#and dylan lived in the same neighborhood as the kids did so if i wanted them to meet i definitely could | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

definitearticle · 4 years ago

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Dear Baby Boomers...

"When you're accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression."

Older friends, come in! Sit down! I'm so glad you came.

Can I get you a water?

So listen. As your friendly neighborhood geriatric millennial, I need you to understand something. It's important, and it's going to hurt. But pain can be a sign of growth, and I want you to hear this from a friend. So know that this comes from a place of love.

So nu. I'm gonna ease into this by making sure we're on the same page with some ideas.

You know Bob Dylan's song, "The Times They Are A-Changin'," yeah? It might not have been THE anthem of your youth, but it's certainly one that's held up over time. It speaks to the ever-continuing cycle of change and the need for members of the previous generation (and those in power generally) to "get out of the [way] if you can't lend a hand."

Thing is, younger generations have been asking older generations to listen, to understand, and to help the culture progress since time immemorial. And older generations have traditionally pushed back. So your generation's experience of pushing your parents' generation into begrudging acceptance of civil rights, feminism, et al, isn't new.

But y'all came up with some great turns of phrase to express it. One of my favorites, technically coined by Jack Weinberg (5 years too old to be a Baby Boomer) was "Don't trust anyone over 30." It was an offhand phrase said in anger when Weinberg felt that the reporter interviewing him wasn't actually listening, but was instead looking for ulterior motives so that he could dismiss the message of his protest.

But the phrase stuck, and it was used not only as a rallying cry, but also as a talking point by older folks who wanted to dismiss the New Left as a bunch of whiny brats, rather than people we now know were on the right side of history regarding the war, police brutality, and so on.

So with that in mind, in the words of The Who, let's talk about MY generation, and the even younger generation just starting to come into their own.

You know how a few years ago, there were a whole lot of women in the #MeToo movement who were talking about their experiences with men and how they constantly feared sexual assault? And then you had a whole bunch of idiots coming on saying "Not all men!" because they weren't used to their demographic being the target of negative criticism? Yeah, they were idiots, and you knew it. Of course "not all men." But the MeToo movement wasn't about hating men. It was about hearing women and understanding their fears.

And by and large, you understood that. You were pretty solid on it. Good for you! No, seriously, I'm really proud of you for continuing the fight for feminism that you were on the front lines of back in your more enthusiastic years.

And you know how #BlackLivesMatter has been a thing for several years now, and how it's really a continuation of the Civil Rights movement that you grew up in? But of course, idiots tried to reframe the narrative by saying "All lives matter!" And you knew that that was just a smokescreen. Of course all lives matter, but once again black lives were being treated as if they don't matter. And the reason you recognized this was because was all familiar to you. It was the same scene you remember playing out on your 12" black-and-white screens decades ago, where protests erupted against an injustice (frequently assault or murder of an unarmed black man) and the resulting police violence shook the conscience of the country.

So you stood with BLM, or at the very least listened and acknowledged when it was explained to you. We appreciate it, truly. We do.

But here's the thing. You're not the only ones we were talking to. And a whole lot of the "all lives matter!" and "not all men!" crowd? They were from your generation. Now, not all of them, certainly. We definitely have our regressive stooges in Gen X and Millenial age groups. But let's be honest, a strong majority of the people raising a ruckus against "these kids today, with their PC woke brigade cancel culture" are members of the Baby Boom generation. And those who aren't? Well...they have the same kind of regressive attitude that comes from being the third generation out.

You know...like your parents and grandparents were when Dylan wrote his song. When your social circle embraced "Don't trust anyone over 30."

There's a frustration that comes from trying to explain something important to people who appear to not wish to listen to you, but are instead spending their time looking for reasons to discredit you, or make you feel inferior, or find any excuse to belittle you and the incredibly important message you're trying to express. When you get to that breaking point, you need a way to ripcord out of the conversation in a way that expresses not only that you're through pretending to maintain civil discourse, but also that you recognize that there was no intent for honest dialogue in the first place. You need a shorthand phrase for "You're a dishonest, condescending jerk who couldn't care less about doing the right thing or about the lives of anyone other than yourself. I am through wasting my time casting pearls before swine. Good day, sir! I SAID GOOD DAY!"

Weinberg felt it in his interview.

You've undoubtedly felt it yourself, countless times.

My generation feels it constantly. And we've come up with a pretty good phrase that encapsulates our frustration with those in power who've apparently forgotten the lessons of the past and are happy to sit in apathy in the middle of the road and never lend a hand.

And that phrase is "Okay, Boomer."

Oof. Yeah.

I know.

It stings. A lot.

And I can hear you screaming at me right now. "How dare you judge us based on our age! This is ageism, pure and simple! It's hate! Not all old people! All ages matter!"

Shhh, shhh, it's okay. You're in a safe space. We're friends. No one is judging you.

See, just like MeToo wasn't denigrating all men, and BLM wasn't saying that non-black lives didn't matter, the use of "Boomer" here is not about age. It's about the same progressive vs regressive divide you experienced when you were young, that was largely drawn along generational lines.

Not all Baby Boomers are "Okay, Boomers," and not all "Okay, Boomers" are Baby Boomers.

If you're with us on the issues, if you're supportive of people's self-identity and fight for equality, then it doesn't matter what age you are. You're gold.

But if you get told "Okay, Boomer," it's not about your age either. You've just been told that your approach to the conversation indicates to the speaker that you don't want to engage on the issues in an open and honest manner.

It means that you've probably hit a blind spot in your experience which is incredibly common and nothing to be ashamed of, but is also something that needs to be addressed.

It means you've upset the person talking to you, and they've given up trying to be reasonable with you.

It's not hate speech. It's not ageism.

It's a wake-up call. For the times, they are a-changin'.

Weinberg aged out of the demographic he framed in his statement 5 years after he made it. But from what I can find online, he continues to this day to fight the good fight. He was an anti-war activist and a union organizer before becoming a champion of environmental issues. He turned 81 earlier this year. A statistical tally in the Silent Generation, he was nonetheless clearly a member of a young Baby Boomer movement in their prime.

You can stick with us. Join your voice to ours like Weinberg joined his voice to your generation's. Like Martin Luther King (born 1929) did. Like Abbie Hoffman (1936), John Lewis (1940), Gloria Steinem (1934), Bertrand Russel (1872)...

There's plenty of room on the right side of history to be an older person that the young'uns can trust, a mentor we can talk to, someone who will actually *listen* to us and help us move the culture forward.

Or you can be someone who embodies the cause of the admonishment "Never trust anyone over 30."

But if you decide to do that, if you choose to close your ears to the pleas of the younger generation because they don't show you deference and respect? Then you're not a Baby Boomer, a phrase once used to dismiss your generation as youthful, idealistic, and unreasonable.

Then you're just an "Okay, Boomer."

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thethistlegirlwrites · 4 years ago

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Memory

A little post about John and Robin for Dia de los Muertos! (Note, this is set after the novel so there’s spoilers below the read more cut!)

"This isn’t gonna weird you out, right?” John asks. “I thought fae had a thing with death.”

“No, you’re thinking of Lord of the Rings. The elves are immortal and death freaks them out.” Robin frowns at the box in John’s hands. “Fae just live a lot longer than humans. Death is just part of nature. We don’t like bad memories but that’s just because we kind of tend to live in the moment. Past and future don’t mean the same things to fae.” He pokes the box with a finger. “Why’d you bring that?”

“Because we gotta pack a few things.”

“I’ve already got my go bag,” Robin says. “It’s in your car like always.”

“That’s not what I mean.” John sets the box down. “It’s okay if you say this isn’t your thing, but…this holiday means a lot to me because I’ve lost someone I cared about. And I know your family’s a little��”

“Weird? You can say it.” Robin’s more or less learned to deal with what his father became. Arion twisted him into a whole different person. He mourns the good man who died a long time ago.

“I was gonna say unconventional, dude.” John chuckles. “But, see, the thing about Dia de los Muertos is that, well…the way Abeula Rosa always used to explain it, it’s the time when the barrier between this world and the next doesn’t exist, and the souls of everyone we’ve lost return to us for that time.” He smiles sadly. “It’s the only holiday that doesn’t hurt because Gabe’s gone, you know? Cause…he’s not. Not on that night.”

“I…you’re sure it’s okay for me to come?” Robin asks. John finally told him what happened in Amarillo. He wanted me to understand why he’d been so angry with me. He wasn’t making an excuse for it, just trying to explain. Even though Gabriel Stoker’s death is in no way Robin’s fault, he still feels like the man’s ghost might take offense. As much as I’m sure ghosts aren’t…you know…real, there’s something about this that I can’t deny. John clearly believes in the most supernatural elements of this holiday, and something about that seems to be rubbing off. “What if everyone doesn’t think I should be there?”

“I think you should be there. And I think Gabe would like you.” John’s hand is warm on his shoulder. “He’s the one who always thought the fae deserved a fair shake. I don’t think dyin’ woulda changed that.” John says softly. “Gabe never judged anybody by what they did. Damn kid was practically a saint. He’d defend others in a heartbeat, but he never had a thought for himself.” He smiles. “Kinda like you.”

Robin swallows around the lump in his throat. “So what do I need to bring?”

“For an ofrenda? Photographs of the family members you’re gonna honor, some things that remind you of them. We’ll make food to put out when we get there.” John glances at the kitchen. “But that reminds me, if you got any recipes that were anyone’s favorite, we should take those too.”

“Um…” Robin isn’t really sure how to explain this. “Fae don’t write down recipes, they pass them on by word of mouth. Nothing’s ever the same when a different person makes it.”

“Then I guess we’ll just be making a lotta test batches till we find something that tastes the way you remember.” John chuckles. “Here’s the box, I’ll meet you at the car, okay?”

Robin nods. He knows John is giving him space to sort through his memories alone. He chooses a couple different family photographs and some of Mom’s stones, Grandma’s embroidered backpack and her favorite Bob Dylan record, and a couple of Grandda’s wood chisels and the white king from the chess set he made. After another long moment, he digs down into the dresser drawer and pulls out Adam’s watch. I wasn’t sure if he deserved to be included, but I think he should be. After all, his soul might be more lost than any of the rest. Maybe lighting the way for him to come home is the kindest thing Robin can do.

He closes the top of the box and carries it out to the Mustang. John is leaning on the side of the car waiting, and as soon as Robin gets his box settled John gets in and turns over the engine. Robin climbs into the passenger seat, and John pops a tape into the car’s cassette player. Robin raises an eyebrow when he realizes the lyrics are in Spanish.

“Mexican rock never got quite as popular as American or British, but it’s out there,” John says with a chuckle. “I grew up with Momma singing all the lyrics from Los Lunacitos and Dad playing the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.” He grins.

“Well, my grandma loved dancing to Peter Paul and Mary and Bob Dylan,” Robin says, pulling the record out of the box. “And Grandda and Mom sang all kinds of Seelie stuff. Guess we both come from families that loved music.” He nods down at the box. “I thought about bringing Grandda’s bagpipes but those were a little large.”

“I mean, we leave Gabe’s guitar on the ofrenda every year.” John says. “Wait, can you play?”

“Not unless you consider ear-splitting sounds that made every dog in the neighborhood mad ‘playing’,” Robin replies. “It’s more complicated than it looks. Probably Grandda’s isn’t even any good anymore, haven’t gotten it out in years.”

John nods. “I haven’t picked up my guitar too much lately either. Miss playing duets with Gabe and listening to Carmen sing, you know?”

Robin nods. He leans back in the seat and listens to the music and the hum of the tires on asphalt, feeling the sun on his face as they drive east toward Texas.

Taglist: @nade2308 @cmvorra @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my @catwingsathena @asloudasalone @anguishmacgyver @flowing-river24 @myhusbandsasemni @floh673 @teddythecat1234 @bkworm4life4 @viawrites-andacts

If you want to be added to or removed from my taglist for Magic & Silver stuff, just let me know!

#magic & silver #dia de los muertos #robin #angus robinson #john stoker #my ocs #original character #character sketch

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oh-obrien · 5 years ago

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Take Me Out

Relationships: Dylan O'Brien x OFC

Word Count: 4,496

Author’s note: Sorry I disappeared y’all and sorry this one’s a little short. I had finals and then I found out my grandpa has cancer so we’re a little bit all over the place, but I’m getting back in the grove. Here’s some baseball and jealous Dylan for you all. All my characters are oc’s as I didn’t want to pull any real life players to use.

“Imagine liking the Mets,” Cameron mumbled around the white hair tie she held between her teeth. She watched through the mirror while Dylan pulled his jersey on, finishing dutch braiding the left side of her hair at the same time. “Orange and Blue just, it doesn’t go together well at all,” she continued while tying her braid off with the hair tie.

Dylan rolled his eyes and walked back into the bathroom after he pulled Cameron’s jersey out of the closet, holding it up at an arm's length and wrinkling his nose. “Because pinstripes are any better?” He asked while leaning against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, watching his girlfriend continue to braid her hair. “Tabloids later are going to be like, Dylan O'Brien's girlfriend seen wearing a Yankees jersey at the first game of the Subway Series: Is this the beginning of the end?” He couldn’t hold in his laugh at the end.

Cameron also tried to stop herself from laughing while she sectioned off the hair on the right side of her head, not wanting the braid to be uneven. “Oh god,” she mumbled, “I’m going to have to tweet that everyone needs to remember my dad is one of the coaches for the Yankees,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky he let you stay the first time I brought you home and you had a Mets hat on.” Dylan watched her fingers braiding her hair while she spoke. “At least you don’t care about hockey. It would have been bad if you blurted out you were an Islanders fan too.”

“I remember that!” He started laughing lightly again, his shoulders shaking slightly while he did, “he just grilled me after that.” Dylan remembered the first time he met Cameron’s parents, the week of the Subway Series two years earlier. The pair had been together for only a couple months at the time and Cameron had surprised him with tickets for all three games that year, her dad had also offered that the couple could stay at the family’s house in Sagaponack for the time they were visiting. Dylan and Cameron had pulled up in front of Cameron’s childhood home in a car her dad had hired to drive them out to Sagaponack from MacArthur airport, and Cameron swore she saw Dylan’s jaw hit the floor of the car when they pulled through the front gates.

“He had that custom made, I think it’s a bit much,” Cameron referred to the large wooden Yankees logo that had been put on the front door to their home. “And if you get past that and how huge the house is, actually who am I kidding,” she rolled her eyes while they got out of the car. “I cannot stand this house,” they thanked the driver after he got their suitcases out of the back. “And I can't stand that I spent eighteen years of my life here.”

Dylan snorted at the memory and Cameron cocked her head to the side at his outburst. “You say how much you hated living here when you were younger every time we come out to visit, and I’m just stringing it all together,” he shrugged.

“I also hated going to private school, but clearly something paid off somewhere,” Cameron tied off her second braid, the two falling even in front of her chest. “Because I got into my dream college and then I was somehow lucky enough to bump into you and then got you to sick around long enough to actually tell you my dad coached the Yankees,” she hooked her fingers into the loops of Dylan’s shorts and pulled him closer.

Dylan pulled his face away from Cameron’s, a tight lipped smirk spreading across his face. “Did it really now?” He asked, watching pout spread across her full lips. “Because if I remember it correctly I actually asked you out that first night,” he brought his hands up to rest on Cameron’s waist, right above the curve of her ass.

“But then for some reason you decided to keep talking to me,” Cameron leaned up slightly to peck Dylan’s lips, “a bunch of sorority girls on a bar crawl after finals and you decided it would be a good idea to talk to me out of that group?” She cocked her head to the side slightly, clearly pressing the issue further in a playful way.

Dylan rolled his eyes and pulled Cameron even closer to him. “Okay so,” he slipped his hands along the line of skin on Cameron’s back that was left uncovered by her white cropped t-shirt, “you were cute, I made a move.” Cameron looked up and gave Dylan a ‘really’ look, knowing a lot of her sorority sisters she had been with were more than cute. “You were cute, and the only one without some basic fruity drink in your hand,” he added the last part.

