#and the pool boy one was made with a stencil

[vampyfrnk]

i wanted to share the patches i made today for my denim jacket!! :-)

[crimsonblackrose]

.

On the one hand I'm happy Daniel finally got a pool with water in it, on the other hand LA is like in a constant drought.

The kids are having croissants, omelettes and fruit for breakfast, which is very cute.

Espresso clink is my favorite

How long do you think it took between episode 1 and 2? Not like in filming but in actual canon? Because:

That's a sign, and window decor. And Johnny's on a super tight budget. So did he just hand paint/stencil that all himself? Who made his sign so fast? I mean half the time signs take forever to go up. Also kebab places signage is totally different.

Miggy in his LA dodgers jersey is giving Daniel in his Halloween day outfit. It weirdly doesn't have a number. I don't know sports, don't they usually have a number?

The amount of interior work Johnny did is huge. Like he put mirrors up? The mats are down. His little silhouette karate guys are all over the walls.

Every time I see that box of trophies they're going to multiply. Now I see 5.

I think...despite everything his stencils were crooked:

Maybe it's the camera angle.

Do you think Daniel and Mr. Miyagi had to fill out all that paperwork for insurance and certification before they opened out Mr. Miyagi's little trees? I suppose we never actually saw it open officially, just the set up, and they actually got a lease from a realtor, not a handshake with a dude outside of a strip mall.

Daniel spent his summers playing in a broken fire hydrant next to his Aunt Tessie's.

Do you think Daniel picked out Encino Oaks on purpose since he'd been there once? (It is supposed to be the same country club right?)

Amanda and Daniel like Dirty Martini's ice ice cold.

Aisha drives her father (Isaiah's) Q5

The summer party they're at they go to every year, so it's annual event with magicians and clowns.

Junior year Johnny didn't lose a single point in the All-Valley.

Miguel tells his mom he's on the debate team

Johnny recommends Guns 'n Roses and while doesn't seem to own a phone or know what one is does know what a ring tone is.

Kyler still has a bruise on his left eye from fighting Johnny, which makes me think not a ton of time has passed between episodes, and Johnny spent a lot of time decorating.

So Daniel drives an Audi but I guess they also have a big silver van, that he also drives.

Moon has a 'channel', I guess youtube channel? I wonder since it was originally a youtube red if they could've done a silly little spin off channel with extras and content.

One thing I've noticed, I don't think Daniel and Amanda have a lot of kitchen storage space, i.e. cabinets and what not. Thus:

All the pots and pans and tools are hanging on the wall. The amount of noise that must make.

So Sam's in trouble for throwing a party, but it kind of looks like Daniel cleaned up the whole thing by himself. That's a weird parenting choice.

Newspaper clippings that Daniel framed include: "Mystery Dojo with Single Student Defangs Cobras" with a photo of Daniel and Mr. Miyagi and the other says "Local Valley Champ Defends Title Against Karate's Bad Boy" Which has Daniel versus I guess Mike on at the tournament.

It's interesting that the flashback lesson they show is of Daniel teaching Sam how to break boards. Since that's arguably the worst lesson he ever got from Terry Silver and not something he probably learned from Mr. Miyagi. It is thankfully something a whole lot easier than =what Daniel was doing in TKK3.

"Never give up your defense, beware the spinning hug move" is just so adorable.

Yasmine was driving a Range Rover that hit Johnny's car. And the fact her dad just bought her a new car...

I dunno, I don't think Daniel particularly over reacted to a bunch of strangers in his house and wearing his clothes and also Sam telling him she wasn't expecting him back so early and then he was the one to clean up and she's just sitting talking to her friends.

LaRusso Friday family dinners is cute.

I also like that they talk about the boys she texting.

Daniel tells Sam she's 'Jersey tough'...but she's born and raised Californian.

This school lunch is pringles, a banana, a hostess cupcakes, Organic chocolate milk and what looks like maybe a cheeseburger?

Look at these babies (affectionate) and their yoohoo. They've also been given two trays and a plastic sporks. What is this school? Clearly you get some options because both of them got fruit cups (different types) and the main course differs since Elis got something else. I guess you also get to choose between pudding cups and hostess cupcakes? I did not get this many options in school. Also like most of the other kids who brought their lunch just have brown paper bags.

Sorry lots about the food but why would Miguel be offered organic Valley chocolate milk and these everyone in the above shot has yoohoo? Why are there that many chocolate milk options?

So...the popular girls drink apple juice from juicy juice and the nerds drink different brands of chocolate milk? Because literally everyone's drink choice is by table. Lol even Kyler has the same apple juice when he sits with them. What's with that?

Karate lesson one "cobra strike" which seems to be a lunge and the "bite" a punch to the nose, mouth or neck. Kudos to Johnny for getting an actual punching dummy.

I feel like this is the first little kernel of Johnny's 'some mercy' when he looks at Miguel after this example and goes 'uh for only extreme situations' rather than go for the throat.

Johnny did not correct Migue's hands. His thumbs are sticking out.

Robby goes to North Hills High and the vp is Carla Jenkins and Robby has molly on him.

It's kind of funny that Johnny doesn't know what that is, but also makes sense seeing as he rolled the tiniest joint on the planet for the first film.

Like Johnny Robby wears band t-shirts, specifically Misfits.

So plot issue. Small one. Johnny is literally only a few feet away when he's taking this phone call where he says he's this kids dad and yet a big sticking point later is that Miguel doesn't know Johnny has a kid.

Daniel being such a sweet infodumping foodie nerd with his fancy yanagi knife. He made: sashimi he calls "Larusso ponzo toro" which uhhhh is like the fanciest sashimi ever. Omg I didn't realize this is what he tried to feed Kyler before. This is like....wagyu. It's extremely expensive bluefin tuna. Holy moly Daniel what the hell? No wonder Sam and Amanda look so excited. That makes making it for Kyler who doesn't like sushi/fish so much more of an oof, that was such an expensive purchase.

Is that the pickled ginger and wasabi?! They're huge! Daniel for the size of fish you got that's ridiculous. You gotta realize that's ridiculous right bud? Also is that just a bowl of soy sauce? Like a whole bowl?

Daniel didn't like sushi as a teen. (Then why the heck would you buy the rolls royce of fish for a teenage guy you don't know anything about other than your daughter is texting him????)

All these teenagers lying really get Johnny in even more trouble than he already is in.

Uh...so Miguel lives in what apartment 109 and Johnny lives in apartment 2. How does that make sense?

Johnny wrote down that the karate dojo is for teaching karate to anyone who wants to learn karate which is very...him since he doesn't kick anyone out and keeps Stingray.

Dojo is at 6 Herons Nest Reseda meanwhile his apartment is 7428 Saticoy street Reseda. Dude writes in big blocky all capitalized letters for everything which, thanks, easier to read.

So what is the idea here? Daniel leaves his fancy toro behind to go confront whoever owns the cobra kai studio? Is he expecting Johnny or is he expecting Kreese or heck even Silver? Did Kyler tell him any thing else? Did Daniel stay through finding Kyler some fish sticks or something?

They may have been awful Johnny but they were still teenagers.

Daniel is surprised someone is calling Johnny sensei. Like what are you expecting this place to be Daniel? A place without students? A museum? You thought Johnny just moved into a strip mall and decorated it like a dojo because that's gotta be what his house would look like? Or again, did he think someone else was the sensei and Johnny just happened to be around?

[crypticsalutations]

Hello my lovelies 🥀 Today we are honored to bring you Part 2 of this special Cryptic Salutations exclusive! Continuing our in depth interview with Jonathan Lemon of Jesus Couldn't Drum, in this section he shares details about the band's equipment set up, the life changing feeling of emerging into the music industry, and the unexpected cult popularity that arose in countries other than their own! We hope you thoroughly enjoy it! 🔥 Track: Jesus Couldn't Drum's Even Roses Have Thorns Stay tuned for Part 3, coming on August 13!

Cryptic Salutations: How many of the singles were originally pressed?

Jonathan Lemon: I believe the minimum amount was 1000 in those days. They would have pressed less if it was possible! They were distributed by The Cartel which was a co-operative group that included some of the most notable labels of the 1980s UK post-punk and indie scene such as Backs, Rough Trade, Red Rhino and Nine Mile. Apparently, they could sell anything.  When we did the free flexidisc for the first album, they made 50k in many different colors and gave them away with ZigZag magazine which went out of business the next issue which was disappointing because famous rock journalist William Shaw had done a long in-depth interview with us which has now been lost to time.  The first album was 3k if I remember correctly.

CS: Do you recall what your equipment set up was? What make of synths, guitars, pedals, etc?  

JL: A Fostex X-15 multitrack tape player, a Roland SH101, a very primitive echo chamber, a couple of used Boss effects pedals, a Gibson copy guitar, a melodica, a Shure SM58 microphone, a Black Box fuzz module, a Sound Master Memory Rhythm SR-88 and a small box filled with various percussion instruments and fluty pipes.  Later we had a Roland TR 808 and a Boss Dr Rhythm DR55 and very importantly an EM-U Emulator 1 sampling keyboard that used to belong to Tears For Fears. It had “TFF” stenciled onto the flight case.  It currently belongs to Fat Boy Slim.

CS: Do you consider your time in Jesus Couldn’t Drum as an exploration of your artistic limits, or was it simply a fun hobby shared between friends?

JL: I think we both couldn’t quite believe the speed of what was happening and consequently we just rolled with it rather than had any expectations or strategy.  Maybe it was pretty small beans to most people but it felt quite life changing to us, and we were suddenly serious young people in important trousers, and people were sniffing around us hoping we’d be the next big thing. There was definite conflict between the band and the label over musical direction.  The label kept telling us to get a big hit before doing more “challenging” stuff. We were more interested in doing something different. “Different” to use just meant not being like any of the other bands we were aware of at the time which was a pretty small pool admittedly. The second JCD album was very self-indulgent but in a way I think it’s also the only one I can really stand to listen to anymore. 

CS: Did you take the single and subsequent EP’s and albums on tour? If so, to where, and what kind of criticisms were you met with? And what compliments?

JL: We didn’t coincide tours with the releases.  We would just go if someone offered to pay us, usually an enthusiastic promoter in Belgium or Germany. We had no oversight really. In England, already at that time there was an expectation that the small bands would PAY to play to get the exposure or if lucky, play for free. Once the records came out there was a lot more interest in our music from(mainland) Europe. Incredibly, we would go off on the ferry in a car packed full of equipment and band members, and there would be a little venue in a small, picturesque town in Switzerland for example, with posters for our gig everywhere and a hall packed with people wanting to see us who knew our songs. There were four of us and a drum machine and mostly we went down well.  I think the set only lasted about 30 minutes. I don’t recall JCD having any bad gigs actually but many of my later bands did. Once in Italy some people threw coins at us.  We were later told that it was a sign of appreciation, but I’m still not convinced. It was all pretty thrilling because none of us had ever really traveled outside of England before. It was all a bit rushed and low budget but we had a lot of fun.

[gansey-just-gansey]

Under the Needle part Two

“Get up.”

Ronan's body rocked back and forth with the shaking of the bed underneath him. He rolled over onto his stomach, groaning.

“Lynch. Get up.”

He opened one eye, looking groggily at Gansey.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Gansey was standing over Ronan, kicking the bed frame. Once he confirmed that Ronan was awake he went over to the desk and started looking for something in the mess of books and loose papers that seemed to have no organizational system to speak of.

“Nothing. I ran into a couple frat bros after the tour, they gave me some beer.” He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, stretching out on the mattress.

“Enough to make you pass out for the night, apparently. Did you even stay for the whole tour?” Gansey asked, though he phrased it in a way that made Ronan think he already knew the answer.

“No, I ditched the end. That guide was shit, by the way. Boring as all fuck. I went walking around town instead of coming back here to wait for you. Saw some shops.” Ronan sat up suddenly. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered, throwing the blankets off himself.

“What? What's wrong?” Gansey looked around, searching for what could have upset Ronan now.

The beautiful boy's face flashed through Ronan's mind. Adam. “I need some paper.”

“For what?” Gansey asked, but he started opening his backpack, looking for a spare piece for Ronan.

“And a pen. Or a pencil, whatever you have. I have to write down some tattoo ideas, quickly.”

Gansey looked up from his backpack. He pushed his glasses up and squinted at Ronan as though he could read a further explanation from Ronan's face. “I beg your pardon?”

“A tattoo. I need ideas for one and I need to write them down.” Ronan snapped his fingers twice, reaching for the pad of paper he could see peeking out from the bag. Gansey let him take it and handed him a pencil from behind his ear.

“You're getting a tattoo?”

“Yup.”

“Declan will have a heart attack.”

“That's about half the point of getting it,” Ronan looked up long enough to give Gansey a devilish smile. There was no reason for Gansey to know the real reason for Ronan's very sudden and very permanent decision.

Gansey shook his head but knew better than to fight Ronan on anything having to do with Declan at this moment, which is exactly why Ronan let him think that was all it was about.

Ronan scribbled several things down in quick succession. Then he looked back over his list and ripped it out of the notebook. None of these were anything that Ronan actually wanted on his body forever. He crumpled the paper and threw it in the general direction of Gansey's trash can.

“Problem?” Gansey asked.

“Yeah, there's a fucking problem. I have no idea what would make for a good back tattoo,” Ronan gripped the pencil tightly, nearly snapping it. He couldn't go back to the shop without a single idea.

“All right, well why don't you think of something important to you? Then you can take that general idea to an artist and have a conversation about whether it would make for a decent tattoo design.”

Something important to Ronan. What was important to Ronan? He didn't get attached to anything that could become unattached to him. Matthew and Gansey gave him the only glimpses of unconditional love he got. But he wasn't very well about to get them tattooed on him.

But maybe it didn't have to be something external. What did Ronan live for?

There was only one thing.

Ronan started scribbling frantically. “You're a fucking genius, Gansey.” He folded up the paper and shoved it roughly in his pocket. Then he stood up and made to leave, but Gansey grabbed his arm as he passed.

“Wait let me just get my shoes-”

“What do you need to come for?”

