#another fun fact : i caption this as “low effort” because that's what i write for all my other doodles

[lady-divine-writes]

ACITW AU -Here’s what the fuck is left

I’ve had it with this fic. And I’ve had it with this fandom. I really have. Why I continue to write for it, I don’t know. The fact that I’ve been insulted up the ying yang, called names, dirt, threatened, and otherwise intimidated (tried) by you all doesn’t seem to matter. The fact that what I have written so far has more words than the original doesn’t matter. The fact that when I started this, I was going so far as to email chapters to people individually per request, drop them in inboxes on tumblr didn’t matter. Those chapters still went un reviewed, uncommented on. There have been many lovely people who have supported me, but the majority have been real rats. You don’t support my other work. You couldn’t care less. All that matters is ACITW AU. You want to talk about me, and my effort, as if I’m some lout who doesn’t want to fulfill her promises because y’all are sucking your thumbs singing, “A drop in the ocean ... a change in the weather ... “ Here you go. I’m putting up what I have, unfinished, chapter by chapter. Why? Because I’m an old lady with health issues and I COULDN’T CARE LESS! Most of y’all didn’t like my version anyway. So here’s the end of it. Have fun!

“Who in the world needs three trousseaus?” Sebastian moans, trudging behind his boyfriend and his sister through, what Olivia obnoxiously referred to as “the hallowed halls of Carolina Premium Outlets”. Kurt was surprised that a woman with the financial means of Olivia Smythe would opt to shop at an outlet mall instead of all the other upscale clothing stores within a hundred mile radius, but it also made him adore her even more.

“I do,” Olivia says, grabbing Kurt’s hand and bolting towards Talbots, as if trying to outrun her brother’s cynicism and sour attitude. “Now, hurry up! We’ve got seven more stores to hit.

“Why bother?” Sebastian grabs for Kurt’s other hand, frowning when his hand closes around air. “I think you’ve bought every white outfit in this place.”

“Hmph. You can never have too much white,” Olivia tosses over her shoulder, smirking when she notices her brother’s ineffectual attempts at retrieving his boyfriend.

“Should you even be wearing white at this wedding?” Sebastian retaliates. “I mean, isn’t white reserved for the virtuous?”

Olivia and Kurt stop speed-walking. Olivia gasps, and Kurt wraps an arm around her, carefully shielding her ears with his hands.

“That’s a low blow,” he says.

“Yeah. And besides, if I was worried about a higher power sending lightning down to smote the impure, I wouldn’t have invited you or Julian. Between the two of you, you could set the entire place on fire.”

Kurt feels guilty spending money, but since he has this new plan to put into action, he breaks down and buys a shirt or two.

“You know, you should just go crazy,” Sebastian says. “It’s all good. I’ll pick up the tab.”

“I don’t want you spending money on me.”

“Why not? I have it to spend.” Sebastian playfully bumps Kurt’s hip. “What’s a couple thousand between boyfriends? Besides, I like the idea of spoiling you.” He leans down close to Kurt’s ear and whispers, “If you want, I can take it out of what I owe you.”

Those words, in contrast to the heat of Sebastian’s breath, make Kurt’s skin cold. It’s just a joke. Sebastian is teasing. And Kurt should be happy that he feels free to tease him about this. Things are slowly coming out in the open, people are finding out about their ruse, and they don’t care, because in the end, the two of them fell in love.

It may not mean anything to Sebastian. It shouldn’t mean anything to Kurt. So why does it?

Kurt sees pic text from his dad; can’t open pic for some reason

“Oh, can I see those pictures now?” Olivia asks, looking over Kurt’s shoulder. “From the hot air balloon ride you guys took?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt says, slightly distracted by this new issue with his phone. “Let me just …”

“What’s going on there, babe? Forgot how to use your phone? I mean, you haven’t really been using it the past week. I can see how you might have forgotten.”

“It’s not that,” Kurt says, not even surprised anymore by how easy it is to simply bypass Sebastian’s humor and see the real message inside. “This has happened to me a few times before. It won’t let me access my photo gallery.”

“I should really upgrade your phone,” Sebastian says offhandedly.

“My phone’s fine, Bas,” Kurt says, more annoyed at his phone than he is at his boyfriend.

“Well, I don’t want your wack ass service to go out when I need to get a hold of you. What if we’re sexting and your phone drops the signal?”

“It’s not the service,” Kurt grumbles, then gives up, accessing Facebook for the photos instead. “It’s the phone.”

“Ergo why I should upgrade it.”

“Grr,” Kurt groans, not bothering to glare at Sebastian since he realizes he just made his point for him. Yes, it would be nice to have a new phone. This one’s been giving him grief for a while. But, it still works, and it’s decent. Why toss something away just because it’s temperamental and frustrating? By that logic, he should break up with Sebastian. He laughs out loud when that conclusion pops in his head.

“Okay,” Kurt says with satisfaction as his Facebook page pops on to the screen, “here’s the one at holy shit!”

“Holy shit?” Olivia repeats.

“I don’t remember us going there,” Sebastian says, crowding, along with Olivia, around Kurt, and looking at his phone. The first photo that comes up is the exact photo that Kurt wanted – the two of them kissing in the basket of that hot air balloon, with the caption he wrote Love Defies Gravity. That’s not the issue. The issue is:

“Seen by … 1,452 people!?”

Even Sebastian gasps when Kurt reads it, and the four of them stop walking.

“That’s … a lot of people,” Brian comments.

It’s not just the seen by list that makes Kurt’s jaw drop, but the comments, only the first four displayed, but when he clicks the View more comments hyperlink, they shoot down his screen.

Kurt scans the list of names quickly, noting that pretty much every member of the New Directions has not only seen the pictures, but has had something positive to say, and that makes Kurt giddy with happiness and relief. Not that their disapproval would have had any influence over whether Kurt stayed with Sebastian or not. He doesn’t need a single one of his friends to approve of what they have to know that it’s what he wants. It’s just nice to know that his friends are happy for him regardless…even Rachel Berry, who has left him a string of heart emojis and the almost impossible to believe comment – I’m so sorry. About everything. Call me soon. I want to talk about this.

Kurt doesn’t read each name one by one, so he doesn’t see one name in particular at the way bottom.

One of the first people to see the photograph, even though they didn’t leave a comment.

They couldn’t bring themselves to.

And had Kurt looked at all of the other photographs that he’s uploaded while he’s been at the beach house – the ones he took of the ocean view from Sebastian’s room, the selfie he took with Sebastian on the porch swing, and the one he took of Sebastian asleep in bed – he would have seen that one person had already seen each and every one of them.

Blaine Anderson.

Converses with Rachel (who apologizes)

Finds out about how Seb knew about the coffee (from Mercedes) and the single ladies video (from Brittany)

Kurt wonders if Sebastian knows, the way he seems to know about everything, that forehead kisses are one of Kurt’s hidden weaknesses? Blaine could never quite pull it off the way Sebastian does. Kurt would always have to tilt his head a bit for Blaine to reach. But Sebastian doesn’t, and that little item makes a world of difference.

 Several times on the car ride home, Kurt tries to download the message. He waits while an icon circles around, around, around, but all he gets back is the error message, “File not available for download.”

“Shoot! But why aren’t you available for download?” Kurt asks.

The phone doesn’t answer, but Sebastian does.

“Because I’m a shit phone, Kurt. Let your sexy boyfriend upgrade me.”

“Shut it, Smythe,” Kurt says and raises the volume on the radio.

 Kurt decides to do a hard reboot.

To Kurt:

Call me as soon as you can. We really need to talk.

Along with that ominous message his father sent a picture – a photo of an envelope, the return address, NYADA, specifically the financial aid department. And across the bottom of the envelope, where Kurt has gotten used to seeing the words AMOUNT DUE are stamped the words FINAL NOTICE.

Kurt swallows hard. No, he thinks. Not now. Not when I’m here, in this sanctuary, when nothing bad can touch me, still trying to sort things out. Not when I don’t have a clue how to fix this, where to even start.

But maybe that’s the rub. Maybe he was never meant to figure this problem out. Maybe his acceptance to NYADA was something he was meant to lose, like Blaine. Just another part of his life he arrogantly thought was a sure thing, something he didn’t bother worrying about once he’d gotten it, slipping through his fingers.

“Hey. You figured your phone out.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, quickly closing the text. “I just turned it off and turned it back on again. Worked like a charm.”

Sebastian looks his boyfriend over, but most particularly his smile - two-dimensional, not doing its usual job of lighting his eyes - and starts to worry. “What did your dad have to say? Nothing bad, right? He’s not … he’s not sick or anything?”

“No. No, he’s fine. He just got home, I guess.” Kurt tries to stuff the phone in his pocket, but his numb fingers refuse to move.

“You know” – Sebastian sits beside Kurt, his eyes on the phone that Kurt tucks out of sight – “I never did ask you what you needed $10,000 for. I mean, did you pick that number out of the air at random? Or was that what you thought dating me was worth, because, if that’s the case, then frankly I think you sold one of us short.”