“Yeah I did look pretty cute that night,” Cameron just shrugged and watched Dylan shake his head at her usual antics. “And then there was you, you looked half dead my dude,” she reminded. Cameron patted Dylan’s chest lightly and pulled away, grabbing her jersey off the counter and pulling it on.

Dylan watched Cameron quickly tie a knot out of the two ends at the front of the jersey instead of buttoning it, letting it hang open most of the way. “I was in the middle of filming an entire movie in sixty days,” he pointed out while Cameron adjusted the knot of the jersey so it would be even with her cropped shirt. “And in my defense I had also filmed twelve hours that day but somehow got convinced to go out!”

Cameron tucked her phone into the pock on her ripped jean shorts, “well I’m glad they convinced you,” she brushed past Dylan and back into her childhood bedroom. She sat down on her bed and pulled her navy converse off the floor, slipping them on before tying them tightly. “You have everything you need?” Cameron turned to face Dylan after she grabbed her RayBans case off her dresser.

Dylan patted around at his pockets, making sure he had his wallet and phone. “I think I have everything,” he shrugged, “if not it’s not that important.”

“You are so go with the flow it hurts sometimes,” Cameron shook her head and held her hand out for Dylan to take. “C’mon, the car is waiting downstairs and I don’t want to be stuck in rush hour traffic, nothing is worse than the LIE during rush hour!”

“How about the George Washington during rush hour?” Dylan smirked while he spoke, knowing he would get a reaction out of Cameron. She had mentioned numerous times throughout the visits they took to New York how much she hated having to take the GW Bridge to leave the state.

Sliding her fingers through Dylan’s cameron just huffed, squeezing his hand a little harder than she normally would. “Never speak of that godforsaken bridge ever again,” she mumbled as the pair started down the staircase.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Dylan watched the beaches of where Cameron grew up slowly fade away as the pair got closer and closer to Queens, suburban neighborhoods turning into taller and more condensed buildings. Of course growing up he had lived quite close to the ‘Big Apple’ himself, but he knew he didn’t visit nearly as often as Cameron did.

“I practically grew up in Yankee Stadium,” Dylan remembered Cameron telling him on their first date. At the time he had thought that must have been one of the coolest childhoods ever, having a parent who coached an MLB team, but he quickly realized it probably wasn’t as glamorous as it seemed.

Dylan learned that in the winter months Cameron’s dad would travel with the team for their winter training and there would be an extended period of time where Cameron wouldn't get to see him. Dylan also remembered her noting that it taught her what she didn’t want to be as a parent, and that had been something that had scared him, although he didn’t yet express it. He would often travel for filming or press tours and through Cameron, he realized just how much a parent constantly being away could impact a kid.

However, kids weren’t yet on the couple’s mind. The pair had met in Louisiana while Dylan had been filming the first movie in The Maze Runner series, and Cameron had been in the process of wrapping up her junior year of college at Louisiana State University playing for their softball team. She had also started to cram for her LSAT’s right before they met. In a fast paced two months which consisted of seeing each other when there had been any time in either of their schedules and texting on the days there wasn’t, the couple had quickly started falling for each other.

Once Dylan had flown back to Los Angeles after The Maze Runner had wrapped, Cameron found herself reconsidering her law school options and studied even harder for her LSAT’s. After receiving a 178 out of 180 on the test, Cameron had applied to as many law schools as she could, but had her eyes on getting into University of California at Berkeley’s School of Law.

Prior to flying out to New York for the year’s Subway Series between three Mets and Yankees, the couple’s two year anniversary had just passed. Dylan’s career had started to take off even more while Cameron found herself attending law school at UC Berkeley. After quite a few long conversations and consulting with friends and family, the pair had recently decided to settle in a spacious home right outside of Los Angeles together. With Cameron in her second year of Law School and already receiving job offers for after graduation and Dylan’s career only growing, they both knew that they wouldn’t be leaving the area for quite awhile.

“You’re thinking pretty hard over there O’Brien,” Cameron laughed lightly while she drummed her fingers lightly on his thigh. Dylan took a moment to regain his thoughts before he looked out the window, realizing that their car had pulled off on to the exit that would take them to Citi Field. “Pretty sure I saw some steam coming out of your ears,” she pulled his Mets cap off his head and ran her fingers through his hair.

Dylan leaned into Cameron’s touch but let out a small huff in protest of her previous statement, “believe me,” he closed his eyes, “if anyone is going to be thinking that hard it’s going to be you.” Cameron just smiled and smoothed her boyfriend’s hair down again, settling his hat back on his head while their car pulled around the back of Citi Field.

Watching as Dylan’s eyes took in the sights around them Cameron just shook her head while the driver pulled up near the coaches and players entrance. Sometimes it amazed her just how starstruck certain things could get her boyfriend and she wasn’t sure if she would ever fully understand it. He had nearly everything he ever wanted in his reach, but coming to Citi Field would always make his face light up like a kid in a candy store. “Let’s go, Superstar,” Cameron pushed open the door to the Suburban and held her hand out for Dylan to take. “It’s just Queens, basically still the Island.”

Threading their fingers together, the couple thanked their driver before approaching the entrance where two security guards stood, chatting with each other while leaning against the wall of the stadium. Cameron reached into one of the back pockets of her shorts with her free hand and pulled out the passes that would give them access to nearly anywhere they wanted inside Citi Field.

Cameron held the passes up and the security guards waved them past with kind smiles. She scanned hers on the pad next to the door and heard the heavy metal lock click open before she grabbed the handle. “I want to go see my dad and brother before the game,” Cameron looked over to Dylan who let out an over dramatic goran. “Oh please,” she rolled her eyes, “all the guys know I’m dating a,” she fake gagged, “a Mets fan.” Untangling their hands Dylan reached over to pinch Cmaeron on the ass which made her squeak and quickly take off down the hallway they were in.

“Oh fuck off!” Dylan laughed making sure he saw what direction Cameron had taken off in, following a safe distance behind. He just shook his head while following the directions that would lead them both to the visitor’s locker room. He also assumed that after years of attending Subway Series games Cameron probably didn’t need the directions around Citi field for herself anymore.

Cameron found herself jogging through the hallways of Citi Field, leaving enough distance between her and Dylan that he couldn’t catch her easily but could still follow her so he wouldn’t get lost. She looked behind her to make sure she could still see Dylan before she turned the last corner that would lead to the visitor locker room before crashing into a hard body. “Shit!” She felt a pair of hands catch her waist so she didn’t trip.

“Yeah what the fuck, Cam?” Carson, Cameron’s older brother, asked while he steadied his sister on her feet. Carson has his jersey half buttoned and his cap sat backwards on his head, a smile spreading across his face “And where’s Dylan? You can’t let him get lost in here,” Carson let out a long sigh, hoping his sister’s boyfriend didn’t actually get lost in the depth of Citi Field.

Cameron rolled her eyes and turned around to watch Dylan round the corner, shaking his head when he finally caught up to his girlfriend. “What’s up, man?” Dylan and Carson pulled each other into a ‘bro-hug’ before separating.

“Ahh, nothing much!” Carson laughed while he finished buttoning up his jersey, “just got a series game to play nothing too big,” he shrugged. Cameron let out an overly dramatic huff to get both of the boy’s attention back on her. “Dad’s out on the field, most of the guys are too.” Carson pointed towards the staircase that led up into the visitor’s dugout.

Cameron nodded in thanks before taking Dylan’s hand in hers, opting to pull him towards the field, itching to be outside on the diamond again. “Can you handle being in the Yankees dugout or is your ego too fragile?” She looked over to Dylan while she scanned the door open with the passes her dad had gotten for the couple.

“Okay, I’m not that bad,” Dylan rolled his eyes while Cameron pushed the metal door open, the humid, hot and heavy summer New York air hitting them in the face when she did. “I’m just dedicated to my team.” Dedicated Dylan was indeed, it would always be a competition between the two when they would watch games back home. Whose team did better that week, whose team had the better stats, whose team had better chances of making it to the World Series. The competition would always be in good fun of course, nothing ever really rode on whose team did better, except bragging rights.

Cameron leaned over and kissed his cheek, “and I think that’s adorable,” she reminded him. Once the pair stepped out on to the field they noticed most of the players were warming up in some shape or form. The infielders were running drills and those not participating were found in the back of the stadium, sitting on the fence of the bullpen, talking with the relief pitchers who were getting their arms loose before the game.

“Someone is all grown up,” Cameron heard a familiar voice speak from next to her and turned to see Mark, one of the newer players, walking out of the bullpen. Mark had also gone to college with Cameron, although he had been a year ahead of her, he played on the LSU baseball team and had been a starter his freshman year.

Cameron rolled her eyes and accepted his offer of a hug. “You only graduated a year before me!” She laughed while he lifted her off the ground. She looked behind her once Mark put her down to see Dylan kicking the dirt with his beat up Adidas sneakers, an angry frown evident on his face.

Biting her bottom lip, Cameron walked over to Dylan and grabbed one of his hands that hung at his side and squeezed it, but he didn’t squeeze back like he usually would. Great, now she had to deal with a moody boyfriend for the rest of the day too. “Mark this is Dylan, Dylan this is Mark,” she leaned into Dylan’s side more. “You actually probably saw each other the night me and Dyl met at that bar we went to after finals your senior year.

“Nice to meet you for real man!” Mark laughed while he offered Dylan his hand to shake. “You got a real catch, I asked her out when?” Mark looked over to Cameron for confirmation on the years after he dropped Dylan’s hand.

Fuck, now she would really deal with a moody boyfriend for the rest of the day. “My sophomore year your junior,” she filled in. She knew that Dylan would be even less happy now that Cameron had just been getting all cozy with a guy she had rejected before she had started dating him.

“Yeah she said no though, said it would be like dating her brother. Which was more of an insult than anything,” he nodded to where Carson was dumping a water bottle over one of the other player’s heads in the outfield while they warmed up, “he is something special.” Mark noticed that Cameron’s dad stood neat home plate, trying to round everyone up for batting practice and Mark offered Cameron a final smile. “Gotta go, see you later?”

Cameron nodded with a small smile, “yeah!” Mark leaned in and kissed her on the cheek before running off, his bat and batting gloves in his hands. Cameron had always thought that Mark would grow up to be incredibly handsome while they were in college together, she had just never been attracted to him.

“He asked you out?” Dylan asked once Mark would definitely be out of earshot of the couple. “And you didn’t tell me?” He sounded more hurt than anything. That would be how most of their arguments, if they could even be called that, went. Someone would feel hurt by something the other did and they’d voice their opinion about it and from there on it would be a downward spiral. It usually resulted in someone sleeping in the guest bedroom for a night and waking up to an elaborate breakfast the next morning.

Cameron ran her hands over her face, not in the mood to argue with Dylan around her dad’s players and staff. “It was sophomore year of college Dylan and I said no!” She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long sigh. “Look, I don’t want to get into this here. I’m going to say hi to my dad. If you want to pout over here feel free but I’m looking to enjoy the rest of today.” She spoke calmly before leaning up to peck his lips lightly before walking over to her dad.

“Look who it is!” He paused what he had been saying to his players to pull Cameron into a tight hug. Cameron smiled and squeezed her dad before pulling away, waving to the rest of the plays, most of who she knew. “How was the flight out this morning?” He asked after dismissing the players to get a few extra swings in before the game. “And why’s the boy toy pouting?” He nodded towards Dylan.

Cameron just shrugged, “LAX is LAX, even if we did leave at three in the morning.” The couple had figured it would be the best time to fly into New York from Los Angeles, catch some sleep on the plane and nap once they got to her parents house. It had become their system when visiting there. “He’s not a fan of Mark, that’s why he looks so upset,” Cameron watched as Carson approached her boyfriend.

Dylan offered Carson a halfhearted smile and then tucked his phone into his front pocket, crossing his arms over his chest before falling into conversation with the ball player. “Mark’s still trying?” James, Cameron’s dad, asked. “I think it’s pretty clear you and Dylan are in it for the long haul now,” he added.

“He’s not usually the jealous type,” Cameron spoke while she walked into the dugout with her dad. “I just,” she sighed, leaning against the bench. “I think it’s the fact that I’ve known Mark so long that’s getting under his skin, like the fact that me and Mark have more history will suddenly make me dump him for Mark ot something.” Cameron watched her dad hang the line up on the wall of the dugout, Mark not on the starting roster for the day.

James turned back to his daughter, a sympathetic smile on his face, “well if it makes Dylan feel any better, I’ll bench lover boy for the day,” he laughed lightly. “Just don’t tell him that I had already planned to take Mark off the roster for the day, he’s been making a ton of errors lately and we can’t have that right now.” Cameron looked at the lineup to see that her brother had been placed in the clean up position, as per usual.

“Thanks dad,” Cameron sighed and wrapped her arms around her dad again, pulling him into another tight hug.

James just laughed and pulled away from his daughter, “don’t thank me, now go save Dylan from your brother before he talks his ear off about how we’re going to win today,” he nodded towards the two boys. Cameron just rolled her eyes and started up the stairs that lead out of the dugout. “And Cam,” she turned around again, “you mother and I are staying out here tonight.”

“Dad!” Cameron groaned, her face turning red, before she took the last two stairs, both in the same step to get out of the dugout faster. Walking over towards Carson and Dylan, Cameron knew the pair had seen her, but Dylan didn’t hold his hand out for her to take like he usually would. A pang of heart coursed through her chest, but she knew she had upset Dylan, and she should have realized what her actions would have done sooner.

Settling next to her boyfriend, Cameron saw her brother eye them both suspiciously before he fell back into his conversation with Dylan. Once there was a lull in the conversation and it appeared it would be dying off Cameron reached out and grabbed Dylan’s hand, but it stayed limp in hers. “If you don’t mind,” she butted in, “I’m going to steal him for a few minutes before the game starts because we need to talk about something.”

“There’s nothing to-” Dylan started, but Cameron cut him off with a sharp look that said they weren’t pushing this off until later. Dylan let out a long sigh, “I’ll catch up with you later dude,” he told Carson.

Carson looked between his sister and her boyfriend before nodding shallowly, “yeah, catch up later,” he raised an eyebrow at Cameron, asking if she was okay. After she mouth an ‘all good’ back, he jogged towards the dugout and down the concrete stairs, emerging a few seconds later with his glove in hand.

“Cameron I really don’t-”

“Nope,” Cameron tugged Dylan off a little further to the side of the field, where she knew no one could overheard anything. “If we leave this until later we both know that won’t end well,” she told him leaving absolutely no room to argue. “Now, you want to go first?” she dropped his hand and crossed her arms over her chest.

Dylan tucked both of his hands into his shorts pockets and shrugged, kicking the dirt under his feet again. “I really don’t have anything to say,” he mumbled, clearly ignoring what Cameron had just said.

“Well, I’ll tell you that I was never interested in him,” Cameron watched Dylan carefully even if he wouldn’t look up to meet her eyes. “He’s a self centered douche who always bragged about how amazing he was and everything was about him, he wasn’t humble and he never cared about anyone else, he just cared about how he looked to everyone else,” she took in a deep breath and when Didn’t reply she let out a long groan. “He’s not humble and he’s not willing to better himself, he doesn’t care about how anyone else feels and he never will. He’s not funny and his smile and laugh always seems fake and quite frankly my dad took him off the lineup for today because he’s such a self centered dick. And you should have more trust in me, I’m dating you and only you, my eyes are on you only, not anyone else, especially not him!”

Cameron watched Dylan look up to meet her eyes, his slightly shiny, but no longer hurt. He had his bottom lip between his teeth and pulled his hat off to card his fingers through his hair. “Sorry I doubted you, he’s just, everything you grew up with and probably wanted growing up,” Dylan mumbled. “And I just got jealous and afraid you’d leave me for someone like him, like everyone expected you to end up with,” he held his hands out for Cameron to take.

