#and my friend told me gianni was in pressure | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queerbrownfox · 6 years

Text

Another Queer Bites the Dust at This Year’s Golden Globes

Awards Season!

If you’re like me, you’re probably suffering right now with an existential quandary, somehow caught in the space between knowing that award shows do not matter in the scope of things and only represent the Hollywood establishment which is only a tiny portion of the arts and being glued to your TV set to see who wins best picture this year.

And if you’re also like me, by which I mean queer (or care about queer stuff), you were probably pretty psyched for this awards season. The Favourite, The Green Book (not to be confused with The Green Mile), Bohemian Rhapsody, Can You Ever Forgive Me?, Boy Erased, Rafiki, Colette, Lady Gaga’s existence, and more . . . there have been so many queer films to come out (heh) in 20gayteen.

At the Golden Globes this past weekend we saw an array of queer films nominated, and, I’ll be honest, I was pumped. It looked like it would be a great year for representation.

But then.

So without further ado, here’s the piping hot dish of queer erasure casserole that was the 2019 Golden Globes, folks.

Thought this year was a success for queers everywhere after the Golden Globes? Well, in point of fact . . . nope. Despite wins by The Green Book, Bohemian Rhapsody, The Favourite, and The Assassination of Gianni Versace, which all told queer stories, this year’s Golden Globes failed queer audiences massively. Let’s break it down.

1. The Green Book? More like The Story Book.

The Green Book is a film that tells the story of Dr. Don Shirley, an insanely talented black pianist, and his white driver, Tony Vallelonga as they travel through the deep South on tour. Shirley, who happens to be a queer black man, and Vallelonga, despite their early differences (like Vallelonga’s being super racist), navigate issues of race and class throughout their journey and eventually end up as friends and comrades.

Sounds great. Except.

First off, the movie was adapted and directed by Nick Vallelonga, the son of Shirley’s driver, who wrote the book that The Green Book was adapted from. In other words, it was the white man’s version. The film has come under constant fire since its public debut from none other than Shirley’s family, particularly his brother. Mhmm. Bad news.

Next, the trailers released for the film and other promotional materials don’t even nod to the scenes in the film in which it is revealed that Shirley’s oppression is criss-crossed with his identity as a queer black man. True, the preview shown during the Golden Globes ceremony did include a clip that revealed the pianist’s identity, sandwiched between shots of Vallelonga beating up people who were attempting to assault him.

All in all, the movie smacks not only of queer erasure, but an elixir for white guilt. We as white people love to eat up feel good stories about white people who reach across culture and race boundaries to form “color-blind” relationships built on true empathy and compassion (see The Help, Shawshank Redemption, Hidden Figures). Stories that often take place, (coincidentally?) in the 1960s at the height of segregation. Which is funny, because it perpetuates the idea that race issues are all resolved now, as a result of the compassion shown by white people to black folks Way Back When. As anybody who’s got a sense of what’s going on in the world—or their own backyards—that’s far from the case.

Just sayin’.

2. The Assassination of Gianni Versace: Or, Another Straight Gets a Golden Globe for Playing a Gay and Everyone Eats it Up.

Ah, Darren Criss. This isn’t the first time we’ve been down this road. Have we.

It started with Glee. Criss played Blaine, opposite Chris Colfer’s Kurt Hummel, an adorable baby gay with an impossibly effeminate singing voice that was ear candy if I’ve ever heard it. Criss, of course, very talented too. I lived for their relationship as boyfriends on the show, and tried to suck it up and pretend not to be disappointed when I found out that Criss (somehow???) was not queer in real life.

Then there was Hedwig and the Angry Inch, and now, Gianni, in which he plays the famed designer’s killer, Andrew Cunanan. All gays. All roles he was praised the hell out of for performing. He even won a GG for best actor in a limited series last Sunday.

And sure, Criss recently stated in a Bustle interview that he will no longer play gay characters so as not to be “another straight boy taking a gay man’s role” as the actor said.

That’s all fine and good, but that article was published in December. And at the GG’s this year? No mention of it in his acceptance speech. At all. If it weren’t already too little, too late for the guy, that last snub certainly makes it so.

I mean, I sort of forgive him for Glee though.

And finally. The worst offender of them all.

3. Bohemian Rhapsody, But, Like, Without the Part Where Freddie Mercury Dies from AIDS.

This one pains me. I don’t want to admit it happened. But it did. And it was REAL bad.

Rami Malek. Even as a lesbian, I love him. Okay, I said it. He’s a cutie, and he’s extremely talented (See Mr. Robot), and his voice sounds like how coffee would taste (I imagine) if I liked coffee. And when I saw the first trailers for Bohemian Rhapsody, I was PUMPED. Thank God they got an actual person of color to play Freddie Mercury who, most people don’t even know, was also a person of color (yeah, his name was Farrokh Bulsara). The likeness, too, was pretty impeccable.

Freddie Mercury was one of the most famous bisexuals of his time, rivaled only by David Bowie, perhaps, who together produced perhaps the greatest and gayest moment that rock music ever saw when they collaborated on “Under Pressure.” Malek, always an enigma, I’m not going to jump to conclusions about his sexuality since he’s never stated it publicly, but, let’s just say he’s only ever dated women.

Which is all fine and good on its own.

But Bohemian Rhapsody had already come under scrutiny for “straight-washing” after the release of its first trailer, which completely masked Mercury’s queerness, quickly followed up by another trailer that gave audiences a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dose. As an article featured on Into stated regarding that sprinkle of queerness, “It’s the kind of passable moment that straight audiences wouldn’t take offense at and gay viewers could feel like they had some semblance of representation.”

Needless to say, we were off to a rough start.

So while I was watching the Golden Globes, watching Rami Malek walk on stage and accept his Best Actor award, of course I was nearly praying in my head that Malek would mention Mercury’s queerness. That would have made things better for disappointed queers. And honestly, Mercury’s memory deserved it, along with all the others who had their lives cut short during the AIDS epidemic.