Kurt nods tersely but doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s paralyzed. Now is definitely the time to own up to something, but what? To his old plan of needing the money to go to NYADA? Or this new plan of moving wherever Sebastian is going that he’s become recently attached to? He knows he’ll tell Sebastian both, but which one takes precedence? If emotion weren’t entering in to it at all, if he wasn’t still slightly confused about this relationship with Sebastian, than the answer would be NYADA, definitely. And even as that new plan, glimmering in his head, is tickling his lips to make its way out, he knows the answer is NYADA, no matter what, above all.

Sebastian puts an arm around Kurt’s shoulder and pulls him against him as he reclines. He pushes off the porch with his feet and starts the swing rocking its soothing rhythm.

“Originally I thought it was so you could buy yourself a new wardrobe,” Sebastian continues, hoping to get Kurt relaxed enough to spill, “and I have to say, I was all for that. Hell, I was going to up it to $50,000 and just take you shopping myself. Make sure you got your money’s worth.” Sebastian waits for a comeback, a snide remark, anything. But when Kurt remains quiet, Sebastian kisses his head. “Talk to me, babe. Tell me what’s going on.”

Kurt sighs. He can’t put this off any longer. Putting it off, coming up with some excuse not to talk about it, would feel like lying, and he doesn’t want to lie to Sebastian.

“It’s for … it was for college. NYADA.” God, he isn’t prepared to admit this. Not yet. Even after the time he’s given himself, he’d never wanted to admit to any of this out loud. That was worse than not having the money, so he’d been doing everything in his power not to. “I had gotten some scholarships and some financial aid, but I was approved before my father was elected to Congress.” Kurt hears Sebastian sigh, and he knows he can fill in the rest, but Kurt feels like he has to keep going. “It never dawned on me to call and update them, but they found out on their own anyway. They readjusted my aid and, in the end, I came up short. Without that money, I … I can’t go to college.”

Sebastian sighs again, but instead of sounding frustrated, this sigh sounds hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it doesn’t matter, Sebastian. I can’t take that money now. Not after …”

“Stop, Kurt,” Sebastian says, reaching for his wallet. “Just … just stop.” He pulls out a piece of paper, folded once, and hands it to Kurt. At first, Kurt has no idea what it could be, though he has a nagging suspicion. But that suspicion can’t be correct! It would be ludicrous if it were.

But since ludicrous seems like par for the course this summer, it’s exactly what Kurt thinks it is – a cashier’s check for $10,000, made out to Kurt Hummel, dated the day after Kurt agreed to their boyfriend arrangement. And even though Kurt is teetering on the brink of incredulity, he has to smirk at the comment Sebastian had the bank print in the memo line – For services rendered. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.

“You’ve … you’ve been carrying this around with you this whole time?”

“Well, yeah.” Sebastian shrugs. “Regardless of what you see on TV, you can’t just write a personal check for ten grand. And I had every intention of keeping up my end of the bargain so …”

“Thank you, but … but I … I can’t,” Kurt says, those words killing him, driving nails into his heart and twisting, as he stares at this check, made out for more than he needs and his name in the pay to the order of line. It’s the answer to all of his prayers, but for the sake of his conscience, he has to turn it down. Goddamned conscience! Fuck you! “That’s very generous of you, but …”

“We had a deal, Kurt,” Sebastian interrupts. “You more than held up your end. In fact, I would say you went above and beyond, considering.”

Kurt nods. Objectively, he has to agree, but the way Sebastian chose to phrase it makes him feel sick. Plus, and he doesn’t know why, he feels offended. He doesn’t know what he expected Sebastian to say about the matter. He’d prepared himself for Sebastian to give him the money. He’d prepared to refuse and for the two of them to fight over it. But instead of indignant, he feels insulted.

“Then … then what does that make us? What does that make this? Everything we’ve done so far?”

“It makes it what it is, Kurt,” Sebastian says, throwing an arm in the air. “I love you, and you love me. And this …” He gestures to the check in Kurt’s hands like it’s an annoying fly he’s shooing away. “This is ancient history. Tying up loose ends.” Kurt starts shaking his head. It’s a reflex to object. This doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that boyfriends did for one another. It’s too much.

Sebastian, facing down his obstinate boyfriend, groans. “Kurt! Are you really going to throw your dreams away, your entire future, for something as stupid as money?”

“Well, you can call money stupid,” Kurt argues, his hand holding the check shaking. “You have it, alright? But when you don’t have it, it’s not stupid! It’s actually kind of important!”

“You’re right,” Sebastian agrees. “You’re absolutely right. It is important. It’s important, and you need it. You need it to go to college. So why the fuck aren’t you taking it, Kurt? I’m fortunate. I happen to have more money than I can use, sitting around, doing nothing, so let me give you some …” Kurt scoffs and rolls his head away, and Sebastian amends his statement. “Or lend you some, or however you want to do this. Remember when I said that money doesn’t matter to me beyond enjoying all the things my wealth can buy me? Well, I would enjoy the opportunity to do this for you. Look, if you don’t take it, I’m just going to send it to fucking NYADA with your name plastered all over it, so you might as well stop being so fucking stubborn and do it your damn self! If you and I hadn’t gotten together for real, if we hadn’t fallen in love, you’d be taking this check, conscience clear, and on your way to New York. But we lucked out, Kurt. We got something better out of this in the end, and being able to call you mine is worth the world to me. But if it causes you to give up your dream, Kurt, then it’s a bad thing. I don’t want what we have to be a bad thing. I want it to be a good thing. I want it to grow and last, and that will only happen if you live out your life. If you follow your dream.”

Sebastian takes the check from Kurt’s fingers. He folds it, and slides it in Kurt’s pocket. Kurt doesn’t move to object. He can’t. What Sebastian says makes sense to him logically. It’s his pride that has a problem with it. This isn’t the end. Sebastian isn’t Blaine. He isn’t just going to let go of Kurt because they’re going to schools in separate states. Kurt is finally seeing an ending to all of this where he gets to have it all – the school of his dreams, the future he planned, and the boy he never planned on. This wouldn’t be a loan, he promises himself. He’ll pay back every single cent somehow, even if it takes him a lifetime.

“You’re going to NYADA, Kurt,” Sebastian says, kissing Kurt on the forehead between words, “one way or another. And there’s not a force anywhere on earth that’s going to keep me from making sure you get there.”

 ***

They go horseback riding.

Sebastian shows Kurt a secret overlook.

“You know, if I wasn’t here, seeing it for myself, I don’t think I would ever believe any of this about you.”

Sebastian looks like he’s about to get offended, then says, “I guess I didn’t really give you the chance to find out for yourself.”

 (Kurt starts thinking that Charlottes throwing him looks.)

“Sebastian says you have quite a fondness for this old swing. You know, before you, he’d never come out here. Ever. You would think he was afraid of heights or something the way he avoided it, and my son is definitely not afraid of heights.”

“How did you figure us out?”

“Because whether they like it or not, I know my children, and to be honest, because he’s my youngest, I probably know Sebastian most of all.”

“Kurt, I’ve walked in on my son mid-coitus more times than any mother should, and what I saw when I walking in on the two of you…that wasn’t my Sebastian. Not the one I had seen torturing himself with boys and men for years. The laughing, the smiling, that was different. It was honest – real. It’s what I’ve wanted for him for longer than I can tell you.”

“You raise your kids the best you can in the hopes that they can make the right decisions on their own. I may not agree with all of the decisions my children have made, but they’re their decisions to make. I can’t micromanage their lives. I have to trust them.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you guys did an amazing job.”

“Thank you, Kurt.”

 ***

 Kurt began to notice that those long conversations that Julian used to have with Cooper seemed to be less and less. He remembers that their relationship has always been a volatile one, but Julian seemed so happy when he first arrived. Kurt hoped that their flame hadn’t burned out so quickly.

“Hey, why don’t you take a picture? It lasts longer? In fact, I have a few I can just text you, if you want to take a peek…”

 “So, what are you guys doing later on? I mean, between the sex, and more sex.”

“Have they been having a lot of sex?” Olivia asks.

“As far as I can tell. I don’t know, I haven’t been watching.”

“Yeah, right.”

 “Here. I was gonna take Cooper, but he hasn’t called me yet. Anyway, no reason for them to go to waste.”

   “It’s great, except, this chic keeps elbowing me in the ribs, and she has really sharp elbows!”

Sebastian looks over their heads towards the stage. He must see someone because his eyes light up, and he waves. Then he nods, and takes Kurt’s hand.

“Come on. Maybe I can fix that.”

 “Hey, Viola.”

“Hey, Sebastian. Long time, no see.”

“Well, I’ve got a good reason. This is my boyfriend, Kurt.”

“Very nice,” she says, giving Sebastian an approving wink. “So, you guys through mixing with the rabble.”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, you guys are welcome to hang here for the rest of the concert. And here…” she reaches into her pocket and pulls out two stickers, taking the liberty of affixing one to each boys’ thigh before Kurt can complain about adhesive on his Gucci jeans. “These’ll get you back stage after.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“Of course, you would know the manager of a big name band.”