“I want to check that this is a reputable tattoo shop. You have been known to make rash decisions occasionally.” Ronan rolled his eyes. “What's the name of this place anyway?” Gansey pulled out his phone.

“It's- uh....” Ronan scrambled for the name, but he hadn't been paying attention when he followed Adam into the shop. He hadn't even noticed it was a tattoo parlor at first.

“You don't even know the name? Did you just walk by it and decide right then to get a tattoo?” Gansey asked exasperatedly.

“Yeah, pretty much. I remember the way to it though. Are you coming or not?”

It was Gansey's turn to roll his eyes, but he pulled his boat shoes on and grabbed the key to his room, locking it behind them.

It was a quick ten minute walk to the parlor, just off official campus grounds.

“Cabeswater Tattoo,” Gansey said, looking at the sign hanging on the door. It was very obvious, but Ronan had been more than a little distracted the last time he was here.

They walked into the shop, the small bell chiming their arrival. The same girl from last time was once again atop the display case, this time smacking gum. She looked up when the boys came in, raising one eyebrow when she saw Ronan, who just now noticed that he was in the same clothes as yesterday, and the other one followed when she took in Gansey in all his khaki glory. He gave her an awkward little wave. She blew a large bubble and popped it with a sharp snap.

“You're back,” she said to Ronan. “We had a pool going.”

“Who's we?” Ronan asked, walking farther into the shop.

The girl gestured between herself and the pale boy  leaning back in the chair at his own station who had been tattooing the tramp stamp yesterday. “Noah and me. He bet you wouldn't but I had a feeling you'd back here today,” she looked smug.

“Well you were right. Congratulations. Where's Adam?” Ronan asked impatiently. The girl's smug face grew.

“Back here,” came a voice from the employee only room Adam had escaped to yesterday. He came out, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth. “Oh, you're back.”

“Yes, we have established that I have, in fact, come back. Can we move on now?” Ronan said irritably.

Adam shrugged and gestured him over to his station again. Gansey stayed near the display case, inspecting the different kinds of body jewelry it held and asking the girl what each one was for. Ronan could see his face pale when she explained what a Prince Albert piercing was.

Adam rolled the stool back up next to the tattoo chair, which Ronan took a seat in once again, this time letting his legs hang over the side so that his knees brushed Adam's. Ronan took small satisfaction in this minor contact but didn't let it show. Instead, he got down to business.

“I have an idea for my tattoo.”

“You're still set on getting this whole back piece?” Adam didn't sound surprised, just tired.

“I am,” Ronan answered firmly, leaving no room for arguments.

“All right, whatever you want, man. What's your idea?” he asked.

“Well, it's more of a vague idea than anything solid.”

“I'm sure I can work with whatever you decided,” Adam said, flipping to a clean sheet in his sketchbook.

“Dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“Dreams,” Ronan repeated confidently. Adam stared at him in way that screamed exhaustion, like Ronan was just another in a long line of nonsensical occurrences he had experienced that day. “I told you it was a vague idea.”

“And I told you I could work with whatever you gave me,” Adam responded. His fingers were already starting to carve shadows into the fresh page. His other hand found its way into his hair, propping his head up. “Tell me what you think when you think of dreams.”

Ronan handed him the list he had made back in Gansey's room. 

“Orphan Girl, raven, and night horrors? “

Ronan grunted, chewing on the leather bands he always kept on his wrists. 

“Okay, who is Orphan Girl?” Adam asked. 

“This girl that appears in my dreams sometimes. She kind of guides me I guess, “ Ronan said, releasing the bands from his teeth. 

“I see. And the night horrors?”

“They’re violent things. Black. Tall. They all have claws and a beak.”

“Unguibus et rostro,” Adam said under his breath.

“What?” Ronan was sure he must have heard the other boy wrong. There was no way this boy with the delicate hands and the Southern drawl was currently speaking latin to him.

“Nothing,” Adam said, putting the list in between two pages of his sketchbook and went back to plotting out the dark design. “So do you want me to draw up each of things for you or do you want me to try to incorporate all of them into one design?”

“Actually I was thinking it’s a vague concept, maybe a vague design would be better,” Ronan reasoned.

“Makes sense to me, “ Adam nodded. The lines were beginning to come together to make a somewhat cohesive picture. It wasn't even close to done but there was some solid line work laid out. “I can work with that. Let me draw something up and you can tell me if you like it or if you want me to change anything. You’re welcome to hang around the shop or you can leave a number and I can call when-” 

“I’ll stick around here, thanks,” Ronan interrupted quickly. “My friend seems interested in... the jewelry.” Ronan looked back at Gansey, who now had the attention of both the short girl and pale boy named Noah. Adam was already focused back on his drawing by the time Ronan looked back.

He got up and went over to stand next to Gansey, who was lecturing the other two on the importance of ley lines.

“They're intersecting lines of energy that connect many significant sacred sites. They kind of intersect like this.” He took a piece of paper and a pencil off the front desk and drew a slightly rounded triangle with lines crossed. Ronan rolled his eyes. Of course Gansey had already roped them into a conversation about ley lines and Glendower.

“That's badass,” Noah said, totally enraptured.

“I think so, too,” Gansey said, beaming.

“You should get those lines tattooed on you,” the girl said, snapping her gum again.

“Oh that would be even more badass,” Noah said. “Good thinking, Blue.”

“I don't know about that,” Gansey chuckled nervously.

“You should,” Ronan said, trying to hold in his laughter. “It would be so badass.”

“I can do it now,” Noah offered. “You've got time while Adam draws up his design. I can use your drawing to make a stencil real quick.”

“I don't know, I'm not sure where I would even get them,” Gansey said doubtfully.

The girl, apparently named Blue, blew a big bubble and let it pop. “Over your heart, because you let them guide you.”

“You're an unstoppable good idea machine today,” Noah said, pointing at Blue.

“Well I actually don't hate that,” Gansey rubbed his hand over his chest.

Ronan eyes were wide with surprise. He hadn't thought Gansey would actually go through with getting a tattoo, but it looked like he was seriously considering it.

“Hell yeah, man,” Noah reached out for a high five. Gansey smiled slightly and slapped Noah's hand. “Let me go make the stencil and you can see if you like it. If you don't, don't get it. But if you do, you let me put it on you today.”

“I suppose that isn't the worst idea,” Gansey acquiesced. “Okay, go draw it up or whatever you have to do.”

Holy shit. Gansey was going to get a tattoo. Or think about getting a tattoo. Whatever. Gansey wasn't one to rush into big decisions like this. Ronan was about to ask him what the hell, but then he saw how Gansey was looking at Blue. So he was trying to impress a girl. Well who was Ronan to stop him? Here he was getting a full back piece just to see a beautiful boy and feel his delicate hands. Ronan decided to let Gansey do whatever the fuck he wanted. Not that Gansey listened to him all that often, anyway.

Ronan slung himself haphazardly into Noah's tattoo chair and tried not to stare across the room at Adam, who was deep into his sketchbook. His hand was still in his hair, propping up his head. Instead, Ronan watched Gansey and Blue, who were still talking about the tattoo.

“All right, let's get that shirt off,” Noah said, holding a stencil sheet by the tip.

Gansey stripped it off and threw it at Ronan, who caught it just before it flopped in his face. Ronan noticed that Blue was trying not to stare at Gansey's chest and just barely failing. Gansey flexed slightly and Ronan fought not to roll his eyes again.

Noah carefully placed the stencil over Gansey's heart and pulled it off gently, leaving a purple outline of the lines Gansey had drawn.

Gansey turned to look at it in the mirror. “It looks good,” Blue offered from behind him.

“Yeah it does,” Noah agreed.

“Ronan?” Gansey turned back to him so he could check it out.

“Fuck yeah, Gansey. You should get it,” Ronan said, reaching his fist out for him to bump.

“Yeah?” he looked in the mirror again. “I do rather like it.”

“'I do rather like it',” Ronan mimicked in a higher pitched voice.

“Ronan,” Gansey said. Then, “Yes. Yeah, put it on me.”

“Yes!” Noah high fived Blue. The girl was so short she had to jump to reach Noah's hand.

Ronan got up so Gansey could take his place in the tattoo chair. Blue came to stand near Ronan while Noah prepped the station.

“Okay, you ready?” Noah asked, the needle poised over Gansey's heart.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Gansey replied.

Noah smiled and began tracing the stencil with black ink.

“This doesn't hurt as bad as I thought,” Gansey said after a minute.

“Oh just wait, it builds,” Blue said around her gum.

They waited in silence for a couple minutes, the only sound in the shop the buzzing of the needle. Slowly, Gansey's eyebrows started pulling down, his face going from relaxed to uncomfortable.

“It's not as bad as I thought,” he repeated. “But it definitely hurts more than when it started.”

Blue laughed. “Yeah, the constant irritation makes it get worse over time. Lucky for you this is a small tattoo so it won't take as long. You however,” Blue pointed at Ronan, “will have it a lot worse with a whole back tattoo.”

Ronan bared his teeth at her in a savage smile. “I think I can handle it.” She shrugged.

“All right, we're done,” Noah announced. “Go check it out in the mirror.”

Gansey got up and looked at his angry red chest. “It looks amazing, Noah. Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?”

“Ronan,” Adam called from the other side of the shop. Ronan immediately headed over, leaving Gansey to talk money with Noah.

“What's up?” Ronan asked, trying to be nonchalant, though in reality he was about to hyperventilate at the sound of his name coming out of Adam's mouth.

“I finished the first design, I wanted your thoughts on it,” Adam said.

“You're already finished? Jesus fuck,” Ronan swore. It had only been about half an hour.

Adam's lips curled up in a self-conscious smile. Ronan nearly swore again. He had thought it impossible for Adam to be any more beautiful until he saw that smile.

“You allowed me quite a bit of artistic freedom so I really got into it. You want to check it out?” He offered Ronan the sketchbook.

“Holy fuck, this is awesome.” Ronan reverently touched the page. The design was abstract, dark and sharp looking. Feathers floated around it, and a single claw would hook over the back of his neck above his collar. Adam had perfectly captured the general feel of Ronan's dreams without even having to ask.

“You like it?”

“It's perfect.”

“Okay, great. We have to talk logistics though.”

“Logistics?” Ronan asked, confused. What was there besides putting it on and tattooing it?

“It'll take probably about twenty hours total, and most likely cost around four thousand. Is that going to work for you?”

Fuck, twenty hours. Twenty hours of Adam, of his beautiful face and delicate hands and being touched by him. Ronan didn't know how he was going to bear twenty hours of Adam tattooing him.

Adam cleared his throat, and Ronan realized he had just been standing there, staring at him.

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah that's fine. Money isn't a problem. So how do we do this? Start today and hopefully finish it tomorrow or what?”

Adam laughed out loud, a deep and musical sound.

“What are you laughing at?” Ronan demanded.

“We can't do this all in two sittings,” Adam chuckled. “We could probably do it in four hour increments, if you can handle it.”

“It's going to be five sittings?”

“Most likely, if you think you can get through the pain.”

“I think I'll be able to handle it,” Ronan scoffed.

“Then yeah, five sittings, and they'll have to be about two weeks apart,” Adam said, standing up and stretching out his long limbs.

“Two weeks? Each?” Ronan asked incredulously.

“Maybe three, it depends on how fast you heal,” Adam shrugged.

“I'm only supposed to be here for the weekend.”

“I'm afraid that's just how it is. I won't do a sloppy rush job,” he said firmly.

Ronan thought for a minute. Five sittings would take about ten to fifteen weeks. Almost a whole semester.

Fuck.

“I'll work it out,” he said finally.

“Great. I'll blow up the design and get a stencil. Take your shirt off and wait by my station,” Adam said over his shoulder, walking to the back room Noah had disappeared into earlier.

Ronan did as he was told. As he was waiting, Gansey wandered back over to stand next to him.

“So you're getting the tattoo?” he asked.

“Part of it, apparently,” Ronan grunted.

“You're going to need more sessions?”

“Yup.”

“But you leave tomorrow.”

“No.”

“No? No what?”

“I'm not leaving tomorrow.”

“You're not?”

“Nope, I'm enrolling.”

[myselfinserts]

“While you were busy being heterosexual, I studied the blade.”

Étienne really didn’t want to be here today. He didn’t want to be at a place with needless and ink. He wanted to go home.

But he’d made a promise, so he let Reginald drag him to the little haunted house looking establishment halfway between Elspie proper and Elswood, a good thirty minutes away from civilization.

Whoever it was that they were going to had a strange taste in location.

“I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” Étienne sighed, reading the ‘closed’ sign in the window. “Perhaps we should go.”

“Chill, Étienne,” Regi assured. “Kel’s legit, I swear.”

Étienne rolled his eyes. “I know you say that, and I’ve got no reason to doubt you, but…” he looked at around, trying to resist the urge to run. “You cannot deny this isn’t…exactly the kind of place that instills confidence that we won’t fall victim to a slasher movie villain.”

Regi laughed nervously, tugging on the sleeves of his sweat jacket. “I know. But believe me. Teacake wouldn’t let anyone past the front room.”

“Teacake is the dog, right?”

“That’s right. He’s a good boy.” Regi opened the door, smiling as a loud bark greeted them. “Hey there, Mr. Cake!”

Étienne followed Regi into the house, raising an eyebrow as he saw the dark colored corgi sitting at the front desk in a blue bowtie. He had to admit, it was rather cute. Though he’d have opted for a more periwinkle shade himself.

“Can you take us to the waiting room?” Regi asked. “We have an appointment.”

Teacake jumped from his spot at the counter, pulling a basket from a nearby shelf and bringing it over to them. Étienne took a peek, noticing a few familiar lines that resembled a contract.

He didn’t remember this.

“What are these?”

Regi took the  papers from the basket, smiling fondly. “It’s the paperwork. You know, like how we have our clients fill out papers before we do the work? Same concept.”

Étienne swiped the papers from him, adjusting his glasses to get a better look. “You just sign this without reading it over?”

“I’ve been here enough to have memorized it. I’ll go over it with you if you want.”

“I’ll look over it myself.”

“Suit yourself.” Regi turned back to Teacake, taking another copy of the contract for himself. “Teacake? Can you take us to today’s best waiting room?”