So what brilliant lines had he to say about that? Nothing. Not a mention of AIDS or Mercury’s queerness was uttered by Malek or the production team who accepted the GG for best Drama.

Frankly, I wish I could say I was surprised. Or enraged. Or something. But as the 2019 Golden Globes ceremony came to a close half an hour late, I just had a kind of half grimace on my face.

As my mom would say about every fashion choice I made in high school: Disappointed, but not surprised.

It was looking like it was going to be a good year for queers during award season, but we’re really not starting off on a great foot. Yet, I should add, we queers and allies should take courage, and tell ourselves that it’s not over until the last white guy receives an Oscar. Our fates are not yet writ. With a little over six weeks left, we have two options.

First, for those of you who are staying tuned in, have hope. There are a lot of queer films, TV shows, and artists in the running at this year’s award shows. The Golden’s are pretty indicative of how the Oscars turn out, but they’re not a direct reflection. And there’s still time for people, (Ahem, Rami Malek and Darren Criss) to do justice to the queer community as potential allies.

Second, for those of you who don’t care about awards shows, take pride in knowing that you’re probably right. It probably doesn’t matter. Nothing really matters, after all . . . ♫

#lgbtq community #lgbt writers #awards season #golden globes #bohemian rhapsody #film #queer films #queer culture #the green book #american crime story

6 notes · View notes

justforbooks · 6 years

Photo

Anthony Bourdain, Chef, Travel Host and Author, Is Dead at 61

The travel host Anthony Bourdain, whose madcap memoir about the dark corners of New York’s restaurants made him into a celebrity chef and touched off a nearly two-decade career as a globe-trotting television host, was found dead on Friday at 61.

Mr. Bourdain was found in his hotel room at the Le Chambard luxury hotel in Kaysersberg, a village in the Alsace region of eastern France, according to a prosecutor in the nearby city of Colmar. The prosecutor, Christian de Rocquigny du Fayel, said the cause of death was hanging. “At this stage, we have no reason to suspect foul play,” he said.

Mr. Bourdain had traveled to Strasbourg in France, near the country’s border with Germany, with a television production crew to record an episode of his show “Parts Unknown” on CNN, the network said. “It is with extraordinary sadness we can confirm the death of our friend and colleague,” CNN said in a statement.

The United States Embassy in Paris also confirmed his death.

“Anthony was a dear friend,” Eric Ripert, a celebrity chef and restaurateur who appeared with Mr. Bourdain on several of his shows, told The New York Times. “He was an exceptional human being, so inspiring and generous. One of the great storytellers of our time who connected with so many. I wish him peace. My love and prayers are with his family, friends and loved ones.”

In everything he did, Mr. Bourdain cultivated a renegade style and bad-boy persona.

For decades, he worked 13-hour days as a line cook in restaurants in New York and the Northeast before he became executive chef in the 1990s at Brasserie Les Halles, serving steak frites and onion soup in Lower Manhattan. He had been an executive chef for eight years when he sent an unsolicited article to The New Yorker about the underbelly of the restaurant world and its deceptions.

To his surprise, the magazine accepted it and ran it — catching the attention of book editors. It resulted in “Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly,” a memoir that elevated Mr. Bourdain to a celebrity chef and a new career on TV.

“Do we really want to travel in hermetically sealed popemobiles through the rural provinces of France, Mexico and the Far East, eating only in Hard Rock Cafes and McDonalds?” Mr. Bourdain wrote in the memoir. “Or do we want to eat without fear, tearing into the local stew, the humble taqueria’s mystery meat, the sincerely offered gift of a lightly grilled fish head? I know what I want. I want it all. I want to try everything once.”

He first became conscious of food in fourth grade, he wrote. Aboard the Queen Mary on a family vacation to France, he sat in the cabin-class dining room and ate a bowl of vichyssoise, a creamy mix of leek and potato. What surprised him was that the soup was cold. “It was the first food I enjoyed and, more important, remembered enjoying,” he wrote. He did not remember much else about the trip.

Mr. Bourdain became an instant hero to a certain breed of professional cooks and restaurant-goers when “Kitchen Confidential” hit the best-seller lists in 2000. He is largely credited for defining an era of line cooks as warriors, exposing a kitchen culture in which drugs, drinking and long, brutal hours on the line in professional kitchens were both a badge of honor and a curse. Mr. Bourdain was open in his writing about his past addictions to heroin and cocaine.

Before he joined CNN in 2012, he spent eight seasons as the globe-trotting host of “No Reservations” on the Travel Channel, highlighting obscure cuisine and unknown restaurants. “No Reservations” largely focused on food and Mr. Bourdain himself. But on “Parts Unknown,” he turned the lens around, delving into different countries around the world and the people who lived in them. He explored politics and history with locals, often over plates of food and drinks.

Mr. Bourdain famously appeared with President Barack Obama on an episode of “Parts Unknown” in Vietnam in 2016. Over cold beers, grilled pork and noodles at a restaurant in Hanoi, they discussed Vietnamese-American relations, Mr. Obama’s final months in office and fatherhood.

Celebrities in the food and entertainment worlds expressed deep shock and disbelief Friday morning. Nigella Lawson, the British cookbook author and television personality, tweeted, “Heartbroken to hear about Tony Bourdain’s death. Unbearable for his family and girlfriend. Am going off twitter for a while.”

Andrew Zimmern, the television personality and chef, had much in common with Mr. Bourdain. The two met 13 years ago and were friends who often spoke of the pressures that come with fame and who both worked to overcome addiction.

“We shared a very, very deep feeling of wanting to get off this crazy roller coaster, but at the same time knowing that this was our work,” he said. “The world has lost a brilliant human being and I’ve lost one of the few people I could talk to about some of this stuff. When I did see him he and I would walk off into a corner or have dinner together and share our deepest darkest stuff.”

