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ripley95 · 6 years ago

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OC Interview

I was tagged by @kenshi-vakarian7 and @rpgwarrior4824 for the OC interview meme. Thank you so much!

I’ve been putting off a ton of other OC memes that mostly @rpgwarrior4824 tagged me in and maybe some others? It’s been so long I can’t even remember, so sorry if I’ve missed anyone! Rather than flooding everyone’s dash with other OC memes, I’m going to do the interview, and add all of the other memes below the cut.

I’ll be doing all of them for Jane Shepard from one of the stories I’m currently writing.

Also, if anyone wants to do a huge OC master post like this with any or all of the memes involved, feel free to consider yourself tagged.

1. What’s your name?

Jane Shepard

2. Do you know why you are named that?

My parents were looking for something traditional. Something about remembering where we came from, having connections to Earth. I’m not really quite sure about their rationale behind that.

3. Are you single or taken?

Single? I’m not really sure how this is pertinent information.

4. Have any abilities or powers?

My tactical cloak has gotten me out of a few sticky situations. I guess that counts, right? Not everyone knows how to use those effectively.

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

I’m afraid that goes against my job description.

6. What’s your eye color?

Green.

7. How about your hair color?

Brown.

8. Have any family members?

My mom, Hannah Shepard. She’s a Rear Admiral now, you know. She’s pretty distinguished in her own right.

9. Oh? How about any pets?

I have a hamster. His name is Pongo. I have some fish too... actually, I should probably double check that one.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like.

Intrusive and unnecessary interviews.

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

I do like my model ships. There’s something about the process of putting them together that’s almost meditative.

12. Have you hurt anyone in any way before?

Hasn’t everyone?

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

I’m sorry, you do know who I am right? I will say, that I don’t take that for granted. I always try my best to avoid death, but sometimes it’s unavoidable.

14. What kind of animal are you?

A human? Honestly, I don’t even understand the point of most of these.

15. Name your worst habits?

Apparently, indulging reporters, for what? Some kind of romance magazine I’m guessing?

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Of course. My mom’s been a great example for me. She raised me by herself for most of her life, and she’s always tried to do her best by me. She’s a great role model. Then there’s Admiral Anderson, but, maybe let’s not talk about him.

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

I really don’t see how this is any of your business.

18. Do you go to school?

Not anymore. I was raised going to the Alliance Academy, almost conditioned for military life. Then there was N7 training, but nothing as formal as that since.

19. Ever want to marry and have any kids one day?

I don’t know. Now that the war is over, maybe? I never managed to think that far ahead.

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

You could say that. I have a VI dedicated to sorting my mail.

21. What are you most afraid of?

Failure. Letting down my team.

22. What do you usually wear?

Usually whatever the Alliance has requisitioned for me.

23. What one food tempts you?

Oooh, anything freshly cooked an warm, and you’ll have me wrapped around your little finger. Let’s just say I’ve become way more accustomed to MRE’s than I care for.

24. Am I annoying you?

Not exactly, though I’m not sure why some of these are so personal.

25. Well, it’s still not over!

Great.

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

Middle.

27. How many friends do you have?

Living a life in space hasn’t allowed for much stability on that front, but my crew has become a second family. It’s not about how many, but about the bonds that aren’t breakable, and I’ve found that in my crew.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

Like I said, anything fresh or home cooked, and you have my attention.

29. Favorite drink?

Water’s never failed me. I’m sorry, were you looking for something more interesting? I’ll say that I am probably too attached to my coffee supply too.

30. What’s your favorite place?

Places have never really been a stability for me either. I guess the Normandy’s become pretty special.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

Well... there was someone. I’m not really sure anymore.

32. That was a stupid question…

Yeah...

33. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

I can’t say that I’ve had much of a chance for either, but I remember that sticky gross feeling after swimming in an ocean, so I’ll have to say lake.

34. What’s your type?

I’m sorry?

35. Any fetishes?

Oh, we’re really not going there.