“No, Julian does. I just know Julian…unfortunately.”

“And that’s apparently enough,” Kurt chuckles. “I would have thought you’d be just as famous. You know, your name and number written on bathroom walls from here to the space station.”

Sebastian’s expression changes – becomes tight, a little muddled, sort of like every default expression he has is scrolling by on his face, trying to land on an appropriate one. When he can’t seem to settle, he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his shoes, still trying to choose.

Kurt doesn’t know why, but he feels like he needs to apologize. “I’m sorry. I…insulted you.”

“It’s not that,” Sebastian says, shaking his head with a look in his eyes like even he’s trying to make himself believe that that’s not what he feels. “It’s just…” Kurt watches Sebastian’s lips…lips that were kissing him not moments before, warm with just an underlying hint of beer, now trapped between words. “I’m not ashamed of who I am, and…I’m not going to apologize for who I was, but…I don’t want you to look at me and see the Whore of Babylon.”

Kurt wants to tell him that he doesn’t. It’s simply a fall back joke. The two of them have tons of them. It’s not even one of the crueler ones as far as Kurt is concerned. It’s never bothered Sebastian befo---

No. Actually, Kurt can’t say that. It bothered Sebastian when Julian calls him that.  

“Who do you want to be?”

Sebastian loops his arms around Kurt’s waist

“I want to be yours. Just…your man. Kurt Hummel’s boyfriend, and that’s all.”

“Just Kurt Hummel’s boyfriend?”

“Well, Kurt Hummel’s sexy ass boyfriend.”

“I’ll look into having a shirt printed up.”

 ***

“Okay, so that’s Ursa Major,” Sebastian says, pointing to a series of stars up and to the left above their heads. “And that’s Ursa Minor. And that over there, that’ Orion’s Belt.”

Kurt turns his head from where it rests on the windshield of Sebastian’s Mustang, both boys staring up at the night sky from where they lie on the car’s hood.

“Really?” Kurt asks, partly impressed, partially skeptical.

“How the fuck should I know?” Sebastian asks while Kurt laughs. “They’re all stars,” he says, waving his hand towards the clear night sky. “That’s just what guys do when they look up at the sky, they identify shit.”

“Damn, and I was all impressed,” Kurt says. “And you know, smart guys get me hot.”

“Actually, I do know a few of them. “

“Ah,” Sebastian says, sliding over closer, “luckily, I have an app for that.” Sebastian reaches into his pocket and pulls out his iPhone. He sweeps his finger over the screen, looking through his apps until he finds the one he’s looking for. He raises his phone and takes a shot of the night sky.

Sex in the car in the rain.

“Have you guys seen Julian?”

“No. We’ve been out looking at the stars.”

“So, no phone calls or anything?”

“No. Why?”

“Because, we can’t find him. He’s gone.”

***

“I even called the house,” Julian says, staring ahead of him with blank eyes, talking sotto voce, as if the two of them aren't standing there beside him, listening to every word. “Emily says he just…he just left. He didn’t pack a bag, didn’t tell anyone where he was going...just pfft. Gone.”

“Julian, I'm...I’m so sorry,” Kurt says sincerely, his heart sinking when that light that always lingers in Julian's eyes, the one that blazes hot behind the ice blue of his irises, starts to burn low, threatening to go out.

“So many secrets,” Julian says, shaking his head, looking down at his phone clutched in his hand as if any moment it might spring to life with a call or a text. “We’re so good at keeping secrets, aren’t we, Sebby?”

Kurt feels Sebastian go rigid beside him.

“Julian…”

Kurt has heard Sebastian say his brother’s name dozens of times, and as many different ways.

He’s said it jokingly.

He’s said it seriously.

He’s spat it like a curse.

He’s said it with affection.

But this was a plea.

He was begging Julian to stop.

“We keep secrets from mom and dad," Julian continues, again to himself as if they aren't there, "secrets from Liv, hell, the two of you kept the biggest secret of all…you even had me duped, though, apparently that isn't as hard as I thought.”

Julian laughs, sad and hollow, until it becomes a cough.

“Julian…” Sebastian repeats his plea softer, subconsciously searching for and taking Kurt's hand. He squeezes it tight and Kurt can't help noticing how it shakes.

Julian looks at his brother with a wry smirk, lifting the shot glass in is fist in an unspoken toast and downing it in a single gulp.

“Now why haven’t you told him yet, Sebby? You know it wasn’t your fault. At least, if you do, he’ll know exactly how much of a bastard I really am.”

Kurt’s eyes meet Sebastian’s, but Sebastian isn’t looking at him. He looks frozen. Numb.

“Come on, Sebby,” Julian says with tears burning in his eyes, “you love him. He loves you. He should know, dontcha think?”

Sebastian stands paralyzed, his mouth agape, unable to breathe a single word. Whatever Sebastian hasn’t told Kurt yet, whatever this pain is that the two of them hold on to, that the two of them share, Julian is getting ready to spill it. Kurt won't deny that he wants to know - he wants to help - but this is not how Kurt wants to find out. Not like this.

“Julian, no,” Kurt says, even though he’s sure what he’s saying no to is the one thing he’s wanted to know all summer.

“No, Kurt, it’s my story, too, and I need you to forgive me because what I did made this…” He flicks a finger between Kurt and Sebastian “…so much harder for you.”

“It’s fine,” Kurt says in a thick voice, “truly. I…I forgive you, it’s…”

Julian shakes his head. “Don’t, Kurt. You don’t understand how bad I hurt him…”

“Julian,” Kurt says firmly, putting his free hand on Julian’s knee and squeezing, trying to get through his haze of whiskey and self-pity, “please, stop. I don’t need to know.”

“Yes,” Sebastian agrees quietly behind him. “Yes, you do.”

Kurt turns to look at his boyfriend, expecting him to be looking away, off in the distance like Julian, or maybe down at his shoes, but he’s looking right at Kurt instead.

Kurt slowly shakes his head.

This time, it's Kurt's turn to plead.

"Sebastian..."

“That’s the spirit, baby brother,” Julian cuts in, taking his next shot off the bar and passing it over to Sebastian. Kurt watches Sebastian sadly put the shot glass to his lips, snap his head back, and down the drink, a single tear racing down his cheek and getting lost in his hair. “Let’s tell our story together.”

 “There was this guy. Seb fell so hard for him, so fast. He called Seb all sorts of cutesy nicknames. They were so adorable together. Frankly, it made me kind of sick. I wanted to help Sebby land this boy, so I got them some fake IDs, and I took them out drinking.”

“It might have been love,” Julian says. “Was it? I don’t know. It could have been.”

 “But right before we went out, I got into a fight with Cooper, and I was an asshole. So, I got them both drunk, and then I seduced this poor boy of Seb’s.”

“Well, Sebby, he got mad, had one too many to drink. He got real sick and went to the bathroom, and while he was in there, there was some guy.”

“Don’t…stop…” Kurt shakes his head.

“No,” Sebastian says quietly, “let him finish.”

“When I got to them,” Julian squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking out the sides, “he had Sebastian pinned between the sinks, had his pants unzipped and his hand down them, he was trying to kiss him, kept saying…kept saying that he wanted to taste himself on Seb’s lips.”

“So…so, he…”

“Yeah. Big brother charged to the rescue about a minute too late.”

“Oh…oh God.”

“So that’s the story of how big bad Julian forced his baby brother away.”

 ***

“But, as soon as I can, I’ll drive up and meet you. We’ll have that big house all to ourselves. Who knows what kind of mischief we can get ourselves into?”

“What sounds like a…”

Sitting on the steps to Kurt’s patio is Cooper. And beside him, curled into a ball, hugging his knees, is Blaine.

Kurt thinks he should feel an overwhelming tide of emotion. That it should knock him back about twenty feet, transport him through time to a place where he swore he would always love Blaine. But what he felt was barely a swell. The boy who used to be perfection by Kurt’s standards was riddled with flaws. Kurt found himself comparing Blaine to Sebastian the way he used to compare Sebastian to Blaine, but this time Blaine was the one didn’t measure up.

 “Maybe you should go check on Julian.”

 “So, what, you owe it to him to hear his side?”

“No. He owes it to me to tell me why he took everything and through it all away.”

Kurt hands him the check.

“Wh---why are you…?”

“This way, when I come back, you’ll know it’s not because of obligation. It’s not because of the money. It’s because I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, and nothing he can say is going to change that. Have a little faith in me.”

***

·         Kurt rips up Seb’s check so he’ll know he’s not coming back because of the money

·         Kurt drives Blaine home

·         Kurt figures out that Blaine met his friend on Facebook before camp

·         Mr. Anderson tells Kurt how he planned to get Blaine away from Kurt

·         Burt tells Kurt he paid the $10k

 “You know, I always wondered…when you drove away, you had this look in your eyes. It’s haunted me. You knew. Before you left, you knew you were going to hookup with someone, didn’t you?”