Letting out a tiny sigh, Cameron threaded their fingers together and pulled Dylan closer to her. “Never doubt yourself, bubs,” Cameron kissed him lightly. “I have eyes for you and only you.”

“Love you,” Dylan kissed her again.

“I love you too, dork,” she smiled and pulled away slightly. “Now let’s go say good luck to my dad and thank you for the seats behind home plate,” she started pulling him towards the direction of the dugout.

Dylan laughed behind her and rolled his eyes, “like I’d ever tell the Yankees good luck,” he said it just loud enough that Cameron could hear. Pausing in just far enough away from the dugout that they would still be out of earshot, Cameron pulled Dylan closer again.

“Say good luck,” she leaned up to whisper in his ear, “and we have the house to ourselves tonight,” she pulled gently on her earlobe with her teeth to drive her point home.

Dylan closed his eyes and let out a quiet groan, “I hope they win then!” He pulled her towards the dugout again. “In extra innings though, of course.”

#dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan obrien imagine #anna writes #teen wolf #the maze runner

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years ago

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982.

5k Survey LXII

3151. If you were to start a club, what club would you start? >> I wouldn’t. 3152. Are your hands and feet always cold? Maybe you have bad circulation. >> I don’t have the best circulation, but I don’t know if my hands and feet are always cold or not. 3153. Have you ever been prank called? If yes, what was the situation? >> No. 3154. Have you ever prank called someone? If yes, what was the prank? >> No. 3155. Have you ever gotteen into a conversation with someone when they or you have dialed a wrong number? >> No. I don’t answer my phone, period.

3156. Have you ever just sat alone with no distractions for a whole hour and thought about things? If yes, does the universe open up when you do this? >> Not for a whole hour, no. That doesn’t seem necessary or interesting to me. I do sometimes lay and think about things, but not for such a long period of time. 3157. Are you a genius? >> I don’t know or care. I assume not. 3158. If you were going to design the PERFECT significant other...what flaws would you give them? >> --- 3159. If you answered NO to 3157, why do you doubt yourself? >> I assume being considered “genius” involves a remarkably high level of knowledge, imagination, innovation, and application on the part of the individual -- which I have the average level of, at best. That’s not doubt so much as a reasonable assessment of my abilities. 3160. RARRRR!!! Scared ya, didn't I? >> No. 3161. Do feelings and ideas come from inside the mind or outside in the culture? >> Yes. 3162. When you have a feeling or an idea: do you trust it? Even when people are telling you that you are wrong? Even when people are laughing at you for it? >> If people laugh at me and tell me I’m wrong because I simply have a feeling or an idea, then they are not the kind of people I want to be telling my feelings or ideas to. Regardless of anything else. 3163. WHAT IS YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME? (YOUR MIDDLE NAME BECOMES YOUR FIRST NAME AND YOUR LAST NAME IS THE NAME OF THE STREET OF THE HOUSE YOU GREW UP IN): >> Shadow Broadway. (I never pick the street question as a security question, so nice try. ;)) 3164. What is the differance between spirituality and religion? >> Yawn. 3165. What is the speediest way you know of to get over a cold or flu? >> Rest and fluids is the best treatment, but the cold is going to work its way through the body at its own pace. It’s the cold’s world and we’re just living in it. (I know nothing about the flu, however. As far as I’m aware, that’s a whole different beast... but probably the same principle applies.) 3166. Who is your favorite comedian? >> Tiffany Haddish, Dylan Moran, John Mulaney, Bo Burnham. 3167. What do you think of Winona Ryder's court case? >> Her what? 3168. What was your last nightmare about? >> I don’t remember the last time I had a nightmare. 3169. Who are the people in your neighborhood? >> I don’t know. 3170. During what decade was popular music the most emotional? During what decade was popular music the best? >> Are you kidding, lmao? 3171. How did Frederick Douglas, escape slavery against all odds? There were thousands and thousands of slaves around him, why did only he manage to learn to read and write? >> >.> ... 3172. Do you download porn? (be honest!) >> I download videos that I like, yeah. 3173. Why is 'go suck an egg' or 'your grandma sucks eggs!' an insult? >> I really don’t know. Also, I’m not Google. 3174. Life is: I am: I am not: But I want to be: And I wish I could: 3175. What is the highest achivement anyone could ever achieve in this department? spiritual: physical: emotional: with their humanity: 3176. Can you give step by step instructioons on how to think deeply? >> No. 3177. DDid you ever see the Wizard of Oz with the sound all the way down while listening to pink Floyd's The Wall? If yes, did you see what everyone says goes on when you do that? >> I didn’t know that was a thing in the first place. 3178. Let's say you were writing an application for potential new friends. What three questions would you ask (and what would you want the answers to be)? >> I wouldn’t do that. That’s a rather odd way to make friends, I’d think. 3179. Which two words of the following words goes together the best and why: mullet, brocollii, community, blue, phosphor, hammer, ocean, hand >> *shrug* 3180. Are you dyslexic? >> No. 3182. Are you overwhelmed? By what? >> Not currently, but I’m pretty easily overwhelmed by sensory input and emotional responses to things. 3183. 'My natural elasticity was crushed.' What does that mean? >> I have no idea. 3184. What is humanity evolving towards, do you think? >> I didn’t know evolution was supposed to have a destination. 3185. Are you good at cracking codes? ,t y dsud yp Ftoml upit ,o;l I'll give you a hint. Y really means T. >> Yawn. 3186. How many holes do you have in your body (ex. mouth)? >> Oh, the regular amount. 3187. Now there are ads on taxi cab hubcaps. Is there ANY free space LEFT to put more ads onto taxis??? >> I have never seen that... 3188. What's the worst place to have a scab? >> *shrug* 3189. Do you pick your scabs? >> No. 3190. Who's goin' chicken huntin'? >> ???? 3191. post 'it' note what does 'it' stand for? >> I... didn’t think it stood for anything... it’s just the word “it”... like you’re posting it... 3192. What is a tragedy? >> Do I look like a dictionary? 3193. Where is guam? >> South of me somewhere. 3194. Are you bubbly? Do you drink bubbly? >> I am not bubbly and I only drink bubbly in mimosas. 3195. Do you have caller ID? If you do then do you only answer the phone after looking at it? >> I mean, I have a smartphone, so yeah. I never answer the phone. 3196. Bewitched or Jeannie? >> I haven’t watched either one. 3197. When will you be able to just do what you want to? >> Er... well, I mostly do what I want to do... 3198. How do people live with the fact that their time is short and priceless yet they get paid too little to waste too much of it? >> People just live with it, I guess. What’s the alternative? 3199. OOGA! Make your best cave-pperson sound! >> No. 3200. Who tells better gossip, your best friend or your answering machine? >> ---

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey #the longer this goes on the less answerable the questions get... but yet i persist #could be worse i guess

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ganzeer-reviews · 5 years ago

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POPISM: THE WARHOL 60′s by Andy Warhol and Pat Hackett o-o-o-o-o

In most of his interviews, Andy Warhol wasn't very talkative and came off as hella awkward while simultaneously being kinda snarky, often dicking interviewers around. So it's quite refreshing to be getting his take on things in his own voice. 300 pages of it, no less. Sure, you can bet the actual writing was done by Pat Hacket, but you can be equally sure that the voice behind the writing belongs to no one but Andy Warhol.

"Very few people on the [West] Coast knew or cared about contemporary art, and the press for my show wasn't too good. I always have a laugh, though, when I think of how Hollywood called Pop Art a put-on! Hollywood?? I mean, when you look at the kind of movies they were making then--those were supposed to be real??"

It's also nice to see him recount his transition from his commercial art practice to his early beginning within the gallery circuit-- when he was still not quite sure of himself-- before he became a superstar and way before his studio became the go-to place for every major counter-cultural figure in America.

"By the time Ivan [Karp] (who worked at Leo Castelli Gallery) introduced me to Henry [Geldzahler] (who at the time was a new young 'curatorial-assistant-with-no-specific-duties' at the Met) I was keeping my commercial drawings absolutely buried in another part of the house because one of the people Ivan had brought by before had remembered me from my commercial art days and asked to see some drawings. As soon as I showed them to him, his whole attitude toward me changed. I could actually see him changing his mind about my paintings, so from then on I decided to have a firm no-show policy about the drawings. Even with Henry, it was a couple of months before I was secure enough about his mentality to show them to him."

But if it's the explosive Factory years you're interested in, rest assured there's plenty of that as well. One of the best things about this book though is Warhol's observations about the times. Because that is very much what the book is: a window onto the 1960's through they eyes and words of Andy Warhol. It starts off in 1960 and ends in 1969. By all accounts the 60's was a very special decade in America, and Warhol's retelling definitely drives the point home

"Everything went young in '64. The kids were throwing out all the preppy outfits and the dress-up clothes that made them look like their mothers and fathers, and suddenly everything was reversed--the mothers and fathers were trying to look like their kids."

It gets better:

"Generally speaking, girls were still pretty chubby, but with the new slim clothes coming in, they all went on diets. This was the first year I can remember seeing loads of people drink low-calorie sodas."

And then later:

"Since diet pills are made out of amphetamine, that was one reason speed was as popular with Society as it was with street people. And these Society women would pass out the pills to the whole family, too--to their sons and daughters to help them lose weight, and to their husbands to help them work harder and stay out later. There were so many people from every level on amphetamine, and although it sounds strange, I think a lot of it was because of the new fashions."

So you get interesting anecdotes like that, with associations and theories only someone like Warhol would come up with; Fashion made Speed popular.

He does go on tangents throughout the book, recounting other people's stories instead of his own--which I s'pose you can say is a very Warholian thing to do, isn't it? I can imagine some people getting tired of these long tangents, but I find them to be wonderful additions to Warhol's montage of the decade.

"'I gave Bob Dylan a book of my poems a couple of years ago,' Taylor [Mead] said, 'right after the first time I saw him perform. I thought he was a great poet and I told him so... And now', Taylor started to laugh, 'now when he's a big sensation and everything, he asked me for a free copy of my second book. I said 'but you're rich now--you can afford to buy it!' And he said, 'But I only get paid quarterly.'"

These asides cover a huge roster of characters, from Dylan to Jackson Pollock to Robert Rauschenberg to Jonas Mekas to Dennis Hopper to Edie Sedgwick to Jim Morrison to Lou Reed to Nico to Mick Jagger and on and on. The tone is very conversational and often gosspiy, but it isn't all mere gossip. You learn, for example, how Warhol introduced Henry Geldzahler to a young British painter by the name of David Hockney. This was before Geldzahler became curator of American Art at the Met and way before he became Commissioner of Cultural Affairs for New York City. And it was really before Andy Warhol himself became anything close to a cult figure, which he would start to become only 1-2 years later.

Hard to imagine the transition when you take into account the initial reception towards his work:

"When Ivan brought Leo Castelli up to my studio, the place was a mass, with the big canvases strewn around the living room--painting was a lot messier than drawing. Leo looked my stuff over, the Dick Tracys and the Nose Jobs in particular, and then said, 'Well, it's unfortunate, the timing, because I just took on Roy Lichtenstein, and the two of you in the same gallery would collide."

And then later:

"Henry Geldzahler was also pounding the pavements for me. He offered me to Sidney Janis, who refused. He begged Robert Elkon. He approached Eleanor Ward, who seemed interested but said she didn't have room. Nobody, but nobody, would take me."

Amidst the stories, the gossip, and observations, there's also the occasional tip.

"To be successful as an artist, you have to have your work shown in a good gallery for the same reason that, say, Dior never sold his originals from a counter in Woolworth's. It's a matter of marketing, among other things. If a guy has, say, a few thousand dollars to spend on a painting, he doesn't wander along the street till he sees something lying around that 'amuses' him. He wants to buy something that's going to go up and up in value, and the only way that can happen is with a good gallery, one that looks out for the artist, promotes him, and sees to it that his work is shown in the right way to the right people."

He finally got his first New York show in the fall of '62 at Eleanor Ward's Stable Gallery (only 3 years before announcing his retirement from painting). By early '63 he'd moved his work studio from his home to an old firehouse on East 87th st, and soon thereafter he hired Gerard Malanga as his assistant, who was also instrumental in keeping Andy plugged into all the cultural happenings.

"Gerard kept up with every arty event and movement in the city--all the things that sent out fliers or advertised in the Voice. He took me to a lot of dank, musty basements where plays were put on, movies screened, poetry read--he was an influence on me in that way."

The more things Warhol was exposed to, the more he soaked up stuff like a sponge, not just for his art, but for his very persona.

"In those days I didn't have a real fashion look yet... Eventually I picked up some style from Wynn [Chamberlain] , who was one of the first to go in for the S & M leather look."

Perhaps some of the most interesting parts in the book is when Warhol recounts some of his efforts in film, which indeed took up the majority of the 60's despite not "bringing home the bacon" in the same way the paintings did. Even today Andy's films have yet to occupy the same place his paintings have, but in reading his retelling it's hard to think that even the most skeptical of skeptics wouldn't be able to see that there's at least a bit of genius in them. In one bit, Warhol even talks about "slow cinema" something that seems to be regaining popularity in recent years.

"That had always fascinated me, the way people could sit by a window or on a porch all day and look out and never be bored, but then if they went to a movie or a play, they suddenly objected to being bored. I always felt that a very slow film could be just as interesting as a porch-sit if you thought about it the same way."

But all in all the greatest thing about the book is that it's such a perceptive account of some of the most interesting aspects of 60's New York. There's lots on Jonas Mekas' Cinematheque, plenty on the changing neighborhoods, how the East Village was becoming all Bohemian, when the Beatles became all the rage and the Stones were having publicity issues, how fashions were quickly evolving year after year ("The masses wanted to look non-conformist, so that meant the non-conformity had to be mass-manufactured").

I find it quite odd that in the wide array of art-related books recommended to me over the years, Andy Warhol's Popism was never mentioned once. In fact, I never even knew of the book's existence, and just happened upon it by sheer coincidence. It strikes me as essential reading to anyone interested in not just Andy Warhol, but New York's art scene in the 60's more generally, arguably the most important decade in American art and culture at large. And actually, art aside, it's an incredible telling account of the decade more generally, with Warhol's keen observations on things like fashion, music, and media. Even with Warhol's shortcomings--his obsessions with things like glamour, fame, and money, all things that come across in this here book--he still manages to do what he's always done best: hold up a mirror right in America's face.

Highly recommended.

[Available on Amazon]

#book #prose #review #andy warhol #warhol #new york #1960s

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simsiddy · 5 years ago

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Callie

When I was around 10, I was friends with this girl named Callie. She was my best friend, but in a way she was my only friend. It wasn’t that I had no friends, but I didn’t have any other close friends. I just wasn’t the type of person who was close with a lot of people. My only other friends were my parents and sister. I was fine with that. I was lucky in that way; I got along with most of my family. A lot of other people couldn’t say the same, as I lived in a neighborhood that had a lot of split up parents and parents who didn’t take care of their kids as much as they should. I was one of the only kids who didn’t rely on my school for food.

Anyway, Callie. She was one of the people who had a pretty bad home life. Her parents weren’t divorced, but honestly, they should have been. They no longer loved each other, but even worse, they no longer liked each other. They couldn’t be in the same room for too long or fights would break out. She spent a lot of time at my house and slept over most weekends and sometimes even during the week. Most of my family was totally cool with her being there, but I also had a older brother named Dylan who was not. He wasn’t like the rest of our family. It wasn’t that he didn’t fit in; he could be at family gatherings and liked his parents as much as any other teenage boy could. But, he always was uncomfortable around Callie and protested her coming over. I could never tell why and I’m not sure he really knew why at the time. Once I asked him, and at the time his answer didn’t mean anything to me.