He last spoke with Mr. Bourdain about a month ago. “He told me he’d never been happier. He felt that he had finally found his true soul mate in Asia,” he said, referring to Mr. Bourdain’s girlfriend, the actor Asia Argento.

But Mr. Zimmern had some indication that perhaps there was more going on.

“Things on the surface never seemed to add up or make sense,” he said.

“We have lost someone who was in my opinion the sharpest and keenest observer of culture that I have ever known,” he said. “When we were alone his hopes and dreams extended into amazing areas.”

Anthony Michael Bourdain was born June 25, 1956, the oldest son of Pierre Bourdain, who was an executive in the classical-music recording industry, and Gladys Bourdain, who was a longtime copy editor at The New York Times. He grew up outside New York City, in Leonia, N.J., and his parents exposed him to fine cuisine, taking him often to France.

Mr. Bourdain graduated from high school in 1973 and attended Vassar College, dropping out after two years, where he spent long nights drinking and smoking pot. “I was — to be frank — a spoiled, miserable, narcissistic, self-destructing and thoughtless young lout,” he wrote in “Kitchen Confidential.”

But at Vassar, he met Nancy Putkoski before he left school for a chance at a culinary career. Mr. Bourdain spent a summer in Provincetown on Cape Cod with some friends. There, he started working as a dishwasher at a seafood restaurant and closely watched the cooks, men who dressed like pirates, with gold earrings and turquoise chokers. “In the kitchen, they were like gods,” he wrote.

The experience solidified his determination to make cooking his life’s work.

“I saw how the cooks and chefs behaved,” Mr. Bourdain told The Times in 1997. “They had sort of a swagger, got all the girls and drank everything in sight.”

He then enrolled at the Culinary Institute of America in 1975 and graduated in 1978, stepping away at times to work at restaurants in Greenwich Village in Manhattan. He started at the bottom in the kitchen hierarchy, with stops at the Rainbow Room, the W.P.A. restaurant on Spring Street and Gianni’s at the South Street Seaport. He reached the top in the 1990s, becoming an executive chef at Sullivan’s, the restaurant next to the Ed Sullivan Theater on Broadway, and at Les Halles.

Mr. Bourdain’s first marriage ended in divorce in 2005. In 2007, he married Ottavia Busia, who appeared in several episodes of “No Reservations,” and they had a daughter, Ariane, who is 11. The couple divorced in 2016. He had been dating Ms. Argento for about two years.

Mr. Bourdain had emerged as a leading male voice in support of the #MeToo movement in the wake of rape and abuse allegations against the film producer Harvey Weinstein and others.

Ms. Argento, 42, said in a lengthy story in The New Yorker that she endured multiple attacks and manipulation by Mr. Weinstein, and that he sexually assaulted her in a hotel room years ago, when she was 21.

She said she had left her native Italy and moved to Berlin to escape the tension and victim-shaming culture she said she experienced at home.

Last month, she gave a speech at Cannes that stunned the room. “In 1997, I was raped by Harvey Weinstein here at Cannes,” Ms. Argento said. “This festival was his hunting ground.”

In an interview with IndieWire magazine this month, Mr. Bourdain called her speech a nuclear bomb.

“I was so proud of her. It was absolutely fearless to walk right into the lion’s den and say what she said, the way she said it. It was an incredibly powerful moment, I thought. I am honored to know someone who has the strength and fearlessness to do something like that.”

Mr. Bourdain continued speaking out boldly on the subject of sexual abuse and harassment, taking on everyone from Alec Baldwin to the chef Mario Batali, who is under investigation for sexual assault charges. Several women have come forward and described repeated incidents of Mr. Batali groping them and of unwanted kisses and sexual propositions.

When news of Mr. Batali’s plans to attempt a comeback were exposed, Mr. Bourdain kicked down the idea.

“Retire and count yourself lucky,” Mr. Bourdain, a longtime friend of Mr. Batali’s who had not spoken with him recently, said. “I say that without malice, or without much malice. I am not forgiving. I can’t get past it. I just cannot and that’s me, someone who really admired him and thought the world of him.”

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS

27 notes · View notes

227snewfacebookfries · 6 years

Text

227's™ TRAGEDY ALERT! #Eatery'Spicy'Chef Anthony Chili' Bourdain, Dead! Suicide Hanging! Trending News! Anthony Bourdain, Chef, Travel Host and Author, Is Dead at 61 #Walmart'Spicy'Eatery #Nike'Spicy'Eatery Spicy' NBA Mix!