“I met him on the camp’s Facebook page.”

 “It’s love! It’s supposed to mean everything. It’s not the kind of thing you can dump and pick up again when it’s convenient. That’s not how it works!”

  “I know I was with someone!” Blaine said, shocking even himself with the volume of his voice. “I know I did! I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. I had every intention of coming back to you, of moving to New York with you, of living happily ever after with you! But I didn’t ruin that, Kurt! You did! You did because what you did was way worse!”

“What? What did I do that was way worse?”

“You….you fell in love.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to grow up. I expect you to learn from this. I expect you to accept that it’s over, and maybe, in time, we might actually be able to stay friends.”

“I will never forgive you for this.”

Kurt wants to ask him, “Did you think of me at all when he kissed you? When you were fucking him or he was fucking you, did you almost say my name? Was my smell still on your clothes, or did you make sure to wash it completely away?”

“Look, we loved each other, so much. But we’re so young, so immature, made so many bad choices…” Kurt says that word we, we, we over and over even though he doesn’t entirely mean it. But he doesn’t feel right saying what he wants to say - you did this. You ruined it. You made a bad decision. Because deep down, there’s a part of Kurt that’s culpable. He let Blaine make that decision instead of taking ownership of his own feelings. He let Blaine command the conversation when he had so much more to say. Blaine controlled how they communicated, even with their mutual friends, but Kurt went along with it. The best he can do now is try to leave the hurt feelings in the past and let it go - not necessarily for Blaine. Not to make Blaine feel better. But so that Kurt can walk away with his head held high, into a future that he deserves…with someone he loves. “Let’s just…remember that, and part as friends. Good friends.” Blaine drops his head and looks off to the side, like he’s already turned his back on the conversation. "Maybe we weren’t meant to be together,“ Kurt continues, "but that’s not a horrible thing. It’s not going to…not going to kill us.”

Funny, since that’s how Kurt felt for the first month at least, but now he sees how ludicrous that was. He’s young. They’re both young. And this, too, shall pass.

Kurt waits for Blaine to speak - to agree, to argue, to try and win him back, to sing - but he says nothing. Just stares at the carpet beneath his feet, putting Kurt’s words together…or maybe shoving them away.

Kurt sighs, putting a hand to his aching forehead. Too much drama and too little sleep. He doesn’t need this right now. What he does need…or correction…who he needs, is driving back to Westerville this very moment, and all Kurt wants is to be with him.

Why did he offer to drive Blaine home again?

Kurt looks at the boy in front of him - the boy he pined over, the boy he obsessed over, the boy he loved, for a while, more than he loved himself.

But that was over. Now, he has someone else in his life he needs to return to.

Kurt stares at Blaine, but Blaine’s eyes shift to stare at his hands, as if they somehow hold the key to changing Kurt’s mind, but Kurt isn’t about to wait.

‘If I leave now,’ he thinks, 'I can get there only twenty minutes after he does.’

"Good-bye, Blaine,” Kurt says quietly. He doesn’t reach a hand out to hold him, to hug him, to give him any comfort.

That’s not what their 'relationship' is anymore.

Kurt turns and walks toward Blaine’s bedroom door when he hears Blaine’s voice, shaking with rage, maybe some embarrassment, and thick with tears, talking to his back.

“I…am never…going to forgive you for this, Kurt,” he says, sniffling through gritted teeth. “Never.”

It’s a harsh sound, Blaine’s voice. One Kurt had only heard once before - when Blaine fought off Dave Karofsky in the halls of McKinley on the night they went to watch the New Directions perform.

When he fought Dave off to defend Kurt.

Now that anger is directed at Kurt, and it makes Kurt’s blood run cold.

It zaps any sympathy he might have had for Blaine straight from his body.

He can’t even turn to look at him when he gives him an answer.

“Good,” Kurt says, barely turning over his shoulder so that Blaine can hear him clearly. “Now you know how I felt most of this summer.”

   “So, does this mean you’re finally gone for good?”

“What does that mean?”

“I was never too thrilled with Blaine dating you. The idea of you became more palatable when you became a congressman’s son.”

“Palatable?”

***

            “Cambridge, huh. No chance he’s talking about Massachusetts?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I only found out before we left for North Carolina, and I haven’t even decided whether or not I want to go.”

“I’m not Blaine. I’m not stupid. I want to be with you, and I have no intention of letting you go so easily. Please…have a little faith in me. Please. Just this once. Alright?” ”

  But Sebastian doesn’t go to Cambridge. He goes to NYU.

“Do you miss me yet?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Yes, I miss you. Of course, I miss you.”

“You gonna show me how much?”

“What, like on Skype or something.”

“Or something.”

The End

[aftaabmagazine]

Kabul Dreams – Rock ‘n’ Rolling from Kabul

By Roya Aziz Published on March 12, 2010, on Afghan Magazine | Lemar - Aftaab

[caption: Kabul Dreams performing at the American University of Afghanistan in Kabul in 2010. Photo by H. David Shaw]

KABUL  |  Perhaps nothing best describes youth angst like a song entitled I Wanna Run Away, one of several original numbers performed by Kabul Dreams in a live concert held last week at the American University of Afghanistan. With no other lyrics except the title refrain, lead singer and guitarist Sulyman Qardash alternately sang and screamed into the microphone a sentence that probably resonates even more so with Afghanistan's youth.

Some people will tell you that Afghans don't live in a context where they can act like "teenagers" and rebel against their families and society ("Do they even want to?" some have wondered), but of course, they certainly feel the same emotions. Who better to express it than a rock band? Standing there and watching the crowd of enthusiastic AUA students, it struck me that the song was also apropos of so much more. When Qardash sings about running away, you're reminded that scores of young Afghans do run away to Europe or elsewhere every day in search of education or decent jobs.

A crowd of about 200 people cheered on Afghanistan's newest rock band, which was established a year ago. Qardash's mic was low, and there was too much feedback from the amplifiers at times, but that didn't ruin their performance or diminish their individual talents. Drummer Mujtaba Habibi showed off his skills in a couple sets with solo routines and bassist Siddique Ahmed, who is sometimes called Sid, definitely held his own too. As for Qardash, the frontman appeared to be having fun while impressing with his guitar riffs and vocals.

All three band members were born in Afghanistan but lived in neighboring countries for several years. Habibi was in Iran, while Ahmed lived in Pakistan. Qardash grew up in Uzbekistan and was a relative latecomer returning to Afghanistan in 2008. All three came from musical backgrounds, with Habibi, for example, playing in a band that was into pop rock and pop Latin music. "When I came to Kabul, I was looking for people who were into music, and I was introduced to Mujtaba through a friend," Ahmed said in an interview with AfghanMagazine.

"We got together and started working in a small studio where we practiced on our own and recorded and produced songs for some new artists.

Sulyman was introduced to us through another friend by chance, and when we got to know each other, we thought, why not start a band, so the triangle was completed and Kabul Dreams was [born]."

While the band's logo is similar to the Dead Kennedys', their sound is indie rock, inspired by British bands. Like "I Wanna Run Away," the band's other songs, with topics like love and failed romance, have bittersweet overtones.

"This next song is called Julie," Ahmed said. "I think everyone has had Julie in their lives." The crowd roared their agreement.

It being Afghanistan, the girls sat demurely on the sidelines while a large group of young men stood center stage waving their hands, jumping and dancing.

"I'm part of the first mosh pit in Afghanistan," one concert-goer was heard saying.

The university's faculty acted as cheerleaders and chaperones, some dancing to the music and reminding you of how you used to giggle uncomfortably when your teachers tried to look cool at your high school dances, which is what the whole event felt like even though the crowd was a bit older. The band performed several covers, including an endearing rendition of "Wonderwall" by Oasis and "Knockin'On Heaven's Door" by Bob Dylan with Ahmed encouraging everyone to sing along to the latter. No one really did, of course, because Bollywood, not rock'n'roll, is on most people's playlists still.

A few people around me, namely other Afghan-Americans, wondered how soon these guys would receive death threats from the Taliban. Whatever else, everything in Afghanistan is intensely political. It's never easy to forget where you are, like a nice gym paid for by U.S. taxpayers at an institution that's intended to educate an elite set. Beyond the post-9/11 black and white world view (the Taliban vs. rock'n'roll), I wondered if people regarded a band's artistic dreams and ability to express itself as solemnly as let's say poverty.

It's too soon to claim that Kabul Dreams echoes the voice of a generation, but one thing that was clear that night is the energy of Afghanistan's young people (68% the population is under the age of 25).

Maybe another Dylan classic would have said it better: Times they are a-changin'.

Interview with Kabul Dream's bassist Sid Ahmad

We asked Kabul Dreams a few questions. The responses came from band bassist Sid Ahmed.

Roya Aziz: So Sid, is there a Nancy? Sid: There's always Nancys, Julies, Jessicas, and so on! However, this is Afghanistan, so; basically, you know what I'm saying!

