Last night I dreamed that someone invented a new version of chess called Rookmeo and Juliet where two rooks are in love and trying to run away together. To achieve this they have to make it to the other side of the board, but these rooks don’t have any visible signs to differenciate them from the rest, just a small mark in their base. Neither of the players knows what rook from the other side is in love with their rook, so they have to play a regular game of chess, fully aware that they might unknowingly kill the lover of their rook. If they kill it, the game keeps going, but their rook betrays them, switches sides and turns into a second queen for the other player. People wrote a ton of essays about the symbolism and metaphors of that version of chess and the creator didn’t have the heart to tell them that he simply invented it because he thought Rookmeo was a great pun
i’m so obsessed with this guy who just makes weird hand-stitched footballs. this video has millions of views on ig and tiktok but w/e look at this reference orange immortalized forever through the medium of Ball
I want to write a movie that is sort of the flip side of a Hallmark holiday movie. Not an anti-Hallmark movie, just like the other side of the same coin.
It starts with a well-dressed professional woman driving a convertible along a country road, autumn foliage in the background, terribly scenic. She turns onto a dirt road/long driveway, and stops next to a field of Christmas trees, all growing in neat, ordered rows, perfectly trimmed and pruned to form. She steps out of the car–no, she’s not wearing high-heels, give her some sense!–and knocks on the door of a worn but nice-looking farmhouse. An older woman, late fifties maybe, answers the door, looking a bit puzzled. The younger woman asks if she can buy a Christmas tree now, today. The older woman says they don’t do retail sales–and the younger woman breaks down crying.
Cut to the two women sitting at the kitchen table with cups of tea. The young woman (Michelle), no longer actively crying, explains that her mother loves Christmas more than anything, but is in the hospital with end-stage cancer. Her doctors don’t think she’ll live to see December, let alone Christmas. Nobody is selling Christmas trees in September, so could the older woman please make an exception, just this once? The older woman (Helen) regretfully explains that they have a contract to sell their trees that forbids outside sales. The younger woman nods, starts to stand up, but the older woman stops her with a hand and asks her what hospital her mother is in. After she answers the older woman says that “my Joe” will deliver a tree the next day. “Contract says I can’t sell you a tree, but nothing says I can’t give you one.”
Next day “Joe” shows up at the hospital in flannel and jeans, with a smallish tree over her shoulder. Oh, whoops, that’s Jo, Helen’s daughter, short for Joanna, not Joe. Jo sets up the tree and even pulls out a box of lights and ornaments. Mother watches from hospital bed with a big smile as Jo and Michelle decorate the tree. Cue “end of movie” type sappiness as nurses and other patients gather in the doorway, smiling at the tree.
Cut to Michelle sitting in her dark apartment, clutching a mug of tea, staring out at the falling snow and the Christmas lights outside. Her apartment has no tree, no decorations, nothing. She starts at a knock on the door, goes to open it. Jo is standing there, again holding a tree over her shoulder.
Plot develops: the second tree is a gift, because Michelle might as well get it as the bank. The contract for the tree sales was an /option/ contract, which prevents them from selling to anyone else, but doesn’t guarantee the sale. The corporation with the option isn’t going to buy the trees, but Helen and Jo can’t sell them anywhere else, and basically they get nothing. They’ll lose the farm without the year’s income. Michelle asks to see the contract and Jo promises to email it to her.
Next day at a very upscale law firm, Michelle asks at the end of a staff meeting if anyone in contract law still needs pro bono hours for the year. No one does, but a senior partner (Abe) takes her to his office and asks about it. She says the contract looks hinky to her (“Is that a legal term?” “Yes.”) but contract law’s not her thing. He raises an eyebrow and she grins and pulls a sheaf of paper out of her bag and hands it over. He reads it over, then looks up at her. “They signed this?”
More plot develops. Abe calls in underlings–interns, paralegals, whatever–and the contract is examined, dissected, and ultimately shredded (metaphorically). It’s worse even than it looks–on January 1st Helen and Jo will have to repay the advanced they received at signing. The corporation has bought up a suspicious number of Christmas tree farms in previous years after foreclosure, etc.
