#but then i remembered something that i had to address in the teen beach movie au (aka the watered down version of a wss au): | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arickaandherfictionalothers · 9 months ago

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Aricka and Dori’s teen beach adventure- meant to be-!

Aricka was confused. One minute, she was on her way to talk to Steve Harrington- her favorite character from this move she was in-!- the next; she was falling into the arms of the other lead male of the movie- Billy Hargrove. The character Aricka Munson was supposed to fall for and help unite the bikers and surfers with-

Oh. No.

“Hi,” he says; helping her stand up. “I’m Billy. Billy Hargrove. Leader of the surfers.” He winks at her, but it didn’t really do anything for her.

“I, uh, hi,” she says, remembering her manners at least. “I’m Aricka Hopper.”

“A pretty name for a gorgeous chick,” he says. “Nice of you to drop in.”

“Um, sorry. I didn't see you.” She blushes, looks down at the ground. He tilts her chin up so she was looking back at those electric blue eyes.

“Now that you do, do you like what you see?” She squeaks and gently removed his hand from her chin.

“Sure. It was really nice to meet you- excuse me just a second-?” He nods and she runs over to Dori. “Dori, my best friend in the whole world, can I have a moment? A really quick, important moment.”

"Yeah, sure," they look back at Eddie, "Um... Eddie? It was really nice meeting you, but I've gotta help my friend with something," they start to turn away, but turn back for a second, "Bye." they give him a little wave as they start to walk with Aricka.

"Bye." He chuckles waving back.

"Come on," Dori says, guiding her friend to the exit, "We'll step out for a minute.” Once outside, she says, “"So, what's going on?"

Aricka takes a deep breath and glares at the water. “The mannequin with six rows of teeth just asked me out. Billy FREAKING Hargrove just asked me out because I TRIPPED on my dumb shoelaces and fell in his arms-.”

They stare at her, taking in everything she just said, "..... WHAT?!"

“Please tell me I didn’t change anything about the movie-?! I JUST wanted to talk to Steve. My shoe got untied and I didn’t see it until I was staring up into ocean blues instead of chocolate browns.”

"Okay. Okay, uhhh.... Hold on, let me think," Dori thinks back through the plot of the movie, "So, you said you ran into Billy and now he's got the hots for you. And, in the movie, Billy falls for Aricka MUNSON. So, that means..." their eyes widen in realization, "Oh... this is the exact opposite of what you wanted to hear, but you just caused a MAJOR change to the movie."

Aricka blanches. “I changed the movie-?!”

"You changed the movie!"

“Oh no. Oh no, no no no-!! No- can we fix this-?! Aricka Munson’s Billy’s EVERYTHING, we can’t ruin this-!”

"It's okay! Don't freak out," Dori tries to calm her down, "We can fix this... At least, I hope we can. We'd just have to get Billy to fall in love with the right Aricka. Which.... is probably gonna be REALLY difficult since he's convinced he's in love with you. But, I mean... we could probably do it."

“… meet Billy and me with Steve and Aricka Munson outside. We can fix this- hypothetically speaking.”

~~~~~

“Hi,” Aricka says; unable to believe she was talking to Billy- Aricka Munson should be doing this. Not her. She was basically being a homewrecker-!

Billy flashes her that boyish smile; and she couldn’t not admit that he had a cute smile. He just- wasn’t her type. She was into dorky brunette surfers. Not overconfident curly haired blue eyed ones. “Hi,” he says, strumming his guitar.

“Um, do you mind if I join you?” She asks, admiring the car he was leaning on- and he beckons her over.

“Of course not. I’d wanna join me, too.” So cute, in a 50s himbo style. “So, hey, I’ve never seen a chick quite like you.”

She winces; she hated being addressed as a chick or a babe. “Chick? Really? Hold on while I lay some eggs.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “Okay?”

She mentally face palms. “No, that was, um... Never mind. Thank you for the compliment. It’s nice.”

“Sure,” he says with a shrug. She notices the guitar and smiles; something they can talk about.

“So you play the guitar.”

“I know.” Ugh. Total, 1950s air-headed blonde surfer boy.

“No, no, I mean- are you good?”

He frowns in more confusion, “I feel a little tired but…” she cut him off,

“At playing the guitar?”

“Well, sure, when something inspires me.” He drops his voice suddenly, “If music be the food of love, play on”.

Her eyes light up, “Shakespeare-?”

“Huh? No, that was me. Sometimes I talk low for effect.”

“… well it works,” is all she could think to say.

“Thanks. I can do... High... Also, but chicks really dig low better,” and she had to hide a wince when he did his high voice.

“Yeah.”

“You know, I dig you, Aricka. You’re different than other girls around here. Can I write a song about you?”

“Uh, yes. What word rhymes with Aricka? Nothing. See? That’s a terrible song. Really, Tanner, you only like me because you, think that running into you was destiny, but... Not our destiny, your destiny, with someone that you’re meant to be with that isn’t me. See?” And then music begins to play and she sighs, “Oh, good. A song anyway.”

“I believe we all have a soul mate

The chance for a perfect duet…” Billy strums the guitar and looks her in the eyes, and she tries to match his emotion, but she had to pretend she was looking at Steve for it to even look natural,

“I believe in hopeless devotion

I just haven't found it yet

But in my mind I see

The chick, who is meant for me…” he dramatically tosses his guitar to the side and grabs her hand, dragging her off somewhere as he continues to sing,

“She'll be someone who is lovely

Someone wonderful and true…”

Meanwhile, with Dori, Eddie, Steve and Aricka, the latter girl was singing,

“The kind of boy who makes you smile

Even when you're feeling blue…”

Together though apart, Aricka Munson and Billy H sings,

“And I know, I know he/she's out there

Most definitely, oh yeah

Not a phony, or a fake

Sweeter than a chocolate shake

My "meant to be"

When it's meant to be

You go kinda crazy

Meant to be

You forget your own name

When it's meant to be

It's destiny callin'

And nothing ever will be the same!

Oh yeah!…”

Aricka stops in front of Billy, her hand on his chest as she sings out,

“You need a girl who's into music

To ride up high on Cupid's wings!”

Dori turns to Steve and adds, “Find that girl with perfect hair

Hello, Hollywood ending with strings-!”

Aricka and Dori sing about their respective love interests,

“Oh, I know, I know he's out there

Can't you see? Oh, yeah!

Maybe you've already met,

The one you'll never forget!

Your "meant to be"!

When it's meant to be!

The stars seem to glisten!

Meant to be!

All the clouds depart!

When it's meant to be!

That's destiny callin'!

And if you listen

You'll find your heart!”

The girls- Aricka H, Aricka M and Dori; all sing, thinking of the one they (thought they or actually did) love,

��Four eyes meet

And the meet is sweet

Could it lead to something more?”

Eddie; Steve and Billy echo them, thinking of their respective interests as well,

“What's the deal?

When the way you feel-?”

Dori and Aricka sing the last line; ripping the towel barrier away so Aricka M and Billy could see each other and Aricka and Steve could see each other-

“Oh!” Aricka M gasps, grabbing Steve’s hand and darting off.

“Gee..” Billy says as he grabs the other Aricka’s hand.

“Uh…?” Aricka manages before she’s dragged away.

“Plan B?” Dori wondered.

A dance break ensued; Steve and Aricka M together, Billy and Aricka H together, and to Dori’s delight, they were dancing with Eddie as they sang,

“When it's meant to be

You go kinda crazy

Meant to be

You forget your own name

When it's meant to be

It's destiny callin'

And nothing ever will be the same!”

The song ends and Aricka and Dori make their way back to each other. “… that didn’t go as well as I hoped…” Aricka says sheepishly.

“Don’t worry, we still have time to fix this. I’m gonna try and get invited to the surfer hang out , you get to the biker sleepover.”

“Okay. Deal.” And off they went on their separate ways.

~~~~~~~~

@astralshipper @rosieshipper @yeehawselfshipping @letsgofoletsgo @tsundere-selfship @callsign-revenge

#we saved each other #gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight #billy my beloved #Aricka x Billy #good old fashioned lover boy #stevie my love…#Aricka x Steve #best friend dori #Aricka and Dori #Spotify

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collecting-stories · 4 years ago

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Cardigan - Rafe Cameron

Request: heyy for the ts anthology, can u do one for cardigan with rafe? love ur writing🤍

TS Anthology Series | Outer Banks Masterlist

_ . ◦ ⭐︎:*.☾.*:⭐︎◦∙._

The summer you turned thirteen was the same summer your dad showed up again. Driving the same lemon of a car that he’d pulled out of the driveway in when you were six, he looked like he hadn’t aged. Or maybe you just didn’t remember him all that well because his face felt the same but you were different. When you missed your best friend’s birthday, a trip to the gymnastics gym on the mainland and a towering cake with fondant replicas of all her favorite things, she was rightly pissed.