All he said was that she just gave him a “bad vibe” and that he felt as though “something bad would happen.” I made fun of him a little and was annoyed that he didn’t like my only real friend. He just shrugged my comments off and stayed in his room when she was around.

Maybe all of this sounds like normal teenage stuff. We all thought it was. After all, who wants their little sister’s friend around all the time? And I’m sure he would have prefered to be able to invite some of his own friends over, but our parents didn’t want too many people over at once and my brother had a pretty big friend group.

But, he wasn’t just a regular, moody teenage boy.

See, he loved tarot cards. It was weird, since he also liked video games like Call of Duty and listening to rap and playing basketball; all normal teenager stuff. I liked to joke about it, and, to my surprise, he never shut me down. He would just leave the room. This is not normal, and as anyone with siblings knows, brothers and sisters never pass up the opportunity to make fun of eachother. He would shoot my down any other time I joked about him, but not this time. With his tarot cards, he just was quiet and left the room, no matter how much I egged him on.

One Saturday, Callie was at my house and we were playing with barbies or Polly Pockets. I heard a knock at my door and I told the person on the other side to open the door. Dylan slowly opened the door and told me to come outside. I started to ask why, but something was different. Dylan was serious. He looked scared.

He motioned for me to follow him into the hallway. I put my toys down and walked out of the room. He was holding his cards with such a tight grip that I thought he might break them.

Softly, he set up the cards and gave me a reading. I’d gotten a few before from him and the first card was the same as always. I got the upright fool. It used to make me a little annoyed; “I’m no fool,” I would say. But they he would explain what the card really meant. The second card was also the same; upright hermit. I asked him why we were doing this again, but he didn’t answer and just asked me to choose another card. Usually, I will get something related to success or finding yourself. One of those cards that could make sense for anyone and that I never thought much of.

But, the last card was not one of my usual cards.

Instead, I got the upright ten of swords.

Betrayal. Being stabbed in the back.

“I knew it,” Dylan said. “I knew she would cause trouble. We need to get her out of this house.”

He began walking to my room and I tried to stop him, but he was stronger than me. He threw the door open and started yelling at Callie to get out of the house. I started crying, asking him to stop. I expected Callie to cry as well, but she was unbothered. She continued playing dolls, as if nothing was happening. Dylan tried to grab her arm, but he flew backwards, hitting the wall. I screamed and ran downstairs, where my parents were sitting calmly. They didn’t turn to look at me when I called out to them. I tried to tell them what was happening, but they didn’t turn around. It was like they didn’t hear me at all. I poked them and when they still didn’t react, I walked in front of them.

It seemed as though they were frozen. Their eyes were bloodshot, tears running down their faces, but they didn’t move. I grabbed my mother’s arm and tried to pull it, but I couldn’t.

I pulled harder, panicking. What was wrong with all of them? Just as my mother’s arm began to move a little, I heard a muffled scream coming from her throat. Her eyes widened and the tears thickened. I looked down at her arm, seeing red marks around her wrist, as though some invisible rope was tied to her and holding her down.

I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to go back to Dylan. He would have an explanation for this.

When I went upstairs, something was off. It took me a few seconds to put my finger on it, but then I realized.

It was quiet.

So, so, quiet.

Eerily quiet.

I walked towards my room, the last place I had seen Callie and Dylan. As I approached the door, I began to hear the sounds of soft singing. I immediately knew that it was Callie singing. I pushed the door open and it slowly creaked. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, not knowing what would be inside the room. But, when I peered inside, Callie was sitting on the ground, playing with dolls and singing to herself.

I approached her cautiously. She didn’t look at me when I sat down in front of her. She didn’t answer when I asked, “Callie, what is going on?”

She just continued singing.

“Callie, what did you do?” I asked, louder.

No reply.

“Callie, what are you doing?” I asked, louder still.

“Callie!” I screamed, knocking the dolls out of her hand.

She stopped singing. She didn’t move.

I began to apologize, but something cut me off mid sentence.

Dylan, who had been laying in the corner of the room this whole time, began to get up. Callie was now staring at me and saw me look towards Dylan. She quickly turned her head towards him and he fell again. Before I could react, she leaned closer, her face only an inch away from mine.

“You stupid little bitch,” she said, her voice lower than I had ever heard it. “I won’t let you ruin these plans. They are deeper than you. They run longer than your veins, are darker than your blood. She grabbed my neck and began to squeeze, but she didn’t have long.

Dylan ran up behind her and hit her over the head with my largest sewing scissors, the point deep in Callie’s skull.

She collapsed to the floor. Blood pooled on the floor and I heard a lout moaning that shook the room slightly. I looked over at Dylan and I ran into his arms, crying.

The room began to vibrate. My photos fell off of the wall and trophies broke. The moaning from before turned into a scream, and now both Dylan and I looked at Callie. She was shaking, her mouth open and blood spilling out of her eyes like tears. Her skin began to darken and dry, turning into a leathery, black, flakey fabric that broke as she shook. Her fingers thinned and nails grew into long, pointy claws. Her hair thinned and fell out, turning black. She transformed from a normal girl to a devilish beast right in front of our eyes.

The screaming stopped. Callie, or what once was Callie, stopped moving. Her skin began to flake off, nails crumbling into dust and hair falling out in clumps. She evaporated, leaving nothing more than a black mark on my wooden floor.

We heard my mom calling us for dinner. Slowly, we walked downstairs and sat down at the table. Our parents were normal. They were no longer crying. The bruises were still on my parent’s wrists, but they made no comment about everything that had just happened.

It’s been about five years. No one seems to remember Callie and her family disappeared without a trace. I’ve tried to mention Callie to people who were her friends, but they don’t seem to know who she was. My parents don’t remember anything.

Dylan is the only person other than me who seems to remember Callie.

I don’t know what happened that day. I don’t know what Callie was or what she “plans” she was referring to. I have tried to research the house and the land, and I have found information about alleged witches and families who people suspected of being Satanists. I wonder if Callie was a demon, sent to avenge the past family? But I don’t know. I’m scared to find out.

I have tried to convince myself that this was all in my head. I don’t talk about it with Dylan and he doesn’t mention it to me. He still gives people tarot readings and he refuses to enter my room. I think that he is bothered by the large, dark stain on the wooden floor, a stain no one has been able to remove and that reappeared every time the floor was replaced.

#fiction #horror

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dancingwithdylan21 · 6 years ago

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Single

Summary: Stiles tries to plan a camping trip for his son and the reader doesn’t make it easy for him.

Pairing: Daddy!Stiles x Reader

Prompt: “Hot, gorgeous, beautiful…whatever you want to call it.”

Stiles never planned on braving this world as a single dad, hell he never planned on being single again. He married the love of his life nine years ago, only to discover that she was an adversary in disguise.

Once Stiles’ home life became unstable, he knew it was inevitably heading down a rocky road. Leaving was a tough decision because of his son Drew but it turned out being the best thing for everyone.

So that’s how Stiles ended up here, here being a charming ranch styled house in the middle of a California suburb. Not a day goes by where he’s not thankful for having the strength to rebuild his life.

Although it definitely helps that Stiles’ supportive parents and best friend Scott live close by. It helps that he grew up playing on the same dirt that his son is now. And it helps that his sporting goods store became wildly successful, allowing him to do what he loves.

“Alright, Drew. This is your last hurrah before school starts so make it count.” Stiles plops down at the kitchen table with a pen and pad in hand.

Stiles promised to take his son along with some friends on a camping trip, so he needs to nail down the details. Two full days of roughing it with a bunch of eight year old boys. Should be a piece of cake, right? Lord help him.

“What do you want to know, dude?” His mini me sasses with a mouth full of grilled cheese.

Drew’s personality entertains his father but it also scares the shit out of him a little bit. The similarities between them are endless and Stiles knows to expect a pain in the ass troublemaker in the years to come.

“Not including you, me and Uncle Scott…there’s five people on the list. Is this everyone that’s going?” Stiles slides it over and immediately he’s met with scowl.

“Mikey can’t go which stinks because he really wants to. I want him to go too.”

“Mikey’s the new kid that lives a street over right?” Drew nods his head.

“What did he say?”

“That his aunt said no.” Drew says delivering a familiar Stilinski pout.

“His aunt? He lives with her?”

“Yup.”

“How come she said no?”

“She’s really old.” Drew shrugs finishing off his glass of milk.

“I see. Sorry, buddy.” Stiles chuckles focusing on his list again.

“Can you talk to her?”

“No way.”

“Pleaseeeee.” Drew begs with big puppy dog eyes that resemble his father’s.

“Son of a bitch.” Stiles huffs under his breath, he glances at the clock hoping to use the time as an excuse but he can’t. It’s only 3pm. Fuck.

“You owe me, kid!” Stiles jumps up from his seat deciding to get this unpleasant task over as soon as possible.

Turning the radio up in Roscoe, Stiles backs out of his driveway and heads over to Mikey’s house. He’s always tried to be a hands on parent but this shit isn’t his cup of tea. He rather not get involved with this kind of stuff if it’s not necessary. According to the sad look on Drew’s face today, apparently it’s necessary.

Stiles knocks a few times on the blue painted door in front of him, he takes a deep breath hoping that Mikey’s aunt doesn’t have a hearing problem. Really old people give him the creeps so he wants to bolt out of here as soon as possible.

The front door swings open to reveal a delicious looking woman around his age and she’s now staring back at Stiles. Shit. Does he have the wrong house? Or maybe it’s the right house depending on how he looks at it.

“Oh hi…I’m looking for Mikey’s aunt. Is she home?”

“What did he do?” You automatically answer with a tired sigh.

“Huh? Nothing. I’m Drew’s dad. Mikey and Drew have been hanging out ever since he moved here.”

“I see.” You give the handsome man a quick once over and you notice he’s doing the same to you. You’re not sure where this is headed but you have a fresh pizza waiting for you inside and you’re starving.

“I can come back if she’s not here.” Stiles adds awkwardly, reminding him of being back in high school. What the hell? Nowadays, he’s usually in his element when he’s around a girl like you.

“You’re looking at her. I’m Y/N.” You reply watching his face twist in confusion.

“You’re…really?” Stiles asks skeptically.

“Yes. Why would I lie about that?” You see his mouth open and then close, he looks unsure on how to proceed from here. Wonderful. This is going nowhere fast.

“Drew told me that you were really old. So I was expecting someone totally different. Like a great aunt or something.” He finally answers sheepishly.

“I guess 30 is pretty old.” You cast your eyes down, fixating on your bare feet. Hm you really need to get a pedicure.

“I’m 34 so how do you think I feel?” Stiles gripes making your head snap up.

“Ancient.” You smirk pointing out some gray hairs on his head.

“You’re hilarious.” Stiles deadpans but you can tell he’s actually amused with your teasing.

“I know. So what’s up?” You wonder leaning against the door jam as you cross your arms.

“I’m taking Drew and a few other kids on a camping trip next weekend and I heard you told Mikey that he can’t go.”

“That’s correct.” You answer right away offering no reason why.

“Well I know the boys have become friends since you guys moved into the neighborhood. And they both really want to go on the trip…I can change the date if that’s the problem.”

“Has Drew ever been to your house?” You retort, surely catching Stiles off guard judging by his expression.

“Uh I don’t think so. He always comes over here now that I think about it.”

“Exactly. I don’t know you and there’s no way in hell I’m letting my nephew go off with a random stranger. Into the woods no less.” You explain firmly.

“Well first off…I’m awesome, Y/N. And second you could always come with…”

“Do I look like a camper to you?” You interrupt with wide eyes.

“Am I supposed to assume that you’re not? Just because you’re really attractive?”

“Attractive?” You dryly question making him raise his eyebrows. That’s not the type of response he’s used to getting.

“Hot, gorgeous, beautiful…whatever you want to call it.” Stiles starts to feel slightly embarrassed under your gaze. It does’t help that you barely batted an eyelash at his remarks.

"Um.” You give Stiles a tight lipped smile, racking your brain on what to say next. You notice his whole demeanor has shifted and you strongly suspect that it’s your fault. You’ve never been one to accept compliments that well especially from men.

“Ya know what…no worries. Maybe Mikey can come another time.” He says politely, already walking backwards away from you.

“I’ve only been Mikey’s guardian for about six months now. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” You admit out of nowhere. Your words make Stiles freeze and you instantly wish you kept your mouth shut.

“I don’t either. Trust me. I’ve just had my kid longer.” He smiles warmly.

“ I can see where you’re coming from, Y/N. I guess I’m just used to everyone knowing each other around here.” Stiles studies your reaction wondering if he should offer an idea that comes to mind. And he decides why the hell not.

“Listen…I don’t blame you for being weary about this kinda thing. It’s better to be safe than sorry especially in today’s day and age. But I think you’d change your mind if you got to know me…” Stiles trails off.

“Well I…”

“How about you and Mikey come over for dinner? Tonight?” He cuts you off praying it doesn’t make things more uncomfortable.

“Hamburgers and hot dogs? And I’ll have my best friend Scott come too. He’s going on the camping trip as well to help me with the kids.” Stiles sees you hesitate but surprisingly you agree to his suggestion.

“I can…”

“How about 7pm? Sound good? Sweet! I’ll see you there.” Stiles rambles not letting you get a word in before adorably tripping over himself as he tries to walk away. He wants to leave before you get a chance to change your mind.

“I am so in over my head with this one.” Stiles whispers to himself, he sends you a quick wink then drives off in Roscoe to go buy hamburgers and hot dogs.

Masterlist

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski one shot #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski au #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski reader insert #scott mccall #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf au #dylan o'brien #teen wolf imagine #dylan o'brien x reader #stiles x reader #daddy!stiles #dad!stiles

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fourohfourrealitynotfound · 6 years ago

Text

Rear View Mirror

“When Eva told Dylan about her plan to take a two-day car ride to go off to college, they asked to tag along and make it a road trip.”

For the rest of her life, Eva kept this trip a secret. She never told anyone for fear that they would look at her in a different way when she explained how it ended.

TW Suicide, emotional abuse, and food are all mentioned in this short story. There’s also a moment where a non-binary character is deadnamed, but the deadname is written as a dash.

If you are going through suicidal thoughts, emotional abuse, or an eating disorder, please Google the appropriate hotline or support service. I and many others care about you, and we want you to get the help you need. Your life matters.

Read below the cut or on Wattpad.

When Eva told Dylan about her plan to take a two-day car ride to go off to college, they asked to tag along and make it a road trip.

The best friends had known each other for the better part of three years, but they never met in person. Eva vaguely remembered some Tumblr post about rubber ducks with knives that lead Dylan becoming her mutual. They eventually started messaging and then Skyping as they became friends. Eva was proud to include Dylan on her list of most reliable friends.

She didn’t know too much about their personal problems. She knew that their home life wasn’t the greatest, and that their parents were rather unsupportive and borderline emotionally abusive. Eva may not have known the full extent of the situation, but she was definitely happy that her best friend was getting out of there.

Dylan barely had to ask before Eva agreed to drive road trip with them. Secretly, she had been hoping that they would ask. What’s a better way to become closer friends than to be stuck in a moving vehicle with them for two days? So, when they asked to ride with her, she enthusiastically agreed.

Dylan’s house wasn’t in shambles, but it wasn’t a mansion, either. They lived in a neighborhood where all the houses were the same cookie-cutter box in different colors. The driveway lead to a one-car garage, and there was even a small front yard. Across the street, some little kids played with chalk and balls and scooters. The area was rather pleasant, in Eva’s opinion.

When she pulled up to the house, Eva double checked the number before sending them a text that she was there. A minute later, Dylan was hustling out of the house with a duffle bag slung over their shoulder. Eva got out of the car to open the trunk and give them a huge hug. “It’s nice to finally meet you!” she said.