Teacake barked pleasantly and scurried toward one of the nearest doors. The two designers hurried after him, one more enthused about the situation. That was fine. Étienne wasn’t the one getting the tattoo anyway.

Though he supposed if he ever did, this might be an okay place given how clean it was. And how thorough the contract was too. Choices of permanent or temporary, what kind of design, if the design was meant to be a personalized commission and not to be shared. There was even an option to be hired on to model your tattoo in the store’s advertising. 

He wasn’t going to say it, but he was highly impressed at how strong everything was on a business standpoint.

The two were lead to the back by Teacake, and after about three minutes of walking they arrived in a very nice game room. On the table were stacks of books labeled ‘designs’, and there were choices between board, card, and video games. Along with pool and air hockey against a gentle cafe jazz soundtrack on the radio. And of course, a couple of vending machines and a couple of tea and coffee makers at their own station. 

It had everything.

“So today’s best is an arcade,” Regi hummed. “Very nice.”

Étienne took a seat on the nearby sofa, picking up one of the notebooks and noticing it was brand new. And as he flipped through the pages, he saw it was empty. 

“Is this for us to design things?” he asked.

“Yeah, she lets people do designs if they want,” Regi explained. “Kel especially lets kids do it, because she has this thing for parents that want tattoos of their children’s art. Make it look like something really special.”

“I see…Wait one minute.” Étienne got a devilsh smirk as he hurried over to the coffee station. “What the hell is this poster?”

Regi’s face went red. “Th-that’s-”

“Is that you?” Étienne laughed. What is that pixel design on your face?! You look ridiculous!”

“It was my first modelling job!” Regi pouted. “Kel asked if I could model the design last minute since the last guy bailed. It wasn’t designed for my face!”

“He’s right.”

Étienne looked up, nearly jumping back when he saw a horned young lady staring at him, book open and filled with sketches. She seemed rather…unperturbed. 

Where the hell did she come from?!

“I designed it for a more rounded, stout looking face. Not a long heart like Renegade’s. My fault for not taking the possibility of my model bailing on me like a little bitch for some flaky trend start up down the road.” She shrugged. “That shop was shut down a month later after reports of infections from bad needles, so tomato tomato I guess.”

“Hey Kel,” Regi said excitedly. “Étienne, this is Kelly Hornblower, but prefers to go by Kel. She’s my friend.”

“We’re not friends,” Kel said. 

“Best friends?”

“Not even close.”

“Come on!” he groaned. “We’ve known each other for years!”

“Yeah, and while you were busy being heterosexual with Skald, I studied the blade. I can out fence you now.” She smirked. “Relax, Glady. We’re friends.” She looked at Étienne, face back to blank. “If you’re considering being friends with him, run while you can. Once he’s got you, he doesn’t let go.”

“I’m well aware of what friendship with Gladstone entails.” Étienne held out his hand. “Étienne Allard. Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hornblower.”

“Ms. Hornblower’s my mum,” she snickered, accepting his handshake. “You can call me Kel.”

“Kel. Right.” 

She glanced at her hands as they let go. “Strong grip. Very steady. Perfect for intricate detailed work.” She smiled. “Ever thought of going into ink?”

“I found my passion, thank you.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind.” She looked to Regi, brow raised. “So, what will it be this time?”

“Cats on my ankle. Meatloaf had kittens and I want something for them.”

Kel nodded. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you today.”

Regi’s eyes went wide. “How come?”

“Art block.” She handed him the sketchbook. “I need to get this design right for a client. They want me to put ‘not afraid of the dark’ in fancy letters on this lighthouse but the bastard doesn’t like any of the fonts. I know what he’s looking for but I can’t seem to replicate it.”

Regi and Étienne looked at each other and nodded, each of them taking a turn and writing the sentence on a blank page of the book before handing it back. 

“Would one of these work?” they asked in unison.

Kel took a look, eyes seeming to shine with excitement. “This is just what I need. Thanks.” She closed the book. “I think I can fit you both in today now.”

“Just him,” Étienne said. “I don’t do needles.”

“I think I have just the thing for you though.” She escorted them to the next room over. “You know how people use stencils? I think I have something you’ll enjoy. And as a thank you for helping me, this is on the house.”

“I highly doubt it’ll be something I’ll enjoy.”

“Trust me. With your perfect tone and smooth skin, everyone with a brain with be fawning over you until it washes away.”

“...Very well, I’ll hear you out. What do you have in mind?”

Ceri felt his throat tighten as he did a double take. He couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible. Étienne would never-

But he did. Ceri could see it. The gentle golden feather design on his wrists poking out from beneath the lavender button up’s sleeves. The perfect shade to compliment his skin tone. And he could have sworn he saw some more designs barely poking out near the unbuttoned collar. Was it a full body? Or just a few specific places?

“It’s rude to stare,” Étienne said without looking up from his book.

“Sorry,” Ceri mumbled. “I just, uh...did you...did you get a tattoo?”

Étienne smirked and set his book down. “If you want to find out, I suggest you finish your cocoa.” He got up and started making his way out of the livingroom, making sure to whisper in Ceri’s ear when he stopped to give him a peck on the cheek. “And by the way. Purple really does suit you.” 

With a quick nibble on the ear, he left the room. 

Ceri sat there for a moment completely stunned. He could feel his ears burning. His face hotter than his drink. He knew exactly what Étienne had done. He guzzled down his drink and hurried after him.

If that man is trying to kill me, I will gladly embrace death.

[2ptonpt]

Thinking Out Loud

Somethin' Bad

 Shelby Bates grew up with the Winchesters. Fighting along side them and saving the day as needed, she was living the life she loved with the man she loved. Until a dark family secret comes out and she is kidnapped while Dean can only watch helplessly. Dean struggles to live without her- the only person who ever made him feel like he was worth something, until she shows up years later.

Pairing: Dean Winchester X OC(Shelby Bates)

Word Count: 2,627

Rating: M

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

 Chapter One: Somethin' Bad

Stand on the bar, stomp your feet, start clappin'

Got a real good feelin' somethin' bad about to happen.

-Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood

  "Shelby, hey I was wondering if yo-"

"Jesus Dean, knock next time!" The tall, tanned brunette flung herself on the other side of the musty bed as a twenty year old Dean Winchester barged into the cheap motel room. Instead of turning around like any courteous young gentleman would do in this situation, he stood with his hip cocked and his arms crossed over his chest, with a smirk gracing his lips. The green-eyed man waited a few seconds before speaking.

"You can come out anytime, you know. Nothin I haven't seen before." Shelby rolled her eyes. She could just hear Dean's grin when he called over to her.

"There's a difference between the cheap hookers you bring here every other weekend and the body I work hard to maintain. Thank you very much!" Dean chuckled softly, shaking his head as he turned around. He stared hard at the blinking vacancy light outside the dusty window as he spoke.

"Sorry, just thinkin' out loud. You can come out now Shelby. I'm not looking." Shelby poked her head above the flowery patterned comforter and arched an eyebrow as she quickly grabbed the black sports bra and gray tank top off the bed. She ducked down behind the bed and quickly pulled them on before she snapped back up.

"Okay loser, I'm decent. What did you need? Are John and my dad back yet?" She had a nervous look in her eyes as she asked about their dads. Last time she saw them it was as she ran out of the motel room a few towns back, angry tears in her eyes because they wouldn't take her to the nest where the vampire that had killed a little girl, whom Shelby had taken quite a liking to, was residing. Dean grimaced. That memory was not the best.

Both of their dads had refused to take the young woman on the hunt with them. Dean had been on Shelby’s side; she was the best hunter out of their little posse. He didn’t know why, she had the same training as Dean did. She just seemed like more of a natural when it came to destroying monsters. He shook his thoughts about the huntress away and replied.

"No. I haven't heard from them since yesterday. They caught another hunt so they won't be back for at least another week." Dean smiled when Shelby sat down on the bed with a relieved sigh. She pulled back her long, curly, dark brown hair into a high ponytail, glancing at Dean, who cleared his throat as she raised an eyebrow in questioning. Dean continued,

"Anyway. I was thinking that the bar down the street looked like it had a couple of cowboys just asking for you to kick their ass in pool." At those words Shelby smiled brilliantly. Dean looked away after a second and cleared his throat again, waiting for more of an answer than her sneaky smile.

"Hell yeah! Just let me change. I can go for a run later I guess." Dean nodded and went over to the t.v. and flipped it on, then ungracefully flopped onto the couch. Waiting for Shelby to change, Dean called Bobby's house to see how Sam was doing. No answer. That wasn't unusual. Bobby was always reading up on different legends for the other hunters and Sam was probably holed up in the tiny upstairs spare bedroom with his nose in his school books, trying to live a 'normal high schooler's life'.

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes as he put the cell phone back on the side table just as Shelby came out of the bathroom. She was wearing a loose fitting black tank top with a gray rose on the front. Her blue jean cut-off shorts seemed to elongate her tan, toned legs, which were thick from all the running she did. Shelby would always comment on how much she hated her legs; Dean would just snort and roll his eyes, silently reassuring her she had nothing to worry about.

She was only nineteen but when she went out to the bars, no one asked any questions. She knew how to dress for the occasion. Dean stared at the lean brunette as she slipped two black flower and dragon bracelets around her left wrist. She needed her right wrist cleared for pool. Shelby could feel her companions stare as she buckled her rhinestone studded black belt. She knew the men stared, and sometimes it made her feel self-conscious. But if she wanted to make sure her and Dean ate that week, she needed to look good and innocent while she hustled the bar patrons for their money.

Shelby turned around to look at herself in the dirty mirror while Dean mumbled something about using the toilet before they leave. She sat down on the bed to pull on her stenciled grey, well worn cowgirl boots. Going along with the rose theme for tonight she had black rose studs in her ears and a multi-string beaded necklace. Her final touches were her black rose ring with diamonds lining the petals. She sighed. Her mom loved roses. She stared at herself in the mirror. What would her mom think of her if she saw her now? Hustling guys in dinky bars for money.

She smiled a bit. Her mom was one of the best hunters this side of the states. Her dad used to tell her stories growing up about how her momma would bring home the bread and butter for their little family. He’d say most guys would be jealous the way she would walk around hustling money, but he knew her momma would always love her dad and no other man. Shelby’s smiled brightened a bit at the thought of how much her parents loved each other. Dean cleared his throat for the umpteenth time that night.

“You look fine, Princess.” Shelby rolled her clear green eyes as she turned from the mirror and walked past him. He eyed her figure as she swaggered out the door letting her pony tail down and ruffling her curly hair as she headed towards her dad's royal blue '69 Camaro. Dean rubbed his hands on his pants and jogged out to meet her, slamming the motel door behind him.

"I'll drive there if you drive back." Dean nodded to the girl as she slid into the driver's seat and turned the engine over. They both smiled widely when the engine roared mightily back at them. They had changed the oil, replaced the carburetor, and changed the breaks for most of the morning. Happy with their work, Shelby threw the American classic into first gear and peeled out onto the gravel road, ready to hustle some drunks.

-TOL-

Walking into the dimly lit bar, Shelby headed straight towards the pool tables and grabbed a stick, smiling towards the two young men standing near the empty table. They tipped their cowboy hats a little drunkenly before sharing a look and each grabbing a stick. Dean watched the scene unfold with hard eyes. Shelby could handle herself but that never stopped him from trying to be protective over her. It was a habit after knowing her for almost ten years. His hand instinctively padded his front right pocket, where he felt the familiar bump of her birthday present. Tomorrow, she turned twenty.

Dean smiled openly as he watched Shelby sensually reach around one of the cowboys to grab the cue ball. His friend bumped his shoulder as they watched her bend over to break the balls up. Their smiles faded when almost all of them went in. Her father had taught her well. After about fifteen minutes of watching Shelby crush the Cowboy’s dreams of the night, Dean turned away as a pretty blonde passed by, smiling at him. He looked back at the only constant in his life, questioning if she would be okay for a bit.

He smirked as she held her hand out towards the taller of the two men who had lost horribly. He handed her a wad of twenty dollar bills and walked away solemnly. She looked towards him before rolling her eyes at the blonde standing behind him and laughed, which was her way of saying 'go have your fun'. Dean only hesitated for a moment before the blonde tapped him on the shoulder. Might as well find something to distract him from his huntress for a while. Wait, his?

Shelby sighed as she watched Dean walk out the back door of the bar with the slutty looking blonde. Typical Dean Winchester she thought with a little more sting than she would have liked. She ignored the catch in her throat and counted her wad of cash stoically. She finished and turned around as a couple of bikers eyed the pool tables. She smiled innocently as she sauntered up to them. They looked like fun.

"Hello, boys. Care for a friendly game of pool? I'm trying to practice a bit before my sister gets here." Shelby winked at the end of her sentence. The bikers glanced at her and smiled like the Cheshire Cat. Nodding, they walked past her a little roughly and grabbed some sticks, nodding to her to get the balls ready.

She played her routine like normal, only after collecting the four hundred dollars she had just hustled out of them, they didn't just walk away like the cowboys had. Shelby thanked the men and backed away as calmly as she could while still looking like she wasn't slightly freaking out at the look the older bikers were giving her. Figuring this was a good distance to turn and hightail it outta there, she did just that, only instead of setting eyes on the front door, Shelby came face to... chest with a third biker she hadn't noticed earlier. The guy was easily six and a half feet tall, making her five foot ten inch frame look slightly silly against him. She groaned internally, knowing they would be taking back the four hundred, and probably the two hundred she made from the cowboys earlier.

The third biker, who was sporting a mohawk and tattoos up the sides of his head, growled and grabbed Shelby's upper arms hard, most definitely trying to leave a bruise. Shelby didn't think then, she only acted. She slammed her head into the bikers chin and kneed him in the family jewels. Distracted by the kick, his hands left her arms. Shelby only had time to turn around as the first biker came towards her quickly. He also towered over her and it only slightly intimidated her after her face off with Mr. Tattoo. She smirked and ducked out of his reaching arms, sliding under a bar table and jumping over the pool table.