Thirteen felt monumental, like the movie the two of you had snuck onto your mom’s Verizon bill, and you had both made a pact that you would be there for each other no matter what. That promise included birthdays and, more seriously, dads who showed up after seven years of radio silence because they didn’t want to “miss anything else”. But you didn’t mention your dad because hers was so great and you felt a little like you were floating on an island and no one could understand you enough to reach it. But then you missed her birthday and she swore not to speak to you and that felt more crushing than the dad thing until her brother stepped in. Always the one playing referee in when you fought, Rafe was a few years older and, in your mind, a lot smarter.

It felt pretty important that an older boy would make the time to talk to you, especially when he had to know that his sister was avoiding you at all costs. He’d just gotten his permit and, like any good brother, showed up in the car he wasn’t supposed to drive with a minor in the passenger seat, to take you around the island for the afternoon.

“My mom said she thinks we’re gonna move.” You mentioned, less casually than you would’ve hoped. The windows in the truck were rolled down and you had your legs up, feet placed precariously on the window ledge. There was a particularly nasty bruise on your knee from falling off your skateboard three days ago and a few short hairs you’d missed shaving. You were relatively new to both shaving and skateboarding so there were bound to be mistakes, you just wished they were less visible.

“Off the island?” Rafe asked, concern etched into his tone. You assumed the concern was for his sister, what would Sarah do if you moved? Who would put up with all her antics?

You shook your head, “to the cut.”

“Why?”

“She can’t afford the house on her own anymore and my dad has been lousy with child support.” You repeated back all the things she had said to you. Why she didn’t take him to court like the other kid in your grade with divorced parents was beyond you. Rose told her that it was the only way to ensure he paid what he was supposed to but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to hold him accountable.

Can’t believe you’re gonna be a pogue.” He said it like it meant something worse than you moving to the mainland.

“It’s not forever. My grandma’s house is there, we’re gonna stay with her until we can get back up on our feet.” You shrugged, “at least my dad’ll stay away then.”

But you dad wasn’t the only one who kept their distance. It felt like the distinction over your mother’s life choices held a greater impact on your friends than they had let on. A year into pogue life and Rafe seemed to disappear almost completely. It had always been an odd kind of friendship in the first place but you’d thought that it could’ve withstood a change in address.

Sarah kept in touch, unbothered by labels or mailing addresses. She’d been to your grandma’s a hundred times before you moved and she continued to go there to see you after. The two of you played in the backyard, doing tricks on the trampoline until gossiping about kids at school became more important than cartwheels. You’d lay there whispering as if someone might overhear, telling each other stories from the week that you were separated. Rafe always came to pick her up, staying in the car and honking the horn for her but never coming over to see you.

It felt a little lonely even though you technically retained most of your friends.

In tenth grade you got the role of Eponine in the teen camp production of Les Miserables that the local theatre was putting on. You were technically sharing the role with another girl your age but you couldn’t help being excited nonetheless. The boy playing Marius was in two of your classes, a senior who had lofty city dreams and a nice smile. He flirted almost constantly with you, brushing your hair back, telling you how pretty you were, inviting you out after practice. You told Sarah you were “pretty sure” you were on your way to having your first real boyfriend.

But maybe the ominous casting of Eponine over your life should’ve been hint enough that things weren’t destined to work out that way. The boy who played Marius had an actual girlfriend, home from vacationing with her family in time to watch her boyfriend on stage, and you were supposed to accept that he was just “connecting to the character” when he was with you. Either way, your On My Own struck a different chord in you and after the show was over you didn’t join the other cast members in the lobby to greet people.

“So when you get to New York...do I get to leak all those videos of you and Sarah doing your Genie in a Bottle routine?” Rafe asked, pulling a chair next to you at the makeup table. Yours was halfway off but you’d stopped scrubbing at your face to stare at yourself in the mirror. Self-pity was a powerful procrastinator.

“You’re supposed to be in the lobby.” You pointed out, ignoring his comment, “I look like a ghost raccoon that just climbed out of a dumpster.

“Now there’s an analogy.” He laughed and picked up the cotton pads you had sitting on the counter, soaking one in micellar water and turning your head to face him.

You bit your bottom lip as you tried to keep your composure. It’d been a while since you and Rafe had been alone and last time he was just your best friend’s cute older brother. Too old for you and way out of your league but you were fifteen now and seventeen didn’t feel so far away.

But Sarah was your best friend and she would be mortified if she found out that you had even entertained the idea of her brother, let alone had serious thoughts about it.

“I’m sorry,” you said as he swiped the cotton pad over your cheek.

“What for?”

“I know we’re all supposed to go out tonight for dinner but I kinda just wanna go home.” You replied.

“Sarah might’ve let it slip about-”

You groaned, “don’t even say his name.” You weren’t sure if it was embarrassment at having let yourself totally believe he liked you but hearing Rafe bring it up made you feel even worse.

“Hey, you’re so much better than that loser,” He insisted, “I’ll beat the crap outta him though, just say the word.”

It was that same year, just as school was ending, that you turned sixteen. A short stay in the cut at your grandma’s house had helped your mom get back on her feet. A new job, better than the one that let her go, afforded a moderately sized house back on Figure Eight and a birthday with all the friends that had left the two of you behind.

Sixteen felt a little more important than thirteen had, especially because, for two whole weeks, time suspended and you were technically only a year younger than Rafe. You still hadn’t told Sarah that you liked her brother, though she did seem a little suspicious when the crush on your co-star dissipated almost overnight. The boys of the past had no hold over your growing infatuation with Rafe. Maybe it was foolish but you couldn’t help thinking that maybe it wasn’t.

Especially not when he showed up at your house the same way he had when you were thirteen, though this time he had his actual license and not just a permit. He told you it was birthday drive around the island, that he was in charge of stalling you while Sarah set up a surprise party at your house.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me that it’s a surprise.” You teased, sipping at the iced coffee that Rafe had brought you when he picked you up. You swished the ice around once before sipping again.

“It’s a party either way.” Rafe replied, shrugging his shoulder.

“So, we’re just driving around until she texts you?” You asked. Rafe turned into the Island Club, circling the parking lot once and then turning back around.

“I’m yours until Sarah says otherwise.” He said, the words erupting butterflies in your stomach. You could practically feel yourself heat up thinking about what those words could mean if he wasn’t just your best friend’s brother.

“Well...then do you wanna go to the beach?” You suggested, “Jaxon showed me this really cool spot on the south side that’s practically hidden.”

“Jaxon?” Rafe sounded judgmental when he said the other boy’s name, whether he meant to or not.

“Yea, we’ve been on a couple dates. You know him, he took me to prom,” you supplied, thinking of the way Rafe had sulked on the staircase while you and Sarah had gotten your pictures taken on the front lawn of Tanney Hill. The last picture in the bunch, despite his sulkiness, was of you and Rafe. You’d asked and he had obliged, coming down onto the porch to take a picture with you before everyone left for the dance.

It was your favorite picture, even more than the countless ones of you and Sarah or the few of you and Jaxon. He was just a place holder anyway, someone to take your mind off the thing you couldn’t have. Not that it was working, especially when you were driving around with Rafe at the moment.

“I remember him.” Rafe replied, “so this special part of the beach?”

“It’s so pretty.” You confirmed, “Sarah and I went there a couple weeks ago but she only ever wants to sunbathe.”

“Don’t say it like you’re surprised.” He said, pulling his car off to the side of the road when you told him to.

You were out of the car first, letting the door fall shut behind you as you headed up the wooden ramp to the beach. The drop off at the top was a little steeper here than anywhere else, the beach mostly desolate. You stopped at the top of the walkway, turning back to wait for Rafe. He was standing at the bottom of the ramp staring up at you.

“Are you coming up or what?” You called.

“Yeah,” he nodded, walking up the path to you.

“I know Sarah’s planning a big birthday for me, but I’d much rather have this...” you admitted, “just like, coming out to the beach with you...”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, grinning down at you.

“Don’t tell Sarah,” you joked, “she’ll be mad-”

“Why, cause I’m your favorite Cameron?”

Maybe it was being sixteen or maybe it was that you were feeling particularly bold, out here on the beach with just Rafe, no threat of prying eyes to interrupt you. Either way, you had been thinking about telling him for a while now and it felt like the time...even if getting rejected ran the risk of ruining your birthday.