36. Camping indoors or outdoors?

Are you kidding me? You’re going to ask this after that last question? What exactly is this interview for? Outdoors, I guess. I wouldn’t say no to a nice cabin though.

Fairy Tale Aesthetics: Brothers Grimm Version

SNOW WHITE.

jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror. yellow and green with envy. long handled hunting knives. sewing by the window. combs laced with pearls and poison. an apple white one side and red the other. white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS.

a blunt axe. a ring of chalk. tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears. hands tied behind back. shallow rivers. aching feet, walking for days. flowing gown. liquid silver. wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST.

lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes. baskets of strawberries. fat toads. sparkling snow. fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD.

a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves. treasures from far away lands. dragging by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS.

sitting side-saddle. daughter of a witch. nettles. white feathers. refusing to smile. needles and threads. a castle in the forest. sound of beating wings. birthmarks. climbing trees. balls of yarn. silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP.

wildflowers. rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth. curtains drawn. a dying fireplace. grey pelts. red velvet. handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

OC Body Language Meme

DEFENSIVENESS

arms crossed / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth / brow furrowing / shoulders hunched / sudden, sharp movements / growling

REFLECTIVE

hand-to-face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off — cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows / scrunched nose / staring to the side / fidgeting

SUSPICION

arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes / smooth, quick movements / sniffing the air loudly

INSECURITY & ANXIETY

chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging at pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer/marker/cane / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically / hugging themselves / head whipping around frantically / hanging down avoiding eye contact / low growling / shoulders hunched over / sitting with knees pulled up to the chest

ANGER & FRUSTRATION

short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / running hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up – defensive posturing / clenching of jaw/ grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales / hitting walls and random objects / loud growling / pacing / yelling randomly

OC sense aesthetic

SIGHT. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

small towns. big cities. six thirty curfews. lights that take the place of stars. blanket nests. light through the blinds as a wake up call. found family. finding a single star in the middle of new york city. window shopping. watching something terrible and enjoying it. growing numb to the sight of injustice. wilted flowers. faded caricatures. bright, bold colours.

HEARING

crickets and lightning bugs. car engines and a / c units. a phone call to mum / dad. laughing with friends. jokes that are so bad you have to laugh. the clicking of computer keys. noise cancelling headphones. the sound of silence. muffled music from another room. drumming fingertips on a table. clicking of pens. listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower. ringing in the ears. the voice of someone you love. pitch shifted songs.

TOUCH

being held close during a long night. fleeting reassurances. holding hands when you’re scared. brushing fingers through strands of hair. freshly dried clothes. bruises on your knuckles. silk and satin. your favourite pet’s fur or feather. wringing your hands anxiously. snuggles. comforters in the dead of winter. nails against skin. cold metal. leather in summer.

TASTE

coffee in the morning. tea in the evening. bubblegum that lost its flavor. alcohol burning the back of your throat. homemade cooking, no matter what’s made. blood in your mouth. stale air. mint. fresh vegetables. that processed taste of citrus candy. the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good. foreign sweets. fast food. bittersweet. sour. spicy. sweet. bitter. too much salt on fries.

Bold Relationship Tag

If anyone actually made it this far, I’d be shocked. But seriously, if you want to do any kind of variance of an OC master post for your OCs, feel free to do it and tag me.

#OC Interview #My OC #Jane Shepard #oc memes #lots of memes #long post #super long post after the cut

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fuckhellimgoingtovallhalla · 6 years ago

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VERY EARLY ONE SUMMER MORNING, Odin, Loki and Honir crossed into Midgard, happy in one another’s company, and in- tent upon exploring some part of the earth not already known to them.

In the pale blue, almost pale green light that gives an edge to everything, the three friends crossed a desolate reach of grit, patrolled only by the winds. Before men in Midgard had stirred and woken, the gods were striding over scrubby, undulating ground. Then they tramped round a great mass of spiky, dead, dark rock, and headed for the summit of a conical mountain.

All day they trekked and talked and, in the evening, they followed the course of a rapid, milky river from a glacier down into a valley — a jigsaw of fields, yellow and brown and green.