The second biker, who had tear drop tattoos on his face, screamed before he took his pool stick and swept the young hunter off her feet. This attracted the bartenders attention to the scramble going on and he yelled at the biker. Shelby took the advantage of the distracted creep to grab a beer bottle and smash it over his bald head. She practically flew out the back door of the bar as she heard sirens in the far distance. She opened the passenger side door of her dad's car and roughly grabbed the blonde by her bra strap and yanked her out of the car, landing her on her ass on the asphalt. The bimbo barely had time to catch her top before Shelby's voice rang out, yelling at Dean to DRIVE.

-TOL-

Dean had been having a good ole time forgetting about a familiar brunette huntress until that certain someone literally yanked it from his hands. Shelby mumbled something about never dying her hair blonde for the sake of not being prowled on by Dean. He peered over at the young girl.

"What was that sweetheart; you know mumbling is unbecoming." Shelby scoffed at Dean's sentence before retorting,

"You heard me, ass. I was just thinking out loud." She lowered her voice the best she could to match Deans, which only made him laugh loudly. He turned his head back to the wet pavement and flipped on the windshield wipers. The warm Georgia night finally had the rain the weatherman had been talking about all week. He glanced at the turn for their motel, and did nothing but press the gas harder, driving right past the ugly neon sign.

"Dean, I would really appreciate it if you could turn around. I've not had a good night." Dean looked over at the brunette. She did have a rough night. She could handle herself, sure. But that didn't mean she never felt horrible after the fact. Dean had seen her take down many monsters and not bat an eye. But humans, preferably of the male species were a whole other story for her. Especially when they weren't falling at her feet. Which she seemed oblivious to anyway.

Dean decided not to push her buttons tonight. She was already shaking. He looked at her face in the passing street lamp glow. She was beautiful but she would never say that; and Dean didn't know how to say that. Sure, he slept around with girls a lot. But that was easy, he wasn't worried about what they thought about him. He didn't count on them to save his ass when he tried to go into a djinn nest alone. He smirked at the memory and kept driving. He needed to wait out the cops.

"I'm just gonna drive around the block a couple of times. Don't need the cops finding where our little hustler is staying now do we?" Shelby smiled sheepishly. After looking back out the window as they passed various store fronts and street lights, Shelby slid over to the middle of the front seat and laid her head on Dean's shoulder. Dean smiled softly, finding himself wishing this happened more often, instead of when she was scared; Shelby silently wishing she was brave enough to do this when she wasn't freaked out.

By the time Dean deemed it safe enough to head back to their room, Shelby had fallen asleep. Dean picked her up bridal style and walked slowly to the room. Opening the door as gently as he could without waking Shelby, Dean slipped inside before gliding to the bed and laying the young woman on the ugly patterned comforter. He smiled gently as she rolled over immediately and started to snore lightly. Ha, she owes me ten bucks. Dean pulled her boots off and pulled the heavy cover off of his bed for her, since she was laying on top of hers. Dean slept hot anyway, so he wouldn't need them.

Heading over to his bed he pulled his own boots off and crawled onto the hard mattress. He was almost asleep when Shelby started whimpering. Dean immediately got out of his bed and laid down next to the sleeping girl, wrapping his arms around her and rubbing circles on her back methodically. She stopped her whimpering after a few minutes and Dean sighed, trying to slide out from under her. After he stopped her nightmares most nights he crawled quietly back to his own bed, not wanting to impose on her sleep any more than helping her.

He stopped trying to wriggle out of her hold when she tightened it and spoke. If her face wasn't resting in the crook of his neck he wouldn't have heard her whisper one word.

"Stay."

-TOL-

[aion-rsa]

Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage Review: Behind the Scenes of a Musical Disaster

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

That ain’t teenage spirit you’re smelling. HBO’s Music Box documentary Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage reeks of righteous condemnation, judicial indiscretion, and conspiratorial obfuscation. But it’s okay. This is a disaster film masquerading as a documentary, and the found footage makes it all pay off. Director Garrett Price personally opens the film in the voiceover, explaining how the 1999 celebration itself was written to be a comedy, but “played out much more like a horror film.”

Music festivals have come to represent generations. The original Woodstock: an Aquarian Exposition: 3 Days of Peace & Music concert in the summer of 1969 brought half a million people together with the artists who spoke for and to them in a communal love bond. The organizers lost money, the capacity was underestimated, but the audience came together to share what they had to make the weekend legendary. In December that year, the Rolling Stones concert at Altamont was marred by the pool cues and knives of the security team, the Hells Angels. It was deemed the end of the ‘60s.

Woodstock ‘94 happened at the height of the Grunge Revolution, when Kurt Cobain wore a dress but didn’t shave his stubble, and Riot Grrrls blasted personal dissent with the passion of the punk elite and no one cared if they shaved their legs. The organizers lost money, but the fans and the bands were one unit who achieved the common goal of joy. Woodstock ‘99 happened five years later and enjoyed the accessibility of the mainstream’s greatest unifier: MTV. The organizers made money and 200,000 people attended, but the audience got such a raw deal, even the musicians who played got scared. It is remembered as “the day the ’90s died.”

Opening on the 22nd anniversary of the festival, the documentary deems Woodstock ’99 a disaster. They even call in a guy from FEMA, who says it was worse than Hurricane Katrina and the great flood. Told chronologically, Price, who previously directed Love, Antosha, the 2019 tribute to Anton Yelchin, begins with the excitement of a three-day festival.  Held on a former military installation in Rome, New York, the Griffiss Air Base was set up to keep the grounds free of ticketless celebrants.

The security team is exposed as a bunch of amateurs specially trained on which boxes to check in a multiple-choice test, and how to find someone’s personal stash of bottled water in a backpack. “There’s a festival grounds in Germany that was literally built by Hitler,” The Offspring’s guitarist Noodles says in an interview. “It’s a great venue, a lot of fun. The air base was less hospitable than the venue built by Nazis.”

There were nonstop performances held a mile apart from each other on the grounds. One highlighted its mosh pits, the other the dance floor. The biggest electronic artist in the Rave Tent proves his genre’s atmosphere opens doorways to perception. “There is a sixth sense that you develop when you spend your life going to venues,” Moby says in an interview. “We got off the bus and I was like, ‘Something is not right.'”

The film is very generous with behind-the-scenes footage. We are treated to aerial shots of cramped campsites, long ATM lines, leaky Port-O-Potties oozing something that only looked like mud, and $4 water bottles, which sold as much as beer in temperatures over 100 degrees. We are told in advance three people died, 44 were arrested. There were 10 reported sexual assaults.

The lineup for the concert was a mix of hard rock bands, pop stars, and hip-hop acts like The Roots, and ICP. Rapper DMX’s epithetic call and response performance gets special notice. “The Black performer is essentially licensing the people in the crowd to say this word with him,” New York Times’ Wesley Morris says in an interview. “If you got each one of these guys after the show, and pulled them aside and said, ‘is it OK to say the N-word under any circumstances?’ They would, to a person, say, ‘I mean, the right answer is no, right?’”

For returning music aficionados with remnants of the first gathering still in their memories, organizers booked jam bands and a few older acts like Elvis Costello, Willie Nelson, and The Who’s John Entwistle. “The ’99 Woodstock seemed like it was trying to relive a nostalgic moment, along with commercialism and capitalism, but not having a real soulful purpose for the show,” singer-songwriter Jewel says in an interview.

As the documentary points out, a lot of the younger attendees had no idea what Wyclef Jean was referencing in his solo guitar performance of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” They ask one kid, who can’t remember who did it first even though he’s standing directly under a huge stencil of Jimi Hendrix’s name. When Bush’s Gavin Rossdale begins Country Joe & the Fish’s “Gimme an F,” the chanters only seek Amy.  

Music is supposed to have charms which soothe the savage breast. Many people think the final word of the phrase is “beast,” and the documentary further blurs the line. The early ‘90s music artists were anti-misogynist, anti-racist, anti-homophobic and radically informed. Happening at the end of the Clinton era, when MTV pitted boy bands and pop girls against nü-metal rockers, a fur-coated Kid Rock could call Monica Lewinsky a ho and pass it off as a political statement.

Toxic masculinity’s dirty sister framed Britney Spears as a “Girls Gone Wild” extra, and magazines like Maxim and FHM encouraged the idea young men could shout “show your tits” to Rosie Perez without getting bitch-slapped, the documentary posits. Only three women were invited to perform at the weekend-long, two-stage festival: Jewel, Alanis Morrissette, and Sheryl Crow. “I’m baffled how it went from the progressive, enlightened values of Kurt Cobain and Michael Stipe to misogyny and homophobia and the rape-frat boy culture that was at Woodstock ‘99,” Moby ponders in the film.

Of course, none of wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t all pre-staged. This is where Price dips into the era’s obsession with paranoia. It was the end of the millennium, the Columbine shootings had happened, and the Y2K bug was coming. It was finally time to party like it’s 1999. “Really, the biggest problem was that MTV set the tone,” organizer John Scher says in an interview.

But he downplays it, like he might have been warned by Cigarette Smoking Man from The X-Files. “There’s no question that a few incidents took place. But if you go back in the records of the police and state police and stuff, we’re not talking about 100. Or even 50. We’re talking about 10. I am critical of the hundreds of women that were walking around with no clothes on, and expecting not to be touched. They shouldn’t have been touched, and I condemn it. But you know, I think that women that were running around naked, you know, are at least partially to blame for that.”

Partial blame is all the rage in Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage. The documentary points out how history paints the original Woodstock like it really was a return to the garden, with peace and love and former flower children having babies to Santana’s “Soul Sacrifice.” But music journalist Steven Hyden reminds us about a group of disgruntled shoppers called “’The Up Against the Wall Motherfuckers,” who didn’t like food prices and burned dozens of stands down.

After Woodstock ’99 grounds started smoking when the candles handed out for a vigil for Columbine victims became torches to burn the place down, the documentary says Rome Mayor Joseph Griffo asked Anthony Kiedis to douse the crowd’s misplaced enthusiasm. The Red Hot Chili Peppers launched into a scorching rendition of Jimi Hendrix’s “Fire.” History blames bands like Limp Bizkit, Korn, and Rage Against the Machine for the destruction. But really, the artistic decision of that song to those circumstances is a no-brainer. “Smoke on the Water” would have been too easy. “Disco Inferno” would have been too obvious.

The documentary talks with the event’s organizers, as well as performers like Korn’s Jonathan Davis, The Offspring, Scott Stapp of Creed, The Roots’ Black Thought. Wesley Morris and Spin‘s Maureen Callahan put things into perspective. The only person the documentary doesn’t talk with is Fred Durst, the frontman for Limp Bizkit, who became the poster boy for the event’s bad behavior. Oh, they talk about him, though. They talk about him like he’s not there, and because he’s not there they must think he won’t see it. At the height of Limp Bizkit’s set, the singer encouraged the crowd to “Break Stuff.” But let’s be fair, it is the name of their song, and Durst is the guy who told the crowd to pick someone up if they fall, not to grope them.

This is what happens when the counterculture makes money. Everyone wants a piece. Woodstock 99: Love, Peace, and Rage is an even-handed dispenser of blame, and has slices for all. The first in a series of music-based documentaries from Bill Simmons’ Ringer Films, this immersive journey bodes well for upcoming tunes.

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Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage is available to stream on HBO Max now.

The post Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage Review: Behind the Scenes of a Musical Disaster appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3y6dyyP

[theramseyloft]

Just so that you can see the shit I deal with from other pigeon breeders:

This was the response to pictures of @radpige ‘s little boy Roo on the COF club forum: (Names replaced with initial/s to protect identities.)

Last year at Louisville, we had solid white, entries. some disqualified, others should have of been. This could put the scare in the young people. Please don't sell culls, this is a deterrent to young members. The #'s of young you raise doesn't matter. What matters is the #'s that placed in the shows. If the number of birds you sell matters, yours is the wrong reason for raising show pigeons.

BS

Hi B. I don't think the lady entering the white bird understood that it was a seraphim and not a COF. Or, that COF's must have lace or bars to be shown. Glad you reminded me of this issue. Seeing how show season is upon us I'll add it to my president's remarks in the newsletter. The confusion was apparent and regrettable but covered in the standard.

RD

I talked to the lady & It had white feathers from day 1. Seraphim has yellow or red feathers as a baby. I raised some white feathered babies, but never kept them.

HC

(What this post is missing is my angry declaration of refusal to kill a healthy bird for failure to make the stock cut, citing that people who breed show dogs separate them into show, breeding, and pet quality, and sure as hell do not kill puppies for not being breeder quality. That, and an older member essentially telling us to shut up about killing birds  because it’s “Gold to the fanatics” were both edited out of the post)

R... I said that a bird must have lace or bars to be shown but when I looked at the standard not having lace or bars isn't listed as a disqualification. Shouldn't those markings be required? Or, just deductions?

RD

If it's not in the standard yet, it would seem unfair to a person new to the breed to have their bird disqualified. But, that being said I think they should've entered it in the rare breeds as a Seraph.

PG

Standard clearly defines disqualifications:

DISQUALIFICATIONS-

No Frill. No crest. No grouse muffs. White, or substantial white tail. More than one colored flight mixed in with the white flights in Satinettes. More than one white flight mixed in with the colored flights in Blondinettes. Sickness. Live vermin. Deformities. Severely out of condition from dirt, disease or parasites.

That being said a white bird loses ALL points for color AND markings. That would essentially put it at the back of the pack, which essentially a practical disqualification, if not a literal one.

Oh, and by the way, this is part of our standard:

"There will also be a class for AOC, for other factors which fanciers successfully transfer over to Classic Frills, such as milky, reduced, opal, etc. It should be noted that these factors must also have the telltale marks of Oriental Frills, and that is the Toy Stencil and Frill Stencil Factors, in combination, so that the same requirements stated in other parts of the standard are applicable to any new color factor added to the gene pool".

If I was judging, a white would go out first. Call it what you will.

RC

If you place a cull last, what do you tell a junior member? What to pair this cull to?.

The seller should replace, this one, with a quality pair. Junior members are needed, without being punished, with CULLS. If you raise a hundred young , 75 percent are CULLS. That's 72 yrs. experience. Reduce the #s to be able to afford the feed bill.