“I know I’m just Sarah’s best friend but...I really like you Rafe.” You said, “and I know it’s like a million to one that you like me back but I just felt like I would explode if I didn’t tell you.” You waited a beat for him to say something and when he didn’t you kept talking, “Sorry, I know this is so weird-”

“It’s not weird.” Rafe cut you off, “I’m just shocked that you seriously think I only see you as Sarah’s best friend.” His tone was teasing as he brushed a piece of hair behind your ear and cupped your cheek. “You’re so much more than that.”

It was Sarah who told you, days before your eighteenth birthday. She’d seen Rafe with someone else when her family took a weekend trip out to Chapel Hill to see a game. There was a girl there, hanging all over her brother. He swore she was just a friend, told Sarah not to tell you, but Sarah wasn’t dumb and she wouldn’t help her brother cover up an indiscretion. So she told you flat out that her brother was cheating on you.

When Sarah first found out that you and Rafe were dating, she had been as mad as her thirteenth birthday. How could you go behind her back and date her brother? The anger dissipated slowly, over the course of the summer it became clear that were not going to leave her in the dust for Rafe. She wasn’t wholly supportive of the relationship but she was supportive of you and if Rafe was who you wanted to be with than she’d be happy for you.

But if she had to choose, it would always be you over Rafe.

“I didn’t want to tell you, I really thought about not saying anything but...you deserve to know.” It was the justification she used as your face fell, all the giddiness from planning your eighteenth birthday fading in the blink of an eye.

“He cheated?” And it felt like a punch to the gut. “Are you sure?”

“He said she was just a friend but...I don’t hang on my friends like that.” Sarah remarked.

You fiddled with the phone in your lap, Sarah’s comments turning over in your head. You could refute them, tell her that you’d just talked to him the night before and he told you how excited he was to see you, how much he loved you. He’d used the word love...that had to mean something right? You could call him, ask him straight away if he was actually cheating, but you suspected that he would only lie to you. And if he wasn’t cheating, if he did tell the truth, would you believe him? Sarah was your best friend and once she had planted the seeds of doubt in you, they seemed to flourish there.

You didn’t say anything else about it to Sarah that night and when Rafe called to talk, like he always did, you pretended that everything was fine. But that could only last for so long. A week before your party, on the same special part of the beach that Rafe had first kissed you, things ended. Rafe had sworn to Sarah that the girl at school was just a friend but he couldn’t lie to you, and he didn’t try to either.

“It was a mistake,” he insisted, as if it was the type of thing you could brush off.

“But you still made it.” You replied.

“I didn’t mean to.” Rafe didn’t have any good reasons for why he had cheated on, only that he had and that, since you now knew, he was apologetic. “I don’t even talk to that girl anymore. She meant nothing to me.”

“Obviously she meant more than we did.”

Rafe had been it for you for a long time. He seemed so out of your league and you had thought a million times that you would’ve done anything for him. He was the ideal for everything that you wanted and for a while, when you had it, had him, it had felt like a dream. But now you were waking up to reality and it wasn’t a sunset on the beach.

“I love you.” He said it like it was something you were neglecting to remember.

“Not enough.”

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boobear-harold · 4 years ago

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I was tagged by @sunflowrhaz to answer a few questions that dig a little deeper. thank you love <3

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or a blue pen?

don’t really care but prob black

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or in the city?

Country. I’ve lived in the bush all my life - although I would love it if I lived closer to a big city.

3. If you could learn a new skill, what would it be?

Piano (i know like the right hand of one song), and I spent a year studying Italian and dont remember anything from it so I would like to actually be fluent.

4. do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar?

I only drink black tea(with milk) and I have 2 sugars. I do have pretty big mugs though

5. What was your favourite book as a child?

the harry potter series, and then probably the Eragon series or the Wings series. do not get me started on just how badly they did the Eragon movie though

6. Do you prefer baths or showers?

showers tbh

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be?

a mermaid or a faerie, I was obsessed with both as a kid

8. Paper or electronic books?

Defffinitely paper. Theres just something about the smell and the feel <3

9. What is your favourite item of clothing?

😬 i have an overflowing wardrobe... maybe the Spell dress I treated myself to, or my denim jacket, or one of my maxi dresses idk idk

10. Do you like your name? Would you like to change it?

as a kid i always wanted my middle name to be my name... like i started calling myself that and everything sdskfjhlksfk but now no not really. I like my name (although it is annoying that there is a brand with the same name)

11. Who is a mentor to you?

my mum 💕 she’s an absolute legend

12. Would you like to be famous? If so, what for?

I wouldn’t mind if like my art or the things I made were famous but like me actually famous myself? noooooo thank you i’ll pass

13. Are you a restless sleeper?

lmao no i remember once my dad apologised for using the chainsaw near my bedroom window and i was like ??? I didn’t hear it at all.

14. Do you consider yourself to be a romantic person?

very much so but I feel like other people don’t think I am

15. Which element best represents you?

i am an earth sign but would probably pick water

16. Who do you want to be closer to?

i miss seeing my siblings as much as i did when we were kids, and i miss my friends from high school so much... we never see each other anymore

17. Do you miss someone at the moment?

yeah

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory.

most of my childhood memories include horseriding or swimming at the beach or river

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten?

tbh i’m pretty fussy. Oh! actually I had kangaroo once in primary school when we had this like ‘indigenous culture education’ thing. Do not remember what it tastes like at all

20. What are you most thankful for?

i was going to say the same thing so I’m just going to leave your answer there lol

my family, my health, the beautiful country i live in, the friends i have made on here 💛so many things

21. Do you like spicy food?

not in the slightest. I dont even like pepper on my food

22. Have you ever met someone famous?

depends on what kind of famous we’re talking lol i’ve met a couple of mildly well known aussie bands, a politician, an athlete that carried the 2000 olympic torch through my town, but nobody like really famous

23. Do you keep a diary or journal?

i dont use it as much anymore but from like mid teens until a few years ago i used one a lot. It was the best feeling to just like write everything i felt like i couldn’t/shouldn’t say but i guess i dont need it so much anymore

24. Do you prefer to use pen or pencil?

pen

25. What is your star sign?

capricorn sun, aries moon, aquarius rising

26. Do you like your cereal crunchy or soggy?

i haven’t eaten cereal in years but its gotta be crunchy. are there actually people who like soggy cereal lmao

27. What would you want your legacy to be?

this sounds so cheesy but I just wanna be someone people are comfortable to be around

28. Do you like reading? What was the last book you read?

do i like breathing? my first memory of books is having fairytale books stacked like 30cm+ high on the end of my bed when I was like 4/5. I just finished The Lost Book of the White and am currently reading Midnight Sun(dont judge me i needed to know what it was like)

29. How do you show someone you love them?

i’m definitely a show not tell kind of person. hugs, doing a task they don’t like doing so that they dont have to do it, hugs, gifts, hugs,

30. Do you like ice in your drinks?

sometimes

31. What are you afraid of?

losing my family, never travelling, not doing anything with my life

32. What is your favourite scent?

jasmine, rain, freesias, books, roses, my mums perfume,

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname?

calling anyone by their surname is not really a thing where i’m from (unless it gets turned into a nickname)

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

travelling a lot, secretly paying off peoples debts, handing out money to strangers, I would just travel and try to make peoples lives easier

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean?

100% pool. I always feel like a plant that someone poured salt on after i’ve swam at the beach

36. What would you do if you found $50 on the ground

keep it unless i could figure out who’s it was

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Did you make a wish?

i’ve seen a few :) and yes

38. What is one thing you would want to teach your children?

i don’t think i want kids, but if I had them probably just to be kind, tolerant and not to judge to quickly, and definitely to use common sense

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

hmmm definitely something small, probably ~aesthetic~ artsy or some symbol that means something to me. I’d get it wrist, above or below my elbow (inner), or maybe ankle. I’ve actually always wanted an infinity symbol on the side of my ring finger

40. What can you hear right now?

my fan and my cat yawning

41. Where do you feel the safest?

at home, probably in my bed reading or smth

42. What is one thing you want to overcome/conquer?

procrastination, self-doubt, anxiety

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be?

i’m always thinking fashion when it comes to history so probably some where from 1850s - 1920s england/france. or like 1600s france.