Anthony Bourdain, whose madcap memoir about the dark corners of New York’s restaurants made him into a celebrity chef and touched off a nearly two-decade career as a globe-trotting television host, was found dead on Friday at 61. Mr. Bourdain was found in his hotel room at Le Chambard, a luxury hotel in Kaysersberg, a village in the Alsace region of eastern France, according to a prosecutor in the nearby city of Colmar. The prosecutor, Christian de Rocquigny du Fayel, said the cause of death was hanging. “At this stage, we have no reason to suspect foul play,” he said. Mr. Bourdain had traveled to Strasbourg in France, near the country’s border with Germany, with a television production crew to record an episode of his show “Parts Unknown” on CNN, the network said. “It is with extraordinary sadness we can confirm the death of our friend and colleague,” CNN said in a statement. The United States Embassy in Paris also confirmed his death. “Anthony was a dear friend,” Eric Ripert, a celebrity chef and restaurateur who appeared with Mr. Bourdain on several of his shows, told The New York Times. “He was an exceptional human being, so inspiring and generous. One of the great storytellers of our time who connected with so many. I wish him peace. My love and prayers are with his family, friends and loved ones.” ADVERTISEMENT In everything he did, Mr. Bourdain cultivated a renegade style and bad-boy persona. For decades, he worked 13-hour days as a line cook in restaurants in New York and the Northeast before he became executive chef in the 1990s at Brasserie Les Halles, serving steak frites and onion soup in Lower Manhattan. He had been an executive chef for eight years when he sent an unsolicited article to The New Yorker about the underbelly of the restaurant world and its deceptions. [Read more: Mr. Bourdain spoke in 2017 about his favorite books.] To his surprise, the magazine accepted it and ran it — catching the attention of book editors. It resulted in “Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly,” a memoir that elevated Mr. Bourdain to a celebrity chef and a new career on TV. You have 4 free articles remaining. Subscribe to The Times “Do we really want to travel in hermetically sealed popemobiles through the rural provinces of France, Mexico and the Far East, eating only in Hard Rock Cafes and McDonalds?” Mr. Bourdain wrote in the memoir. “Or do we want to eat without fear, tearing into the local stew, the humble taqueria’s mystery meat, the sincerely offered gift of a lightly grilled fish head? I know what I want. I want it all. I want to try everything once.” He first became conscious of food in fourth grade, he wrote. Aboard the Queen Mary on a family vacation to France, he sat in the cabin-class dining room and ate a bowl of vichyssoise, a creamy mix of leek and potato. What surprised him was that the soup was cold. “It was the first food I enjoyed and, more important, remembered enjoying,” he wrote. He did not remember much else about the trip. Mr. Bourdain became an instant hero to a certain breed of professional cooks and restaurant-goers when “Kitchen Confidential” hit the best-seller lists in 2000. He is largely credited for defining an era of line cooks as warriors, exposing a kitchen culture in which drugs, drinking and long, brutal hours on the line in professional kitchens were both a badge of honor and a curse. Mr. Bourdain was open in his writing about his past addictions to heroin and cocaine. EDITORS’ PICKS What We Learned From the Videos of Stephon Clark Being Killed by Police Behind New York’s Housing Crisis: Weak Laws and Uneven Regulation Deciding to Change My Body ADVERTISEMENT Before he joined CNN in 2012, he spent eight seasons as the globe-trotting host of “No Reservations” on the Travel Channel, highlighting obscure cuisine and unknown restaurants. “No Reservations” largely focused on food and Mr. Bourdain himself. But on “Parts Unknown,” he turned the lens around, delving into different countries around the world and the people who lived in them. He explored politics and history with locals, often over plates of food and drinks. Mr. Bourdain famously appeared with President Barack Obama on an episode of “Parts Unknown” in Vietnam in 2016. Over cold beers, grilled pork and noodles at a restaurant in Hanoi, they discussed Vietnamese-American relations, Mr. Obama’s final months in office and fatherhood. Anthony and Anderson talk Vietnam, dining with ObamaCreditVideo by CNN Celebrities in the food and entertainment worlds expressed deep shock and disbelief Friday morning. Nigella Lawson, the British cookbook author and television personality, tweeted, “Heartbroken to hear about Tony Bourdain’s death. Unbearable for his family and girlfriend. Am going off twitter for a while.” [Read more: Fans and friends reacted to Mr. Bourdain’s death.] Andrew Zimmern, the television personality and chef, had much in common with Mr. Bourdain. The two met 13 years ago and were friends who often spoke of the pressures that come with fame and who both worked to overcome addiction. “We shared a very, very deep feeling of wanting to get off this crazy roller coaster, but at the same time knowing that this was our work,” he said. “The world has lost a brilliant human being and I’ve lost one of the few people I could talk to about some of this stuff. When I did see him he and I would walk off into a corner or have dinner together and share our deepest darkest stuff.” He last spoke with Mr. Bourdain about a month ago. “He told me he’d never been happier. He felt that he had finally found his true soul mate in Asia,” he said, referring to Mr. Bourdain’s girlfriend, the actor Asia Argento. ADVERTISEMENT But Mr. Zimmern had some indication that perhaps there was more going on. “Things on the surface never seemed to add up or make sense,” he said. Image Anthony Bourdain sampled Appalachian cuisine in West Virginia in an episode of “Parts Unknown.”CreditCNN “We have lost someone who was in my opinion the sharpest and keenest observer of culture that I have ever known,” he said. “When we were alone his hopes and dreams extended into amazing areas.” [Read more: Last year, Mr. Bourdain offered his advice for what to take when traveling and what to avoid.] Anthony Michael Bourdain was born June 25, 1956, the oldest son of Pierre Bourdain, who was an executive in the classical-music recording industry, and Gladys Bourdain, who was a longtime copy editor at The New York Times. He grew up outside New York City, in Leonia, N.J., and his parents exposed him to fine cuisine, taking him often to France. Mr. Bourdain graduated from high school in 1973 and attended Vassar College, dropping out after two years, where he spent long nights drinking and smoking pot. “I was — to be frank — a spoiled, miserable, narcissistic, self-destructing and thoughtless young lout,” he wrote in “Kitchen Confidential.” But at Vassar, he met Nancy Putkoski before he left school for a chance at a culinary career. Mr. Bourdain spent a summer in Provincetown on Cape Cod with some friends. There, he started working as a dishwasher at a seafood restaurant and closely watched the cooks, men who dressed like pirates, with gold earrings and turquoise chokers. “In the kitchen, they were like gods,” he wrote. ADVERTISEMENT The experience solidified his determination to make cooking his life’s work. “I saw how the cooks and chefs behaved,” Mr. Bourdain told The Times in 1997. “They had sort of a swagger, got all the girls and drank everything in sight.” He then enrolled at the Culinary Institute of America in 1975 and graduated in 1978, stepping away at times to work at restaurants in Greenwich Village in Manhattan. He started at the bottom in the kitchen hierarchy, with stops at the Rainbow Room, the W.P.A. restaurant on Spring Street and Gianni’s at the South Street Seaport. He reached the top in the 1990s, becoming an executive chef at Sullivan’s, the restaurant next to the Ed Sullivan Theater on Broadway, and at Les Halles. Mr. Bourdain’s first marriage ended in divorce in 2005. In 2007, he married Ottavia Busia, who appeared in several episodes of “No Reservations,” and they had a daughter, Ariane, who is 11. The couple divorced in 2016. He had been dating Ms. Argento for about two years. Mr. Bourdain had emerged as a leading male voice in support of the #MeToo movement in the wake of rape and abuse allegations against the film producer Harvey Weinstein and others. Ms. Argento, 42, said in a lengthy story in The New Yorker that she endured multiple attacks and manipulation by Mr. Weinstein, and that he sexually assaulted her in a hotel room years ago, when she was 21. She said she had left her native Italy and moved to Berlin to escape the tension and victim-shaming culture she said she experienced at home. Last month, she gave a speech at Cannes that stunned the room. “In 1997, I was raped by Harvey Weinstein here at Cannes,” Ms. Argento said. “This festival was his hunting ground.” ADVERTISEMENT In an interview with IndieWire magazine this month, Mr. Bourdain called her speech a nuclear bomb. “I was so proud of her. It was absolutely fearless to walk right into the lion’s den and say what she said, the way she said it. It was an incredibly powerful moment, I thought. I am honored to know someone who has the strength and fearlessness to do something like that.” Mr. Bourdain continued speaking out boldly on the subject of sexual abuse and harassment, taking on everyone from Alec Baldwin to the chef Mario Batali, who is under investigation for sexual assault charges. Several women have come forward and described repeated incidents of Mr. Batali groping them and of unwanted kisses and sexual propositions. When news of Mr. Batali’s plans to attempt a comeback were exposed, Mr. Bourdain kicked down the idea. “Retire and count yourself lucky,” Mr. Bourdain, a longtime friend of Mr. Batali’s who had not spoken with him recently, said. “I say that without malice, or without much malice. I am not forgiving. I can’t get past it. I just cannot and that’s me, someone who really admired him and thought the world of him.” [If you are having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) or go to SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for a list of additional resources. Here’s what you can do when a loved one is severely depressed.] https://www.nytimes.com/2018/06/08/business/media/anthony-bourdain-dead.html https://www.prlog.org/12712741-227s-tragedy-alert-eateryspicychef-anthony-chili-bourdain-dead-suicide-hanging-news-nba.html