Lets fix the heads to conform, to our standard. The heads are so far from meeting the standard. No cheeks, no gullet, top knot to far down the back of the neck, You got the beak to a proper length. when the babies can be raised to fruition.

M has the best heads of all members, my opinion, probably not worth much.

BS

The difference is that this bird was NOT sold to someone who will breed or show him. Dani talks to prospective owners carefully about their goals for the birds she sells, and Roo was sold as a pet. He's not going to be shown, and Dani already told his new owner that he would be disqualified if he were put in a show.

I believe everyone here agrees that if you're selling a COF to a new member, you want to give them good stock birds that can give them a good introduction to the breed. However, that doesn't apply to people who only want pets, because a mismarked bird is still a great pet if their owner doesn't plan to show.

GD

The ones you kill, stew them with a can of succotash. High protein.

The dog and cats love them stewed. R's Aunt made the best I ever ate.

BS

Here is the reply I just posted:

If the only birds not killed in your loft are potential show winners or stock birds who could potentially throw them, then you enjoy the ribbon more than the bird, and the bird is nothing but a means to get ribbons.

Winning or placing at shows is a great way to make sure that a breeding flock is in line with the standard, but shows are just a tool to keep our studs on track so that the breed we love doesn't turn into something else.

You don't need to kill birds to manage numbers.

I manage my numbers by having a small loft, being VERY selective about my keep backs, and selling my culls as house pets to people who don't breed or show.

Every one wins that way.

I don't raise more birds than I can care for.

No healthy birds have to be killed.

No poor quality birds reproduce or take up another breeder's loft space or feed.

People who have no interest in breeding or showing get an unusual, pretty pet that's easy to care for.

And most, when not all, of my feed and vet bills are funded by those people who just wanted a PET.

Fanciers who want to show or breed would not be blessed by a bird that did not at least make the stock cut. Selling OR giving a cull to *them* would be cheating them. If not out of money, then out of feed and space that they could have put towards a bird that will benefit their stud.

But that doesn't make healthy culls worthless.

Fanciers don't want pets. 

Yeah, I know.

That's why I don't advertise pet quality birds to fanciers.

But that doesn't mean that there aren't people who do, and I see absolutely no reason that the people who want a pet can't have a healthy cull.

[kristenmeriewieder]

5 Cliches About Decorative Concrete Floors Residential You Should Avoid

A closed cell foam sheet underlayment is the primary product to get laid down. It provides a skinny layer on which your complete Cable Management Floor method is mounted.

When various panels are laid down and checked for alignment, the UNIPANELS and Base Connectors lock into area and they are immobile. Made out of substantial power plastic.

Normally, a big floor costs a lot more to shine than a little floor in the identical situation. However, in some cases contractors demand additional for smaller floors. This occurs once the place is just too tiny to the gear they use, which forces them to finish the operate by hand.

We've got 3 youthful boys and three puppies. The flooring stands as much as absolutely anything! Several months in the past we installed all around 800sqft inside our primary residing spots; foyer, kitchen, eating space and so on.

During highschool, Shane began a stress washing and painting business.  He strain washed driveways, sidewalks and patios.  He also strain washed residence and lose siding, in addition to wood fences to get ready them to generally be painted.

On the flip side, the benefits of having a sophisticated concrete floor are many. Below are a few compelling reasons for taking into consideration polished concrete as your future household trend statement:

Just about every panel is supported by 64 crafted-in pedestals enabling the panels to accommodate insignificant subfloor versions or imperfections. The substantial variety of assistance pedestals also delivers top-quality load rankings and crush toughness.

Prior to now, decorative concrete intended a mix of concrete and mixture, for example gravel, pebble, or crushed stone. Today, concrete is becoming much more multipurpose as decorative coatings and overlays became accessible all around the region.

After numerous panels are laid down and checked for alignment, the UNIPANELS and Foundation Connectors lock into place and so are immobile. Made out of large energy plastic.

This concrete kitchen area floor was overlaid and colored having a personalized pigmented mixture, applying an acrylic base color along with solvents and acid stains. This kitchen also encompasses a personalized concrete countertop. See a lot more pictures from this contractor >>

Use this guidebook to be sure to're well prepared In terms of hiring a contractor for concrete work. These 8 very simple measures are your crucial to being aware of what info you must look for, what inquiries you must request, and to comprehending some very important do's and don'ts throughout the method.

Do there is a great deal of concrete ideas but just can’t determine what to select and which ones to toss out the window? We're listed here that will help. We're a Leading decorative concrete contractor in Miami that makes a speciality of resurfacing and refinishing patio concrete, pool decks, driveways, interior floors, and commercial flooring. We've been here to cause you to homes greater plus your life less complicated. Phone Miami Concrete Artisans now!

This great-crafted aluminum edge trim piece is bought in seventy eight" lengths and is used to neatly complete the edge from the cable management floor. Typically utilized on the perimeters of ramps, it may be used along any edge, if desired.

Decorative engraving. We provide you with a host of decorative engraving options for your floor, which includes stenciled graphic types, to make it much more unique.

[berserker-official]

Then allow me to be the one who does it. -ahem- Answer all 200 questions, please.

YOU

200: My crush’s name is: I don’t have one right now?

199: I was born in: A hospital in Colorado

198: I am really: Really tired

197: My cellphone company is: Cricket

196: My eye color is: Blue

195: My shoe size is: I think 12?

194: My ring size is: I have no fucking idea

193: My height is: 6′2

192: I am allergic to: Nothing that I know of

191: My 1st car was: I share a Jeep with the family

190: My 1st job was: A pizza man at Little Caesars in Texas

189: Last book you read: All You Need is Kill by Hiroshi Sakurazaka

188: My bed is: Small.

187: My pet: She a good girl and like 6 different breeds

186: My best friend: I have too many

185: My favorite shampoo is: Whatever’s cheap

184: Xbox or ps3: Both but I’m a sony man at heart

183: Piggy banks are: Neat

182: In my pockets: I don’t have pockets right now

181: On my calendar: Nothing special today but I have the Danganronpa V3 release date on it in a couple of weeks

180: Marriage is: Neat

179: Spongebob can: go steppin on the beach

178: My mom: is neat but I’m mad at her right now

177: The last three songs I bought were?

Silence by Marshmello & Khalid, OTONA HIT PARADE and Emotional Literacy by Bradio

176: Last YouTube video watched: Oney Plays D. Premonition WITH FRIENDS - EP 6 - Minesweeper175: How many cousins do you have? I honestly don’t know. My parents don’t really keep in touch with immediate family. My mom is an only child and my dad doesn’t talk to her sister.174: Do you have any siblings? I have a little brother who’s a fucking loser going for an astrophysics degree.

173: Are your parents divorced? Nope

172: Are you taller than your mom? By two feet.

171: Do you play an instrument? I used to play percussion in middle school

170: What did you do yesterday? A bunch of stencil work[ I Believe In ] (I’ve already answered these but here u go)169: Love at first sight: Not really168: Luck: Heart of the Cards167: Fate: No166: Yourself: Nope165: Aliens: Yeah164: Heaven: Not really163: Hell: Not really162: God: Not really161: Horoscopes: No but I look at them randomly160: Soul mates: Yeah159: Ghosts: No but not yet158: Gay Marriage: HELL YEAH157: War: No it bad156: Orbs: I BELIEVE IN THE ORBS155: Magic: No but not yet[ This or That ] (I’ve answered some of these already but here u go)154: Hugs or Kisses: Hugs153: Drunk or High: Neither152: Phone or Online: Online151: Red heads or Black haired: Black hair but I don’t really care?150: Blondes or Brunettes: Blonde cuz I’m ready to have fun149: Hot or cold: Cold148: Summer or winter: Winter147: Autumn or Spring: Autumn146: Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate145: Night or Day: Night144: Oranges or Apples: Apples143: Curly or Straight hair: Straight hair142: McDonalds or Burger King: Doesn’t matter141: White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: Milk chocolate140: Mac or PC: PC139: Flip flops or high heals: I hate showing off my feet and I actually wore high heels once so HIGH HEELS138: Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: I’m sweet and poor so that one137: Coke or Pepsi: Neither one I actually don’t like carbonated drinks136: Hillary or Obama: Thanks obama135: Burried or cremated: Cremated it’s better for the earth134: Singing or Dancing: Singing even I fuckin suck133: Coach or Chanel: I have no idea132: Kat McPhee or Taylor Hicks: Neither?131: Small town or Big city: Big City130: Wal-Mart or Target: Target129: Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: Ben Stiller128: Manicure or Pedicure: Whichever is the hand one127: East Coast or West Coast: I’m in the middle so doesn’t matter126: Your Birthday or Christmas: Christmas cuz my birthday is in the summer so I’m dying of heat.125: Chocolate or Flowers: Chocolate124: Disney or Six Flags: Neither cuz going outside sucks123: Yankees or Red Sox: Cubs cuz they finally won the world series[ Here’s What I Think About ]122: War: It bad121: George Bush: He did Nine Eleven120: Gay Marriage: It’s great why the fuck do people think it’s bad119: The presidential election: In general I used to not care but NOW GO FUCKING VOTE118: Abortion: I think it’s important117: MySpace: I never had a myspace but bring back the grunge emo shit116: Reality TV: It’s obviously fake so115: Parents: Parents are good without them I would not be here (But if they’re abusive fuck them)114: Back stabbers: Drop them faster than you can say bye bitch113: Ebay: I’ve only used it once and it was good so I say sure112: Facebook: Needs to chill the fuck out111: Work: Work is good you get money and gain retail horror stories110: My Neighbors: One of them is a drunk so meh but The Best Neighbor is a guy that used to build his own motorcycles but has heart problems so he had to sell them but he’s a chill guy and I love him109: Gas Prices: TOO DAMN HIGH108: Designer Clothes: Too rich for my blood107: College: A good choice for your future but it’s not for everybody106: Sports: The only sport I care about is MLG Gaming105: My family: They cool but highly problematic104: The future: I’m at a big turning point right now so[ Last time I ]103: Hugged someone: Last Saturday?102: Last time you ate: A couple hours ago101: Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: Last week I think I hung out with a friend and we watched Willow100: Cried in front of someone: Months probably99: Went to a movie theater: I went to see Spider-Man Homecoming when it came out but next month I’m going to see Jigsaw with @warlord-official so that’s fun98: Took a vacation: I don’t know? When I got out of school for summer vacation?97: Swam in a pool: 2011?96: Changed a diaper: I actually never changed a diaper95: Got my nails done: Never94: Went to a wedding: Two years ago93: Broke a bone: Never92: Got a peircing: Sophmore year I got my lip pierced so...2008?91: Broke the law: I think I ran a red light once so a couple years ago?90: Texted: A day?[ MISC ]89: Who makes you laugh the most: Me cuz I do the dumbest shit88: Something I will really miss when I leave home is: My dog87: The last movie I saw: I was watching the Rugrats Movie on Netflix a little while ago86: The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: Danganronpa V3 and then Jigsaw in October and the Ixalan MTG set at the end of the month.85: The thing im not looking forward to: The next time I have to go to jury duty84: People call me: by my name83: The most difficult thing to do is: Be an adult82: I have gotten a speeding ticket: Never81: My zodiac sign is: Leo80: The first person i talked to today was: My dad79: First time you had a crush: Probably in elementary school? She was partially deaf and my teacher told me to help her out for the year and we got pretty close78: The one person who i can’t hide things from: My friends cuz I gotta let my baggage out77: Last time someone said something you were thinking: I don’t remember cuz all my friends think the same way76: Right now I am talking to: No one75: What are you going to do when you grow up: I wanna do photography maybe teaching74: I have/will get a job: When I graduate73: Tomorrow: I gotta get up early for school72: Today: I did a bunch of school readings71: Next Summer: I’m gonna die from heat again70: Next Weekend: Hopefully I can hang with friends69: I have these pets: A good dog68: The worst sound in the world: When a racist opens their mouth67: The person that makes me cry the most is: Roman from the FH team cuz he’s NOT FUCKING NERFING CENT66: People that make you happy: All my friends65: Last time I cried: Just now boi we goin in hard64: My friends are: Good boys and girls63: My computer is: I have an 5 year old ASUS laptop that I should try to upgrade cuz it runs Overwatch poorly62: My School: MSU Denver61: My Car: I share a Jeep with the family60: I lose all respect for people who: Treat my friends like they’re subhuman59: The movie I cried at was: Death Note cuz it was fucking awful58: Your hair color is: Dirty blonde57: TV shows you watch: The only stuff on now that I’m watching is Rick and Morty and AHS: Cult56: Favorite web site: Tumblr even though this hellsite is full of sin55: Your dream vacation: Japan?54: The worst pain I was ever in was: My wisdom teeth were pretty obnoxious53: How do you like your steak cooked: Rare52: My room is: Very messy and small51: My favorite celebrity is: Gal Gadot50: Where would you like to be: Anywhere not stressed out49: Do you want children: Only if I have an S/O that wants kids48: Ever been in love: Yeh47: Who’s your best friend: I have too many to count but @warlord-official is one of them46: More guy friends or girl friends: I think it’s a tie?45: One thing that makes you feel great is: when my friends are happy or I eat a good burger44: One person that you wish you could see right now: My friend that’s in Japan I miss her43: Do you have a 5 year plan: Nope42: Have you made a list of things to do before you die: Nope41: Have you pre-named your children: I did when I was dating someone and thought we were pretty serious but then I found out she was cheating on me so not anymore40: Last person I got mad at: My mom39: I would like to move to: Japan or somewhere that is cool all the time like Washington maybe38: I wish I was a professional: Photographer[ My Favorites ]37: Candy: Pay Day36: Vehicle: Reasonably priced car is one of the new Jeeps. Super expensive car would be an Aston Martin or Maserati35: President: Obama34: State visited: Georgia was nice33: Cellphone provider: Cricket cuz it’s the only one I’ve had32: Athlete: John Elway31: Actor: Chris Evans30: Actress: Gal Gadot29: Singer: Kesha28: Band: Bradio or Starset27: Clothing store: DXL cuz it’s the only store that sells clothes for Big Boys26: Grocery store: Safeway25: TV show: Hannibal or Future Diary. Rick and Morty is always good24: Movie: Saw, Pacific Rim, Back to the Future, or Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift23: Website: Tumle dot hell22: Animal: Dog?21: Theme park: NONE OF EM20: Holiday: Halloween19: Sport to watch: idk18: Sport to play: I used to do tennis so that one17: Magazine: Shonen Jump or Game Informer16: Book: The Disaster Artist15: Day of the week: Friday14: Beach: I’ve never been to a beach13: Concert attended: Either PVRIS or A Perfect Circle with @warlord-official12: Thing to cook: It’s like a mix of pizza and spaghetti11: Food: A nice burger10: Restaurant: I like Smashburger9: Radio station: I don’t remember the one that plays rock music here but that one8: Yankee candle scent: Something about rain?7: Perfume: There was a vanilla one that I thought smelled nice a long time ago6: Flower: idk?5: Color: a deep blue4: Talk show host: Ellen DeGeneres?3: Comedian: Bo Burnham2: Dog breed: Mutt1: Did you answer all these truthfully? I hope so   

[trashcanearth-blog1]

Best-Kept Secrets: Favorite Design Decision

Besides the wonderful opportunity of peeking into vibrant and personally decorated homes each week, one of the things I enjoy most about the home tours here on Design*Sponge is that they essentially form a vast pool full of creative ideas, tips and tricks to be inspired by and learn from. I can't even tell you how many times I've thought to myself “I'm going to try that too!” or “Amazing - I would have never come up with that!” It's the clever solutions and personal touches that usually get me most excited.