44. What is your most used emoji?

😂💖🤦‍♀️🤷‍♀️

45. Describe yourself using one word.

creative... or stubborn, or kind idk

46. What do you regret the most?

... not trying. But there’s always time to change that I guess :)

47. Last movie you saw?

dont remember... i’ve been watching a lot of tv

48. Last tv show you watched?

currently watching Hart of Dixie

49. Invent a word and its meaning

solgim - the sparkly feeling when you have a crush on someone

i tag: @weareonejazzhand @queerlydestructive @sunsetlarry @feellikearainbow @babygater @fuckingniall @sunflower-vol14 @oneandonlyhl @softcoeurs @heyangel @louisteapot @proudandexcited only if you feel like it <3 also if i didnt tag you and you want to please do and tag me

#this took forever oh my god #tag games #long post

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sebbybooks · 5 years ago

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Our Vintage Summers

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

"Damn me to hell

or take me to heaven,

but for God's sake do it now."

-n.r

~come back to me.~

Bare feet tucked away in the sand as my head tilted north of the Atlantic Ocean, I soaked up the warmth from the sunlight as it kissed me all over my face. My eyes were closed as I breathed in the evocative scent of the near sea breeze. I attentively listened to the soft symphony of waves crash back down in a rhythmic pattern. The salty crisp air permeated under my nose filling my bloodstream with great sorrow. It felt as though I was longing to be taken back to a good memory. Despite the island of Nantucket being a piece of my childhood for some unknown reason those memories felt like just an illusion. Almost as if it was only a fever dream.

"I can not believe Nana Florence left that huge ass estate all to you." My older sister Anya gaped. The disbelief echoed in her voiced woke me from my own state of disorient. Opening my eyes I slipped on a pair of shades and adverted my gaze away from the sun and looked out at the lighthouse in the distant. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but still I knew a storm was brewing out there.

"I wasn't quite sure she even liked me. She was always so cold." I answered, still shocked by what I had just been given.

"She was a mean old bitch Sia. You can say it." Swallowing back her glass of bottle cream soda, Anya paused and stared off like she was trying to spot something that she had lost. "Besides it's not like she's gonna come out and haunt us. . . that would require her to care." Her tone was laced with sadness whether she would admit to it or not.

What feels like nearly a lifetime ago our parents would send us away to stay with our grandmother while they coasted around the globe every summer existing as if their children did not. Anya and I were left spending two months with a grandmother who acted as though we were unwanted guest who had to earn their keep. My older sister by just two years whose outspoken personality got her into more trouble than I care to even remember. Whereas I was always the meekly grandchild petrified of stepping out of line. What I got in return when she looked at me was annoyance like I was a stone in her shoe.

I couldn't do anything right in her eyes despite my efforts. That woman had an air about herself that exuded an unexplainable amount of bitterness I never even knew where it stemmed from. When it was finally time to return home I prayed and gave thanks to whoever was listening for freeing me from that house. Which is why I found it to be a complete and utter mind fuck that she left it all to me.

"I'm just surprised she actually wrote any of us in her will after not hearing from her in nearly fifteen years." Anya quickly jumped to her feet waving one arm in the arm in the air until the people she was flagging down finally caught ahold of her attention. Leading the way was her husband Gavin, and twins Remi and Justin who we have known since coming here as teens. Squealing and jumping into his arms like she hadn't seen her husband in months. Anya wrapped herself around Gavin and I had to turn my eyes away from their borderline pornographic kiss.

Plopping down next to me on the beach towel that was just about covered in sand was Remi. The Nguyen's use to own the beach home next door to my grandmother's and long ago I was thankful for their presence. For years Justin and Remi were the only bit of solace Anya and I had during those summers. Granted Anya had to teach me how to sneak out of the house I was always terrible at it every time. I threw all caution to the wind, because I would've done any an everything to get out that soulless house. There was something about it that made chills creep up my spine whenever I stepped through the door. To make it even creepier I'm pretty sure on one Fourth of July I could have sworn I saw her looking out of her window as the four us raced to get down to the beach.

"So I see after three years of marriage the honeymoon phase has not quite ended." Remi's glossy short black hair blew around her face before cascading back down in a stylish slanted bob. She was sitting so close to me I was smelling the fragrant scent of sweet mirabelle plums and jasmine. After knowing her for thirteen years I was starting to think it was just Remi's natural scent. At least one thing didn't change.

"I'm not sure if it's cute or sickening." When I looked back over at them Gavin had a death grip on Anya's ass.

"Are they always so..." Remi cocked her head to the side peering up at the two of them like she was viewing an anomaly.

"Clingy?" I chimed in.

Remi shook her head in disagreement. "Horny?" There was a moment of silence while we contemplated over the two of them before suddenly breaking out into a fit of laughter.

"Why don't you guys do us all a favor and get a room before you're arrested for public indecency." Justin said what we all were thinking as he fished a drink out from the cooler, and sat across from Remi and I in the sand. Finishing off his can of beer in one go, Justin peered into my eyes as he downed every last drop. I wasn't blind or immune to his good looks. His chiseled jaw and athletes body could make anyone swoon. There was alway this unspoken attraction that we shared ever since we were younger. It all sort of just went downhill the morning after my birthday during my very last summer spent in Nantucket. I remember it well, because it was the day I gave him my virginity while at the same time he wanted to give me his heart. At the time on paper he was the perfect guy. Smart, funny, loyal, Justin could charm his way through a nunnery if he wanted to. So in the end why the hell did I turn him down?

Tossing the crushed up can back into the mini cooler buried in the sand. I noticed the warm smile that reaches Justin's chestnut brown eyes transform into a triumphant smirk. I was busted. I pressed my sunglasses closer to my eyes somehow thinking it would shield me from my embarrassment. I was at least grateful that our friendship stood the test of time. Throughout the years he always described me as being a bolt of lightning. An untamable force of nature that was strikingly beautiful to the naked eye, but if I let someone close enough to touch me I'd leave them scorched and in pieces. The only reason I never took it as an insult because the answer was simple. . . he was right.

After two failed long term relationships I was starting to sense a pattern at my own creation. The men I dated always loved me more that I could love them. It wasn't like I was opposed to romance, happiness and the other sappy shit that follows.

Eventually it all just boiled down to my inability to love them as much as they loved me. I couldn't fully give myself over to my exes because I knew deep down they weren't him. Now I didn't know who this guy was. A figment of my imagination maybe? All that I knew about him was that he clearly only existed in the back of my mind. There was a voice in my head guiding me along the way telling me to just wait and the one I was waiting on will be there. I couldn't explain this feeling to anyone else even if I tried.

Sliding down from Gavin like he was a pole Anya pulled on his arm as she sauntered closer to the rest of us. "I mean we could considering little sis has eight unoccupied bedrooms behind us." Gavin boasted.

"Your wife's grandmother just passed away and you're already talking about having sex in the house she died in?" Justin's eyebrows bunched in confusion.

"She didn't die in the house man." He muses. Gavin's smile was wide and unbothered. He was pretty as he was clueless.

"What are you planning to do with it?" Remi asked me, though her primary focus was giving all her love and attention to my four year old Dalmatian Memphis.

I let out a puff of air because I honestly didn't know what to do with the place. It was a beautiful three story classic Victorian styled beach house built in 1883 that faced the ocean with a perfect view of the lighthouse. On the outside the seventy five hundred square foot architecture was absolutely stunning. It looked as though it was a tiny gray castle with a white wrap around deck on every level. You could see so much from the viewpoint . By the way it was positioned you could barely be spotted.

"Earth to Sia!" Anya called out. "Are you alright? You have been zoning out so much today?" She added. She was standing in front of me bending so low I worried her investments would topple out of her tank top.

"Yeah I'm fine. It's just been a long week that's all." I answered. It wasn't exactly a lie, with everything that has happened with our grandmother these past couples of weeks flew by in a blink of an eye. It was weird knowing that she wasn't somewhere in the house making sure there wasn't dust or fun anywhere. At her funeral I don't even recall seeing a single tear fall from anyone's face not even my mother's. Everything was so touch and go. Was I weird for being the only who felt a tinge of sadness?

Clapping her hands ecstatically Anya swiftly resumed to her cheerful spirits. Her empathy towards me lasted about ten seconds. "Right!" Putting her hands on her hips my five foot four sister stood in the middle of us. "Movie night starts at six on the dot."

Snapping my head up so fast I'm pretty sure I pulled a muscle in my neck. "What?"

Rolling her eyes before sporting her former cheerleader grin. "Movie night like old times." She spoke like it was an obvious suggestion.

"That use happened at our house." Justin corrected.

She snorts. "Your point?"

"Won't that be weird?" Remi's eyed bounced from person to person. When no one said anything she asked, "Isn't her stuff still in the house?"

"Quit trying to force the fun out of it! It's not like the five of us are ever all together anymore." Anya addresses the group. "The years here were shitty and the only good memories I have were spent with you guys. For old times sake just say yes."Without another word she plopped back down sulking like a child.