Roya Aziz: We are Old School. What do you think of Stars, the Ahmad Zahir rock band? Do you consider them an influence? Sid: Stars were probably one of the best bands we ever had in Afghanistan. Although they were influenced by the classic rock bands of the time, the music they played was not rock, it was a kind of fusion played with drums and guitars at which they were pretty good. Our influences are mostly British Indie rock bands, mostly new ones.

Roya Aziz: Your peers download Bollywood ringtones at an alarming rate. Do you think English rock will find a place amid these types of traditional preferences? Sid: Even Bollywood is now influenced by rock! It's just a matter of time, very soon the most popular ring tone will be "Knockin' on Heaven's Door"!

Roya Aziz: Who's your favorite rock'n'roll personality, and why? Sid: We all have our favorites. Mine is Paul McCartney because he's one of the best songwriters of all time.

Roya Aziz: Do you guys play Guitar Hero? Sid: We play guitars, so there's hardly time for any guitar hero!

Roya Aziz: What about your female fans? They seemed a bit restrained at your AUA show. Do you think the type of songs you write resonates with them? Sid: They like our songs, that is what all matters to us. Girls are restrained not only at AUA show but all over Afghanistan for many reasons. Our songs are mostly about love, relationships, friendship, peace, etc.. so I think they do resonate with them.

Roya Aziz: Do you foresee any competition from an Afghan all-girl rock band in the near future? Sid: We definitely foresee a competition from an Afghan rock band, but an all-girl rock band would definitely be hard to compete with!

Roya Aziz: What was your reaction to the overwhelming support from the audience at the South Asia Bands Festival in India? Sid: It was an exciting experience! The fact that they appreciated our music and were thrilled by it was a sign that what we started was something that we could be proud of. And what matters most to us is that we tried so hard to get there, on our own, without any support, facing difficulties on some basic things like lack of electricity, a place to practice … And now all our efforts were yielding the fruit!

Roya Aziz: What I love about Afghanistan is …. Sid: The fact that in spite of the problems and issues it has, you can't be away from it for too long!

Roya Aziz: What I don't like about Afghanistan is … Sid: The suicide attacks!

Roya Aziz: Where do you see your band in 10 years from now? Sid: At the Grammy award show, or probably a celebration after we have won [an award]!

Roya Aziz: Where do you see the country in 10 years from now? Sid: The country will probably have figured out a better security system by then. Wearing a life vest and traveling with armored vehicles might be part of the visa requirements!

Roya Aziz: I used to play a short-scale bass. Think we can jam sometime? Just kidding. I haven't played in 12 years. Rock on, Kabul Dreams. Sid: We can play guitar hero together sometimes and don't worry, I suck at it!

Roya Aziz: Any last words to our readers? Sid: Stay tuned for our first album coming up soon! And one more thing: RoCk oN!!!

Notes

Currently, the three original band members reside outside of Afghanistan. Mojtaba Habibi Shandiz lives in France. Sulyman Qardash and Sid Ahmad reside in the San Francisco Bay Area along with Raby Adib (joined in 2013).

On June 21, 2019, Kabul Dreams released a new EP With Love from Kabul:

[caption: Cover of their 2019 EP "With Love from Kabul" Photo by Fatimah Hossaini ]

Kabul Dreams 2016 live rendition of the late Baaz Gul Badakhshi's بازگل بدخشی folk song Ay Shokh  ای شوخ (O' Naughty One):

Kabul Dreams Links

Website Instagram

About Roya Aziz

Roya Aziz was born in Kabul, Afghanistan. She lived in Kabul and worked in media and communications. She has a master’s degrees in journalism from UC Berkeley. 

[justforbooks]

On Not Knowing (Modern) Greek

By Johanna Hanink

Virginia Woolf’s essay “On Not Knowing Greek” was published in 1925, the same year as Mrs Dalloway. The title gestures not to Woolf’s (nor to anyone’s) ignorance of Ancient Greek syntax, morphology and vocabulary, but to the impossibility of knowing today “how the words sounded, or where precisely we ought to laugh, or how the actors acted.” The essay is nevertheless an encomium of ancient Greek thought and literature, and, ironically, a testament to Woolf’s own fine command of the ancient language.

I think of it sometimes when I reflect on two frustrations I have about “not knowing” Modern Greek: a version of Greek in which you can, in fact, hear words, laugh on cue, and watch actors act. The first is with myself, because I wish I knew the language better. The second is with the field of Classics, for not institutionally valuing—and for even dismissing—any aspiring classicist’s efforts to learn it. After all, the thinking goes, those hours would be better spent on Homer and Thucydides (or even “German for Reading”: leave it to us to kill off a living language).

Classicists like equally to brag and complain that they have to learn a lot of languages. Most American PhD programs require exams in Ancient Greek, Latin, German, and either French or Italian: if you know either French or Italian, the thinking goes, you can fake your way through the other.

These languages are the tools of the trade, but they are also metonyms for the philological traditions that we are expected to put on a convincing show of knowing—with, say, the occasional name-check of Wilamowitz. Once you decide to get serious about the field, you learn to take these traditions for granted as the most inherently valuable. The history of European classical scholarship is entangled with the esteem that Greek and Latin have enjoyed in countries where German, French, Italian, or English is spoken. Many scholars who identify with the European classical tradition assume that any scholarship worth reading, or at least citing, will be in one of those four languages.

On the one hand, the modern language requirements of Classics PhD programs should really start to reflect that interesting and important things have been said and are being said about Greco-Roman antiquity in countless languages other than English, German, French, and Italian (why not accept Turkish or Arabic or Chinese—isn’t, after all, scholarship really just a form of “reception”?). On the other, the absence of Modern Greek from the list of discipline-approved languages is itself curious, and stranger still if you consider how classicists love to spend time, and to talk about spending time, in Greece.

Like fourteen European countries and two other former British colonies (Canada and Australia), the United States has a home base for its archeologists and classicists in Athens, at the American School of Classical Studies. It should go without saying that plenty of scholarship has been and continues to be written in Greek; Greek universities often have enormous Classics departments. There is simply more information in Greek about Greek archeological sites, both at the sites and in print. And for better or for worse Greek antiquity is more urgently present in national conversations (and at bookstores and on social media) in Greece than anywhere else.

So why does Modern Greek still not have a seat at the classicists’ table? This is, bluntly put, largely because our discipline continues to take a colonialist view of, among other things, Greece, Greeks, and (Modern) Greek. Historians and anthropologists who work on Greece have been much more willing than classicists to acknowledge the country’s legacy of metaphorical colonization: not by the Ottomans, but by the early European antiquaries and travelers who planted their flags in the ruins of Greek antiquity.

At a time when European powers were scrambling to expand their empires, the travelers’ influential approach to the Ottoman-held “Classical Lands” was, as historian K.E. Fleming points out, “representative of a different form of colonialism, in which the history and ideology, rather than territory, of another country” is “claimed, invaded, and annexed.” Viewed through the lens of the present, the people who undertook this more “symbolic” colonization of Greece look a great deal like early versions of classicists.

Thanks to their proprietary attitude toward antiquity, they largely discounted local knowledge and described local people as apathetic to the ancient past whose ruins they seemed to live so blithely among (see here for evidence to the contrary). This kind of thinking was in turn used to justify, among other things, the removal of antiquities from Greece to countries where, supposedly, they would be better appreciated and cared for. All of this makes for a very long and complex story—one in which Greeks were hardly passive participants.

One of the story’s many legacies is that classicists trained in the “Western” classical tradition tend to disregard Modern Greek as a scholarly language, while Greeks who want to participate in the tradition—to have their voices and ideas heard abroad— earn degrees in other countries and publish their research in English, German, or French. Granting Modern Greek a more valued place in the professional conversation would be a positive step for a field that, on the point of colonialism, has a lot to answer for.

Beyond the political argument—and on the more personal, spiritual level that Woolf evokes in her own essay—the struggle to learn Modern Greek can bring a special kind of joy to those of us who first came to the language in its ancient form. That joy is the main reason I recommend that classicists spend at least a little time on Modern Greek, and ignore the gnawing voice that will say it’s a waste of time.

In a recent blog post (“What does the Latin actually say?”), Mary Beard makes an important point: for a lot of people it is hard for people to learn dead languages because we learn them passively. “It is both the plus and the minus of Latin,” she writes, “that we never have to ask for a pizza, or the way to the swimming pool, in it.”

My own learning style is certainly more “verbal” than “logical.” I like to talk, so I make much slower progress at learning dead languages passively than at learning living languages actively (my German is bad, but I could think of no greater waste of my own time than a “German for Reading” class). Modern Greek, of course, is not Ancient Greek: the linguistic politics here are particularly delicate and complex for historical reasons. The pronunciation can be a psychological barrier, and the language has changed since antiquity: classicists are often especially surprised to learn that infinitives have long since passed out of use. Greek also brims with borrowings from Turkish, Albanian, Italian, French, English…. But so what? Classicists’ own modern language requirements count Italian and French as substitutes for each other.