Best-Kept Secrets is our new series where we gather design tips and creative tricks by people from some of your favorite home tours. We'll cover various topics and areas related to decorating or designing a home, and let you in on the most invaluable advice from inspiring individuals from past home tours who've tried it, lived it and loved it. To start off the series, we reached out to people from around the country to share the favorite design decisions that they have made in their homes. We'd love to know yours, too!

For me, leaving color out of my decor and instead using even more of it in my wardrobe has been my best design decision so far. Knowing that as long as I keep to my color(less) palette, everything I bring home, whether old and worn or shiny and new, will work wonderfully together. It has given me a sense of calmness I was missing in my previously saturated decor. That being said, I still love colorful homes, probably more so now that I can admire them freely here on D*S! If you scroll down you'll see some design decisions that are directly opposite to mine, which is perfect - we're all unique! -Sofia

  Batya and her family's Colorado home is a celebration of wallpaper and cheerful colors. 

  Portait by Matthew Eaton / @matteatonphotography, interior photography by Batya Stepelman

  “I love the look of layered design that is personal. It can be accomplished by purchasing pieces over time (don't decorate all at once or you'll end up looking like you live in a showroom!), mixing high and low, bringing in unique art, and incorporating older personal objects [and] heirlooms with newer pieces (many of mine were made by friends). As I work on our space, layer by layer, I'm always cognizant of the people who actually live in our home. I'm a mother of two rambunctious boys who often bring their friends over - nothing can be too precious or delicate. We want to be comfortable when we entertain and enjoy our surroundings, which is why you'll never find anything white in my home!”

  Batya Stepelman, founder of WallTawk / @walltawk Wallpaper Creates a One-of-a-Kind Family Home in Colorado

    Matt and Beau wanted their living room to feel as fun and over-the-top as the dinner parties they love to host in the space. Photo by Matt and Beau / Probably This

  “One of the absolute best design decisions we've made in our home is embracing our love of bold colors that really show our personality. In our last apartment, we both knew we wanted something over-the-top for our dining room because it's where we like to throw over-the-top-but-cozy and casual dinner parties, so we went and painted the entire thing pink (Mellow Coral by Sherwin Williams). Growing up, Beau always wanted a pink bedroom but couldn't have it because of the whole boys-don't-like-pink thing, so it was pretty important for us to embrace that desire and put a pink room somewhere in the house. The room was a conversation piece for anyone who entered, and it became a hit online. It's hard to be in a bad mood when walking through a pink room every day, or really any room that fits your particular desire, no matter how bold.”

  Matt and Beau of Probably This / @probablythis Before & After: A Vintage Camper's Revamp

  Clara moved her living room from one space to another after living in and trying out her new home for six months. The new living room and arrangement is perfect for her needs. Portrait and interior photo by  Banner Day Consulting.

  “It's been about a year since I moved into my house and I'm still figuring out how to decorate each room. When we moved in, I furnished the designated dining room as the living room because it was adjacent to the kitchen, and it had the best view. If you saw my home tour on Design*Sponge, you can see the original arrangement. About six months in, I realized this was a mistake. Although we don't entertain too much, when we did, the busing of plates and serveware became a workout. It's important to experiment, try out different ideas, styles, and learn from the unexpected. Even if it didn't work out in this instance, I'm glad I did it this way. Although TV would tell you otherwise, designing a home to last takes patience, thoughtfulness and a bit of perseverance!”

Clara Jung, founder of Banner Day Consulting / @bannerdaysf A Designer's Home In Berkeley, CA Is Warm and Inviting

  Jamie and Ingrid filled their fisherman's shack with made, found and swapped pieces. Interior photo by Luisa Brimble / @luisabrimble.

  “The best design or decorating decision we made in our home was not actually a conscious one. It was more an extension of how we live and adhering to what we believe in.

We love the ocean and bush and have always felt a sense of responsibility to look after it. And we have always preferred old things over new - old furniture, old cars, old wooden boats and old houses. We fell in love with the shack because it's a place where we can combine our love of old things with our respect for the environment.

Hand-built by fishermen using timber and stone they found on site close to 100 years ago, the shack was simple and practical and aligned perfectly with our philosophy of being content finding only what you need, rather than forever seeking all that you want.

So to us, furniture didn't have to be from well-known designers, brand new, or the latest trend. It just had to work. Almost everything in the shack was repaired, recycled, restored, reused and repurposed. If we didn't already own it or couldn't find it secondhand, we just made it. Not only did our approach cost less money, it had far less impact on the environment. And when you look out the windows here, you become very aware of just how important that is.

The shack is our simple little shelter where we feel most at home, most connected to, most in awe of, and most protective over the environment and where we hope our family, friends, and guests do too.”

  Jamie and Ingrid Kwong, owners of The Little Black Shack / @thelittleblackshack A Respectfully Restored Fisherman's Shack on the Australian Coast

  By painting the area around her front door, Liz was able to highlight the height of the room and create a colorful statement. Photography by Liz Kamarul.

  “My best decorating decision would be painting around the door and frame. It accentuated how tall the ceilings are, made the door feel larger and all for a few dollars of paint. I always say that paint is the easiest and most affordable way to change a space and enhance architectural features!”

  Liz Kamarul, stylist and designer / @liz_kamarul A Bohemian Apartment In New Orleans Makes Pattern Play Look Seamless Before & After: A Drab Laundry Room Becomes A Bright Dining Nook  

  Minetta transformed her bedroom with golden wallpaper. Now, this room is her absolute favorite space in her New York apartment.

  Portrait by Chelsea Prestin / @chelseaprestinphoto, interior photography by Minetta Archer.

  “The best design decision I've made in my home was to install wallpaper. I've had a long love affair with wallpaper and know its power to transform even the most mundane of spaces. Being a renter, I really didn't want to deal with the product and installation costs or having to take it down when I moved. After attempting to do a stencil in my bedroom as an alternative and failing miserably, I decided to bite the bullet.

I had gotten a vintage German wallpaper sample from eBay and, as luck would have it, the seller had a few rolls available. It wasn't enough to cover the entire room as I had hoped, but with some strategic cuts and placements, we made it work. Four years later I'm so glad I made the decision. My bedroom is my absolute favorite room in the apartment. The wallpaper sets a very glamorous yet playful mood. It gave me the courage to take other design risks and to wallpaper many of the other spaces in the apartment. I wouldn't change a thing!”

  Minetta Archer, decorator / @minettaarcher A Harlem Rental that Fearlessly Embraces the Color Wheel

  In her guest bedroom, Emily placed the bed in front of a row of windows - now the room feels spacious and centered. Portrait by Andy Cosnotti /@cloudandcolor, interior photo by Emily Cosnotti. 

  “Putting beds in front of windows! This seems like a total design mistake but if your headboard is lower than your window frame or is not solid and allows light to pass through, it can look great in front of a window. In both our master bedroom and guest bedroom, the bed in front of/under the window solution made a huge difference to the flow and feel of the room. I recently redecorated our guest bedroom and moved the bed from being squeezed into a corner to in front of a row of windows. Now it feels centered in the room, with space for larger nightstands and easy access to both sides of the bed. Every time guests visit they can't believe what a difference it made!”

Emily Cosnotti, stylist and photographer, The Sweet Beast / @thesweetbeast Blush and Moody Tones in a Pittsburgh Home for Photographers Before & After: Layers of Frills Become a Modern Board & Batten Powder Room

  Splurging on a good bed made all the difference in Hannah's main bedroom. Portrait by Patchin Podes, interior photo by Shawna Ankenbrandt

  “I believe the best design decision I have made in my home was getting a great bed for our main bedroom. For years we slept on a metal frame, so when it came to decorating our new home I decided that my biggest splurge would be our bed. I am so happy we went for it. Every time I would walk into our bedroom before I would think about how we needed a new bed. It was constantly on my mind, and when you see something in your home that really bothers you it's a sign that it needs to be changed. We chose the Nest Bed from DWR with a beautiful wool cover, which can be switched out if you ever wanted to change the color of the bed. Now, we spend a lot of time snuggled in bed with the whole family. No more metal frame!”

  Hannah Phillips-Kaplan, founder of Repeat + World / @repeatworld Warm Minimalism in a Los Angeles Family Home

[davidastbury]

December 2016

Man at Piccadilly Station, Manchester He has a tongue like a razor –  you have to be careful what you say to him!   Once upon a time he was brilliant; in those days he expressed his superiority in devastating sarcasm – putting his victim down, and doing it in such a way that the chorus of laughter ruled out any response.   He let it be known that he was going to the top in journalism or media –  he had the required charming malice and knew the ‘right people’.  He was a frequent dinner guest at the Dimbleby household and mixed with other luminaries. I have a picture of him from the brilliant days – droopy eyelids mocking the photographer – held tilted back,  smoke curling down his nostrils, Pall Mall haircut, elbow cupped in palm, shapeless Donegal tweed suit, hand-made shoes. And now he’s a haggard old man clutching a carrier bag loaded with cans of beer.  He’s swaying on his feet, looking up at the electronic notice board for his time of departure.

On the Train I’m fascinated by the glances exchanged between man and adult son.  Not having a son myself I am at a disadvantage in this area – or perhaps I am not. There is a way that a man looks at his grown up son – and a way that the son looks back at the father – they are involved, and have their respective viewpoints - whereas I am seeing with the calm eyes of an outsider – they are ‘mono’ to my ‘stereo’.  What they see doesn’t have room for a question – but all that I see are questions! And the main question I want to ask, cannot be asked – perhaps I know the dad too well, or not well enough -  or if I asked it, it might be misunderstood, or be viewed as ‘inappropriate’ (hateful word!) or might solicit a untrue answer which is worse than not knowing at all. So I don’t know and never will. A Rolling Stones Fan... Manchester 1964 She was crazy about Mick Jagger, and spent most of her money following the Rolling Stones tours.  The performances were usually in theatres in provincial cities across the UK – very noisy and very crowded, and although often far from the stage she would fight through the frenzy and get scribbled autographs from Jagger and the boys.  She loved Jagger for his narcissism – his magnificent conceit – his disjointed grace – his hermaphrodite beauty.  Her boyfriend was tolerant about her absences and her fixation, saying that most of us have a peculiarity others do not understand – which I suppose was quite nice of him. Occasionally I would see the two of them in a basement club.  Whenever a Rolling Stones number was played she’d be on her feet (bare feet!) dancing and strutting.  He boyfriend would sit and play it cool – smoking and drinking, slouched in a chair, taking it all in.  Soon everyone around would be watching her too – her miniskirt and striped turtle-neck – her head back and shampoo- ad hair swinging – and most thrilling of all, her eyes tightly shut with the sheer bliss of a true exhibitionist. When it was over she padded across to her boyfriend - riding the wave of our attention - then leaned across the cluttered table and kissed him on the mouth.

Noel Coward once asked John Osborne what percent queer he was. Osborne was startled at the question and replied:   ‘I’ve no idea, maybe fifteen percent.’ Coward tapped his chest and replied proudly:   ‘I am One Hundred Percent Queer!’

HE and SHE As we all know attraction can occur in the most unpromising of environments - and my office was certainly an unpromising environment.   The HE and SHE – both high-flyers in the firm – took a shine to each other, and the rest of us became conscious that love was in the air.   They were an unlikely couple – SHE was sharp and very ambitious, a strident voice, eyes that missed nothing and a tireless, aggressive energy that removed all softness and humour.  HE was unattractively bulky – deeply sarcastic and supercilious.  I wished them all the best. But somewhere along the line things went wrong.  There had been a scene (shouting) in the pub where we used to go after work, and they were no longer speaking to each other.  We all carried on as usual, but the atmosphere was as constricting as it had been before, when they were ‘as one’.   Occasionally we tried to engineer situations where they would have to speak to each other – but it didn’t work with either of them.  It was a bad situation and I was afraid that it might come to the notice of the directors upstairs. At this point I must mention Paul – he was the firm’s driver.  The lowest paid and the nicest man in the company.   He had the honest open face of someone  who would see no harm in anything – a good warm-hearted family man.   His job was to deliver parcels and important documents; he also chauffeured the bosses in the company Jag.  Paul told me that he and SHE had gone up to Birmingham, along with a van load of exhibition equipment.  They were caught in a terrible traffic snarl up, and during the wait, as they inched along the motorway, they chatted about this and that.  And then he asked her how life was treating her. She was silent for a few seconds and tried to speak but found she couldn’t.

Literary Reception There are some high achievers in here tonight.   Half familiar faces – it is amusing to see that anyone who has been on telly a few times develops that downward glance, as if they find being recognised unpleasant, but hoping that you stare at them anyway!  Men of science and letters – women too of course –  in fact a quite a few women writers putting on the agony.   I ask myself: ‘What on earth are you doing here...what do you want?’   And I reply:  ‘A cup of tea.’

