards and airport employees so easily bought out by Henry Hill and his fellow wiseguys. The college program interns, however, remain unprotected by any union. The Disney developers had to clear orange groves left over from those missions. Such is the virginity of the New World. If you spend time in Orlando today, you may still feel a strange, ahistorical sense of emptiness: the city can feel like an enormous backstage area, a cluttered storage room, meant solely to facilitate the profitable realization of theme park after theme park, dream after dream.
Today, Orlando is home not just to Disney World, but also Universal Studios, SeaWorld, and the Holy Land Experience—where, if you are tired of dolphins and princesses, you can watch the Passion instead. Yet Disney World is still the heart of the city, and perhaps the city itself: in Orlando, reality can begin to feel like a kind of imitation, and you can begin to see, too, the benefits of finding some way to call a theme park your home.
Moving between the paint-flaking soundstages of Orlando proper and the cartoon-colored world of its lucid dreamscapes, you can also begin to wonder what being a citizen really means today—or, more to the point, what it is worth. Maybe, as Americans, we would really rather be customers than citizens. Maybe this is all we know how to be. Someone is fired. These are paying customers, after all: someone has to take care of them.
Tell me. This is what we think of when we think of safety, when we think of childhood. This is the childhood available for purchase. Meyers had, she continued, gotten a call from a potential buyer because the murder made national news.
I want to buy a condo down there. Even if Halley could somehow get hired at Disney World, her chances of earning a wage that would let her save enough money for a deposit on an apartment, or of just breaking even on the cost of childcare and transportation, would be slim, and they are growing slimmer all the time. Slightly higher park wages are easily offset by rising ticket costs. The bigger and more powerful the fantasy grows, the more it must take from the reality around it. The more a perfect, purchased childhood slips from the grasp of American children, the more this fantasy childhood seems the only one they can have.
I cannot—will not—watch Dumbo again. No one can make me. Try it. The scene where Dumbo visits his mother in elephant jail—she has been imprisoned, remember, after trying to protect him when Dumbo, already mocked even by the other elephants in the circus, is bullied and attacked by a group of children—is just too sad for me to bear.
[CSDb] - Nobody by Magic Cracking Force
I would rather watch teenagers chased by chainsaw-wielding maniacs for an hour and a half. I would rather watch almost anything. And why is it, I begin to wonder, that the grand motif of the Disney movie empire is stories of mothers taken away from their children, children taken away from their mothers, children lost in an unkind world and forced to fend for themselves?
The magic and the triumph that follows such trauma must, I guess, be made that much more magical by comparison; the light can be brighter if we have been lost in the darkness, just as in Space Mountain.
The whole story, then, can be that much more emotional, that much more captivating—that much more impossible to remain unmoved by. At a certain point, you are simply not allowed. This is exactly why I want never to watch Dumbo again: it gives you no choice but to be overwhelmed. If your adult self can resist the experience, the child still within you cannot—and realizing this may also make you realize, in a way little else can, how little of your child self, your child fear, has ever left you.
Rare is the Disney protagonist who has not lost their mother. Snow White and Cinderella are abused by wicked stepmothers; Belle and Jasmine and Ariel and Pocahontas have bumbling or authoritarian fathers, but no mothers in sight, and no parents who can really help them on their journeys. Animals are no safer. Simba watches his father die, Dumbo watches his mother taken from him, and Bambi—well, we all know what happens to Bambi. At the end of the movie, Dumbo uses his big ears to fly, becomes a star, earns the circus money, and earns the right to be loved.
I wonder, as I stand in line, if the Dumbo ride will be too much for me—if this decades-old feeling of utter devastation and loss will suddenly be unearthed, in time-capsule form, and do me in. Everyone is a cast member, and they are all so happy to be here. You are never asked to move or speak or sing or do a single thing. And yet, the other side is true, too: you are treated like a valuable person. Children are treated kindly, and with care. You have to buy a day of childhood at Disney World, and this is not remotely right. But on the other hand, where else can you go, in America today, to buy such a thing?
You are here and they are not. And if the price goes up, work harder. There has been danger, and fear, and signs of things already shifting, cracking; but as DCF employees appear to take her away—temporarily, she is asked to believe—to a foster family, Moonee resists with all her might. Now, things are different. I am at the center of the national enchantment that I tried to escape by entering another.
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Ultimately, I will find that this day at Disney guides my entire year: no matter what I search for in the months to come, no matter what stories I try to unravel and understand, I find myself looking, again and again, at mothers and children, and at the fact that America is no longer meant for them—that in truth it never was.
These are the people our society claims to love and support above all others, and yet their suffering is endless and untenable, and the reason is simple, really: they are not good workers. Often, they are not workers at all. What good are they? What do they produce? Why should our country take care of them, if they cannot buy their way into safety? This is the story Americans have been sold: the one that pardons the powerful and makes us pay for our own numbness. We submit to a story that tells us we will be good—that we will be made good, and therefore safe—as long as we follow the rules, as long as we forget that there are rules.
We enter the castle gates because there can be no danger here, no cruelty, and no adulthood, for as long as we believe: we will be saved not just from the harm that comes to those who are of no value here, but from the knowledge that they even exist. The dream still works, and it will work for at least a little longer. Buy a ticket. On the heels of a surge in white nationalist violence came the largest workplace immigration raid in a decade.