There’s no denying that having to decline Greek nouns when I order a pizza, or manipulate Greek verbs when I ask the way to the swimming pool, has brought even the ancient language to life for me. After years of studying Modern Greek, I have a far better recall for vocabulary, handle on verb forms, and instinctive sense for accentuation. The time I have dedicated to Modern Greek is some of the best I have spent as a classicist, since it has given me a sounder, more internalized sense of the ancient language (a better Sprachgefühl, as a more responsible classicist might say).

It’s fun, too, to learn how meanings of words have changed over time. For years ὁφόρος was, in my mind, the tribute paid to Athens by its Delian League allies. Now the word just means “tax” (inasmuch as tax ever “just” means tax). Being αγαθός nowadays is not usually such a good thing. A στήλη can be a “column” in a newspaper (or on Eidolon). In chapter 4 of thePoetics, Aristotle observes just how much pleasure people take in learning and inferring: in looking at an image of someone and recognizing, “Oh, that’s him” (οὗτοςἐκεῖνος, 1448b).

Making connections between two things—hearing a new word and realizing you already know it, just differently—sends a spark of joy through the brain. And anyway there is something to be said for a language that allows you to describe a tall, fit guy as a kouros in everyday conversation.

The twists and turns of Greek linguistic history also mean you can play specifically with avoiding Ancient Greek. Oftentimes there is a choice between describing something with a “high-register” word with ancient roots or a “low-register” vernacular or foreign word. Liver, for example, is συκώτι (derived, like Italian fegato and French foie, from a word for “fig”), but when the matter is a disease of the liver the more classicist-friendly ήπαρ is common. Speaking of liver, who would you buy it from: the κρεοπώλης or the χασάπης? The one features in beginning Ancient Greek textbooks; the other comes from Turkish. A Greek professor of Latin once told me that he revels in speaking English precisely because it offers similar opportunities to play with the nuance of register: between Anglo-Saxon, French and Latinate diction (to use a classic example, does Elizabeth II strike you as queenly, royal, or regal?).

The Facebook page Ancient Memes exploits the space between these levels by captioning “high-register” artworks with dialogue in very modern, “low-register” Greek. Reading things like Ancient Memes, or my few copies of “Aristophanes in Comics,” has introduced new playfulness into my approach to Ancient Greek. And play, of course, is one of ways we learn best.

So what is still keeping many classicists (again, leaving the more political argument aside) from seizing the real practical benefits that Modern Greek has to offer: the opportunity to spend time in Greece more comfortably, the chance to collaborate with Greek colleagues more substantively, the opportunity to bolster our grasp of the language and its extremely longue durée, and to procrastinate by laughing at Ancient Memes?

When I posed a version of the question to a professor in Thessaloniki, he had a good answer. Classicists, he suggested, are easily embarrassed and afraid to make mistakes. Making mistakes is crucial for language acquisition, and sometimes the mistakes will be horribly embarrassing ones (I have, in polite conversation, said τσιμπούκι when I meant τσιμπούρι). Once, after I paid for books at a bookstore in Greece, I overheard the woman who had just rung me out ask a colleague with genuine bewilderment: “What does she want with an Ancient Greek book if she can’t even speak Greek?” In a field that already demands so much posturing, so much pretense of knowing Greek and Latin, risking mistakes and “not knowing” means risking a lot of your ego.

But it’s worth it. Learning Modern Greek, at least to the extent that I have managed to learn it, has made both my life and my relationship with my work all the richer. I haven’t even mentioned the unique pleasure that modern Greek literature offers the classicist. That sheer enjoyment aside, few people have been more influential in shaping modern views of Greek antiquity than George Seferis, or have problematized the periodization of Greek poetry more than Constantine Cavafy (translated into English most recently by critic and classicist Daniel Mendelsohn). I first came to Modern Greek after reading Seferis’ essay “Delphi” (Greek here), but since then have actually come to prefer paddling around in Greek literature’s less classical waters.

Nevertheless, since I’m teaching ancient Greek mythology again this semester, the text I’m most excited about right now is Auguste Corteau’s Νεοελληνική Μυθολογία. It is a parodic re-imagining of ancient Greek myths: on one page, Erebus makes a move on his sister Nyx: “Hush you idiot,” she replies, “Mom’ll hear and call Social Services.” Later, Kronos appears on the beach and informs his father he’s come to play paddle ball. “But I don’t see any balls,” says Ouranos. “Nor will you ever again,” says Kronos.

Now, with the prospect of a long plane ride ahead of me, I’m looking forward to having a few quiet hours with the book—no matter how much of it I manage to understand, or how often I know when I ought to laugh.

Johanna Hanink is Associate Professor of Classics at Brown University, US.

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

[sweetlifetownsville]

Hi-Jacking Australia Day: Photo Op Fail Shows That The Mayor Knows How Deep She Is In The Electoral Doo-Doos