NBA 360 | Stephen Chili' Curry Splashes'liciously' Spicy' from the Chili' Logo | 2018 Spicy' NBA Finals

Kevin Chili' Durant & LeBron Chili' James Battle in Game 3 | 2018 Spicy' NBA Finals

Kevin Chili' Durant's CLUTCH'liciously' Spicy' 3-Pointer From All Spicy' Angles!

Top 5 Spicy' Plays Of Game 3 | 2018 Spicy' NBA Finals

Kevin Chili' Love Postgame Spicy' Interview | Spicy' NBA Finals Game 3

BURGER KING® | Crispy Pretzel Chicken Fries

BURGER KING® | It’s Crunch Time

BURGER KING® | WHOPPER® DONUT

BURGER KING | National Hamburger Day

BURGER KING | Sourdough Chicken Club™

via www.facebook.com

from Jamaal Al-Din's blog 227's™ YouTube Chili' NBA Mix! http://hoops227.typepad.com/blog/2018/06/227s-tragedy-alert-eateryspicychef-anthony-chili-bourdain-dead-suicide-hanging-trending-news-anthony-bourdain-c.html via http://hoops227.typepad.com/blog/

#Jamaal Al-Din's blog 227's™ YouTube Chili' NBA Mix!

0 notes

thegiannichronicles · 7 years

Text

WOTD

Noun [chin-wag] 1. Slang. an idle chat Verb 1. Slang. to chat idly; gossip. Sentence construction courtesy of Christian Gianni: Lori's daily scheduled chinwag with Tonja took to unchartered waters: casual pleasantries exchanged in the realm of all things beautiful. Her painted lips made mention of his name, catching Tonja off guard. The ghost of his memories scattered about the shelves adorned with fragrance, skin care, and endless products to mask the insecurities and imperfections of the countless, deemed "aesthetically unappealing," and urged to buy instant beauty in a bottle. His name escaped her sharp tongue and plastered itself upon the mirrors where his reflection once manifested, "he would tell me what to do..." Moments later she found herself engaging in her daily therapy, relaying the unexpected words to the best friend of the voiceless. Unphased, Lori conveyed that such words have suddenly become normal, but the ghost remains as such. A change of the seasons and the sound of silence, became the evolution of the voiceless ghost to the incarnation of eloquence, poise, patience, love and acceptance of ones self. For she was the catalyst to his souls wanderlust. For she was the end of the beginning. He, was the catalyst to her haphazard verdict. He, was the once in a life time love her soul shall always crave. She spoke too quickly, that cold February evening that left him gasping for air as his decimated heart bled dry. It was May, and the tears no longer fell from his green eyes, his frown became a toothy grin, and he no longer sat awake awaiting. The lifeless heart, became full and humbly, began his journey to the best version. Silence came to an end on the 6th day, of the fifth month. The silence broken the same way their story began. A brief message of inquiry extended, "I was wondering..." her voice a mere whisper. Five months to the day, at the very same bar. A glance to check the time, he sat between two souls who gathered the countless pieces of his heart she left behind, her name appeared. A moment passed as he pulled himself closer, and he questioned what his eyes fell upon. Once more, he gazed, and her name scrolled across his screen. Her presence, present. In disbelief, the only words his mind could utter, "WHAT THE FUCK?" he said, as his face evolved from a smile to confusion, as his eyes met with the two souls. Words, escaped him. The voiceless ghost bellowed above the articulate gentleman. His phone remained in his left hand a two taps and the screen illuminates, unveiling a most unexpected name. His eloquence remained silent. As they looked upon his phone, their words began to drown out and his eyes fixated straight ahead. His eloquence remained silent. Once acclaimed as a man of always having something to say, his journey to self discovery became the blessing to the speeches that he always seemed to regret, and silence remained. A day later, he opened the message. His eloquence remained silent. He wasted no time in analytics. Another message found itself once more. "I wasn't trying to bother you, I'm sorry." He could hear her voice speak the words. By himself, he spoke to her. The months accumulated, and once upon a time, these very moments were all that he imagined - just to get him through the sleepless nites. Every scenario imaginable was played out. A smile would wash over his face at times, only to be trumped by his tears and heart ache. Those moments of fantasy became far and few.... and he began to forget her touch, her kiss, her scent. Her voice became silent. The moments that once kept him afloat, became muddled and fragmented. He forgot how her skin felt beneath his hands, the way her touch seemed to calm everything. He soon forgot how she felt like home. "Why now?" he spoke to the silence. He sat, his eyes dancing from left to rite, mimicking the search he commonly would find himself engaged in when he sought answers. "No." He stopped. He turned his phone to silent, closed his eyes, and slept. He read it the next morning as he got to work. His eloquence remains silent. The sunset was mesmerizing while he drove home, and his mind stopped on her. Her words. Her. The stories he had been told by countless people over the months. Her. He felt her. Something he had felt in a long time. He shook his head, he refused to waste time on someone who disposed of him like garbage. As he prepared for bed, he felt a sudden urge to put his phone on silent. He had not done that in quite some time. As he was setting his phone to "do not disturb," it happened. Once more, her words scrolled across his screen. He was only able to read the first few words... and he sat, stone faced. "I hope that one day you will be able to speak to me." He turned his phone on silent, and closed his eyes. The next morning, he read the