Odin, Loki and Honir had not brought any food with them and were beginning to feel very uneasy about it when they had the luck to come across a herd of oxen. While Loki sized them up, chose one and killed it, Odin and Honir gathered fallen branches from a grove of stunted oaks and made a fire. Then they cut up the ox into huge pieces and put the pieces into the heart of the fire.

The smell ravished the gods; they could barely wait to eat. As soon as they thought the joints were roasted, they scattered the fire and pulled the meat out of the flames.

‘It’s not ready,’ said Odin, surprised. ‘We must be so hungry that a little time seemed long to us.’

Loki and Honir raked up the brands and put the meat back into the fire again.

Suddenly a chill wind channelled down the valley. Although the sun still loped across the western sky with the wolf at its heels, all the heat had drained out of the summer day. The three gods wrapped their cloaks around them and sat and waited.

`Do you think it’s ready?’ asked Honir. ‘What do you think? Shall I find out?’

‘One of these days, you’ll choke on your own uncertainty,’ Loki said, leaping to his feet and scattering the fire for a second time. ‘It must be cooked by now.’

Odin took a piece out of the flames. ‘It’s still not ready,’ he said. And it ought to be.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with this fire,’ Honir said.

‘And yet our dinner is as raw now as it was to begin with,’ said Loki, looking at the meat and grimacing.

‘Well,’ said Odin, ‘something is working against it.’

‘Something sitting up here,’ said a voice from above them.

The three gods at once looked up into the leafy branches of the oak tree above the fire. They looked and they saw an eagle sitting there, and it wasn’t a small one.

‘Let me eat my fill,’ said the eagle to the three upturned faces, ‘and your ox will be cooked.’

The gods conferred and were of one mind. ‘Since we too want to eat tonight,’ Odin told the eagle, ‘we agree. There is nothing else we can do.’ Then the eagle screeched. It flapped its immense wings, swooped down from the tree and settled over the fire. At once it snatched up both the shoulders and both parts of the rump as well. Then it eyed the gods and, crouching at the root of the oak, began to eat. Loki was so angry that he raised his staff and rammed it into the bird’s body. The eagle was thrown off balance and dropped the meat. It screeched again and took to the air. One end of the staff was firmly lodged in the eagle’s back; and, to his alarm, Loki found that he was unable to let go of the other. He pulled and twisted and yelled to no purpose. His hands were stuck to the staff.

The eagle flew at great speed and it took care to fly close enough to the ground to make sure that Loki did not have a smooth ride. The Trickster was dragged across the floor of Midgard. His knees and ankles hanged into boulders; his legs and feet were scratched by gorse bushes and thorns until they were bleeding.

‘Mercy!’ shouted Loki.

The eagle took no notice. It dragged Loki on his backside across a glacier until he was all but skinned.

‘Mercy!’ yelled Loki again. He thought his outstretched arms were going to be wrenched from their sockets.

‘Only,’ said the eagle, rising to give Loki a little respite, ‘only if you will swear .

‘What?’ shouted Loki. ‘Anything! Mercy!’

‘Only if you will swear to bring Idun and her apples out of Asgard.’ Loki closed his eyes and pressed his lips together and said nothing.

He knew now that the eagle could only be one of the giants, in disguise. The eagle swooped again and Loki could hardly bear the pain as his knee-caps and shins and ankles and toes cracked against rocks and boulders and scree.

‘Mercy!’ implored Loki. ‘I promise you. I swear it.’

‘Seven days hence,’ said the eagle. ‘Lead Idun over Bifrost when the sun is half-way between east and west.’

‘I promise,’ called Loki.

The Trickster found that his hands were at once set free and he fell to the stony ground. Very slowly he picked himself up and looked at his wounds. Then, in the gathering darkness, he began to limp back towards his companions.

—————————————-

Seven days passed and Loki found Idun wandering through the sloping field above her hall. She was singing softly to herself, and was quite carefree; the sun caressed her. Childlike she moved, untroubled by the world’s troubles around her, petty squabbles, suffering, savage wars, and, always, time passing. Her basket of golden apples was looped over one arm.