Shameless in its hypocrisy, utterly stupid in its transparency Jenny Hill and her team claim honours they WERE NOT awarded, in a bumbled bit of cheap campaigning chicanery. For all that, The Pie owes Jenny Hill an apology or does he? Could it be that he err short-changed her when writing about the LGAQ last week? There seems to be some murky financial (albeit apparently legal) fancy financial footwork in the local governments published reports. The Pie has a beak around to see if he really must offer to Jenny what she was forced to offer Clive Palmer an abject apology. (Good luck with the $50 grand part of it, though.) An unfortunate choice by the Townsville Chamber of Commerce and a truly shameful one by the Bulletin.. Plus, Bentleys hilarious take that will make Katter go Katter-tonic and in addition to our usual visual visit to the week in Trumpistan, a wonderful pictorial insight into how time reverses our values. But first Bobs A Real Pain The Arse The Mad Katter was at again this week, describing homosexuality as a fashion trend, and making the ingenuous dopey statement that In my whole life up to 50, I had never seen or heard of a homosexual person. Well, you probably met heaps of them, Bob, but in that time period, the laws of the day made it advisable not to advertise the fact. And one wonders if he doth protest a tad much could the Member for Kennedy be on a late-life slide into iniquity? Theres been a hint when you host a barbie in a shirt that looks like it was bought at Peter Allen garage sale, casually slung over a Ripcurl T-shirt, youre poised at the top of the slippery slope we call life-style choices. Indeed, our visionary toonist Bentley can clearly see the next passing phase for our Bob. Of course, this is all in fun, we all know that Bob is a solid, upstanding member, a real hands-on bloke who has a strong grip on things despite all his giggling and gasping. Still In Bentley territory, our man reckons not everybody is unhappy with our current heat wave across the country. And he is right about The Pies reaction, but being a considerate chap, Bentley has omitted the brown stains in the water behind the old bird. Low Blow In a shameful tabloid attempt at sensationalism, the Townsville Bulletin has surpassed itself on this, our national day when we talk up that we live in The Land of the Fair Go. In one of the most denigrating efforts yet by this floundering fish of a paper, we were treated to this below-the-belt guilt by association dog whistling front page. And the sleazy effort just got worse and worse, especially when a reporter quizzed him with what can only be an accusatory question on any possible involvement with his aunts drug dealing, indicated by the use of the word denied. QUOTE: Mr Dametto denied having any prior knowledge of his aunts alleged involvement with drugs before her arrest and assured his constituents, he did not condone the use of dangerous drugs. I havent (been involved in drugs) nor any other member of my family to my knowledge, Mr Dametto said.(The alleged offending) has nothing to do with me, its something she has to sort out herself. UNQUOTE The fact that they asked the question no one had considered, with not a shred of even remote suggestion, is straight up political dog whistling the chorus of Ha! yeah, right from the LNP and Labor banjo-playing set is already plunking away. If Jenna Cairney and her band of work experience reporters think this is a good tactic to fill space, perhaps theyd like to door knock the parents and relatives of the juvenile little shits charged with stealing cars and property, and ask them if they had any prior knowledge or involvement the exploits of their little snots. One imagines such effrontery would meet with what some cops describe as summary justice and no argument there from this old bird. Truly base stuff, Ms Cairney. And Your Bizarre Story Placements Continue Apace Jeez-us, fair dinkum. When It Comes To Snide Stupidity, Jenna And Jenny Make A Pigeon Pair If ever proof was needed that our mayor is wetting herself about her plunging popularity and failure to fool ANY of the people ANY of the time, it came in the online Bulletin this weekend. Heres a little puzzle of current affairs test for you. Read the caption first, and then see a) how many Australia Day award winners you can spot, and b) see how many Team Hill councillors you can spot. And the Astonisher certainly has its political priorities right the caption lists Mayor Mullet and Premier Alphabet but failed to mention that dorky looking bloke in the center. Oh, him, hes not worth mentioning, just the Governor of Queensland and former Chief Justice Paul de Jersey. But then have a look along the line search as he could, The Pie was not able to see it reported anywhere that either Clr Ann-Maree Greaney, Clr Maurie Soares, Clr Colleen Boo Hoo Doyle, Clr Les Messagebank Walker, Mayor Mullet Jenny Hill, or Clr Kurt Rehbein had received any Australia Day honours. So WTF are THEY doing, holding some sort of prize, which if it is an Australia Day Award, is grossly dishonest to say the least a pathetic please re-elect me plea? They are making themselves out to be winners of some sort which is looking more and more unlikely next time around. But OK, why is the old bird surprised, this is about the level of honesty weve come to expect from these denizens of the Walker Street trough. Its such a thigh-slapping inept attempt at campaign virtue signalling it has just proved two things shes desperate and shes dumb. But or All that, Mayor Mullet May Get Back In A new study of Townsville voters has discovered why we have the political representation we have. Well, at least it explains it for us, but not much can be done, youd reckon. Now, Having Said That, Maybe The Magpie Owes Mrs Hill An Apology Last week and on a couple of previous occasions The Pie has snidely written that Mayor Mullet picks up $31K a year in fees plus expenses for attending 6 LGAQ meeting a year as one of the three ordinary directors of the Association. She will retain that position until June 2020. Well, shame-faced as he is to say it, it appears that The Magpie may be WRONG (clutch the pearls to throat, gals, splutter in your Scotch and Fanta, gents). And this error is a direct, albeit unintended, slur on our mayor, by wantonly questioning the worth of her invaluable visionary qualities and her legendary financial acumen, particularly in Indian industrial and aviation matters. Because it seems her spare-time gig at the LGAQ earns her nowhere near $31,000 p.a. It looks like its closer to $95,000 per annum! Which becomes even more interesting when you consider that the TCC pays about $250K a year membership, so it in essence means that her services to the LGAQ are in fact paid for by Townsville ratepayers as part of the citys membership fee. Indeed, it seems we stump up a total a very worth while total, mind you, who could argue of just under $300,000 a year for her incomparable leadership as she charts a clever path out of our current financial and employment morass. The Pie humbly apologises for underselling you so despicably, Mrs Hill, when you devote so much of your time so selflessly to the public good of Townsville. There will be sneering Doubting Thomases who question your championing of the Local Buy procurement arm of the LGAQ, which actually takes work OUT of this city. Those doubters say that the claimed efficiencies dont actually save the council anything, but pshaw! what would they know? They simply have no head for these sorts of figures and deals and they certainly dont understand the pressures of your obligation to an organisation that slips you almost a hundred grand a year to raise your voting arm when told. Oh, the irony, the irony. But, You Cry, Is This True? Well, it certainly seems so to better financial sleuths than The Magpie, but it all depends how you decipher the murky and ambiguous figures published by he LGAQ. Rubbery was a word bandied about frequently. And just to pique our interest, there is a little mystery item mentioned, but that later on. Lets go the LGAQ Annual Report, where on page 35 we find this as a starter. Now the remuneration seems pretty clear there sort of but it has the rubbery words ranged between. (And a brief digression they sure aint bound by pissant thoughts of CPI or inflation down at the LGAQ note the rise in fees from 2017 to 2018 a tasty 35% for the president and an eye-watering 100% for directors. And the 2017 figures dont add up anyway, which is rubbery/sloppy in itself, with no explanation offered. Makes one wonder. The question here is would someone like Jenny Hill from a place the size of Townsville (for round figures, let say 200,000) be willing to accept the same stipend as say Alf Lacey from Palm Island, which has what, about three to five thousand people? Methinks not in a month of Sundays, and PI membership would be a tiny fraction of Townsvilles.) Then we see this chart, which again seem clear. Or is it not? The disparity between the President and the directors $137,422 v $31,000 ($94,280 split three ways rounded out here) is not believable to one executive who deals in these areas. He thinks the real remuneration, especially for Jenny Hill, is actually about $94,000. But whether it totals that from these figures (where there would obviously have to be some accounting error), things get even more interesting if he scroll back to page 20, we find this And this Now these reports can be heavy going even for accountants at times, and impossible for the likes by The Magpie, but our experienced Magpie mate writes: The cost of directors fees and meeting fees for the year are $618,294 (page 20) this would kind of add up to me like 3 directors @ $95k plus the president @ $137k total of $422k leaving another $196k to be accounted for so I think the directors get 95K still and travel and accommodation listed separately as $734,441 (page 20) So all in all, maybe Jenny Hill is worth the money she gets as a director worth it to the LGAQ, anyway, when it presumably is she who calls the shots on the councils membership fees. All this is courtesy of the Townsville ratepayers. The loveliness continues. Oh, and that little mystery. Just this But to be sure, since the LGAQ runs an insurance arm, it will surely be covered for whatever alleged indiscretion did or did not take place either way, it gunna cost. A (un-doctored) Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words A somewhat antiquated clich borne out by an alert reader who reckons his shot in Flinders Street just about sums up Townsvilles quandary. And another reader pic is being repeated across the city at a growing rate. Sloppy unfinished work and weeds all around contractor or council, totally unacceptable, and could be a traffic hazard, especially in the wet. Of course, not all councils can get things right, even the mighty Randwick Council in Sydney which has its own wrestle with signage. Be interesting if a Great Dane owned by a dwarf takes a dump. Did The Townsville Chamber of Commerce Really Think About The Wisdom Of This? Putting an image of a hungry looking porker on the stationery of an outfit representing private business seems a bit risky. But it gets more pointed when it is advertising a Townsville information session for the LGAQs Local Buy mob. Of course, in very small print, the presence of porky is explained as recognition of the Chambers Chinese membership, it is the Year of the Pig. Well, come to think of it, it IS an election year Pot Calling Kettle Award Of The Week. This goes to US Secretary of State, Mike Pompeo, addressing an emergency meeting of the Organisation of American States last Wednesday on the unrest in Venezuela, and rescinding recognition of the elected leader. He said: The time for debate is done. The regime of former President Nicholas Maduro is illegitimate. His regime is morally bankrupt, economically incompetent and it is profoundly corrupt. It is undemocratic to the core. All absolutely correct except for two words, and many Americans know which two they are but guess you wouldnt know, Mikey, what a gerbil performance history awaits you, fella. We can shortly expect Trump to recognise Pauline Hanson as Australias legitimate leader, and for the forthcoming elections to be cancelled, since elections have little meaning in Washington. Apparently. But before Trump can make any such declaration how Australia can be governed, he will need the permission of the man behind him. And thats just the start for this week in Trumpistan. And Finally, For A Final Rueful Laugh Or Two. Time and technology play unexpected tricks on us, taking just a few short years to reverse human behaviour. .. Thats it for this week, but as usual, comments are running hot on all sorts of topics, so have your say, comments can be posted 24/7. And if youre in a kindly mood (or just drunk, doesnt matter) a donation to help the old bird keep floating above it all is always appreciated and put to good use. The how to donate button is below. http://www.townsvillemagpie.com.au/hi-jacking-australia-day-photo-op-fail-shows-that-the-mayor-knows-how-deep-she-is-in-the-electoral-doo-doos/

[sweetlifetownsville]

Hi-Jacking Australia Day: Photo Op Fail Shows That The Mayor Knows How Deep She Is In The Electoral Doo-Doos