entirety. "....Until then, I hope that you are happy and well." Those eloquent words that have remained silent? Fight to be heard, daily. Those articulate thoughts that he has been able to process? Fight to remain silenced. Weeks ago Lori had accused him of engaging with Andrea. She had heard rumors. He spoke to his best friend without worry, without filter, without a care. His eloquent words no longer silent. She no longer filtered. She calls, and he divulged that he's had a difficult 2 weeks at work, and at home. His choice to better fulfill himself with medication became the nitemare he feared, ending in a panic worse than before - sending him into anxiety. After deliberation with his doctor, they changed his meds, and called for a test. He had worked 14 hour days, the last 3 days. Exhausted, the clock read: 645pm and Lori was calling. He apologized and asked to call her back - he was still working. 2 hours passed, he called, no answer. Abruptly, she called back. He divulges his life....Lori engages. She speaks her name. Andrea. Tonja. Buying or leasing a car. If Christian were here he would tell me what to do. I sat in silence. Stunned. What is it you want, Andrea? I leash my urge to respond, to give in to what I was so easily manipulated to do: respond. My silence is the choice you made. Your last words to me, "it's for the best." It took me a long time to believe that. There are moments in passing conversation with Lori that make me think "is it for the best?" She speaks about how I was the best thing to happen to you. She says that you'll one day realize my heart was always yours, and you'll regret your choice. She says that she thinks you are realizing your mistake, now. She says that you would compare me to Luis, something that shows you aren't ready for another soul to couple your own. She says you talk about me, she hears it from our friends we consider mutual. She says she told me so. She says just wait: there's more. I say, to myself: Words i will not utter to another. Words that needn't a reality. Words that will only create confusion. Words that I still feel connected but refuse to recognize. I read your messages, often. My autocorrect still corrects "and me," to Andrea. My phone emptied of you. My iPad, emptied of us. The day following your last message, I took the bag that held the shadowbox, the most thoughtful gift I've ever received, from the corner that it was sat untouched, since the day you left. It collected dust, and it made its own outline in the carpet. I picked it up, and I removed it from the bag and gazed. I sat, emotionless, unmoved, and stiff. I looked it over, studying it. Our smiles. My smile. Your smile. The ghost on the shore. I sat, remembering the day I took it off the wall, hysterical and panicked. I couldn't even look at it without losing myself in tears. I put it in the bag, and never looked at it again. I thought to myself, "I'm keeping this for when she comes back." So she can ask "did you keep it?" And I'll smile and say, "how could I get rid of it? It's our story." followed by kissing her painted lips that i can no longer remember how they felt against mine. I remained hopeful, until I wasn't. You once lit a fire in my soul, and then it was extinguished. The more I heard your name, the less appeal you carried. The more I remembered us, the more I wanted to forget. I arrived home the day after you sent the last message and did something only to be considered "without warning." My eyes met the untouched bag that sat in the corner since 06 January 2017, and I knew. After I looked once more at the love story that wasn't my fairy tale, it returned to the bag, but not to its corner spot. I opened the dumpster, and without a misstep, I placed the bag that housed the last of us, in its riteful place. I closed the dumpster, and took a deep breath. Exhaled. The silence isn't deafening. It's what you wanted. So now I ask, Five months later, do you wonder? Wonder if the choice you made was by your own fruition, or if it was a choice you made under panic? Do you wonder about the milestones on my HRT? Do you wonder what my voice sounds like, how my touch has changed? Do you wonder what kind of man I become? Do you wonder about my job, and its impact in my life? My friends, and are there women? Do you wonder? My question? Have you realized the love I gave you was one that can never again be encountered? I miss loving you, and all of you. But i do not miss being made to feel like a second class citizen. I do not miss the intrusion by your parents - have you realized they will never accept anyone for you? Their perspective should not matter in matters of your heart. I do not miss slinking around the hotels. I do not miss the fights brought on by my desperation to see you. I do not miss the endless tears. Most of all: I do not miss the man I was. Insecure, emotionally unstable, careless and angry, bitter, negative, without goals, the yelling and failure to listen, the impatience, prideful, selfish, hurtful, and felt that I was defined as a human by another soul. You. How unfair to you - the pressure must have been stifling. I can only apologize for my indiscretions, my omission, and the above. It was, for the best. For my soul. I am on a journey of self love far greater than you can imagine. One that I hope you someday can experience without fear. I am happy, and I am well. Immensely. Graciously. Whole. While I am not fixed, I am a work in progress, always room for change and growth. I love the things I once hated. I do not hate, only dislike and dislike the things I once loved: the darkness, the analytical capabilities, the writing. Instead, i seek light, refuse to analyze, and while i still write, I refuse to dabble in its darkness. Only the things that bring me joy.