‘Idun!’ called Loki.

Bragi’s wife paused and turned.

‘I’ve come at once. You can’t imagine; I could scarcely believe it myself.’

‘Speak more simply,’ said Idun.

‘Deep in the forest just beyond Bifrost, I came across a tree quite unlike the others. Unlike any tree I’ve seen in the nine worlds. It stands in a glade and it glows with a soft light.’

Idun opened her grey eyes wide, and Loki went on to describe his find so carefully that anyone less trusting would have known it came straight out of his head.

‘Idun, it bears golden apples,’ he said, jabbing with his forefinger at one of the apples in the basket. ‘The same as yours. And perhaps, like yours, they contain unending youth. We should take them at once for the gods.’

Idun smiled and nodded in agreement.

‘Don’t forget your own apples. We must compare them,’ said Loki, and he led the way over the sunlit field and out of Asgard. They hurried past Heimdall’s hall and then Loki took Idun by the hand and walked with her over Bifrost. The flames danced around their feet and they were unharmed.

The eagle was waiting. As soon as Idun set foot in Midgard, it rose from a thicket. It beat its dark wings, swooped on the goddess, and snatched her up. It carried her and her apples straight over the sea to Jotunheim — for as Loki had suspected, the eagle was none other than a giant. It was Thiazi.

Thiazi lifted Idun to his storm-home at Thrymheim, high in the mountains. ‘Here you’ll stay,’ he gloated. ‘Without you, without your apples, the gods will age, and I will remain young for ever.’

—————————————

When they missed Idun, the gods at once grew extremely anxious. They knew that without her magic apples, they would wither and grow old. And, indeed, they soon began to crumple inside their clothes and to seem smaller than they were before. Their skin hung over their bone- houses, bunched or puffy or wrinkled, or stretched so tight that it looked as though the bone would break through. The eyes of one became bloodshot and the eyes of another misty; one god’s hands began to tremble, one lost all his hair, and one could not control his bowels. Their joints creaked and ached and they felt utterly limb-weary. The gods felt the spring in their step and the strength in their bodies ebbing from them hour by hour.

Then the minds of the gods lost their skip and started to soften. One became outspoken about the shortcomings of the others and one began to ramble like an idiot, but most of the gods grew quiet and did not trouble to say many things they would have said before. And they were all obsessed by the same concern with time, the same fear. When they did speak, they repeated themselves; or they began sentences and did not complete them. The summer sunlight shone on Asgard, flocculent clouds drifted overhead, and the minds of the gods wandered even as they worried about their old age.

Odin knew he must rally his own strength and summon the gods to council. Everyone in Asgard made his way to Gladsheim, a dismal straggling procession under the sun. Of all the gods and goddesses and their servants, only Idun and Loki were missing.

Allfather looked at the great gathering of stooping, shuffling, mumbling figures. ‘We must find Idun,’ he called. ‘You see how it is without her, without her apples. And it will grow worse. Who was the last to see her?’

‘I saw Loki lead Idun over Bifrost,’ said Heimdall’s servant. There was a deep silence in Gladsheim. No one doubted then that Loki was the cause of what had happened to them.

‘There is only one thing to do,’ said Odin. ‘We must capture Loki.’

Weary as they were, the gods searched for the Trickster; they looked in every hall and outbuilding, and in every copse and corner of Asgard; they knew their lives depended on it. At last they found him asleep in Idun’s own field, and they seized and bound him before he could do anything about it.

Loki was brought to Valaskjalf, protesting, and there Odin at once charged him with leading Idun out of Asgard. ‘Bring her back,’ said Allfather. ‘Your choice is easy to explain and easy to understand. Bring Idun and her apples back. Otherwise we’ll put you to death.’

‘It is true,’ said Loki, ‘that I walked out of Asgard with Idun. But then I had no choice.’ Loki told them how the eagle that had carried him off when he was trekking with Odin, and Honir was none other than the giant Thiazi. ‘And I had to agree to those threats to escape with my life,’ said Loki.