Cut to Abe explaining all this to Helen and Jo while sitting with them and Michelle in a very swanky conference room. The firm is willing to take on the case pro bono, hopefully as a class’s action suit for other farmers trapped by the contract–but there’s no way it can go to court before January. Which will be too late to save the farm’s income for the year. They might get enough in damages to tide them over, but….
After Michelle sees Helen and Jo out, she comes back and asks Abe if there’s anything they can do immediately. Abe looks thoughtful for a long moment, then gets a really shark-like grin on his face. “Maybe….”
Cut to Helen wearing a bathrobe, coming into her kitchen in the morning. She looks out the window…and there’s a food truck stopped in her driveway. She pulls a coat on over her robe and goes out–two more trucks have pulled up while she does this. Driver of the first truck asks her where they park. Another truck pulls up behind the others. Behind that is a black BMW–Abe rolls down the window and waves. Helen directs the trucks to the empty field/yard next to the house. Abe pulls up next to Helen’s car and Jo’s truck and parks. He and Michelle get out–Abe wearing a total power suit, Michelle in weekend casual.
The case will be easier if the corporation initially sues them for violating the (uninforcible!) contract, rather than them suing to corporation (damn if I know, but it’s movie logic). So they’re going to sell the trees now, and rounded up some food trucks and whatnot to draw people in.
Cue montage of Jo and Michelle running around helping people set up while Abe and Helen watch from the kitchen table. The table starts out covered in file folders…and slowly gains coffee cups and plates of cinnamon rolls. It becomes increasingly clear here that Abe and Helen are becoming as close as Jo and Michelle.
Everything gets set up and a very urban, very motley crowd appears–tats and studs and multiracial couples and LGBTQ parents and everything–and everyone is having a wonderful time eating funnel cake and choosing their tree so Jo and a bunch of rainbow-haired elves can cut it for them. At which point someone shows up from the corporation (maybe with a sheriff’s deputy?) and starts yelling at Helen, who’s running checkout. And suddenly Abe appears from the house and you realize why he’s wearing that suit on a Saturday….
Cue confrontation and corporate flunky running off with their tail between their legs, blustering about suing. Cue Jo kissing Michelle. Cue Helen walking over and putting a hand on Abe’s shoulder and smiling at her.
I want the lawyers to be the heroes because they are lawyers and know the law. I want a lesbian who lives in the country with her mother. I want urbanites to turn out as a community to help someone who isn’t even part of their community. I want Michelle to keep working at her high-power job, loving Christmas and grieving her mother.
In fairness to King Kong, if I had a tiny adorable primate in my hand I would also be very resistant to someone taking it away from me.
We all assume it was romantic, but maybe when King Kong looked at her he was seeing this:
Something like this really happened a couple of years ago at the Mefou Primate Sanctuary in Cameroon, run by Ape Action Africa (AAA). A western lowland gorilla named Bobo befriended a bushbaby for a couple of hours before releasing it back into the forest.
According to AAA’s Facebook post (where you can also find additional photos and video):
Our silverback gorilla Bobo made a surprising new friend this week – a wild bushbaby! Caregivers discovered him cradling the tiny primate during their morning checks, and were amazed to see him handling it with the utmost care – proving that gorillas really are the gentle giants of the forest. Bobo’s group-mates were desperately curious, particularly his favourite female Avishag, but he kept them all at a distance, making sure that no one disturbed his new friend. Bushbabies are usually nocturnal so it is very rare to see one, and even rarer to witness this kind of interaction. The little bushbaby was happy to play in Bobo’s arms, hopping off to explore the grass nearby, before returning to Bobo’s hand. When the game was over, Bobo walked purposefully off on two legs to deliver his friend safely back into the trees.
Incidentally, the western lowland gorilla (which has the best species name of all time: Gorilla gorilla gorilla) is the largest primate in Cameroon, and the bushbabies happen to be the smallest primates in Cameroon.