”Same!” Dylan said, but with a slightly less enthusiastic tone. “Let’s just get out of here.” They shut the trunk and quickly got in the passenger seat. Eva noted Dylan’s nervous behavior, but she chalked it up to running away from their parents and meeting someone they’d only known through the internet. So, she let it go and joined Dylan in the car.

The first couple hours were a bit awkward. They attempted to make small talk, but it didn’t go well. Eva kept dancing around the subject of Dylan’s decision to leave home while Dylan ignored her questions and tried to talk about silly Tumblr posts. Eventually, they just lapsed into silence.

When they got back in the car after stopping at a gas station, Eva decided to play music so they wouldn’t have to suffer in a palpable silence. She hooked up her phone to her car’s radio speakers and let Dylan scroll through Spotify and play whatever they wanted. The first couple songs were enjoyed in silence. Eva then began to hum and then sing along, and soon they were both screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs.

The conversation stated with favorite bands before moving through favors movies, television, actors, and more. Talking became easier by the minute as the two found topics that they could comfortably agree upon. As they ran out of easy subjects, they moved on to political issues and moral debates.

As the conversation evolved, Eva began to feel more and more grateful that she had brought Dylan along. It looked like her plan of cementing their friendship would be successful after all.

When it was dark outside and Eva could barely keep her eyes open, Dylan suggested that they stop for the night. Not wanting to spend money on a hotel, the pair eventually decided to sleep in the car. They were lucky to find the parking lot of a recently shut down restaurant just a couple minutes after exiting the interstate.

Eva retrieved a couple blankets from the trunk and shower her companion how to recline their seat all the way back. They bid each other goodnight and turned to curl up facing the car doors.

After a few minutes of silence, Eva whispered, “Dylan? Are you awake?”

”Yeah,” they replied. “I can’t sleep.”

”Me either.”

”Why?” Dylan flipped over to face her.

Having heard them moving, Eva also turned over. “You first.”

”Ok,” Dylan started, taking a deep breath. “I’m thinking about my parents.”

Eva wanted to ask about why they were running away, but she restrained herself. “Do you miss them?”

”No, definitely not. I’m so glad that I’m leaving. The way they made comments about my appearance or my grades or the amount of time I spent on the internet... it was just so toxic. It felt like the descriptions you read about people who are bullied in school.”

Eva nodded. “Your parents shouldn’t make you feel like a victim.”

”Yeah. I didn’t realize that for the longest time, but when I did, it was like a light switched on in my brain. I don’t owe them anything. They can’t force me to stay while they are making comments that let my mental health deteriorate.

”Before you offered to let me come with you, I was in a really bad place . . .” They trailed off and took a few deep breaths. Eva noticed that their eyes were sparkling with held back tears. “My mind was thinking the darkest thoughts that someone could have. If you hadn’t messaged me when you did, I don’t know what I would have done.” At this point, Dylan’s breath was shaky and their voice was cracking.

”Hey, it’s ok,” Eva sat up and leaned across the parking break to give them a hug. “You’re here now. They can’t do anything to take you back. You’re free.” Dylan finally broke and sobbed into her neck.

They stayed like that for a long time, holding each from across the car. When Dylan finally calmed down, they both laid down and drifted off to sleep. It was comforting to both of them to know that they were safe with someone who had their back.

Eva woke up first, but she stayed laying down for a little while longer, letting Dylan sleep. Eventually, she gently shook them awake. “Hey, Dylan,” she whispered. “Put on your seatbelt so I can take us to breakfast.” They grumbled but complied, and soon Eva was driving to the nearest place with pancakes while Dylan continued to sleep.

Eva gently woke Dylan again when they arrived. Inside, the pair ordered a breakfast feast and chatted about their favorite foods, their favorite memories, their most nostalgic items, their most sentimental keepsakes. The conversation was light and filled with increased laughter as they consumed caffeine and woke up. They took their time and continued to chat, ordering more coffee as an excuse to stay. When their bellies were so full that they couldn’t possibly eat any more, Eva and Dylan returned to the car and continued their journey.

As they approached their destination, Eva and Dylan’s mood began to dim. The car fell into an uneasy silence that they didn’t bother to fill with music. Eva had spent nearly two days in the same car as Dylan, but she hadn’t grown tired of their presence. In fact, she grew more attached to her fiends. They would be living in the same city, but Eva didn’t want to say to them when they reached their destination. She already knew that she’d miss Dylan while living only ten minutes away.

When there was only twenty minutes of driving left, Eva exited the interstate to refuel at a gas station. The sun was beginning to touch the horizon when finished filling up the car. “Hey, I need to go to the restroom,” she told Dylan. “I’ll be right back.”

On her way back to the car, her phone rang for the first time in two days. The caller ID was Dylan, but that couldn’t be right. From where she was standing, Eva could see them sitting in the car and watching the distant sunset in the car’s mirrors. They must have left their phone at home, and it was probably one of their family members calling to ask where Dylan was. Not wanting to disturb them with a conversation about their family, Eva answered the phone still standing on the sidewalk in a few feet away from the car.

”Hello, is this Eva West?” The voice was masculine, most likely Dylan’s father.

She turned away from the car to face the sunset. “Yeah, that’s me.”

”Okay, good. I’m calling all of —‘s friends to inform them.”

She winced at the use of her friend’s deadname. “Inform us of what?” Eva tried to keep her voice neutral and not give away that she knew Dylan had run away from home and knew their exact location.

Dylan’s dad was silent for a moment, and then a shaking breath was drawn. “— is dead.”

That was weird. Dead, not missing? Perhaps they gave up on the search and declared them dead. “What . . . What do you mean?” Eva barely had to add any concern to her voice, because it was already creeping in.

“— committed . . . committed suicide a week ago.”

A week ago. A week ago was when Eva told Dylan that she was going to road trip to college. A week ago was when Dylan asked Eva to tag along on her road trip. A week ago was when Eva made the plan to road trip and become closer friends.

The hand holding up her phone was shaking violently. “I have to go. Thank you for telling me.” Eva hung up and then paused to take a few deep breaths. She whipped around to look at the car, not sure which version of what she would find terrified her more.

No one was in the car.

Eva stared at the empty passenger seat for a while, unable to comprehend what it meant. The world blurred as tears quickly pooled in her eyes. She somehow managed to get in the car before she completely broke down. Eva’s head rested on the steering wheel that she gripped with an iron-tight grip. Her sobs were loud and wet and heartbreaking.

Some time later, she calmed down enough to wipe her eyes. She fumbled in her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone, navigating to her text conversations and call list and Tumblr messages. All of the conversation that Eva remembered having with Dylan over the past week were gone. There was no evidence to prove that she had actually interacted with them.

Dylan was gone.

Eva leaned back in her seat and stared into the rear view mirror. Her eyes glazed over as she remembered her times with Dylan, the good and the bad and the great. She didn’t know if the past week had been hallucinations or a ghostly visit, but Eva was grateful to have some perceived interaction before Dylan left for good.

Her only regret was that she never got to tell them goodbye.

#writing #my writing #writeblr #ghost #best friends #road trip #food #suicide #emotional abuse

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putabourqueinit · 6 years ago

Text

HELLO

My guy is Charles Dylan Walsh, better known as Dylan Walsh, but to me he will always be my D. We started our love affair in Los Angeles, where we met at a gym called Equinox. When we met he shared a secret with me-- he had been staring at me for 8 years and never said hello. 8 years??? Before he actually said “hello” to me there was a lead up and it was pretty sexy I must say. I obviously knew he was the guy from Nip/Tuck although I did not watch Nip/Tuck. I would see him and thought it was coincidence when I was upstairs he was upstairs and when I was downstairs he was downstairs (remember I didn’t know he was staring at me for 8 years!!) It became intriguing when I would see him--we would have eye contact and no smile. I smile at everyone, but for some reason I gave him nothing. The eye contact was intense and sometimes would last for 3 seconds or so. That is 2 seconds too long if you think about it. It became a game between us and I think I actually gave him a half a smirk at one point. The build up was mounting and we both knew eventually something had to give and it finally did. One day I walked up the stairs and turned towards the treadmills. He was running on one right in the path of where I had to walk. This time when our eyes met we both started laughing out loud. In that moment I felt like I had known this man my entire life. Ultimately we started our relationship over months with eye contact. He grabbed my arm as I walked by and it startled me for a second, but honestly the energy that ran through my body was something I will never forget. He found me downstairs later by the water fountain and he said “hello.”

He was in a complicated situation- married 2x before and 3 kids and I wanted no part of it. I was 36 and very single. I was in a fantasy stage that I would meet a guy who had never been married and definitely did not have kids. Also, he was an actor and after living in La La Land for 13 years I dated my fair share of actors and actor ‘wanna be’s.’ So we became gym buddies. We would see each other at the gym and we would talk, laugh and innocently flirt. I gave him my number- ya know cause that’s what “friends” do. I was witty and had a wicked sense of humor with him. We had this banter that was ridiculously fun. It was almost like I was daring him not to fall for me. He was smitten I could tell and I was totally me, because I knew there would never be an “us.” He told me he would be leaving for work for a month and wanted to have coffee before he left. I said no to coffee and opted for drinks instead. His charm and blue eyes were definitely having an affect on me.

THE DATE

I told him to scoop me up at my place. I left the door slightly ajar and told him to come in while I was finishing getting ready. I wanted him to see my things. I wanted him to hear the music I listen to and to look at the pictures I had around. I wanted for him to get a sense of who I was before getting to know me better. When I came out we laughed at the familiar awkwardness we had. We drove in his fancy BMW to a neighborhood bar, which would inevitably hold a special place in our heart as it was called The Hudson (we ended up naming our son Hudson.) We sat at the bar and I ordered my favorite drink a Kir Royale and he ordered a Johnnie Walker Black with a splash of soda. We spent a few hours getting to know each other. He would tell me about his life, kids etc and I would tell him about mine. I had told him I would be having foot surgery soon to remove a nerve and I even took off my red high heel shoe to show him where it was. He would later tell me revealing my foot to him so effortlessly was incredibly intimate and even remembers my red painted toe nails. To this day I still have no idea why I did that. We both had somewhere to go after, but we kept stalling by getting another glass of wine. We ended up sharing the last one neither of us wanting this time to end. We walked out of the restaurant into the rain- he went his way to his car and I went my way to my ride waiting. We purposefully didn’t kiss. We were no longer just friends and we knew it. He would later that night write me an email saying “No more banter L. It just got real.” I knew what he meant and I felt the same even though I had no idea how real it would really get.

Falling

He was leaving the next day for work and wanted to come to my place and say good-bye to me. He brought a bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape his favorite wine. He sat across from me and I remember him leaning back in the chair with his hands behind his head like a movie star. He was so handsome and I took him all in- his face, that chiseled jaw, his hands and fingers, the gray t-shirt he was wearing with a little bit of a sweat mark at his armpits. He went to the restroom and when he came back he sat down at the table and I scooted my chair next to him and I boldly gave him a kiss. Our first kiss. It was everything we wanted it to be. We both knew in that moment we were in trouble- we were falling. We continued to keep in touch through email and text while he was gone. We would send each other poems and we each got a copy of the same book and read it together thousands of miles apart. We would send each other songs and compiled a D&L playlist. We would write out fantasies of adventures we would have in our minds eye in New Orleans, Chicago and New York. The time went by and we fell deeper. His work was over and he would return to reality. I still have the bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape with “our first kiss” written on the label.

Reality

Reality was harder than we thought. He was pulled in a lot of different directions. I was going through some things personally and contemplating moving out of Los Angeles. There were too many challenges for us to be together for real, so we were very quiet about it. We didn’t go to restaurants or socialize. It was just the two of us with too many mountains to move in the real world, so we stayed inside together and healed each other. We snuggled up and were intimate. We would go for long rides to the ocean and hike the Santa Monica mountains. We would have picnics and lay in the grass with no care in the world. We would not say “I love you” until we could no longer not say it. It was true and we both knew it. From then it went fast. It was a whimsical blur of how to’s and why nots. We were swept up in “us” and the magic that came with it. We would obsessively talk about what it would mean for us being real and for me to exist in his world. The mountains were moved, because at that point obstacles seemed attainable and we knew as a couple we could overcome anything.

Overcoming Anything

We would soon realize what over-coming anything would mean. We were faced with some incredibly tough challenges which would test our relationship. We would get pregnant way sooner with Amélie Belle than we would have planned. We would take an acting job across the states so far from his 3 kids. We would get pregnant for Hudson Scott with a six month old. We would move 7 different addresses in 8 years. We would have many disappointments and many victories. We would meet the best of friends from all of our travels. We ultimately would live out our fantasies in New Orleans, Chicago and our favorite city New York. Our road to being D&L was nothing short of pure will and endless love for each other.

Today

One of the hardest decisions we have had to make as a couple was leaving New York City. If ever there was a family that got New York and all it has to give, it was us. We explored every nook and cranny we could in 4 years and there is still so much we haven’t seen or done. The city is like another member of our family. It is important to us and holds so many cherished memories. But the time came and we had to move on. We chose to move to my hometown Lafayette, Louisiana. D didn’t have a steady gig and he needed a place where he knew we would be safe while he traveled from job to job. I wanted my kids to get to know where I came from up close. We found a community in Lafayette that worked for us. A neighborhood where you could walk to restaurants, the gym, the pool, school, playgrounds, tennis and most importantly my mom’s house. We are now in a beautiful home on a tree lined street in Lafayette, Louisiana and never in our wildest dreams did we think we would be here 3 years. D has traveled to many places for work from here- Vancouver, Santa Fe, San Francisco, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Toronto, Los Angeles, NY and Prague. The kids and I become the 3 musketeers and await for him to come home. When he is home he is present and he is a really good man. He has encouraged me to find my purpose. We are quite the team. Team D&L. We will hold tight to each other through all of life's tireless struggles and wondrous adventures. We have grown so much as individuals and as a couple. We are forever starting a new chapter filling up the book of “US” and I know another one is quickly approaching. We anxiously await to find out what it will be.

I recently started a podcast-you can find it on most platforms ‘PutaBourqueinit.’ I had the pleasure of interviewing D and we both share our life together. It is a true glimpse of where we started from and how far we have come and you get to hear his side of how we became “US.” If you care to know more check it out.

#relationship love us challenges goals purpose actor Nip/tuck DylanWalsh

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mollygetyourgun · 7 years ago

Note

✔ (for the younger Lacey and Shane verse?)

✔ Young Shacey || meme || accepting.

Having three boys wasn’t easy when he had a partner to share it with. Having three boys and a daughter is nearly impossible now that it’s just him.

Before he met Maggie, Shane never felt the pull of paternal instincts. When Braden was born, those instincts only slowly started to come about. It took him years and three kids to finally be able to handle having sons.

And then Maggie got pregnant again.

And then she died and left him with a daughter.

And now he’s back at square one.

Single parents will tell you how hard it is to raise your children alone. They’ll go into details about all the things they had to learn to do on their own, how they had to make sacrifices, how there were things they’d miss and how they’d fail their kids a million times over.

Shane thought he was ready for that. He thought he could handle it.

How fucking naïve he’d been.

The first few years passed in a haze. Grief and guilt over the loss of Maggie gave way to exhaustion and loneliness. Raising their children was supposed to be something they did together, and now Shane was failing at doing it alone.

Who knew what would have become of his children if he hadn’t had his men to fall back on. His boys were picked up from school by gunmen. His daughter had had her diaper changed by felons. Dinners were made by the old ladies of convicts and thieves. Not exactly wholesome living.

Still, Shane couldn’t help but feel like something was coming. There was a change headed his way.

“Dylan Finnegan, hold on to your brother’s hand or so help me,” Shane said gruffly, Molly in one hand and Francis latched on to the other. His oldest looked up at him with the same exasperated look Shane assumed must be on his face. He’d like to believe that Dylan would grow out of this, but he knew better. Dylan was all Finnegan and they never grew out of anything.