0 notes

bookgasms-bookboyfriends-blog · 7 years

Text

He was the leader of the mafia. I was about to fall in love with him, and his name…Cole Mauricio.

Cole by Tijan is NOW LIVE!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2leLlzL

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2lpfblG

Audible: http://amzn.to/2kZTpJ6

Paperback: http://amzn.to/2lYr2uU

iBooks: http://apple.co/2mxd67F

Nook: http://bit.ly/2msavwx

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2msd9SX

Full Blurb

I shouldn’t have remembered him.

He was just a guy who walked through a restaurant. I didn’t know his name. We never made eye contact. There was no connection between us at all.

But I could feel him.

The tingle down my spine. The command in his presence. The snap of tension in the air around him. That was the first time I saw him, and I was captivated.

The second time was different.

He was in the mysterious back elevator of my apartment building. Our eyes met for a fleeting second before the doors closed, and I was staggered. My breath was robbed. My senses on high alert. My body hummed.

That was just the beginning.

He was the leader of the mafia. I was about to fall in love with him, and his name…

Cole Mauricio

Excerpt

Once inside the elevator, I stood to one side, watching him. He returned my gaze.

We still did not touch.

My chest tightened, hoping no one would call the elevator at that moment. We sailed past the lobby, the second floor, and stopped at mine. I put in the code, and the doors opened to my home.

I drew in a breath, filling my lungs again. God, it was time.

Stepping out with shaky knees, I bypassed the light switch. The full moon lit up my entire floor. I went to the kitchen and paused at the island. “Did you want something to drink?” I caught sight of the tequila and wine on the counter. There was more than enough.

Cole stepped up behind me and followed my gaze. “Were you going to have a party?” he asked, his breath coating the back of my neck.

I shivered, closing my eyes for one delicious moment. “I stocked up. I thought a friend was coming over tonight.”

His hand rested on my back, nudging my sweater aside to touch my skin. “He?”

“She. Sia.” I looked over my shoulder. He was so close. “She stood me up for a date.”

A faint smile showed. “I need to send her a thank-you card.”

“Please don’t sign it.”

“Why not?”

I turned around, easing my back against the island. Cole placed his hands on either side of me, trapping me in place.

“Because she’s slightly obsessed with you, though she’s in love with someone else now. She could circle back,” I joked.

“Me?”

“We saw you one night.”

“When?” He leaned away, but his hands remained on the counter. It was like he was giving me breathing space on purpose.

“At Gianni’s. We went there the night I moved in.”

He didn’t move, but I could feel him pulling away. A protest started in my head, but I bit back the words. He didn’t reply. He was waiting for me instead.

I continued, “You came in with a bunch of men and went upstairs. That was it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you talk to anyone?”

“What do you mean?”

“The staff?”

“About you?”

“About anything.”

My forehead wrinkled. “Sia networked with the hostess. They exchanged cards. Sia said the girl was a model. She recognized her from the Gala. That was it. Oh, well, another server sat with us for a drink later on. But they mostly talked with Sia about the Gala and about photographers—stuff like that.”

He relaxed, his hands loosening their hold on the counter. I was scared to ask what he was so worried they’d told us.

“I don’t know who you are.” I lifted a hand, placing it on his chest. His heart was racing, just like mine. My mouth parted in surprise. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

He glanced down at my hand and held still. He was thinking something over. I held my tongue, worried it was me, that he was second-guessing this night for us. I wanted to tell him there was nothing to worry about, but it sounded ridiculous. I really had no idea. So I waited it out, my heart pressing against my rib cage.

When he looked back up, the hunger was in his eyes again—dark, primal, and more evident than ever. He took my hand and leaned in, closing the distance between us. With his other hand, he cupped the side of my face. “I wasn’t second-guessing this. I want you to know that.” His touch was tender.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Something else, but it wasn’t you.”

“This is one of those moments where you wish you could tell me, but you can’t? Not yet?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. His eyes moved from mine to my lips. “Something like that, yes.”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” I started to tease, but then his head dipped down, and his lips were on mine.

I gasped. The pleasure was immediate. His mouth was gentle, but as he felt my body’s reaction, he applied pressure. His touch grew more demanding, then I was kissing him back. I wanted more. Someone groaned. That was me.

His hand slid around to the back of my neck. He held me in his grip as his mouth explored mine, opening over me and slipping inside. My hands grasped his shoulders, just holding on. All I could focus on was his tongue. I met his with mine and reveled in the sensation. But it wasn’t enough. Need shot through my whole body.

My hands slid under his shirt and moved over his back and shoulders. His body was just as powerful as his presence. I felt the shift of his muscles. They trembled under my hands. The feeling was intoxicating. I had power over him, and I wanted more. I wanted to see how much power I actually had.

Pulling back, I studied him.

He was panting lightly. So was I.

I could see him wondering what I was going to do, so I reached back to the counter and started to lift myself. His hands caught the backs of my thighs, and he lifted me the rest of the way. Now sitting on the edge of the island, my legs parted, and he was back between them. His mouth went right to mine.

I couldn’t get over what I was doing. I didn’t care.

I didn’t think I would care the next day, the day after, or however long this lasted. I had no clue. I only knew I had one night. One long night.

Author Information

I didn’t begin writing until after undergraduate college. There’d been storylines and characters in my head all my life, but it came to a boiling point one day and I HAD to get them out of me. So the computer was booted up and I FINALLY felt it click. Writing is what I needed to do. After that, I had to teach myself how to write. I can’t blame my teachers for not teaching me all those years in school. It was my fault. I was one of the students that was wishing I was anywhere but at school! So after that day, it took me lots of work until I was able to put together something that resembled a novel. I’m hoping I got it right since someone must be reading this profile! And I hope you keep enjoying my future stories.

Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website | Goodreads

Cole-Tijan He was the leader of the mafia. I was about to fall in love with him, and his name…Cole Mauricio.

0 notes

lifebooksloves · 8 years

Text

Cole by Tijan

Life, Books, & Loves Presents: Cole by Tijan

He was the leader of the mafia. I was about to fall in love with him, and his name…Cole Mauricio.

Cole by Tijan is NOW LIVE!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2leLlzL Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2lpfblG Audible: http://amzn.to/2kZTpJ6 Paperback: http://amzn.to/2lYr2uU iBooks: http://apple.co/2mxd67F Nook: http://bit.ly/2msavwx Kobo: http://bit.ly/2msd9SX

Full Blurb

I shouldn’t have remembered him. He was just a guy who walked through a restaurant. I didn’t know his name. We never made eye contact. There was no connection between us at all. But I could feel him. The tingle down my spine. The command in his presence. The snap of tension in the air around him. That was the first time I saw him, and I was captivated. The second time was different. He was in the mysterious back elevator of my apartment building. Our eyes met for a fleeting second before the doors closed, and I was staggered. My breath was robbed. My senses on high alert. My body hummed. That was just the beginning. He was the leader of the mafia. I was about to fall in love with him, and his name… Cole Mauricio

Excerpt

Once inside the elevator, I stood to one side, watching him. He returned my gaze. We still did not touch. My chest tightened, hoping no one would call the elevator at that moment. We sailed past the lobby, the second floor, and stopped at mine. I put in the code, and the doors opened to my home. I drew in a breath, filling my lungs again. God, it was time. Stepping out with shaky knees, I bypassed the light switch. The full moon lit up my entire floor. I went to the kitchen and paused at the island. “Did you want something to drink?” I caught sight of the tequila and wine on the counter. There was more than enough. Cole stepped up behind me and followed my gaze. “Were you going to have a party?” he asked, his breath coating the back of my neck. I shivered, closing my eyes for one delicious moment. “I stocked up. I thought a friend was coming over tonight.” His hand rested on my back, nudging my sweater aside to touch my skin. “He?” “She. Sia.” I looked over my shoulder. He was so close. “She stood me up for a date.” A faint smile showed. “I need to send her a thank-you card.” “Please don’t sign it.” “Why not?” I turned around, easing my back against the island. Cole placed his hands on either side of me, trapping me in place. “Because she’s slightly obsessed with you, though she’s in love with someone else now. She could circle back,” I joked. “Me?” “We saw you one night.” “When?” He leaned away, but his hands remained on the counter. It was like he was giving me breathing space on purpose. “At Gianni’s. We went there the night I moved in.” He didn’t move, but I could feel him pulling away. A protest started in my head, but I bit back the words. He didn’t reply. He was waiting for me instead. I continued, “You came in with a bunch of men and went upstairs. That was it.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you talk to anyone?” “What do you mean?” “The staff?” “About you?” “About anything.” My forehead wrinkled. “Sia networked with the hostess. They exchanged cards. Sia said the girl was a model. She recognized her from the Gala. That was it. Oh, well, another server sat with us for a drink later on. But they mostly talked with Sia about the Gala and about photographers—stuff like that.” He relaxed, his hands loosening their hold on the counter. I was scared to ask what he was so worried they’d told us. “I don’t know who you are.” I lifted a hand, placing it on his chest. His heart was racing, just like mine. My mouth parted in surprise. “If that’s what you’re worried about.” He glanced down at my hand and held still. He was thinking something over. I held my tongue, worried it was me, that he was second-guessing this night for us. I wanted to tell him there was nothing to worry about, but it sounded ridiculous. I really had no idea. So I waited it out, my heart pressing against my rib cage. When he looked back up, the hunger was in his eyes again—dark, primal, and more evident than ever. He took my hand and leaned in, closing the distance between us. With his other hand, he cupped the side of my face. “I wasn’t second-guessing this. I want you to know that.” His touch was tender. “What were you thinking about?” “Something else, but it wasn’t you.” “This is one of those moments where you wish you could tell me, but you can’t? Not yet?” The corner of his mouth lifted. His eyes moved from mine to my lips. “Something like that, yes.” “Mmmm-hmmm,” I started to tease, but then his head dipped down, and his lips were on mine. I gasped. The pleasure was immediate. His mouth was gentle, but as he felt my body’s reaction, he applied pressure. His touch grew more demanding, then I was kissing him back. I wanted more. Someone groaned. That was me. His hand slid around to the back of my neck. He held me in his grip as his mouth explored mine, opening over me and slipping inside. My hands grasped his shoulders, just holding on. All I could focus on was his tongue. I met his with mine and reveled in the sensation. But it wasn’t enough. Need shot through my whole body. My hands slid under his shirt and moved over his back and shoulders. His body was just as powerful as his presence. I felt the shift of his muscles. They trembled under my hands. The feeling was intoxicating. I had power over him, and I wanted more. I wanted to see how much power I actually had. Pulling back, I studied him. He was panting lightly. So was I. I could see him wondering what I was going to do, so I reached back to the counter and started to lift myself. His hands caught the backs of my thighs, and he lifted me the rest of the way. Now sitting on the edge of the island, my legs parted, and he was back between them. His mouth went right to mine. I couldn’t get over what I was doing. I didn’t care. I didn’t think I would care the next day, the day after, or however long this lasted. I had no clue. I only knew I had one night. One long night.

Author Information

Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website | Goodreads

Disclosure: This information was provided by TRSOR Promotions and Tijan. This is NOT a compensated post.

The post Cole by Tijan appeared first on Life Books & Loves.

from Life Books & Loves http://ift.tt/2mByLyJ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Life Books & Loves Cole by Tijan

0 notes