For a moment we all just stared off into different directions lost in thought. We might have not been as close like when we were younger but I knew her well enough to know she was hurting. Like how the old saying goes people grieve in different ways and acting as though she was fine was perhaps her way of handling it.

"As long as it's not Dirty Dancing. You ruined that movie by making us watch it a hundred times." I released a fortifying breath, before plastering a smile on my face for my sister's sake. Immediately I saw the features of her face soften as she grew excited once more.

"Woah let's not get too hasty. I for one can not turn down the chance of watching the late great Patrick Swazye woo me through the screen." Remi supplies.

Stretching forward Justin says, "I don't know about being wooed, but you can count me in." He nods his head in Anya's direction while giving all his attention to me.The butterflies that tried to form in my stomach quickly disintegrated then were reborn as moths. I knew it. There was something officially wrong with me.

"I'm not going to lie Johnny was a handsome man. If I was Baby I'd risk it too." In true Gavin fashion he spouts out the most unexpected remarks.

More chatter erupts and from practice I have learned to tune it all out. Just when I did I noticed up ahead my mother was engaged in conversation with a man I had never seen before. I don’t know why I was so transfixed by his appearance. From the distance I could barely make out his face, but still there was something so familiar about him. I couldn’t look away once I became aware of his presence. It was a strange emotion to have over someone that I’d never met before. I inhaled sharply, my brain started feel fuzzy, and there was a chaotic sensation moving around in stomach. It began to make its way up spreading all over me practically paralyzing my entire body.

Believing he sensed me gawking at the two of them I was jolted out of my daze. Both of their attention turned towards me as they made their way down the beach. It was like a burst charge of fireworks slamming against chest. I was barely breathing from anticipation and excitement wrapped into one. The accelerated rhythm of my heartbeat drummed so fast, you’d swear I was high off recreational drugs. I had never felt like this before or maybe I have and just forgotten the rush.

My mother who was slightly a few steps ahead of the guy marched through the sand like fire was on her ass. “Girls!” She hollered, even though we were just a few feet away. Anya immediately stopped talking meeting our mother halfway. I swear those two were peas in a pod. They matched the same energy, shared the same mannerisms, hell they looked so much alike you’d think I was adopted.

“Hello hello hello !” Mother rushingly greeted everyone. “Can I grab ahold of everyone’s attention for a quick second?” She began clutching onto her pearls and I mean that in literal sense. My mother wore those particular string of pearls whenever she was in Nantucket. I don’t know why but it became a thing of hers. Usually when she began to toy with it profusely meant something was eating at her mind. Though maybe this time I was overthinking it. After all the only reason any of us were in this forsaken place was simply due to the fact her mother insisted the reading of her will and testament be held here. “I’d like to introduce you all to this fine young gentleman.”

“You got that right.” Anya eyed him like he was sex and food rolled into one. Something you want and something you can’t live without. Flirting was second nature to her. She couldn’t help herself if she tried, even though her husband was sitting right beside her.

My mother turned her attention narrowing her eyes on my older sister as if we were back at the age where her penetrating scowl could evoke obedience. Doing her impression of a fake laugh she returned her focus on the man in the Ralph Lauren beach fit. "This is Sebastian." Mother cleared her throat before continuing. "Your grandmother requested that he join us today. It has come to my attention that Sebastian was a cherished friend of my mother."

"What in the hell did you guys talk about?" Gavin's attempt of comedy was met with silence. A bewildered Anya spoke first. "How did you meet my Nana Florence?" My sister asked what I'm sure we all thought to ourselves.

Sebastian hesitated almost unsure of his unspoken words. "I mostly just helped with the renovations with her house and did what I could when she needed assistance with stuff. I apologize for not being here earlier. By the looks of traffic everyone was leaving town when I was coming in." His eyes found mine and I stared back with a blank expression like I was hooked onto every syllable that he spoke. I quickly looked away and toyed with the loose thread on my denim shorts so I would not come off as someone with a staring problem.

"Even though I'm late I would like to offer my deep condolences. She was an incredible woman who I know will be greatly missed." He continued, at least someone was finally sounding sincere.

My mother let out a laugh that came at such inappropriate timing. "Indeed." Her smile dimmed. I'm sure her mind was racing with the question of how long it would take to get a glass of wine in her hands. Apart from the background noise coming from the beachgoers there was still awkward silence that came on. Out of nowhere Memphis jolts up besides me and I was worried something bit him. Before I could get to my feet to check on my dog I see that he rushes over to Sebastian.

Sebastian drops to his knees and embraces an excitable Memphis as though they've just reunited from being apart. I stare at the sight unable to wrap my head around the scene. Don't get me wrong he was a loving and sweet dog, but he didn't take too well to strangers. Ever. He licked and jumped all around Sebastian I thought he was going to knock the wind out of the poor guy.

"I'm sorry about him." I pulled Memphis off of him hooking his leash to his collar. I angled my body so that I was in front of him.

"No worries." Sebastian says as he wipes the front of his pants with his hands. "I'm only sorry I had my mouth open during that last part." His faced scrunched in a playful manner and I had to send little memos to brain reminding myself to breath.

"He will try to french kiss you in a heartbeat." I stated. "The gentle giant will wash your face in saliva if you let him." Good grief what was I saying.

Sebastian laughs, our gaze holding an eerie sense of familiarity. Even if years were to have gone on by there's no way possible I could forget those pair of eyes. "I have to remember that for next time." Even the sound of his voice sounded as though I have heard it a million times. A favorite song you remember the melody to by heart but for some unfathomable reason can't conjure the lyrics as hard as you try to remember.

"Have we met before?" I bounced from one leg to another trying to adjust my feet to the burning sand. "I just can't help but wonder if I have seen you before." I weakly explained. I stared into his eyes looking for some indication that I wasn't going senile so soon at my age.

"Yeah in her dreams." Anya mumble loud enough for all to hear.

Sebastian stilled for a moment. "Sia right?" Sebastian asked clearly ignoring my sister's comment. I nodded my head yes. "I recognize your face from the all the photos from this album your grandma showed me of you." He pinned me under his unwavering stare and the heat that I felt was no longer from the sand as I felt it in places it didn't touch.

I quickly lost my smile for two reasons. One reason being that I was more than surprised she even uttered my name around strangers and not just pretended I didn't exist altogether. She was not the boasting type of grandparent that bragged on her grandchildren. Now that I think of it she never even complimented me on anything ever. Secondly, why in the everliving hell would she show Sebastian photos of us?

"Puberty wasn't exactly kind to me growing up. So I can only imagine the pictures she could've shown you." I swallowed hard. I was starting to inwardly cringe at the thought of him seeing my most awkward stages of me during my youth.

"I am going to have to disagree with you." Sebastian said quietly as he leaned towards me. In my head I rehearsed what to say next but the ability to actually make sound felt impossible. Filling in the silence between us Sebastian finally answered my questioned.

"Other than that no I don't believe ours paths have ever crossed before today." He blinked once and a slow smile formed on his face before saying, "Which I now realize was a terrible existence I was living." Sebastian cocked his head to the side, looking at me with a curious expression.

A weird tiny laugh fluttered out of my mouth almost like how burps come up. This wasn't me. I didn't fawn over men that turned me into a lovesick puppy, and yet low and behold there I was metaphorically shitting my pants at the sight of him. It had suddenly dawned on me that my group of friends had been silently watching us the whole time and that my mother somehow managed to disappear. I turned around to face them and all but one person stared back at Sebastian and I with mischievous grins. Justin however eyed Sebastian with visible disdain.

"Hey Sebastian you should totally stop by the house later today and taste my sister's cupcakes." My eyes bulged at Anya's bold innuendo. If my eyes could throw daggers she would be dead in an instant. Clearly seeing the look of mortification painting my face she quickly tried to backtrack. "You see Sia is a pastry chef and her vanilla butter cream cupcakes are practically little clouds of heaven." She choked back a fit of giggles.

I was afraid to turn my head to look at Sebastian. I just hoped his face didn't mirror my horrified expression. Blocking Anya out of view quick on her feet Remi stood to my side. "It's a silly tradition we have which newcomers are welcomed to. We just gorge out on food while watching Anya approved films." Remi said to him. I was still one hundred percent embarrassed but very much grateful for Remi.

"Then the dicks to chicks ratio will finally be even." Gavin added eagerly. I rolled my eyes as I shook my head. I started to say something but Sebastian beat me to it.

"I can't." For some reason when he spoke it sounded like the scratching sound a record player makes when it abruptly stops. The question of "why" was floating in the air. His answer oddly made me feel disappointed which I'm sure he could tell.