‘Did you have to fulfil them?’ asked Odin.

Loki’s eyes gleamed, red and green.

‘Since you consort with eagles,’ said Odin, ‘we’ll draw a blood-eagle on your back.’

‘No,’ said Loki, and he shrank before Odin’s savage eye. ‘And your rib-cage will spring apart.’

‘No,’ said Loki, cowering.

‘Like wings,’ said Odin and his teeth were clenched.

‘I will find Idun and her apples,’ said Loki. ‘If Freyja will lend ine her falcon skin, I’ll fly at once into Jotunheim. I swear it.’

Then Odin shook and released Loki and Freyja, beautiful Freyja, her face like a pouch now and her hair falling out, went directly to her hall with him. She pulled down the falcon skin hanging over one of the beams.

‘You’re not quite so beautiful now that you’re bald,’ said Loki. Freyja said nothing. Her body shook. She wept tears of gold and handed Loki the falcon skin.

——————————-

Thrymheim perched on the top of a precipitous sgurr and seemed actually to grow out of the dark rock. The winds whirled round it, and found their way through the walls into the cold, draughty rooms. When Loki reached it in the early evening, he was fortunate enough to find the giant Thiazi was not at home. He had gone off fishing, and his daughter Skadi had gone with him.

Loki discovered Idun in a smoky room, huddled over a fire. She turned to him and at once the schemer extended his falcon wings; he murmured the runes, the magic words, and turned Idun into a nut. Then he picked her up between his claws and flew off as fast as he could.

In a little time, Thiazi and his daughter returned from the day’s fishing. When the giant found that Idun was no longer there, he roared and hurled his pails to the ground. He knew there was no way in which the goddess could have escaped from Thrymheim without help.

Then Thiazi donned his eagle skin for a third time and set off across the mountains and the high lifeless wilderness. The distance from Thrymheim to Asgard was immense and the eagle was stronger than the falcon. As Loki drew closer to Asgard, so Thiazi drew closer to Loki.

When he sat in Hlidskjalf looking over the nine worlds, nothing escaped Odin: no movement of man or giant or elf or dwarf, bird in the air or animal on earth or fish in the water. What other gods could not see at all, Allfather fixed and followed with his single eye. Now he saw Loki flying at great speed towards Asgard and the eagle Thiazi chasing him. At once he ordered all the gods and goddesses and their servants, worn out and short-winded as they were, to hurry out of Asgard with bundles of plane shavings, all the wood that the servants of the gods prepared to kindle fires in their great halls. ‘Pile them up against the walls,’ said Odin. ‘Loki is coming.’

The still summer air began to hum, as if an unseen storm were near and about to burst on them. It began to throb and then the gods and goddesses saw the falcon, and the huge eagle close behind it. From a great height the falcon dived down over the walls of Asgard, still holding the nut between its claws. ‘Light the shavings!’ cried Odin. ‘The shavings!’

The flames leaped up, almost unseen in the bright sunlight. The eagle was so close behind the falcon that he could not stop himself; he Flew straight through the flames; his wings caught fire. Thiazi blundered on into Asgard, and fell to the ground in torment. Then the gods stumbled back through the gates into their citadel and quickly killed him there.

Loki threw off Freyja’s falcon skin. He looked at the grey, aged, anxious ones pressing around him, and scornfully laughed in their faces. Then the Sky Traveller bent over his trophy; he cradled it between his hands and softly spoke the runes.

Idun stood there, young and supple and smiling. She moved innocent among the ailing gods. She offered them apples.