Vision Every man I know has the same look.  All their faces have the same expression.  It is as if they were once standing in the street and a beautiful naked woman had walked by – and they turned round to see her again – and she was gone.  And they carry on looking - looking all the time – trying to see her again.

You only have to ask her – and she will tell you.  But she’s unpredictable and so you must catch her when she’s in a good mood or best of all when she’s had a drink or two.  Make it casual – as if asking about what she’s doing next week, or if she is going to buy that coat she liked in South Molton Street.  Keep it nice and reasonable.  You only have to ask her – and she will tell you.

We’ve done our song and dance – kept up the concern and amusement, and now the show continues without our participation – I can sit back and feign concern myself, something which I never expected to do.    What no one knows is that I couldn’t care less anymore.

After Donald Wolfit was knighted one of his troupe of actors immediately called him ‘Sir Donald’.   Wolfit beamed at him and said :- ‘Oh come now...you and I have known each other for years – just “Sir” will do’.

On the Train Young couple.  Married.  She’s taking things out of a bag and looking at them.  They have been shopping for craft items – coloured blocks, stencils, brushes on a card, things like that.  She looks at them carefully, examining them and turning them over; feeling the texture with her long, clever fingers.  I see her looking at some tubes – they are various adhesives, perhaps different adhesives for different items. Her husband glances out of the window and then looks back at her. They are very young. He fell in love with her because she can glue things together.

The Christmas Bumper Book of Memories 2016 January.  It was a cold, grey day when the two cold, grey men met.  I was one of them and the other was a long standing friend – I hadn’t seen him for years.  He had a pained expression and a weak smile, so I guessed he knew.   We shook hands –me struggling to take off my gloves; he offering me his icy paw – and worst of all, he kept hold of me.  There is nothing worse than that.  He asked me how I was and I rattled off my up-beat routine – ‘Everything’s fine, I’ve been given the name of a brilliant homeopath’... things like that.   His weak smile became weaker – I think he has always considered me frivolous, and it was irritating to see that I hadn’t changed.   Still holding my hand he looked at me searchingly and said ‘But how are you really?  Would you like to talk about it?’ In that moment I felt the chill of what Baudelaire called ‘the wind of the wing of the angel of death’.   Corfu It wasn’t the type of holiday she had expected.  The taverna was down a bumpy road out in the middle of nowhere – accommodation was basic – erratic hot water -  meals served on a terrace beneath a wooden trellis, which was rather nice except for the rats that ran along the beams.  The swimming pool was small, and there was nowhere for her to wear the evening dresses she had brought.  She was single and most of the guests were young couples – spending all day and most of the night shouting and laughing and pouring ouzo down their throats. There was only one bus to the village and on the second day she missed it.  The proprietor smiled and said that his brother Hypatos would take her.  She coldly thanked him and waited for Hypatos to appear.  The brother finally came out of the lavatory and beamed at her - he would be happy to take her to town.   He was a fat man, all the more noticeable because he was only wearing cropped cargo pants and when he got astride his small motorcycle she didn’t know what to do.  People were watching – including the proprietor who was grinning and showing his brown teeth. She had no choice but to get astride the machine – Hypatos shouted something and the bike roared away.   There was nothing for her to hold onto – no handles of any sort, so she had to lean forward and stretch her bare arms around Hypatos’ bare belly – struggling to get a firm grip the yielding wobbly flesh – and then the ordeal of being bounced up and down on the hard pillion seat. She came to loathe the proprietor – he didn’t do any work at all, instead he bullied his staff and played the great man of property.  He would smile at her and make expansive gestures, as if inviting her to enjoy his kingdom.  He was impervious to her scowls – he presumed that all women adored him. And this was the story that went around the taverna...to the hilarity of the young couples. Apparently, the proprietor had gone across to her table with two large glasses of milky ouzo and with his widest smile said to her:  ‘Tonight, me and you shag?’

When she was gone the family broke up – we all went our different ways – we just broke up – yet one beat of her heart would have brought us back together.

Eventually all our desires and compulsions change their forms and become a soulful yearning that hides itself in melancholy.

The other day I was chatting with a friend’s ten-year-old daughter.  I asked her if she was still learning the trumpet;  she replied;  ‘Oh yes - I can play lots of tunes’. I asked her what she liked most about the trumpet. She answered;  ‘Well, you can play a trumpet really loud and it stops everyone from talking’.

The Photographer on the Train He’s was no Cartier-Bresson – no snap on the sly – this chap was loaded with the gear – he even had a photographers’ jacket - a sort of sleeveless affair with multiple pockets, as worn by our Royal family when ‘orf’ for a nice day blasting the life out of Highland stags. Anyway....working on the principle that people are pleased when you take an interest in their activities, I started up a conversation.  We talked about cameras.  But he wasn’t responsive as you or I may have been - and then I began to understand.   He viewed my interest as perfectly normal;   in fact he expected it from other people.  His ego caused him to assume that other people’s thoughts will always be centred around him - and that whatever we wish to say isn’t worth the effort of listening.

From the Window A young family walking past – going dark - pavement shiny with rain – car lights flashing – but what a grouping!  There was no chance of getting the big Nikon cranked up in time; and then they were gone, out of sight. Just a man and a woman, arms linked, with a small girl on one side and a smaller boy, trotting to keep up, on the other.   The girl was trying to control her pet dog, which had the rubbery legs of a puppy and was pulling his lead across their path, and looking up as if he deserved praise.  The little boy was carrying a parcel, or a box, which was nearly as big as himself – probably an unopened Christmas gift.  The mother kept reaching to help him but he jerked his shoulders and turned away, hugging the box. And so they continued up the road.  I wonder if they know how happy they are?

Victoria Station She’s going to dump him tonight.   If you look you can see it in her face – it’s all there.  She will pick her moment to tell him – and that will be the end of their relationship – they are at different universities and they probably will never see each other again, and that’s all for the good. But I’ve a feeling there is more to it; behind her determination there is something else  - something important to her – she wants promises from him  - a promise that he will take care of himself – and a promise not to ‘let himself go.’

K She used to get up at six to take her little boy to the childminder – then a bus and a train and another bus to her college.  Her husband, a good-looking piss artist, wouldn’t get out of bed until around noon;  a quick bite to eat then off to the pub.  In the afternoons he would try to read the set books on DH Lawrence but usually he fell asleep or had long, rambling telephone chats with old friends. Around seven in the evening he would be hungry and looking forward to his wife getting home and sorting the meal out. On Saturday nights they would go out together to the pubs near the university.  They would join groups and her husband would amuse everyone with his wild opinions – his voice loud and theatrical, causing people to wonder who he was.  And the drinks kept appearing, as if from nowhere.   Later he would heavily on her, his free arm windmilling for a taxi. Looking back, she told me that this was the happiest time of her life.

Young couple – on the train He’s Asian; probably Afghan.  She’s European, perhaps English, but you don’t see many English girls with hair that shade of yellow – it is as yellow as butter and falls across the sides of her face with a single ripple of a wave near her chin.  Perhaps she’s northern European – superb skin and soft lapis lazuli eyes – a Scandinavian beauty!  Each time he looks at her he reacts with pleasure. Maybe one day he will take her home to meet his parents.  His mother will rush away to the kitchen and make her feelings known in Dari, or Pashto or Hazarangi.  Dad will walk slowly to the mosque – to the familiar green lights and red carpets and books filled with picturesque Quranic promises of bliss –  knowing that the paradise his son has found beats them all.

Mary Notnice and Henry James Henry James sometimes referred to his ‘obscure hurt’, without ever going into details as to the nature of the hurt, what it was, and when it was inflicted upon him.  Most of his biographers/scholars mention the ‘obscure hurt’ and speculate how this might have affected his writing.  The greatest of his biographers , Leon Edel devotes pages exploring the source and concludes it refers to something that happened in 1861 when James was eighteen.  His father took him to Boston ‘for consultation of a great surgeon,  the head of his profession there.’  The surgeon found nothing wrong and dismissed the young man with hardly a word – which James took as an insult.  From here onwards (such are the labyrinths and cadences of James’s mind) we do not know if the phrase ‘obscure hurt’ refers to the physical injury or the resentment he felt because of what the doctor had said. Mary Notnice, at the age of eighteen (the same age as Henry James!) held onto and nourished her ‘obscure hurt’.   I and others were charmed by her peevishness and smouldering resentments.  Of course I never knew what it was all about because details were hard to come by – dad long gone – mum a bit crazy – behaviour so bad at school that she was actually expelled in the last year – it was all part of a package.  But what struck me most was her way of looking back at you.  In that glance you could see her ‘obscure hurt’, and although she looked at you with anger, there was also sadness and reproach – as if you had harmed her in some way.

A Christmas Carol    #1 I asked a young friend for a story of something that had happened to him – not something that he had achieved but something that was out of his control and which he now views as very important.   He must have trusted me, because this is what I got. ‘I sneaked off work and went to the office bash on a lower floor.  I knew one or two people there, but it was open to clients and so on, so I was okay.  It was a great party, massive tree all lit up, loads of booze, loud jingle-bells type music, balloons banging and some serious kissing going on – not pecks under the mistletoe twig, but the real thing.  And I saw a girl standing by herself and I came over all weird – like shivery – and I knew I had to go to her.  I’m normally slow, but I wasn’t this time; I had to speak to her and the first thing I said was; ‘Are you with anyone?’ and she laughed.  So we started talking and this feeling of destiny got stronger and stronger.  You know when people say that as soon as they saw a certain person they just knew that they had to marry them?  It was like that – that is how I felt. And then my phone rang and it was my boss.  I didn’t want him to hear the noise of the party going on, so I said to the girl;  ‘I won’t be a minute, please wait here.’  Then I rushed out to the corridor, next to the lift, and listened as the boss droned on.  Then I rushed back and she was gone – and I never saw her again.  I didn’t know her name, what could I do?’

On the Train She used to save him the seat next to her – she probably got on at Leeds, he got on at my station.   They snuggled up together, glad of the press and squeeze of the tight seating and would chat cheerfully throughout the journey.  But then their little head-to-heads ended and she no longer looked up as we all piled in, there was no longer the shy smile, instead she kept her head down over her laptop, head down, fingers skipping over the keyboard.  The following day I looked out for him on the platform – and there he was, but not in his usual place, and he got onto the train lower down. Naturally I am curious!  All kinds of scenarios are fluttering in my mind – the strongest are comparisons with our antics on Facebook – a hurtful omission - a disrespectful comment – an indiscreet posting - a misunderstood remark!

A Christmas Carol    #2 Some of his very earliest memories were about his local church.  It was Victorian Gothic and was called Saint Stephen the Martyr, which as a little boy he called ‘Saint Stephen the Tomato’.  It was Anglican, but very near to Roman Catholicism in ritual. And then he found himself in the choir – in fact he was allowed to join far below the normal age, and they had to shorten a cassock for him and his white surplice, which his mother had to wash and iron every week, reached below his knees.  The choir practiced twice a week and by the time he was approaching eleven, he was the leader of the trebles and did solos.  Mr Birchall, the choirmaster, privately trained him, teaching him how to sing ‘open-throat’ and would press his hand on the boy’s diaphragm.   The highlight of the church year was the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass.  The church was lit by hundreds of candles, mostly around the choir stalls and chancel, leaving the worshipers in semi darkness.  The choir led the procession    with a Server at the front holding up a massive brass crucifix. They walked the length of the church from the vestry, between the aisles and into the nave, passing the plaques in memory of eminent founders and the shredded and stained flags from overseas battles. The opening carol was sung softly and the boy could hear the squeaking of his shoes on the stone floor.   But it was at the end of the service that his singing became sublime.  Mr Birchall was conducting with his eyes closed – the choir, all male, was at full force – the organ at full volume – the tenors and basses building a solid structure and the boy trebles soared above it, and out of that wave of joy a single choirboy began to rise even higher.  It was the boy’s great moment and he reached the note that seemed impossible, and then he reached an even higher note!  The church was flooded with the sustained brilliance of his pitch – it went on for so long and the other voices meekly faded and the organ too gave up. No one could tell when his voice ended and the echo began.

A Christmas Carol.......  #3 There was a girl in my class and I bet every male teacher in the school was in love with her.  Let me quickly add that I do not mean that this had any element of carnality or pervishness – they simply loved her.   When teaching me they may have doubted the wisdom of their choice of profession, but I think they would have taught her for free.  I’ll just say that she was lovely – even her name was lovely – Tina Pomfret! Anyway – it was time for the upper form’s Christmas dance and I asked (via a friend) if she would be my partner, which meant that I would go to her house to pick her up,  get more dances with her than anyone else, then see her home afterwards.  The answer came back: – Yes! Ricky Nelson, Connie Francis, Buddy Holly, Paul Anka , Neil Sedaka – love you forever! School Inexplicably, he had not been selected for the athletics team.  The inter-schools event was just a few weeks away and his name was not included in the list.  Yet he was one of the best at medium/distance running, but his name was not on the board.  At first he wanted to go and ask questions, but a sort of dread came into his mind, an insight into the future.  He felt that - ‘not being selected’ - despite being competent, might characterise his life. He didn’t know how to shake off the gloom of his thoughts – that feeling of dread - it actually hurt - hurt as much as the time someone banged a desk lid down on his fingers.

Happy Families Can there ever be reconciliation when a father has called his son’s girlfriend a ‘whore’?

Henry James grew up in a house that had an open door to the great and the good.  Leading figures in literature, science and the arts were regular guests.   A frequent visitor was William Makepeace Thackeray, who was venerated by  James Snr and the entire household.  Thackeray would hold court throughout the day, dominating all conversation, setting the content and tone about what the subjects should be, and giving prolonged summaries which no one ever interrupted. The story goes that Henry’s elder sister Alice – I think fourteen years old at the time – questioned the great man’s thinking when he was in mid flow.  The people round the dinner table gasped.  Thackeray turned to her with a look like a ‘ferocious lion’ – and said - ‘Are you suggesting that I am wrong?’ Alice met his gaze and smiling slightly replied – ‘Indeed I am not saying you are wrong.  I am merely asking you to consider the possibility that you may not be right.’