"It's just that I wanted to leave out before the weather could get a chance to trap me in." Aha! So I wasn't the only one who could sense the calm before the storm.

Out of nowhere finally speaking up Justin rose out from the sand. "Maybe next time." His hint of sarcasm did not go unnoticed. I wasn't sure why Justin was giving off douchebag behavior it certainly wasn't like him. Sebastian eyes went from me to Justin then back to me again. Sensing no threat by the way I was doing my best to shift further away from Justin, Sebastian bent back down to get on Memphis's seeing level.

Stuffing his hand in his pocket he pulled out a piece of parchment paper. Opening it up he broke a golden brown cookie in half before offering it to Memphis. Inhaling it in one bite, Sebastian quickly stood back up petting him on the head one last time. "He was only after the cookie in my pocket." Sebastian said to me. I wasn't sure why it felt like an ominous statement but it did.

"It was nice meeting you all." Before he turned away he looked over his shoulder at my grandmother's house that sat up on the hill. I watched him walk away and a piercing pain squeezed at my heart. I brought my hand up to my chest to massage the area that caused me actual pain. Whatever the hell was happening I could begin to feel it. Like a part of me was missing and I just now realized it.

"Well he was weird." Gavin blew out a whistle.

Later that night I tried to ignore that sensation that crept up on me. I baked to my hearts desire and even that couldn't silence the reoccurring voice in my head urging me to not let it go. To not forget him. Everyone came back over to the house as planned. I tried to coexist alongside them, pretending that I was fine. For the most part it worked. I didn't see my mother again after she vanished from the beach. I called both of my parents asking them if they knew anything else about the man from earlier. No one could supply any bit of information that I could use. The only thing my mother did mention was that her lawyer confirmed that she had written Sebastian a letter and that was all he could disclose.

Anya somehow managed to squeeze in more than one movie to everyone's dismay. Not only did we have to endure Dirty Dancing, but we had to sit through Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights. We all sullenly agreed to one more before calling it a night and then on perfect cue suddenly a loud crack of thunder roared throughout the night. Before we knew it the power went out. Loud pelts of rain fell on top of the roof like bullets. The sounds omitting from the ocean sounded terrifying. Turning on our flashlights from our phones we were all gathered in the adjacent room from the dining area.

"You all know what this means right?" Gavin's face hardened. He stalked backwards on his heels as he backed into the flatscreen. The white light from his phone created a shadow around his face. "Say it!" Anya's voice came out like a nervous screech. Gavin nodded his head profusely, placing his hand on his hip his face adopted a disappointment expression. "I no longer have to endure that Cooper guy's singing."

From what I could make out in the dark Anya's face scrunched up in anger. Prodding a finger to his chest. "I thought you were going to say something serious."

"I just did!" He retorted. Just when I was convinced that I was going to have to break up a meaningless argument loud pounding came from the other side of the front door. All of our heads whipped towards the archway that led you to the entrance of the house. Instinctively Justin and Gavin exchanged a look before stepping in front of the rest of us. Anya poked her way between them running to the door before anyone could stop her. Gavin was on her tale calling after her, while Justin and Remi followed. Whoever it could've been was more than likely a neighbor or a beach straggler. Figuring they had a handle on whoever was at the door I went off on the pursuit of light.

Considering the fact that my grandmother hated candles as much as Frankenstein's monster hated fire I knew there was a huge chance I wasn't going to find anything. I walked up the stairs using a dim light that barely guided my steps. The house had always seemed familiar. Yet quiet and alarming all in the same breath.

I spotted for signs of significant changes that Sebastian could have made at my grandmother's request. Nothing looked remotely different. In fact the place looked older and shabbier than before. The black and gold foliage patterned wallpaper peeled around the corners of the wall. Cobwebs took up the ceiling and the hallway reeked of old books and soddened leaves. The cherrywood hardwood floor creaked beneath my feet as I took very slow and cautious step. I don't know why but the door at the end of the hallway called to me first.

There was not much that I remembered about this house. I wasn't quite sure what I was even going to see once I opened it. Unshakable nerves ripped through me as I pushed in the door. My heartbeat suddenly steadied when I saw that the room was nothing out of the ordinary. I shook my head at the silly thoughts I cultivated in my mind. I use to be afraid of this place and I suppose old habits die hard.

It felt like a scene in Harry Potter film as I stood in middle of the doorway holding up my small light from my phone in the center of the darkness. I angled my phone around the room looking for storage bins that could contain anything useful. The bedroom looked like it has been not lived in for quite some time. The bed looked sunken in and if I were to sit on it I'm pretty sure dust would form around me. Not much of anything was in sight apart from the dresser and a full length wooden mirror that leaned against the wall.

The only thing hanging in the small closet were white plastic hangers and linen sheets on the top shelf. Closing the door to the closet I released my pent up sigh because there was absolutely nothing of use in the room. I was ready for this night to be over so that I could return back to my version of normalcy that was miles and miles from here. Turning around accidentally bumping into the mirror. Rushing to catch it from falling over I nearly tripped over my feet trying to hold the heavy thing up. Feeling very out of shape I headed for the door when I saw that a piece of folded paper had fallen onto the floor. Turning the light back on my phone to see better I bent down to retrieve it. It was a crumpled up old photograph.

When I opened it immediately their faces nearly knocked the air right out of my lungs. I stared at it in disbelief trying to wrap my head around the imagery. It was fucking impossible that what I was seeing was real. The photo looked dated like it might have been taken many decades ago. As it fell from my hands and I stepped away from it like it was lethal. A humming sound passed through the house and suddenly the lights flickered back on.

"Sia!" Anya yelled my name from downstairs. I was too stunned to answer her. "Get your butt back down here! Sebastian is here!" As clear as day I heard what my sister was saying, but that photo held me captive.

The ink was faded but I knew that place far too well. The lighthouse in the picture was unmissable. It was the people inside the picture that threw me for a loop. Standing in the sand on the beach with a beagle wrapped in the woman's arms, she was embraced in a kiss with a man who looked like it could have very well been Sebastian. An from what I could see of the woman’s face it looked identical to mine.

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365days365movies · 4 years ago

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February 6, 2021: Romeo + Juliet (1996)

From the top!

Two households, both alike in dignity In Fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross’d lover take their life; Whose misadventured, piteous overthrows Do, with their death, bury their parents’ strife The fearful passage of the death-mark’d love, And the continuance of their parents’ rage Which, but their children’s end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage; The which, if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strike to mend.

I mean, c’mon. It’s Shakespeare, I practically had to.

Which is why it may come as a surprise to hear that I think this play is overrated, far too overexposed, and honestly stars two of the most obnoxiously immature protagonists that Shakespeare ever wrote. Which is not to say that I don’t like it, but it is to say that it isn’t my favorite. Which one is my favorite, you ask? Eh, I vacillate between a few, but I might get into it, we’ll see.

Weirdly fitting, though, since this film is directed by a director who also isn’t my favorite. Can’t say I have a definitive favorite director either, but Baz Luhrmann ain’t it. To be fair, I haven’t seen Moulin Rouge (probably should, huh?), but his turn on The Great Gatsby...wasn’t my favorite, I’ll just leave it at that.

And while we’re into it, lemme just address Romeo and Juliet adaptations on film real quick. To be completely transparent, before today...I’ve only seen one adaptation of the play: Franco Zeffirelli’s excellent 1968 turn on it, and it’s a fantastic adaptation at that. Sone of you, however, may now be realizing that, if I’ve only seen one adaptation of the play...there’s an extremely glaring omission to my film repertoire.

Yeaaaaaaaaah...we’ll get there, I promise.

But, of course, the adaptations only scratch the surface of this plays influence. See, the whole point of the rivalry between the Montagues and the Capulets is that it’s SO OLD, that nobody truly remembers why it started in the first place. Because of that, other romance films have sought to supply a reason for that rivalry.

In other words, the two protagonists destined to fall in love often come from two backgrounds, if not families, that class. And, yes, only ONE FILM that I’ve watched this month doesn’t do that. Dirty Dancing and The Notebook make their “ancient grudge” class-based; low-class vs. upper-class. Even You’ve Got Mail makes it about money, although that one’s a little more of a stretch. In any case, versions of this trope have lasted for centuries, and it’s...maybe poisoned romantic cinema? I mean, there’s a reason they all seem similar. They’re all taking from a classic. And, yeah, more of them than you’d think use this formula. I mean...

Hell, if you think about it, both of them are technically dead by the end.

Anyway, jumping right smack dab into the ‘90s, where teen heartthrob of the decade, Leo DiCaprio himself, is cast to play the titular teen boy, and sort-of popular at the time Claire Danes is cast as the titular teen girl. Put them together, and you have a hatred that will last for centuries. Because yeah, they HATED each other apparently. Let’s watch! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

...Look, here’s a quick recap of a story that EVERYBODY KNOWS.