When his boys finally linked hands, they set off down the block, making their way down the street to the bus stop. They walked past the club, the small pharmacy, and the abandoned pizzeria on their way.

“Daddy, look!” Molly said, tugging her father off their path to look into the window of the old shop and point. “It’s a cookie!”

Braden and Dylan paused and turned at their sister’s declaration. They let go of each other to hustle back and take their own look inside. A sign brightly declaring ‘Coming soon!’ with all sorts of baked confections.

“Someone’s moving in!” Braden said.

“So it seems,” Shane said with a nod. “Alright lads, you’ve had your look. We’re going to miss the bus if we don’t get goin’.” With that, he led his children away, looking back only to catch a flash of red hair moving around.

Everyday on their way to school after that, they stopped and looked in on the new bakery. Once or twice, a smiling young woman would wave at them and his children would wave back. Shane would smile bemusedly and offer a simple nod instead. If they only had more time, Shane was sure she’d even come out and say hello.

He could tell as the grand opening date came closer and closer, his children were getting more excited by the day. While Shane couldn’t even imagine going to a bakery as a child, he knew he wanted better for his brood. It didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to take them. Any resistance he might have felt left him as soon as he saw the hopeful look on Francis’ eyes.

So he agreed to take them as simple as that.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt like something was clicking into place.

The bakery opened on a Saturday and it was certainly eventful. The neighborhood wasn’t the sort of place you imagined a sugar-sweet bakery full of bright colors and brighter frostings to be. Between Shane’s club and some of the other seedier businesses, Shane wasn’t sure how long this place would last. But maybe even convicts, thieves, and gunmen needed to buy sweets every now and then.

It certainly would help sell his doting single father image.

Braden and Dylan dashed ahead as soon as they could. Molly tugged impatiently, but it was Francis who looked up in awe. A wonderous smile spread across his face and Shane’s chest ached at the sight of it. His youngest son had so much of his mother in him, he wished she could see it.

He followed them, letting his kids explore the new space. Molly pressed her face against the glass case of cookies. Braden and Dylan were fighting about what cake flavor was better. Francis was just taking it all in. The crowded shop didn’t seem to bother any of them at all.

“Hi there! Welcome!” came a voice behind him that seemed just as sweet as the fudge Molly had moved on to.

He turned and paused. It was as if something was saying there you are. The young woman in front of him had an infectious smile, red hair, and bright green eyes. His heart skipped a beat in a way it hadn’t since Maggie and Shane knew whatever he had felt coming was here.

“Hello.”

Shane looked down and was surprised to see it was his youngest son who had spoken. Francis didn’t take to new people easily, but here he was beaming at the stranger.

She knelt to his level and offered his son the same blinding smile she’d given to him. “And just who might you be?” she asked.

“Frankie Finnegan,” he introduced himself. “I like your shop,” he added shyly.

“I like it, too!” Molly added, pushing herself in front to offer a gap-toothed smile of her own.

“Molly,” Shane warned. “Don’t shove.”

She looked up at him and Shane swore she rolled her eyes. His daughter was going to be trouble, he could already tell. He held out a hand to help the woman up. “I’m Shane Finnegan. I own the bar a few doors down,” he told her. “Molly and Francis are my youngest two. My oldest boys are the two over there fightin’ about frosting,” he told her pointing to the two troublesome boys at the counter trying to sneak a free taste.

She turned to see and laughed at the sight of them, sending warmth down Shane’s spine. “Well, hello to all of you!” she said when she turned back, looking down at his children before sending a look his way. “My name is Lacey and I am very excited you guys were able to come today. I’ve seen you on your way to school so I was hoping you’d come in.” She knelt down again. “Now I have a very important question for you two; what’s your favorite cookie?” she asked.

Molly, of course, shouted out her answer first but Francis took some time to think of his. When they both responded, Lacey nodded resolutely and stood up. “Come with me,” she said, leading them through the crowd with ease, grinning and greeting people along the way. She took both their hands and walked them around the counter. Shane watched with a small smile on his lips, enchanted by how quickly they took to her. “Now, as long as it’s okay with dad, how about some free samples of your favorite cookies?” she asked, looking up at Shane to make sure it was okay.

Molly and Francis spun to look at their dad, pleading with him to agree. At his nod, they cheered and turned back to her excitedly. Soon enough, Braden and Dylan made their way over and all but demanded the same treatment, which Lacey seemed thrilled to give.

When his kids were happily munching on their free cookie, Lacey made her way over to him. “And what about yours?” she asked. “Can’t leave you out,” she said before he had a chance to argue.

Shane hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t a commitment. It wasn’t even a promise of something. Just a cookie. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like it could lead to so much more than that. He grinned at her, deciding that whatever came his way would be worth it. “I don’t think I have a favorite. What’s yours? Maybe it’ll end up being mine, too.”

Lacey seemed to pause for a moment before another smile blossomed on her pretty face. “Well, we’ll just have to find your favorite, won’t we?”

Shane didn’t think at the time that the comment would lead to something, but any time he brought the kids in, Lacey made him try a new cookie. It seemed like finding his favorite was now a quest for her. After each new sample, which she insisted was free and he insisted on paying for, she asked him what he thought. Her excited smiles always made him tell her the same thing. “Best one yet, but I’m not sure if it’s a favorite.”

She would laugh and tell him they’d just need to keep trying. Shane’s heart would skip a beat again and he’d pretend it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t do for a man in his line of work to develop feelings for someone as innocent as Lacey. He’d done that before and it had ended in tragedy.

Still, like an itch, he kept going back. Most often with his children and occasionally without them. Each time, Lacey’s face would light up at the sight of him. Through his visits, they’d started to get to know each other. He asked her how she settled in this neighborhood while she asked him about his kids and their likes and dislikes. Simple questions led to deeper conversations about failures and past loves. He told her bits and pieces about Maggie. She opened up to him about her family.

This nothing was quickly becoming something, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

One night, he dreamed of Maggie. Not how she was, but how she could have looked now. A few years more weather-worn with streaks of grey they probably would have attributed to Braden and Dylan. She had more laugh lines and Shane felt lighter seeing her this way.

What are you waiting for? Dream Maggie had asked him. You can’t be afraid of opening your heart up to someone, Shane Finnegan. All my hard work would be for nothing if you did that.

Shane tried to ask her what she meant by that, but his late wife just laughed.

You get to love again, Shane. In fact, I insist on it. You get to fall in love and be happy. She’ll be good for you. She’ll be good for all of you, Maggie said to him, taking his hands in hers.

When he didn’t say anything, Dream Maggie leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Lacey is your second chance, my love. Don’t let her slip away.

He shot out of bed after that, scrubbing his hands down his face. He swore he could still a trace of Maggie’s kiss.

The next morning, after dropping the kids off at the bus, Shane went right to the bakery. Lacey was in the back and called out as soon as she heard the bell over the door ring. “I’ll be right out!”

Shane pressed his hands against the counter as he waited, nervously tapping his fingers. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way.

When she saw him, there was that smile again. “Shane! What are you doin’ here?” she asked.

“I was wonderin’ if you’d like to get some coffee sometime?” he asked without delay and getting right to the point.

Lacey arched an eyebrow at that, though a smile played at the corners of her lips. “Depends,” she started with a small smirk. “You asking me out on a date, Finnegan?” she asked teasingly.

Shane smiled softly. “That’s exactly what I’m doin’, Lace. You acceptin’?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” she echoed.

He grinned wider than he had in ages. He could picture this, them, together and it felt right. Maybe he didn’t have to do this alone after all.

Somewhere, in the back of his head, Shane imagined Maggie’s approval. And that felt right, too.

#shacey #heartfullofxfright #drabble #my stuff #OKAY #so this is another long one #and it doesn't have a whoooole lot of Lace actually in it #and what she is in i hope i did a good job with #but mostly it's shanes thoughts about meeting lacey #and also this is like a young shacey au not THE young shacey au #if that also makes sense #i hope you like it #i really hope you like it

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notburdenedarchive · 5 years ago

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full name. robert ‘trey’ dylan samuels III

date of birth. april 9

gender identity. cis male

orientations. heterosexual, heteromantic

preferred pronouns. he/him

status. it’s complicated

extracurriculars. soccer

+ traits. loyal, hard-working, smart

- traits. stubborn, secretive, quick-tempered

HEADCANONS™

Having a very muscular appearance, at first glance, he does appear to be ‘the jock’ type. However, he’s far from it. He’s only ‘fit’ because of playing soccer at his last school. When it comes to clothing, Trey normally wears what he can get his hands on - literally. He doesn’t come from money and he doesn’t have any. He goes with the daily choice of jeans or basketball shorts and some type of plain t-shirt. If he’s wearing anything name brand, he more than likely stole it from a store or someone. His hair a thick mess just resting on the top of his head. Most people describe it as the ‘JB’ style but he describes it as ‘I woke up like this’. He also has a tattoo wrapped around his lower calf, written that is swirled around it in a ribbon that reads “happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn the light on.” - with a lot of black clouds surrounding it.

He doesn’t live in the best neighborhood. In fact, he doesn’t at all. He lives in a two-story house off of a decently sized main road. He lives with his mother, father, two little brothers and a younger sister.

His parents aren’t exactly the best role models to have growing up. They live in a rundown house and have a very toxic relationship. They aren’t married but his father treats his mother like he owns her and when Trey turned five, his father started to treat him the same way. His father burned all ties with his family because they knew how he was, a mental and physically abusive drug addict - that could do nothing but bad for their family name. His mother’s family wanted nothing more to do with her after they had repeatedly tried to save her and infant Trey from her boyfriend. He lies about his family life if anyone gets close enough for him to even tell them. Because of his past and home life, he refuses to let anyone know where he’s from, out of embarrassment. His father and mother had never really worked. Trey is the oldest of four kids and they always expected him to pay all bills and be “the man of the house”. If for any reason he didn’t get things paid on time, that’s when he would cover up new bruises.

His hobbies are soccer, photography, reading and fighting. He is very passionate about learning, writing and painting. It’s not anything he broadcasts but he does have his sketch book and journal in his bag at all times. He can be out in Lima at all hours sketching old run down buildings or scenery that catches his eye.

He is very good with technology and hacking. When he was in seventh grade, his teacher kept him behind to let him know that he had a failing grade in one subject and that she was going to have to speak to his parents. He played the crying card and she left him alone for a second in her room. He took a look at her computer and the websites she was using and went to the library and started looking up how to hack things. He couldn’t risk her calling home, not because of a stupid grade, he didn’t care about the grade. He just didn’t want to get in trouble because his father would have been mad that she even bothered to contact him with something that stupid in his eyes. He was able to eventually gain access after some failed attempts and changed a few no homework grades to small scores. Bumping his grade a little higher, nothing to insane. He did the same for a few others so it wouldn’t be obvious who did it. When he got asked by a fellow student about the whole thing when it came out, he replied with a simple “it was a lot easier than it sounds.” and from then on he would hack and create anything for anyone in secret. He didn’t even have to be paid money, he would accept payment in clothes, food, accessories; anything he never really had to begin with.

Trey had always pretty much the man of the house, practically the parent, taking care of himself and younger siblings any way possible. When he got out in early December he arrived to an abandoned house. Everything was gone and so was his family. His stuff was left in his old room and that was that. He doesn’t know where they are or even how to get in contact with them. His father always told him he’d be homeless if he fucked up and couldn’t do his part in the family and he kept true to that. He was able to stay there for a while but one morning he had gotten woken up by the people who were putting locks on the doors and doing a sweep of the house to keep intruders out so they could fix it up and sell it. He grabbed all the stuff he could carry and is now living wherever he can. Not really knowing many people he can’t house surf so he spends his time at local motels or at the school.

Having self-worth or confidence is not something he has ever possessed. He knows he’s pretty much a loner. He’s not into things others are, so he never has much to talk about. With his past, he believe he’s destined for his fathers future with all the studies he has read. He tries not to drink or do drugs, in fear of what he may become. He does everything in his power to be “good” but can he really out weigh his own fate, is the real question.

Trey is fresh out of the Juvenile Detention Center. He got mixed in with the wrong group of friends at his last school and spent nine months in there after he was in on stealing the car that night. He also has a lot of theft on his record and a few for trespassing. He was promised a few thousand bucks and he couldn’t turn down that opportunity. He had done it a few times before they had gotten caught and if he ever needed to do it again, he would.

He just recently started going to school at WMHS right before winter break started. After getting kicked out of his last one for fighting and not attending for being in juvie. He’s a sophomore but he’s actually supposed to be a senior. He failed second grade and his sophomore year last year since he never got to finish out the last school year. He’s actually very smart, he just doesn’t broadcast it to everyone because he has a lot more than school on his mind. He is very passionate about learning, writing, and photography. it’s not anything he broadcasts but he does always have a camera around his neck and some novel in his bag at all times.

Before he went to juvie he was dating this girl that was no good for him. She got him hooked on drugs and all sorts of things but he loved her and he thought she loved him but turns out she was just using him. When he got out he hadn’t really talked to her until one day he saw her out hugged up with his supposed to be best friend and he decided to close himself off to love or relationships. He’s nine months sober and he hopes to keep it that way since he started to attend therapy a few times a week.

#~#( headcanon; trey )

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ohmy80s · 8 years ago

Text

Molly Ringwald Interviews John Hughes (1986)