At the recent Kurdish Wedding I was sitting behind a family – mum and dad wearing Kurdish national costume with their two young boys, the youngest sitting on his mother’s knee.    Suddenly, before he could be grabbed, the boy slid off his mother’s knee and landed face down on the wooden floor.  Screams and blood and people slapping their pockets for something to put to his nose to hold back the bleeding.   Being an old fashioned gent I was able to produce – with the speed of a conjurer – a huge, crisply ironed, white linen handkerchief.  The boy slowly recovered from the shock, both parents crouching over him – when his big brother, about five years old, turned to me and gave me the nicest smile I’ve ever received.

The Queen’s Elm, Chelsea  George used to join us on Sunday lunchtimes, when the Queen’s Elm was crowded to the doors.   He was  older than the rest of us, perhaps seven or eight years which is a lot when you are nineteen; and we were all northerners, but he was a Londoner.  He didn’t say much - a man of few words, but he was flatteringly interested in all of us, as individuals – something we welcomed but couldn’t understand.  He was newly divorced but still occupied the marital home – a flat in Tite Street, Chelsea – while his ex was living with her new chap somewhere in France.  She was quite big deal in the fine-arts world and it looked as if she had made the money - George worked in a betting-shop somewhere in the West End. He never showed any spontaneity when he was with us – never made any jokes or wild comments – he was genial and modest, and when his turn came he would push through the crowd to get his round of drinks.  He was genial and modest.  I sometimes saw in his eyes an embarrassment, or a guilt, or perhaps the torment of a wincing sensitivity, but never discovered what was going on behind his mask.  He used to dress in expensive suits and one Sunday I admired his dark blue overcoat.  He smiled and turned it back to show the label  - Crombie & Co.  He asked me if I would like one and I replied that there was no way that I could afford a Crombie – it would have cost about a month’s salary.  George said that he had contacts – he ‘knew’ people and he felt my shoulders and said that a ‘forty regular’ should fit. Incredibly, the following Sunday in the Queen’s Elm, George appeared with my coat over his arm – he carried like a butler!  Nor would he take a penny for it.  The coat lasted years and years – in fact, properly taken care of it would still be around today – and if someone had properly taken care of George he might too.

On the Train I will put my safety first like all the other sensible liberal cowards.  He isn’t someone to mess with because he’s had enough of the whole lot of us – the schools that let him down, the kids with their prizes who told him he was thick -  the laughter at the suggestion of higher education when he hadn’t even got a primary one -  little in the way of love at home and little in the way of friendships -  the employers who exploit him, viewing him as not much more than an animal,  and he takes his revenge by stealing from them – no prospects - no girlfriends -  everything a failure. So we all look away and pretend he doesn’t exist and my heart aches and I don’t know what to do.

Sons and Lovers.....  (a shorter version) There used to be a large academic bookshop in Manchester, where I worked between the time of the Chatterley ban and the Beatle’s first LP.  In the cellar was the ‘Goods In – Goods out’ department, with a small cramped office, in which sat a small cramped man called Eric.   One sunny morning in the gloom of the cellar, I asked Eric if he was okay.  He looked tired and more than usually unhappy.  He replied;  ‘The wife’s crying all the time.’  I asked why.  ‘Our son’s going to Australia; he’s emigrating; got a job and all that and he’s leaving next week.’ ‘I’m sorry to hear that Eric – and your wife is upset about it?’  I said. ‘Yes – she walks around sniffling all the time.’ I struggled to empathise.  ‘It must be difficult for her – and you.’ He glared at me.  ‘Look – less than twenty years ago I was reporting to Liverpool to get on a troopship for the Far East - to fight the Japanese.  She knew where I was going because I told her – although we weren’t supposed to tell anyone.  She knew that ships were being torpedoed out of the water like a row of ducks. He knew that the sea was full of sharks.  She knew that we were going into jungle fighting.   But, bloody hell, she’s worried about him who’s going to get on a jetplane and off to a job at some college or other!  She never got this worried about me – she didn’t cry at all!’ No one cried for Eric.  

On the Train I recognised him instantly as someone familiar but ‘not to be spoken to’ – he slots into the category of people you know, but not directly.  I have seen him on TV being interviewed on science issues – but he is no smiling popularist, more a grumpy boffin resenting intrusion into his laboratory. His subject is spectrometry, as applied to astronomy – checking the chemical structures of stars in the Milky Way.  He is part of an international team who send out an electronic pulsing into space which consists of an endless repetition of  π r2.  The scientists presumed that if there is intelligent life out there, they would pick up this transmitted formula and understand it. So there he sits – the man who sends out π r2  into the universe – looking slightly cross, no doubt sensing the danger of hearing me suggest that Whitney Houston’ s  ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’  might be a better choice.

Pret a Manger A young couple come in – shutting the door behind them but looking confused.  They say something to each other and then go back out.  A few seconds later they are back in.  I watch as they order whatever it is and the man chooses a table, leaving the young woman to load up the tray.  He sits down and then gets up again and tells her that he has changed his mind.  She calls the assistant back to change the order, she then she joins him at the table, but she wants to sit near the window, so they pick up their bags and things and move. They have an attractive staccato eagerness, indicating the newness of their relationship – a quickness at smiling – at finding pleasure in what the other is saying or doing.  Somehow they have influenced the equilibrium of the place – it isn’t the same as it was before they came in!  Very hard to put into words, but there has been sort of displacement, but as I dismissed this as fanciful, a piece of my own imagining, there was a loud bang as a waiter dropped a plate.

Lydia Pasternak Slater – poet, translator and brother of Boris Pasternak.  Somewhere in the mid sixties I visited her at her home in Oxford – a visit made possible by a French mutual friend, also called Boris and also Jewish, who had survived the entire Nazi occupation of Paris hidden in a cellar. I was in awe at meeting Lydia and had resolved to tread carefully when speaking of her brother, who had died only four or five years previously.  She was lovely and brisk and cheerful and we sat in her work room, which consisted of a tiny kitchen at one end and long tables loaded (neatly) with piles of books.  It was like a warehouse and it was easy to see that she took pleasure in the wrapping, tying up with string, weighing, sticking on gummed labels and all the rest of it.  Perhaps after hours of intellectual effort she found a relaxation in this side of the book business.  I told her that I was a bookseller and she wanted to know all about it, where my shop was, what I sold.  It was astonishing that this bright-eyed elderly woman, who had grown up in a home in which Tolstoy and Scriabin and Rachmaninov were regular callers, should be interested in what was going on in my life!  As a little girl she had sat on Tolstoy’s knee! She told me that she loved Oxford – her house was off Banbury Road, I think.  She loved swimming in the river.  She was busy translating a new edition of her brother’s poetry – people say she is the best – and she gave me a signed copy.   At one point I rambled on about poets being the best writers of prose and mentioned Hardy, Lampedusa, Plath, Joyce (who always considered himself primarily a poet), Rilke....’and greatest of all, Boris Pasternak!’

Outside M&S A chance meeting – we could have got away with walking on – but no – we simultaneously broke into huge smiles and lots of vigorous hand-shaking.  Not seen each other for years!  Usual banalities about not looking a day older.   I asked about his family and he proudly told me that his youngest, Judy, was an actress.  As we chatted away I was conscious that both of us were struggling with the question – does our fragile and neglected friendship merit resuscitation and should one of us offer some sort of invitation?  Neither of us did, and eventually he went in one direction and I went in the other. Some while later I Googled his daughter – and there she was!  The last time I saw her she was a shy eleven-year-old.  The webpage was her agent’s so I clicked on her profile – all grown up and smiling – and a list of her career up to this year.  Drama school, theatre appearances, list of plays, list of characters;  television work, list of plays, list of characters; adverts and sponsorships and her personal notes – Specialities; ‘very experienced and competent in fight scenes and does her own stunts.  Can operate helicopter and light aircraft.  Can do rooftop scenes and anything involving heights.  Can work with dangerous animals.  Can do car crash scenes.’ Good old Judy.

Abraxas spends a lot of time trying to be popular in the Assembly – he’s hoping for elevation; he wants to strut in the Agora and see people stepping back.  What a fool!  Doesn’t he know that Khronos, who makes these appointments, has been watching him and knows that he has no feelings - has no love in him - no sympathy for the poor nor for animals. Khronos will overlook many character flaws,  but never coldness.

The Bookshop in the Strand.... ( L’amour toujours ) Roger, the shop manager used to sub-let the basement to a struggling publisher.  All day long The Publisher was unseen but heard – he would be either shouting at people over the phone, or having a weep, or singing selections from the musicals.  Access to his basement was down a weird, wrought-iron spiral staircase; so ornate and fussy that it puzzled me who might have commissioned it; what had been the buildings previous use – a bridal dress shop perhaps? Anyway The Publisher would be down there and we could tell his moods, and the state of his private life, by the songs he sang.  I remember particularly his version of a Marie Lloyd gem  (his voice loud and alarmingly clear to us upstairs in the bookshop)  as he belted out  ‘The Boy I Love is up in the Gallery’.  He only sang emotional songs and if the genders didn’t fit his preference he switched them – which used to really amuse me – I was only nineteen and that was the sort of thing I found funny. One afternoon it was clear that he was in love – there had been a steady stream of jolly songs.  And suddenly he sprang like a demon from his underground den and grabbed Roger – poor, prim Roger – gripping him fiercely and called out  - ‘C’mon you tight-arsed bastard – let’s have a dance!’ The two of them spun around the shop in a fairly decent waltz – The Publisher singing at the top of his voice : – ‘I could have danced all night I could have danced all night! And still have begged for more!.....’

J-----     (the model) She spent hours sitting for him - hundreds of drawing before he even started on the clay.  At first the idea of having her head ‘done’ by Danny had amused and flattered her, but it soon became tedious.  Danny used to tell me how it was coming along – she had a fabulous head and he was inspired – not that he could put his enthusiasm into words – but he’d say things like -  ‘serene beauty on the outside – but underneath!’  To which I was supposed to nod my head vigorously as if I understood. When the head was nearly finished he let me see it.  He had it covered by a wet cloth and it was mounted on a steel armature on a high wooden trestle.  She was so beautiful, timeless, classical – eyes closed;  her head was perfection, superb in profile and full on – the jaw coming forward as she is about to speak.  I said that it was the best portrait I had ever seen.   He said that when it was completed he would take it to a London art school for casting. I never found out what happened after that, the head was no longer on the plinth and he was occupied with a new subject. He wouldn’t say anything.  Even years later, even as an old man, he would not answer questions.  Those that knew him compared theories. Danny destroyed it – something he frequently did with his work. Danny was in love with the girl and she rejected him – very possible, all his involvements were problematic;  in this case the girl had hardly left school, and he was a thirty-two year old who spent a lot of time as a voluntary patient in mental hospitals.   Danny had it cast in plaster and simply gave it to the girl, as a tribute to her beauty. I believe the last one.

Manchester Nights They used to meet in a city centre bar – both going straight from their offices – this was during the week but never on a Friday evening – she had to explain to him.  He would order a whisky sour and a vodka and they would sit in a banquette away from the door but facing the street.  Just a young couple happy together; perhaps in love - nothing very unusual in all this – nothing at all. Manchester was an austere city in the 1960s; not at all like the place it is today.  You didn’t go to Manchester to have fun; it was a place of business; of dark warehouses and triumphal banks.  No one lived in the centre, no trees, no greenery at all, no break from the heavy orthodoxy of commercialism.   But it was nice in the bar where nothing distracted them from each other – except her eyes kept flickering across to the street – to the building facing them in the street.  She was mesmerised by the sign in the yellow street light:- J. & E.W.  Kegan  (Imports) Ltd.

A London Street  #2     1967 Some might have said that Anna’s husband wasn’t up to much.  His name was Joe and he was an unemployed drummer -  American -  always on the point of the ‘big break’ that never came.  He was out nearly every night in the Earls Court pubs, mixing with the rock and blues crowds and would stumble home,  eager to tell his wife about the offer that would soon be his.  He also used to bring people back with him – people who had missed their last train, or were too drunk to go home, or had no home to go to.  Anna didn’t make a fuss, she conjured up a quick supper, locked the doors, fed the cat, carried bundles of bedding for the guests and set the clock;  she had to be up early for her job at St. Thomas’ Hospital. Anna loved Joe’s accent – he was from Chicago but she could catch the Irish origins, which being a Celt herself, sounded very attractive to her.  Hearing his voice took her back to another voice – another American voice – a voice from when she was a girl growing up in her Welsh village.   A very distinguished writer and his American wife settled in a small terrace house, right on the main street.  No one knew why they had chosen to live in a Welsh village, known only for slate mining.   The man was really odd but word had it that he had been twice nominated for the Nobel Prize for literature, so that stunned the locals into silence.   His output continued, but his major books had already been written and published. And then he became ill and was taken to hospital in Chester, and was quickly discharged and returned home to die.   His widow remained in the village – she hardly ever went out and had no visitors. But a friendship developed between Anna and the widow – Anna was sixteen or so and the widow was in her seventies.  They sat in the tiny living room and talked endlessly about Anna’s life at school and what she wanted to do in the future.  She was happy to chat and tell the frail, bright-eyed lady everything about herself;  she told her things that she would never mention to anyone else. She started to love the woman’s voice –  it was the voice of Emily Dickenson. One afternoon Anna followed her up the narrow stairs to see the room where her husband had worked.   It was small and unfurnished – just a bookcase and a desk and a chair at the window.  There wasn’t a carpet and the wooden boards creaked under her school shoes.   The desk was plain wood with a sloping top – like clerks used in Victorian times.  Sunlight poured through the dusty window, but only on that side of the room.  She looked down and saw the river and how the weeds looked like a woman’s long hair being rinsed.  The woman was explaining something and her words lost their meaning, it was just the music of her voice – highly educated, soft cadences, summer afternoons,  a slight insinuation, love letters so old that the paper melted and crumbled in your fingers.  She felt faint and the woman quickly reached out for her –  and then the woman said, in her best Boston voice – ‘I think you and I should have a nice glass of whiskey!’