Two families hate each other, and each has a teenage kid; a boy named Romeo and a girl named Juliet. They see each other at a party, they IMMEDIATELY get those teenage hormones a flowing and fall in love at first sight. They talk a few times, then decide to get married. Romeo’s friends say, “Dude, her family’s all dicks,” and Romeo says “naw, dude, she’s hawt,” They hook up, and they get secret-married. But, since they can’t be together in life, and since Juliet’s supposed to marry a whole other dude, Juliet runs to the priest and says, “hey, fake my death real quick?” He gives her a potion, she pretends to be dead, Romeo finds out (after one of his friends is killed by Juliet’s cousin), and runs to her side. Dude then ACTUALLY kills himself with poison, only for Juliet to wake up, see his dead body, and then kill HERSELF with a KNIFE, and then the families find out, and the Prince comes by and just says, “Goddamn, you guys are dicks. So much so that you killed your kids, congrats.” And that’s the end.

Yeah. Two hours of play and movie (nice touch, by the way, Luhrman) compressed into a paragraph. And yet...I’m still gonna recap this movie. Glutton for punishment, I guess. And with that said...

It all starts with a newscaster, speaking the lines of the Prologue in the guise of a newscast, which is...very neat, actually! That’s followed by...Pete Postlethwaite saying the whole thing over again, backed by a hell of a lot of fast cut editing.

...Oh God, it’s a Luhrmann movie. I forgot. Also, uh...really trying to stretch out that runtime to make that 2-hour mark, huh, Bazzie? I admire that you’re trying to stick to that “two hour-stage” quote from the Prologue, really I do...but you had to repeat the Prologue TWICE to do that?

As the lines flash on screen, we’re also introduced to out major players, whom I’ll just introduce as they come up. After a little montage of the movie to come, and a confirmation that the ancient grudge has broken out into a gang war on the streets of Verona Beach (clever), we jump in the car of a few Montagues: Sampson (Jaime Kennedy), Benvolio (Dash Mihok), and Gregory (Zak Orth).

At a gas station, they meet some Capulets, specifically Abra (Vincent Laresca) and a few others. After some thumb-biting, they all draw their swords. Which are guns that have sword written on them. Well, that’s just silly.

This standoff is interrupted by the arrival of another Capulet: Tybalt (John Leguizamo). This, of course, leads to a swordfight (ugh), during which all players are, just...REAL dramatic with their movements, holy shit. In the process, Sampson’s shot (or...stabbed, I dunno), and the gas station explodes.

It’s war in the streets now, as Tybalt and Benvolio are eventually intercepted by Captain Prince (Vondie Curtis-Hall), the chief of police for Verona Beach. He reads out his rage upon the heads of the families. For the Montagues, these heads are Ted (Brian Dennehy) and Caroline (Christina Pickles); and for the Capulets, they’re Fulgencio (Paul Sorvino) and Gloria (Diane Venora). Is...is the grudge taking place because one of them is named “Ted,” and the other is FUCKING “FULGENCIO”? Because that’s one hell of a dichotomy.

Captain Prince lets them all off with a warning (I mean, no, they should ALL be arrested), and Caroline and Ted question the whereabouts of their melodramatic emo son. That son is, of course, Romeo (Leonardo DiCaprio), who laments poetically about how fucked up his family is.

Hanging out at a decrepit carnival (because of course he is), he’s soon found by Benvolio, and he laments on the lack of love between their two families. They bond over talk of women, and decide to secretly go to a party held by the Capulets that night to check out some girls.

Meanwhile, Fulgencio is speaking about this whole mess to Dave Paris (Paul Rudd). D...Dave? Really? We’re keepin’ fuckin’ Benvolio and Balthasar, but we had to name Paris DAVE? Guys, a little consistency with the name shit, PLEASE! Anyway, Dave (uuuuugh) is the governor’s son, and very wealthy, while also being a suitor for Fulgencio’s daughter.

That daughter is, of course, Juliet (Claire Danes), who’s being attended by her vain mother and kindly Nurse (Miriam Margoyles). As her mother’s preparing for the party, she talks up Paris as a suitor, although Juliet doesn’t seem SUPER into it. And s the Nurse tells her to “seek happy nights to happy days,” we go to Sycamore Grove, and to another party.

And this is where we meet my favorite character (everybody’s favorite character, let’s be honest): Mercutio (Harold Perrineau). Mercutio has been invited to the Capulet’s party, and invites Romeo to come along, in disguise. In the process, he gives one of the play’s most famous monologues: Queen Mab’s Speech. It’s truncated here, ad to be frank, Perrineau’s performance is a bit...over the top. But, it ends up to be fairly effective.

Also, Queen Mab is ecstasy. Yeah, that kinda dulled by enthusiasm for the whole enterprise, I ain’t gonna lie. But Romeo lies with Queen La, and they head to the Capulet’s party. And we’re about to hit PEAK LUHRMANN, people.

Look, I’m lame, I’ve never really done drugs, ecstasy included...but it FEELS like I’ve taken something now. And Romeo’s now trying to sober-up a bit. He dunks his head into a sink in the bathroom, and looks at a tropical aquarium that’s in there. And through that aquarium...

However, Juliet’s quickly spirited away by Nurse, and brought to dance with Dave. Romeo, meanwhile, gives his “Did my heart love till now” speech, and DOESN’T SAY THAT SHE DOTH TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN BRIGHT??? Seriously, the beginning of that speech is completely deleted. That line, in and of itself, should’ve been left in.

Anyway, Romeo and Juliet speak, and the teenagers kiss...a lot. And yeah, they do kiss in this scene in the ply, but not that much. Immediately afterwards, they discover their family alliances, and Romeo and Mercutio flee the party. Romeo heads back soon after, and, well...you know the line. But soft...

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This movie...LOVES water, huh? We see both Romeo and Juliet from underwater at separate points, they see each other for the first time through an aquarium, they’re making out in a pool right now. I mean, I’m sure there’s some symbolism to that, but I’m not sure what it is yet.

Anyway, the two starcross’d lover come just short of crossing stars, and they IMMEDIATELY get engaged to marry.

After a bit of ‘90s music whiplash, we meet Father Laurence (Pete Postlethwaite), a botany-loving priest, and soon-to-be ally to the young couple. Romeo asks Laurence to wed them, despite the fact that Romeo actually was in love with a woman named Rosaline. But, yeah, she’s one of the unseen casualties of this play, only sometimes making it into adaptations. As Romeo speaks to the Priest, I think this is a great time to mention that there is a FUCKTON of Jesus and Christian imagery in this movie. Water and Jesus, goddamn.

The Priest agrees, believing that a marriage between the two could bring peace to Verona Beach at last. We also get a bunch of quick edits showing various parts of the Luhrmann Shakespeare Cinematic Universe, all backed by a choir boy singing “When Doves Cry.” This is an...unusual movie.

It also seems that Tybalt has issued a challenge against Romeo, which Mercutio and Benvolio muse upon. They meet with Romeo on the beach, and as they hang around, their revelry is interrupted by the arrival of the Nurse. She gives him a warning not to fuck with Juliet’s heart, which he says that he won’t, as they’re planning on marrying. She appears to approve, but Mercutio seems not to. Definitely going with a more superficially mercurial take on the character, which fits. But that’ll be more apparent later.

Nurse goes to Juliet, and...OK, is she supposed to be Italian or Hispanic? Because I feel like I’m supposed to be mildly offended, but I don’t even know what she’s going for here. Anyway, the wedding time approaches, and the two get wed in secret. But on the beach, Tybalt has come to go after Romeo. Romeo tries to make amends, even giving up his “sword” to him, much to Mercutio’s anger. Which, uh...he’s not gonna stand for.

And, of course, Mercutio’s fatally stabbed while defending Romeo’s honor. He lays A PLAGUE O’ BOTH THEIR HOUSES, and dies. Romeo’s PISSED, and immediately goes to kill Tybalt. That leads to Romeo’s banishment, although they consummate their marriage before he takes off. Also, Juliet KNOWS that he KILLED HER COUSIN...but it’s Leo, I guess, and...hormones.

Romeo’s banished and goes to Mantua, AKA a trailer park in the middle of the desert. Juliet, meanwhile, is commanded by her father to marry Paris, although she REALLY isn’t into it now! She goes to Laurence and, yeah, threatens to kill him AND herself if he doesn’t have an idea. Hormones, man. They’ll fuck you UP.