MOLLY RINGWALD: Growing up, were you obsessed with girls, as so many of your male characters are? JOHN HUGHES: No. I was obsessed with romance. When I was in high school, I saw Doctor Zhivago every day from the day it opened until the day it left the theater. The usher would say, "Hiya, your seat's ready." And I just sat there, glued to the screen. Most of my characters are romantic rather than sexual. I think that's an essential difference in my pictures. I think they are more accurate in portraying young people as romantic - as wanting a relationship, an understanding with a member of the opposite sex more than just physical sex. MR: What about teen sex in your movies? You never show it in Sixteen Candles or Breakfast Club. Did you want to leave it up to the viewer's imagination? Or were you just looking for a PG rating? JH: No. What's the point? In Sixteen Candles, I figured it would only be gratuitous to show Samantha and Jake in anything more than a kiss. The kiss is the most beautiful moment. I was really amused when someone once called me a purveyor of horny sex comedies. He listed Breakfast Club and Mr. Mom in parentheses. MR: Oh, god! JH: I thought, "What kind of sex?" Yes, in Mr. Mom there's a baby in a bathtub and you see it's bare butt. And in Breakfast Club, there's some kissing. MR: You wouldn't believe how many people came up to me after they saw Breakfast Club and said, "So what really happened between you and Judd in the closet?" JH: Older people or younger people? MR: Mostly older people. JH: Yes, older people asked me that question too. MR: I never even thought about that. I did a phone interview and somebody said, "So, what really happened in the closet?" And I thought, "Why are you asking me that? What happened was shown there on the screen." JH: Yes. The only thing we took out of the scene was a bit of dialogue. You walked into the closet, and I cut away to the other story I was telling. MR: You did cut out one great kiss between Judd and me, though. JH: Too much kissing. I find that screen kissing wears very thin very quickly. I go into the editing room and say, "Less, less." Why watch someone kissing when people really close their eyes when they kiss? MR: I see your point, but I just thought you cut out a great kiss. Anyway, would a woman like Kelly LeBrock have been your ideal when you were a teen? JH: No. Too scary. MR: So why did you create the character she played in Weird Science? JH: Well, the object there was - MR: That she taught them a lesson, right? JH: You're making fun of me. MR: No. I'm sorry. Go on. JH: Two lonely guys tried to create the perfect woman. But, they didn't. They created a physical fantasy who turned out to be an actual person. They hadn't planned on getting a real person, just a great body. They were concentrating on the physical, which is only a very small part of anybody's identity. MR: Isn't it a contradiction to talk about how kids have more on their minds than just sex and cars and then show two characters dreaming up the perfect mate? That was purely sexual. They didn't even want to give her a brain at first. JH: No. I don't think there's a contradiction, because when those guys got her, sex was the last thing on their minds. They wanted a girl, but they had no idea what girls were. They didn't understand them at all, because girls weren't really accessible to them. So, their concept of girls was media-based. MR: Do you think that goes for most teenagers? JH: I don't think so, no. There's a very fine line there. And it's a line that I probably didn't respect enough in directing the film. You know those sexy pinup posters people put up in their bedrooms? I always saw them as being kind of silly and vacant. That was to be the point of the movie - that this glistening body in this semi-revealing outfit with this come-on look on the face is a real empty, pointless image to carry around or to look for. MR: So, which of your characters were you most like while growing up? JH: I was a little bit like Samantha. A lot of my feelings went into her character. I was also very much like Allison in Breakfast Club. I was a nobody. And I'm also a lot like Ferris Bueller. MR: But of all the characters, which would you say is most like you? JH: Most like me? I'm a cross between Samantha and Ferris. MR: How did you write the story of Pretty In Pink? JH: You told me about the Psychedelic Furs' song. MR: About Pretty In Pink? I just love that song. JH: And the title stuck in my head. I thought about your predisposition toward pink. I wrote Pretty In Pink the week after we finished Sixteen Candles. I so desperately hate to end these movies that the first thing I do when I'm done is write another one. Then I don't feel sad about having to leave and everybody going away. That's why I tend to work with the same people; I really befriend them. I couldn't speak after Sixteen Candles was over. I returned to the abandoned house, and they were tearing down your room. And I was just horrified, because I wanted to stay there forever. MR: Do you think you'll always work with young actors? JH: Not every time, maybe, but . . . MR: You won't abandon them? JH: No, I won't abandon them. MR: Do you think the Brat Pack's recent obnoxious image is deserved, or does the press just pick on them because of their age? JH: I think that this clever moniker was slapped on these young actors, and I think it's unfair. It's a label. MR: People my age were just beginning to be respected because of recent films such as yours, and now it's like someone had to bring them down a peg or two, don't you think? JH: There is definitely a little adult envy. The young actors get hit harder because of their age. Because "Rat Pack" - which Brat Pack is clearly a parody of - was not negative. "Brat Pack" is. It suggests unruly, arrogant young people, and that description isn't true of these people. And the label has been stuck on people who never even spoke to the reporter who coined it. MR: Such as myself. I've been called the Women's Auxiliary of the Brat Pack. JH: To label somebody that! It's harmful to people's careers. At any rate, young people support the movie business, and it's only fair that their stories be told. MR: A lot of people said in the reviews of The Breakfast Club, "Why should somebody make a movie about teenproblems?" I couldn't believe that. I mean, we are a part of this society . . . JH: I think it's wrong not to allow someone the right to have a problem because of their age. "People say, "Well, they're young. They have their whole lives ahead of them. What do they have to complain about?" They forget very quickly what it's like to be young. MR: Who would want to remember? I'm tortured. People forget the feeling of having to go to school on Monday and take a test in physics that you don't understand at all. It's hard. Right now, I don't think I'll ever forget it. JH: Ferris has a line where he refers to his father's saying that high school was like a great party. Ferris knows what his father was like, and he knows that his father has just forgotten the bad parts. Adults ask me all sorts of baffling questions, like, "Your teenage dialogue - how do you do that?" and "Have you actually seen teens interact?" And I wonder if they think that people under twenty-one are a separate species. We shot Ferris at my old high school, and I talked with the students a lot. And I loved it, because it was easy to strike up a conversation with them. I can walk up to a seventeen-year-old and say, "How do you get along with your friends?" and he'll say, "Okay." You ask a thirty-five-year-old the same question, and he'll say, "Why do you want to know? What's wrong? Get away from me." All those walls built up. MR: Do you think that society looks at teenagers differently today than when you were one? JH: Definitely. My generation had to be taken seriously because we were stopping things and burning things. We were able to initiate change, because we had such vast numbers. We were part of the baby boom, and when we moved, everything moved with us. But now, there are fewer teens, and they aren't taken as seriously as we were. You make a teenage movie, and critics say, "How dare you?" There's just a general lack of respect for young people now. MR: I think so, too. What were you like growing up? JH: I was kind of quiet. I grew up in a neighborhood that was mostly girls and old people. There weren't any boys my age, so I spent a lot of time by myself, imagining things. And every time we would get established somewhere, we would move. Life just started to get good in seventh grade, and then we moved to Chicago. I ended up in a really big high school, and I didn't know anybody. But then The Beatles came along. MR: Changed your whole life? JH: Changed my whole life. And then Bob Dylan's Bringing It All Back Home came out and really changed me. Thursday I was one person, and Friday I was another. My heroes were Dylan, John Lennon and Picasso, because they each moved their particular medium forward, and when they got to the point where they were comfortable, they always moved on. I liked them at a time when I was in a pretty conventional high school, where the measure of your popularity was athletic ability. And I'm not athletic - I've always hated team sports. MR: You've been sticking pretty close to Chicago, but now that you and your family have made the transition to L.A., do you think you'll go back and film everything in Chicago? JH: I think I will. I'm very comfortable there. It's out of the Hollywood spotlight. And I like the seasons. MR: What about what you were saying about the way Dylan and Lennon were constantly moving forward? Don't you think you've done a lot of movies about Chicago? JH: No, they weren't about Chicago. Chicago's a setting. MR: But, they're about suburban life . . . JH: I think it's wise for people to concern themselves with the things they know about. I don't consider myself qualified to do a movie about international intrigue - I seldom leave the country. I'd really like to do something on gangs, but to do that, I've gotto spend some time with gang members. I'd feel extremely self-conscious writing about something I don't know. MR: I think one of the most admirable things about you is that you do write about the things you know and care about. I think that teen movies were getting a bad reputation because these fifty-year-old guys were writing about things they didn't care about. JH: I love writing. When I finish a script, it's a joy to sit down and go all the way through it. It's a very private thing, because a screenplay is not like a book. When a book is written, it's a final product. But, when a script is finished, it's really just a blueprint. And it's an extraordinary experience for me to watch someone take what I wrote and imagined and make it three-dimensional. And it's great if someone adds something I hadn't thought of. MR: Would you consider yourself fashion-conscious? JH: Yeah, I think so, as far as I'm conscious of everything. I'm a former hippie, so clothes are important to me - your clothes defined you in that period. I guess clothes still defines people. But, I change a lot. I'm in my Brooks Brothers period now. I think when I first met you, it was - MR: High-top tennis shoes. JH: Yeah? But I've changed. MR: So how does your wardrobe define you? JH: My wardrobe is a hundred shirts, and I don't like any of them. How does that define me? Well, I get bored easily. I have a real short attention span, and that feeling transfers to clothes as well. And if I see somebody else wearing the same thing I am, I always think he looks better. I admire people like Judd Nelson, who have an innate sense of fashion. Judd could wear a bathrobe and sanitarium sandals and a fedora and look good. MR: If you weren't in film, what might you like to do? JH: I've always wanted to be in music, but I'm not talented at all. Now I just go to concerts, and I'm fascinated by the bands and their music. When I go to a concert, I can't believe that people pay lots of money to see a band that they obviously like and then they dance the whole time. MR: But a lot of people dance as a way of communicating. JH: You can go home and put the record on and dance. I want to watch how the band does it. I want to look at their faces. MR: When we went to see Squeeze, these girls were standing on their chairs and getting on top of people's shoulders to dance with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. They were right behind me and my sister, and we were tempted to do something violent! It really bugs me when people act like going to concerts gives them license to act like jerks. But I don't mind people dancing. In fact, I hate it when people say, "Sit down, sit down" when I want to dance. JH: I suppose it would be really alarming to an artist to play in a concert and see everybody just watching. MR: Oh, that's terrible! JH: I'm one of those who do that. MR: Yeah, I've been to a concert with you. JH: I'm not a good-time guy. I'm not one of those guys who says, "Oh, we had some good times last night." I'm just not. MR: But you wanted to be in a band at one point? JH: Yeah, but I'm too old for that now. Rock 'n' roll is a young form. People over twenty-five ruin it. This whole censorship thing has come about because old people are playing with a form that is essentially young and rebellious. Do you know how brilliant it was for The Beatles to break up when they did? MR: Yes, it was great. But I don't think rock 'n' roll burnout has anything to do with age. I just think that people can go only so far. People reach a point. JH: I can't deny people their art form. But you have to be challenged, and you have to meet that challenge. MR: What are your favorite bands? JH: The Beatles and The Clash are the greatest. I've listened to the Beatles' White Album for more than sixteen years, and when we were filming Ferris Bueller, I listened to the album every single day for fifty-six days. MR: That's the album I listened to all during Pretty In Pink, remember? JH: Yeah, I know. MR: How do you see yourself changing in the next fifteen years? JH: Growing older. MR: I know. JH: It's a foregone conclusion. What's next for you? MR: I don't know. I'd like to finish high school, and I'm totally late on everything to do with my SATs. I'm going to apply to colleges soon. So do you have anything you're dying to do? JH: I have a hundred things I'm dying to do. Make that a hundred and four. I'm going to write for a while. Going to see Pretty In Pink. Get to go sit in theaters and look at the film with great pride. I like watching you work - you know that.

#the breakfast club #80s #molly ringwald #john hughes #sixteen candles #pretty in pink #interview #re #rare

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frankiefellinlove · 8 years ago

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Return of the Native The Aquarian , September 23, 1978 By Mike Greenblatt

We’ve been sitting on a bench facing the ocean near the Casino Arena in Asbury Park. It’s 45 minutes past our appointed meeting time with Bruce Springsteen and we’re trying to light matches in the wind. It’s past 1:30 now and we’re wondering if he’s going to show up. Hell, it’s a beautiful sunny fall day, one of his very few days off from a grueling whirlwind tour of the country. And it’s his birthday to boot. Maybe he just ain’t gonna show.

But we’re determined. We’re prepared to wait for two more hours. Then, if he’s still not here, we’ll split. We’ve already tired of scrutinizing all the faces for something that will tell us it’s him in disguise. We forgot our quest and go back to the matches.

“Hi”, he says as he walks right up at us. “Sorry I’m late, I just got up.” He’s dressed in a blueish work-shirt and jeans. He has ever-present sunglasses on. We decide to break the ice over lunch.

Settling into a booth at the Convention Hall Coffee Shop, I order a BLT, photographer Sorce, a cheeseburger, and Bruce, a hamburger, french fries and coke.

“Yeah, we had a real rep”, Bruce starts to say. “We could draw two, maybe three thousand people on any given night. We played our own concerts here and also down south. It’s weird. Nobody would ever book us because we never did any Top-40. Never. We used to play all old soul stuff. Chuck Berry, just the thing we liked. That’s why we couldn’t get booked. We made enough to eat though.”

The waitresses are starting to mill about the table so Bruce puts his shades back on and hushes up his tone. “The other night was amazing”, he wispers. “I went to see Animal house, and when I came out of the theater there was a whole bunch of people that started following me to the parking lot. I wound up signing autographs for over an hour.”

“Anyway, after a while the kicks started to wear off and a lot of the time we didn’t make enough to eat. That’s why i signed with Mike (Appel). Anything was better than what was happening at the time.”

Little did the local rocker know that this early signing with Mike Appel would result in the latter claiming rights to the early material Springsteen had written. The rest of the courtroom drama is famous. Perhaps generously, Bruce had nothing bad to say about his former manager.

“He did a lot of good for me at that time”, he says, dipping one particularly long french fry into a mound of ketchup. “He introduced me to John Hammond (CBS bigwig responsible for signing Dylan, Aretha Franklin, Billie Holiday, Bessie Smith and others). He helped me on that first album”. He pauses as if he were ruminating on something. “I haven’t seen him since that day.”

“Actually, I was pretty shielded from the whole thing”, he continues. “Mike put the onus on Jon (Landau), claiming he was the culprit.”

I ask: You mean he charged Landau with stealing you away from him?

“Yeah, sort of. I was never good at the business end of things.”

Asked about the famous line Landau wrote for his Real Paper review (“I saw rock and roll future and its name is Bruce Springsteen”), Bruce says, “That line is misrepresentative of the whole review. It’s funny. The review was nothing like that one line. It got taken out of context” - another myth shattered.

“I remember playing in a club where an earlier review that Jon wrote was splashed all over the outside wall. I was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, when Jon practically bumped right into me. I had never met him. We hit it off right away.”

“When asked if he ever gave up during the long months of inactivity, Bruce still remains bright, completely devoid of bitterness. ” I knew that it was just a matter of time. We were playing almost throughout that whole episode even though we weren’t supposed to. I mean, what kind of law is it that is written specifically to stop a man from doing what he does to make his money?“

“The only real frustrating thing which did cause me grief was the fact that my songs weren’t my own. I didn’t own my own songs. That hurt.”

But that makes it all the more satisfying now. At Nassau Coliseum, thousands of kids screaming their guts out for him before he even played a song. They didn’t let up until he finished, drained and exhausted. At the Capitol Theatre, two nights before, he was surprised onstage by a giant birthday cake out of which a scantily clad girl bounced. He swears he didn’t know a thing about it (“I even told John Scher no cakes”). At Madison square Garden, 18,000 fans leaned on every note as if it were the last they would ever hear. A gala party was held for him in the plush Penn Plaza Club located deep inside the bowels of the Garden. Security was the tightest I’d ever witnessed.

We paid for the food and split for the beach. The conversation continued amid the sea, the wind and the hovering presence of the Casino Arena.

“I’m into a little photography myself”, Bruce says as Sorce adjusts his light meter. “I took some pictures of Lynnie (Lynn goldsmith, photographer) that were published somewhere.”

When asked about his other interests, Bruce talks of softball. “Yeah, we used to play hard. we had to stop, though, when Clarence and myself used to get too battered up. We’d go on stage all wracked up and it would hurt. After a while, it got too important and too many people were into it. There’s no softball on this tour. What else do I like? Hmmm, I’ll tell ya…not too much besides music. Right now, music is it. I don’t care about anything else.”

We get back to talking of copy bands and the difference between making it with your own material and making good money playing copies. I tell Bruce I had to play “Shake Your Booty” to get booked anywhere.

“Shake Your Booty?” laughs Bruce, falling into the sand. “That’s a great song. KC, man, he’s great! He always comes out with those repetitive things. Over and over and over, that kind of stuff is great! It’s like the ‘Louie, Louie’ of today.” Later on, in talking about what is written about him, he says, “I have Glen (Glen Brunman, CBS publicist) mail me everything that’s written about me. Hundreds of things, man. I read them all at once. That way I can get a pretty good perspective on what my press is like, rather than reading one thing at a time.”

“Near the end of Darkness, I wasn’t doing any interviews”, Bruce continues. “Then I did them until I noticed myself saying the same things to different people. There’s only one answer to each question; you don’t want to lie to these people. I really had myself in a spin. And each interview was a multiple interview situation with two or three people at once. I guess the problem was that I did too many of ‘em.”

Walking off the beach, we talk of the Garden shows and his stretcher routine, whereby he sings himself silly until he has to be taken off the stage in a stretcher, only to break free and grab the microphone again until he’s forcibly restrained from the stage.

That’s a great routine. Where’d you get that from? I ask. I know that professional wrestling has a stretcher routine where the good guy gets beat so bad they have to carry him off in a stretcher and the bad guy always kicks him off of it as it passes by. It’s classic.

“No”, answers Bruce, “I didn’t even know about that. We got it from James Brown. He used to get himself so worked up that the bassist led him offstage wrapped in a cape. He’d throw the cape off his shoulders and come running back to the mike stand some two or three times. It drove 'em wild. So that’s where we got the idea for the stretcher routine.”