(Found on thenorsegods.com)

#norse polytheism #norse paganism #paganism #pagan #norse gods #norse mythology #idunn #golden apple

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penniesforthestorm · 7 years ago

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Consider the Squeasel

Anthony Bourdain, 1956-2018

“He would have to learn for himself the real background that held you as a smell does: the gold of the rice fields under a flat late sun: the fishers’ fragile cranes hovering over the fields like mosquitoes: the cups of tea on an old abbot’s platform, with his bed and his commercial calendars, his buckets and broken cups and the junk of a lifetime washed up around his chair: the mollusc hats of the girls repairing the road where a mine had burst: the gold and the young green and the bright dresses of the south, and in the north the deep browns and black clothes and the circle of enemy mountains and the drone of planes.” -Graham Greene, The Quiet American

We were at my grandparents' cabin in Big Sky, Montana, in the summer of 2005. The TV reception wasn't great up there, but you could catch something worthwhile every now and then. Sitting on the long brown couch in the wood-paneled living room, I watched as my dad channel-surfed desultorily, finally settling on some kind of travel show.

The host was a lanky American guy about my dad's age, with tattoos and curly grey hair. He was sitting by a cooking fire in a lush, tropical place, and being handed some unidentifiable meat on a plate. "It is a forest creature," his translator said. "I believe it is… squeasel." The host raised an eyebrow, his expression clearly saying Well, that's helpful, but he took a bite. Seconds later, he discovered one of the creature's spines. "Oh, it's a porcupine!" he exclaimed, and dug in cheerfully. Clearly, the issue wasn't that he was being served something weird—he just wanted to know what it was.

That was my introduction to Anthony Bourdain: the Vietnam episode in the first season of No Reservations. Later in the episode, he made a crack about 'painting my face, putting on The Doors, and sneaking up on Marlon Brando'. I knew he was making a reference to Apocalypse Now, and though I'd never seen the film, I knew its status as an outsider classic. Whoever this guy was, I thought, he was cool.

Bourdain himself would come to reject that label, in his memoir Medium Raw. He quoted a Norman Mailer maxim about 'encouraging your inner psychopath', and stated frankly that he was done with all of that. He had a wife, and a daughter, and professional responsibilities. In the same book, however, he opened a chapter with a Velvet Underground lyric, castigated the follies of the wealthy and fashionable, and wrote so vividly about food you could taste every bite along with him. He wasn't a lovable square like Alton Brown or Rick Steves, or a brash goofball like Guy Fieri. Insofar as the word 'cool' even means anything anymore, he was it.

It was the empathy that made him stand out. With the chain-smoking and the Ramones T-shirts and the sunglasses, he had all the accoutrements of not giving a fuck. But in the best episodes of No Reservations, and his later CNN series Parts Unknown, it was obvious that this guy cared—not just about the food or the scenery, but about the people who lived there. He engaged with everybody: landmine victims in Cambodia, the waiter in a Texas border town trying to support his family in Veracruz, the first black president of the United States. His shows weren’t about shoving bugs in his mouth and getting you to laugh at those wacky foreigners. Instead, over the years, we saw him confront his own prejudices, seemingly hoping the audience might follow his example.

I recently read another memoir, I Dreamed I Was a Very Clean Tramp by Richard Hell (one of the founding fathers of NYC punk as we know it). I was struck by the similarities between him and Bourdain—both born slightly too late to take part in the hippie movement, but at the right time to watch it curdle into hypocrisy and narcissism; both with fathers who died young. And both of them had been addicted to heroin, but managed to get clean. Their writing is distinguished by a clear style and a striking lack of cynicism; Hell speaks with wonder about everything from the smell of his childhood cap pistol to the visceral beauty of the French Symbolist work Les Chants du Maldoror, by the pseudonymous Comte de Lautreamont. Perhaps because the two of them had ventured so close to death, I thought, life had become even more precious.

I’m not going to speculate on the reason(s) behind Anthony Bourdain's decision to take his own life. We can't know another person's mind, or even, really, our own. Here's what I know: I know that Tony influenced the way I think about food, about travel, and about writing. I've watched Apocalypse Now and read Graham Greene's The Quiet American, and moved Vietnam near the top of my list of places to visit. I've had lunch in a tent on the Serengeti plain in Tanzania, sipping expensive scotch and trying to impress the taciturn camp manager with the story of my trip to China as a teenager, and my disappointment at eating Burger King in Shanghai. I know that I am not the only, or the best, voice to write about Bourdain. But I had to write something.

#prose #Long Reads #anthony bourdain

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