Shameless in its hypocrisy, utterly stupid in its transparency Jenny Hill and her team claim honours they WERE NOT awarded, in a bumbled bit of cheap campaigning chicanery. For all that, The Pie owes Jenny Hill an apology or does he? Could it be that he err short-changed her when writing about the LGAQ last week? There seems to be some murky financial (albeit apparently legal) fancy financial footwork in the local governments published reports. The Pie has a beak around to see if he really must offer to Jenny what she was forced to offer Clive Palmer an abject apology. (Good luck with the $50 grand part of it, though.) An unfortunate choice by the Townsville Chamber of Commerce and a truly shameful one by the Bulletin.. Plus, Bentleys hilarious take that will make Katter go Katter-tonic and in addition to our usual visual visit to the week in Trumpistan, a wonderful pictorial insight into how time reverses our values. But first Bobs A Real Pain The Arse The Mad Katter was at again this week, describing homosexuality as a fashion trend, and making the ingenuous dopey statement that In my whole life up to 50, I had never seen or heard of a homosexual person. Well, you probably met heaps of them, Bob, but in that time period, the laws of the day made it advisable not to advertise the fact. And one wonders if he doth protest a tad much could the Member for Kennedy be on a late-life slide into iniquity? Theres been a hint when you host a barbie in a shirt that looks like it was bought at Peter Allen garage sale, casually slung over a Ripcurl T-shirt, youre poised at the top of the slippery slope we call life-style choices. Indeed, our visionary toonist Bentley can clearly see the next passing phase for our Bob. Of course, this is all in fun, we all know that Bob is a solid, upstanding member, a real hands-on bloke who has a strong grip on things despite all his giggling and gasping. Still In Bentley territory, our man reckons not everybody is unhappy with our current heat wave across the country. And he is right about The Pies reaction, but being a considerate chap, Bentley has omitted the brown stains in the water behind the old bird. Low Blow In a shameful tabloid attempt at sensationalism, the Townsville Bulletin has surpassed itself on this, our national day when we talk up that we live in The Land of the Fair Go. In one of the most denigrating efforts yet by this floundering fish of a paper, we were treated to this below-the-belt guilt by association dog whistling front page. And the sleazy effort just got worse and worse, especially when a reporter quizzed him with what can only be an accusatory question on any possible involvement with his aunts drug dealing, indicated by the use of the word denied. QUOTE: Mr Dametto denied having any prior knowledge of his aunts alleged involvement with drugs before her arrest and assured his constituents, he did not condone the use of dangerous drugs. I havent (been involved in drugs) nor any other member of my family to my knowledge, Mr Dametto said.(The alleged offending) has nothing to do with me, its something she has to sort out herself. UNQUOTE The fact that they asked the question no one had considered, with not a shred of even remote suggestion, is straight up political dog whistling the chorus of Ha! yeah, right from the LNP and Labor banjo-playing set is already plunking away. If Jenna Cairney and her band of work experience reporters think this is a good tactic to fill space, perhaps theyd like to door knock the parents and relatives of the juvenile little shits charged with stealing cars and property, and ask them if they had any prior knowledge or involvement the exploits of their little snots. One imagines such effrontery would meet with what some cops describe as summary justice and no argument there from this old bird. Truly base stuff, Ms Cairney. And Your Bizarre Story Placements Continue Apace Jeez-us, fair dinkum. When It Comes To Snide Stupidity, Jenna And Jenny Make A Pigeon Pair If ever proof was needed that our mayor is wetting herself about her plunging popularity and failure to fool ANY of the people ANY of the time, it came in the online Bulletin this weekend. Heres a little puzzle of current affairs test for you. Read the caption first, and then see a) how many Australia Day award winners you can spot, and b) see how many Team Hill councillors you can spot. And the Astonisher certainly has its political priorities right the caption lists Mayor Mullet and Premier Alphabet but failed to mention that dorky looking bloke in the center. Oh, him, hes not worth mentioning, just the Governor of Queensland and former Chief Justice Paul de Jersey. But then have a look along the line search as he could, The Pie was not able to see it reported anywhere that either Clr Ann-Maree Greaney, Clr Maurie Soares, Clr Colleen Boo Hoo Doyle, Clr Les Messagebank Walker, Mayor Mullet Jenny Hill, or Clr Kurt Rehbein had received any Australia Day honours. So WTF are THEY doing, holding some sort of prize, which if it is an Australia Day Award, is grossly dishonest to say the least a pathetic please re-elect me plea? They are making themselves out to be winners of some sort which is looking more and more unlikely next time around. But OK, why is the old bird surprised, this is about the level of honesty weve come to expect from these denizens of the Walker Street trough. Its such a thigh-slapping inept attempt at campaign virtue signalling it has just proved two things shes desperate and shes dumb. But or All that, Mayor Mullet May Get Back In A new study of Townsville voters has discovered why we have the political representation we have. Well, at least it explains it for us, but not much can be done, youd reckon. Now, Having Said That, Maybe The Magpie Owes Mrs Hill An Apology Last week and on a couple of previous occasions The Pie has snidely written that Mayor Mullet picks up $31K a year in fees plus expenses for attending 6 LGAQ meeting a year as one of the three ordinary directors of the Association. She will retain that position until June 2020. Well, shame-faced as he is to say it, it appears that The Magpie may be WRONG (clutch the pearls to throat, gals, splutter in your Scotch and Fanta, gents). And this error is a direct, albeit unintended, slur on our mayor, by wantonly questioning the worth of her invaluable visionary qualities and her legendary financial acumen, particularly in Indian industrial and aviation matters. Because it seems her spare-time gig at the LGAQ earns her nowhere near $31,000 p.a. It looks like its closer to $95,000 per annum! Which becomes even more interesting when you consider that the TCC pays about $250K a year membership, so it in essence means that her services to the LGAQ are in fact paid for by Townsville ratepayers as part of the citys membership fee. Indeed, it seems we stump up a total a very worth while total, mind you, who could argue of just under $300,000 a year for her incomparable leadership as she charts a clever path out of our current financial and employment morass. The Pie humbly apologises for underselling you so despicably, Mrs Hill, when you devote so much of your time so selflessly to the public good of Townsville. There will be sneering Doubting Thomases who question your championing of the Local Buy procurement arm of the LGAQ, which actually takes work OUT of this city. Those doubters say that the claimed efficiencies dont actually save the council anything, but pshaw! what would they know? They simply have no head for these sorts of figures and deals and they certainly dont understand the pressures of your obligation to an organisation that slips you almost a hundred grand a year to raise your voting arm when told. Oh, the irony, the irony. But, You Cry, Is This True? Well, it certainly seems so to better financial sleuths than The Magpie, but it all depends how you decipher the murky and ambiguous figures published by he LGAQ. Rubbery was a word bandied about frequently. And just to pique our interest, there is a little mystery item mentioned, but that later on. Lets go the LGAQ Annual Report, where on page 35 we find this as a starter. Now the remuneration seems pretty clear there sort of but it has the rubbery words ranged between. (And a brief digression they sure aint bound by pissant thoughts of CPI or inflation down at the LGAQ note the rise in fees from 2017 to 2018 a tasty 35% for the president and an eye-watering 100% for directors. And the 2017 figures dont add up anyway, which is rubbery/sloppy in itself, with no explanation offered. Makes one wonder. The question here is would someone like Jenny Hill from a place the size of Townsville (for round figures, let say 200,000) be willing to accept the same stipend as say Alf Lacey from Palm Island, which has what, about three to five thousand people? Methinks not in a month of Sundays, and PI membership would be a tiny fraction of Townsvilles.) Then we see this chart, which again seem clear. Or is it not? The disparity between the President and the directors $137,422 v $31,000 ($94,280 split three ways rounded out here) is not believable to one executive who deals in these areas. He thinks the real remuneration, especially for Jenny Hill, is actually about $94,000. But whether it totals that from these figures (where there would obviously have to be some accounting error), things get even more interesting if he scroll back to page 20, we find this And this Now these reports can be heavy going even for accountants at times, and impossible for the likes by The Magpie, but our experienced Magpie mate writes: The cost of directors fees and meeting fees for the year are $618,294 (page 20) this would kind of add up to me like 3 directors @ $95k plus the president @ $137k total of $422k leaving another $196k to be accounted for so I think the directors get 95K still and travel and accommodation listed separately as $734,441 (page 20) So all in all, maybe Jenny Hill is worth the money she gets as a director worth it to the LGAQ, anyway, when it presumably is she who calls the shots on the councils membership fees. All this is courtesy of the Townsville ratepayers. The loveliness continues. Oh, and that little mystery. Just this But to be sure, since the LGAQ runs an insurance arm, it will surely be covered for whatever alleged indiscretion did or did not take place either way, it gunna cost. A (un-doctored) Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words A somewhat antiquated clich borne out by an alert reader who reckons his shot in Flinders Street just about sums up Townsvilles quandary. And another reader pic is being repeated across the city at a growing rate. Sloppy unfinished work and weeds all around contractor or council, totally unacceptable, and could be a traffic hazard, especially in the wet. Of course, not all councils can get things right, even the mighty Randwick Council in Sydney which has its own wrestle with signage. Be interesting if a Great Dane owned by a dwarf takes a dump. Did The Townsville Chamber of Commerce Really Think About The Wisdom Of This? Putting an image of a hungry looking porker on the stationery of an outfit representing private business seems a bit risky. But it gets more pointed when it is advertising a Townsville information session for the LGAQs Local Buy mob. Of course, in very small print, the presence of porky is explained as recognition of the Chambers Chinese membership, it is the Year of the Pig. Well, come to think of it, it IS an election year Pot Calling Kettle Award Of The Week. This goes to US Secretary of State, Mike Pompeo, addressing an emergency meeting of the Organisation of American States last Wednesday on the unrest in Venezuela, and rescinding recognition of the elected leader. He said: The time for debate is done. The regime of former President Nicholas Maduro is illegitimate. His regime is morally bankrupt, economically incompetent and it is profoundly corrupt. It is undemocratic to the core. All absolutely correct except for two words, and many Americans know which two they are but guess you wouldnt know, Mikey, what a gerbil performance history awaits you, fella. We can shortly expect Trump to recognise Pauline Hanson as Australias legitimate leader, and for the forthcoming elections to be cancelled, since elections have little meaning in Washington. Apparently. But before Trump can make any such declaration how Australia can be governed, he will need the permission of the man behind him. And thats just the start for this week in Trumpistan. And Finally, For A Final Rueful Laugh Or Two. Time and technology play unexpected tricks on us, taking just a few short years to reverse human behaviour. .. Thats it for this week, but as usual, comments are running hot on all sorts of topics, so have your say, comments can be posted 24/7. And if youre in a kindly mood (or just drunk, doesnt matter) a donation to help the old bird keep floating above it all is always appreciated and put to good use. The how to donate button is below. http://www.townsvillemagpie.com.au/hi-jacking-australia-day-photo-op-fail-shows-that-the-mayor-knows-how-deep-she-is-in-the-electoral-doo-doos/