Sliding into the front seat of a borrowed '78 burnt yellow Camaro, Bruce at the wheel, we’re on our way to the neighborhood where he grew up in Freehold. Shoving a cassette into the receptacle, he says, “A fan gave this to me outside a concert once. it’s real good tape.”

He turns up the volume, guns the motor and shifts into second. We take off. He turns up the volume a little more and starts looking for “Hello Mary Lou” by Rick Nelson. “This song has one of the greatest guitar parts ever on it.”

He can’t find the tune and settles for oldies like “If You Wanna Be Happy For the Rest of Your Life (Never Make a Pretty Woman your Wife)” and “Blue Suede Shoes”. He shifts into third.

Now for the first time, we do not talk. The music is loud and damn appealing. The windows are down so the wind is whipping furiously into the car. He shifts into fourth and takes off.

We’re rolling now. We settle uncomfortably behind a slow driver. He checks his rear-view mirror and roars past the driver. Seeing another slow-mover right ahead, he stays in the opposite lane and passes two in one fell swoop before settling comfortably back on the right. From the back, Sorce lets out a soft “Whew!”

It’s great moment. Chuck Berry is wailing out with “Maybelline”. Bruce is going faster. It’s such a fuckin’ beautiful day. The wind is rushing in and Bruce is feeling good, snapping his fingers, clapping his hands and letting out with a hoarse vocal or two on the last line of each verse. “Hello Mary Lou” finally comes on and suddenly everything is crystallized in one magic moment - the speed, the music, the sun, the wind, the company. Jeezez Christ! We’re rolling down the highway with fuckin’ Bruce Springsteen at the wheel! And he’s driving the way you would think Bruce Springsteen would drive.

Later, when we reach a light, Bruce impatiently waits on it before saying, “This is what we used to call a 'quarterback sneak’”“, and with that he takes off surreptitiously past the red light.

We’re in the old neighborhood now. Bruce drives slowly down Institute Street until he reaches the right number. It’s been painted now. "I lived here all through grammar school. There’s a Nestle’s factory near here. Man, when it rained we smelled that stuff all day long.”

The elder Springsteen would go to work in the morning, come home, go to sleep and wake up and go back to work at the factory. “I guess there was other things he wanted,” Bruce reflects.

We get back into the car and drive over to the factory. “Both my grandfather and my father worked here. It used to be a rug mill in the old days, but for some reason it ran out of business fairly quick. I was pretty young at the time.”

When I ask about high school, Bruce clams up. “It wasn’t exactly the best time of my life because I didn’t graduate with any of the others. It was a rough period.” I could see he really doesn’t pursue this avenue too long so I drop it. But I wonder what mystery is veiled beneath this wall of secrecy.

We get back into the car and tear out of there. Ironically enough, the tape Bruce shoves into the machine this time is an old Animals cassette. The first song could be a forerunner to much of the music Bruce writes. As the opening line comes out of the speakers, the dusty factory is just fading from view…

“In this dirty old part of the city/Where the sun refuses to shine/People say that there ain’t no use in trying/My little girl you’re so young and pretty/And one thing I know is true/You’ll be dead before your time is due, yes you will/See my daddy in bed ad night/See his hair a’ turnin’ grey/He’s been working and slaving his life away, yes he has.”

The song is, of course, “We Gotta Get Out of This Place”, and it was a fitting omen as we drove off.

As we drove, Bruce starts reminiscing. “Yeah, I lived in practically every single town around here, from Atlantic Highlands to Bradley Beach. We used to move quite often.

"That’s where I had my very first gig,” he laughs as we pass a mobile setup. Looking out of the window, the 10 or 20 mobile homes facing us look worn and old. “The gig wasn’t bad…for our first job.”

Hey Bruce, are you gonna show up at the Capitol again like you did last year on New Year’s Eve? I ask him. It was announced earlier in the week that Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes would again party away the year in such grand fashion. Bruce turns around and answers, “I don’t know where I’m gonna be on New Year’s Eve.

"C'mon, I’ll show you where my surfin’ buddies used to live,” he says, changing the subject. We swerve sharply off the highway onto an exit. “This used to be a surfboard factory,” he says. We step out of the car near a small white building.

“Yeah, me and a fella named Tinker lived here for a year and a half, in one room. All the rest of this area used to be nothin’ but sand dunes.” He points to a huge expanse of stores, houses and construction. “None of this was here.”

“They used to make the surfboards downstairs. Tinker and I, we had a ball. Just one room! Two beds, a fridge and a TV - the rest of the room was filled with surfboards.”

“Since I was from Freehold, I was considered inland. All these guys used to surf every day. I was friends with 'em all but never went. Finally, they got to me. One afternoon they were merciless. They just kept taunting me and kidding me about not surfing that it just sorta got me riled. I grabbed a board and we all headed out to the beach.

"I must have been some sight surfing for the first time, but I’ll tell you something - I got the hang of it pretty quick. Hell, it ain’t harder than anything else. It’s like riding a bike. I haven’t surfed in awhile. Now that’s something I’d love to do. As a matter of fact, I think I will.”

He seems resolute.

He continues: “This guy Jesse taught me the finer points of surfing. We used to stay in North End Beach in Long Branch all the time. Some guy owned the beach so we had the use of it for almost two whole years. We’d be there every day. We’d stay on the beach, go in the water. It was great.

"This area is really amazing. There’s really poor neighborhoods and then there’s real nice neighborhoods all in a five-mile radius.

"I used to go to New York a lot back then. I played at the Cafe Wha? a lot in '68. I used to play there with Jerry Walker’s old group, Circus Maximus. Let’s see, I played the Night Owl (all these places were in the West Village). They had a lot of good bands there at the time - the Raves, Robin & the Hoods. Let’s see, the Mothers of Invention were playing all the time in that area and so were the Fugs.

"I didn’t go to too many concerts then. I much preferred playing and jamming with these people. There was a whole 'nother scene taking place over in the East Village that I wasn’t part of at all - the Fillmore, the Electric Circus. I think my first experience seeing a rock star was going to Steve Paul’s Scene and seeing Johnny Winter. That was really something. I remember between sets, he came out and sat at the very next table from me and my friends.”

Let’s go back to Asbury, I suggest.

Asking Bruce if he’d take me back to the old Upstage site where he held court almost every night, he gladly obliges and we get out of the car again in what could be termed downtown Asbury.

“I gotta be cool,” Bruce chuckles. “I ran out of here without paying the rent.”

We walk over to the site, which is upstairs from a shoe store.

“I lived here while Greetings From Asbury Park was being made. I slept in my sleeping bag on my friend’s floor for a good portion of that album.”

Bruce poses for pics while people pass by right and left. Surprisingly enough, nobody recognizes him (or if they do, they keep on walking).

“I’m lucky in that respect. What happened in the movies the other night is a rarity. Usually, I don’t get recognized. I don’t have that instantly recognizable feature that a lot of other people have.”

Yeah, like Frampton’s hair, I reply.

“My folks had already moved to California,” Bruce remembers, “and I was out of high school by the time I got to Asbury.

"Upstage was a great place for us to play. We played here an awful lot.”

In answering questions about his immediate future, Bruce says, “I have one more day off before we finish the tour. Then I have a whole month off before we start up again. In February we go back into the studio for work on the next album. I’m hoping it will be out by next summer.”

Just for the record, the tour ended officially in Atlanta on Oct. 1. It started in Buffalo on May 23. The new tour starts (possibly in New Jersey) on Nov. 1 and finishes by Dec. 20. If the time it took to cut Darkness is any indicator, then number five will be lucky to hit the stands by the summer after next.

The just-finished tour took in 70 cities and 86 shows in four months and eight days. That’s why Bruce has to be listed as a “great guy” to do up an afternoon on one of his rare days off. Another highly impressive thing is that he spent the whole day without the protective cradle of a publicist’s presence. Rarely have I done an interview without the artist’s publicist in tow.

In talking about the current LP, Bruce says, “The guy who took the cover shot for that album is a friend of mine from south Jersey who works full-time in a meat market. The shots were taken at his house. He’s a great photographer.”

Bruce’s only comment about the self-destructive syndrome (dope-money-power) affecting so many rock stars is that “they let all the other things become more important than playing. Playing is the important thing. Once you forget that, you’ve had it.”

Bruce, obviously, hasn’t forgotten that. He’s been having fun with music since the start. Bruce Springsteen is the perfect assimilator of many styles - Chuck Berry/Stones/Elvis/Buddy Holly/ Dylan/Little Richard/Animals. His image on stage is also an amalgamation of many images - Elvis/young Brando/James Dean. Somehow he melds all of these influences into one cohesive framework for his own strikingly original material. The man is all that he has devoured musically from the time he started listening to music, and it all pours out of him every time he steps on stage. “That Elvis, man,” Bruce says, “he is all there is. There ain’t no more. Everything starts and ends with him. He wrote the book. He is everything to do and not to do in the business.”

If Elvis Presley is Bruce’s prototype then Bruce, himself, is the focus for a lot of envy and speculation. We all have fantasies - Bruce included - of making it big and living as stars. Well, Bruce is living the ultimate realization of that fantasy right now. He’s made it through all the bullshit inherent in such a proposition. He’s doing it. And doing it in style.

Yet if you talk to him, he’s quite humble. Ask him what part he played in the writing of “Because the Night” and he’ll tell you that he only wrothe the title line (although he admits he will probably put it on his next album.)

Seeing him so close up and listening to him speak makes one realize that, although not articulate, there is a certain aura about him. A certain intangible. His charisma is the well-worn persona of the working man. His handsome/beautiful face could even make the transition to the silver screen as a prophet of the proletariat. His facial features are tough, yet there’s a certain hardness to him. You’d swear he’s Italian before you’re told of his Dutch descent.

His enthusiasm is real. The moment when Gary U.S. Bonds came over the car speakers with “Quarter to Three” - that’s when Bruce really started to groove. The song is in his encores in most of his performances. He still loves the original and still sings along with it when it comes on.

The essence of rock and roll can be distilled into a performance that a fella by the name of Bobby Lewis did on American Bandstand many years ago. Lewis performed “Tossin’ and Turnin’” on the show, lip-synched it, and drove the small television studio crazy with his slips and slides. Host Dick Clark did a never-before-done-thing - he, in his madness of the moment, screamed for Lewis to perform the same song again. The sound man cued it up and Lewis went back out onto the stage and really tore into it this time, twisting, turning, giving it all he had. By now his lip motions were completely out-of-synch with the record being played, but it didn’t matter. It was a piece of rock and roll heaven. And one, I’m sure, Bruce Springsteen would have enjoyed.

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stevemoffett · 6 years ago

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Memory cues

It gets harder to journal about anything personal, the more jealous I become of my privacy. But I still have the impulse to share things about my life with the proverbial curious party.

Some guy was walking by as I left the bathroom at work today, and he saw me try to throw a paper towel out into a hallway trashcan from about two inches away and still miss, and he laughed at me. As I bent to pick up the paper towel, he must have seen what I guess was a vaguely wounded look on my face because he turned away and said, “...Almost got it,” not breaking stride.

Then again, I was on a very crowded, cliff-face grate bridge in the Capilano Suspension Bridge Park in Vancouver last month, and I heard a lady behind me say to her companion, “I’m not looking down. I’m just trying not to have a panic attack,” and I said, unsolicited, “Just remember that you’re stuck, and you couldn’t get off this bridge even if you wanted to.”

At that moment of my existence, turning 35 years old was imminent. Was this kind of little rat-fuck joke a sign of things to come? I hope not. I reflexively shriveled up inside and turned around and said “Ma’am, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you more nervous, that was a bad joke.” She laughed, and her husband, I, and my lab partner chatted amiably for the rest of the walk.

I’d never been to the Pacific Northwest before then, but it put sort of a spell on me while I was there, and the next time I go up to that region (Seattle), I suspect I will enjoy that, too. The Capilano Suspension Bridge Park looks like the forest moon of Endor, and the coffee in Vancouver tastes very good (this is coming from a certified non-connoisseur who says “this tastes like dirt” to most cups).

The busiest and fanciest area of the city comes to a halt on its northern end at Vancouver Harbour, which sports green mountains behind a large, clearly too-far-to-swim-across inlet. In the harbor, chubby seaplanes take off and land, their motion dictated as if by cartoon physics.

I stayed at a hotel embedded in a residential neighborhood a few miles south of “downtown,” so I had to take buses and trains to get into and around the city each day. At first I was annoyed, but then I felt like I was getting a better view of what it would be like to live there, which was neat. On public transport at commuter hours I felt both uncoolly older and obscenely whiter than I do at home. Late at night, on the same modes of transportation, I felt doubly old and doubly square.

Life at 35 is like life at 25, except you’ve been around for ten years more, your cultural touchstones are outdated, and you feel more tired spiritually, if not physically. Professionally, you feel more focused; you’ve crossed more items off the list of things that you enjoy doing, and you don’t have the nervous energy you did a decade ago that prevented you from buckling down.

The separation between 35 and adolescence also means that the memories of the old days are more distinct than they were at 25. I think of memories now like opening a fresh can of tennis balls: the smell seems to enter your nose and occupy your brain all the way back to your ears and then it’s gone. For me, the easiest way to access memories is by listening to music.

The abridged version of the music important to me: before I “liked music,” I enjoyed the song “Good Vibrations” and I learned to love the Smashing Pumpkins album Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness because my older brother played it constantly. Beck was the first artist who made an impression on me, so seventh through ninth grade was mostly Beck’s Odelay and Mutations. Sophomore year of high school Kid A came out, which led me back through Radiohead for the rest of high school and the beginning of college, with Beck’s Sea Change nestled in there, too. Zwan formed (and mostly disbanded) in 2003, but now it’s forever joined to the endless nights in my dorm freshman year playing Quake II and eating Gerlanda’s pizza by myself. The blistering winter winds waiting for campus buses are inseparable from “When You Smile” by The Flaming Lips, and with the spring came Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. Sophomore through senior year of college I zoomed through lots of splashy indie bands, faithfully sticking with the discography of only a small fraction of them (Silver Jews, now Purple Mountains, and Pedro the Lion). During that time, I also learned I disliked Bob Dylan and Conor Oberst (sorry Joe).

After college, Andrew Bird soundtracked the purposeless days of professional indecision pretty well. I walked through my new apartment neighborhood during the soft end-of-summer evenings of 2008 to You & Me by The Walkmen. Beach House came along during Stair-master sessions at my local gym when I was starting out at grad school, as did the ultimately disposable Girl Talk mashup albums. Kanye West made Christmas 2008 feel like looking at a photo negative, but afterward Fleet Foxes and Grizzly Bear/Department of Eagles blew the naturalness back into feeling. Fall of 2009 was David Bazan’s Curse Your Branches and, later, Embryonic by The Flaming Lips.

I was in a relationship from 2012-2015 and got really into Tame Impala during that time. From the relationship, I picked up a few others--Abba, some newer indie bands that didn’t hit my ear as keenly as the ones in undergrad, and Paul McCartney. In 2016 I clung for dear life (personal, not political reasons) to Mac DeMarco’s insouciant vibe, 1970s McCartney, and Lord Huron’s death anxiety. In 2017 things came to an anxious head with Aesop Rock’s The Impossible Kid. 2018 was the beginning of an as-yet undefinable mix of old and new stuff making up the “present period.” Those are the milestones, anyway.

Recently I was reminded of memories from 2004-2006, which was during the splashy indie band phase. I made a mix on Spotify that was as close as I could get to one of the mixes I made for myself at the time, when the city surrounding my college took on a kind of permanent cold, permanent night-world texture. I guess it’s because most of the important stuff during that period happened at nighttime and in the fall or winter. I spent a whole weekend in a bittersweet reverie.

Memory can be a mournful thing, but sometimes its vividness makes you feel like there may still be great things within you yet. At least, I hope so!

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