Laurence’s solution, of course, is to have Juliet pretend to have killed herself by drinking a potion. No idea why he comes up with this idea, or has the skill to make the potion, but some questions aren’t meant to be asked or answered. He also says to that he’ll send a litter to Romeo, to let him know what the deal is.

Juliet pretends to kill herself, and it interred with her relatives. Meanwhile, Romeo’s cousin Balthasar (Jesse Bradford) comes by the desert, having just gone to Juliet’s funeral, and tells him that Juliet’s dead. And since Romeo never got the goddamn letter, he’s decided, “Well! Guess I’m gonna kill myself.”

He gets some poison, then goes to Juliet’s tomb, which is...decked in neon crosses. I mean, it looks nice, even it’s very, uh...over the top. Goddamn.

And, at this point, you know how this goes. Romeo drinks the poison and dies, Juliet wakes up JUST after, then kills herself as well, and the parents of both parties arrive to see them both dead, along with the Prince, who says “Y’ALL ARE DICKS,” and bounces.

That’s Luhrman’s Romeo + Juliet. And it’s a movie. Yeah, that I’ll give you. What did I think? What rating does it get? Well...I’ll elucidate in the Review.

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mountphoenixrp · 4 years ago

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We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Amari Hotaru, who is known by no other name; a 22 year old son of Susanoo. He is a swimming instructor at Zero to Hero and host at Sakura.

FC NAME/GROUP: Yeo Changgu/Yeo One (PENTAGON) CHARACTER NAME: Amari Hotaru AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 22 Years/March 27, 1998 PLACE OF BIRTH: Shodoshima, Japan OCCUPATION: Swimming Instructor at Zero to Hero/Host at Sakura DEFINING FEATURES: - Somehow almost always smells like the ocean. - Tall, tanned, fit, and smiley :)

PERSONALITY: Boyish, friendly, upbeat, and kind, Hotaru is a reflection of all the love he was given growing up. The easiest way to explain it being that his mother, uncle, and aunt had poured so much love into him, that at some point, all that warmth and tenderness brimmed over and spilled out into the world in the forms of compassion and care. He’s a whirlwind of joy, excitement, and best intentions. If someone were standing in the park with a “free hug” sign, not only would he take a hug, but he would join them in offering free hugs himself. If someone was caught in the rain without an umbrella, he would hand his own over to them, no problem. If someone showed up at his door in the middle of the night with nowhere to go, you bet your ass, he would take them in, and give them his bed in a heartbeat. Some would say that he’s a bit of an extreme altruist, others would call him extremely naive.

Despite the fact that he’s almost exasperatingly positive about everything, he can be just as insufferable when his feelings are hurt. He’s got a little flair for the dramatics especially when his feelings are hut. If it’s sunny out and there’s a sudden downpour, chances are Hotaru had his heart broken again. Or he watched another tragic show or movie. But he bounces back fast. Never one to dwell on his negative emotions for longer than a couple of days unless he’s really hurt. He’s an expressive person, an open book, wears his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see. He’s a little lovesick too. Love crazy at times with how he has a new(unrequited) crush every other week despite his better judgement. And a little chaotic with some of the poorer decisions that he makes. Overall, he’s a good person, but a little bit of guidance wouldn’t hurt him either.

HISTORY: tw: mentions/heavy implications of chronic illness, mental illness, and suicide.

Hotaru’s childhood had been a happy one. He had grown up healthy, taken care of, and though he couldn’t have everything he asked for, he knew he was loved. Now that he’s older, he can appreciate how lucky he was. He was given more than what some others get. Yet, that doesn’t change the face that there’s still a handful of things he wishes could’ve been different.

Though his mother did have a presence in his life, she wasn’t the one who raised him. As soon as he was born, she had given him over to her adoptive brother and his wife. The reasoning behind this decision only ever being hinted to him through cryptic words that skirted around the entire truth. It wasn’t until Hotaru was well into his teens that he learned why exactly.

“Your mother… Isn’t well, Hotaru…” his uncle had explained to him when he’d asked the first time. “She’s doing her best to get better, but right now she can’t take care of you… Hopefully when you’re older and she’s feeling good again, you can go on to live with her.” And that was that.

His uncle and aunt had taken him in without any fuss though. They treated him like their own, but made it clear to him that they weren’t taking his mother’s place in his life or trying to keep him from her. He was allowed to see her most weekends and she visited him as frequently as she could during the summer and winter.

Years later, when Hotaru is ten, the offer to live full-time with his mother arises. Naturally, Hotaru is eager and excited. He jumps on the opportunity without really thinking about it. Not that he doesn’t love his aunt and uncle, but his childhood wishes to be with her as much as possible finally comes true. Just as naturally, his aunt and uncle are apprehensive, but they’re supportive nonetheless. The couple couldn’t be any happier for the mother and son duo and wished them all the best.

Come the next summer, Hotaru’s mother whisks him away from his hometown and out to her modest apartment in Tokyo. The city is very different from what he’s used to, but with his mother by his side, he adjusts to everything well. The next few years are happy ones. He makes so many good memories with his mother that at times, he can hardly remember any of the heartache and pain that comes next.

He’s thirteen, when things start to change. His mother’s mood shifts and Hotaru finds himself helplessly watching as she withdraws from the world and him along with it. When he asks her if she’s alright, she dismisses his concerns with a gentle smile and a ruffle of his hair. “I’m alright,” she would say or, “Don’t worry about me, I’m just a little stressed.” Every time she does, he so desperately wants to believe in her words, but he knows deep down that there’s something she’s not telling him.

Around the same time, his powers start making themselves known, but he brushes them off as coincidences and they’re more or less shoved to the back of his mind. He has other things to worry about and worry he does. Between then and now, things get progressively worse and worse. It’s not until he gets his uncle and aunt involved that things improve again, but the relief and happiness is short lived.

He’s fifteen years old when he comes home from a swim meet, his aunt and uncle in tow, the older couple chatting with him about school and congratulating him on the silver medal he wears around his neck. When he calls out into the apartment to greet his mother and receives no response, but he dismisses it. Figures his mother is still resting in her room. But there’s an unnerving stillness in the air, like the calm before a storm, and Hotaru can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. He tries to keep his cool though, chuckles a little nervously when his aunt and uncle give him a worried look before going off to check on his mother.

The couple watches as he disappears around the corner and over to her bedroom calling out for her once more before he stops mid sentence and something thuds to the ground. They glance at each other. The scream that they hear next is so loud and so heart wrenching and so pained that it stuns them for a minute before they’re rushing after him.

The scene that they come across next is surreal. Hotaru collapsed to the ground in a fit of inconsolable tears and anguished cries hunched over his mother’s lifeless body. For as long as they’d known the boy, he’d never made a sound so heart breaking in his life. It shakes them up even more. Outside, thunder cracks in the distance and there’s a sudden downpour, but the only storm they can focus on is the whirlwind of grief that comes next.

After the funeral and his mother’s cremation, Hotaru moves back home and he isn’t himself for a long time. Years of counseling, therapy, and the support of his family help him along the way and he’s better for it, but there’s something fundamentally different to him regardless.

On his eighteenth birthday, his aunt, uncle, and a few friends gather together at the beach to celebrate. It’s a happy occasion, but he can’t help but wish for his mother’s presence there. The very same night, after returning home for the evening, his uncle pulls him out to the back porch and hands him one last gift. A modest sized box with an elegant looking envelope on top. There’s a bit of weight to it and when he opens it, it reveals a series of black journals. He flips the envelope over to see it addressed to him with his mother’s handwriting on the back of it. The young man looks up in confusion and his uncle explains.

“She wanted you to have these when you were sixteen, but we thought that it would be too soon after…” he pauses, eyes glossing over with tears that he does his best to blink away. He clears his throat, “I’m not sure what’s in the journals, but she wrote them all for you to read when you were old enough to understand… But read the letter first. There’s something important in there that she wanted you to know, I think.” He wishes the demigod another “happy birthday” before going to bed for the evening.

Hotaru sits there in the dark for a while, twirling the letter by its corners tentatively while he debates opening it like his uncle insisted. It’s a while before he can muster up the will, but he eventually does and the contents of the letter leave him speechless. He’s not sure whether the line of, “You’re a demigod, Hotaru,” holds any truth to it at first, but his doubts disappear when he manages to stop a sudden rain shower with nothing but a wish. Of course, he repeats it a few times for good measure, but the action confirms his mother’s words to be true.

After putting himself through university and earning himself a degree in honor of his uncle and aunt’s wishes, he was finally able to set off to the place his mother encouraged him to go to in her letter. He’s twenty-two when he arrives at Mount Phoenix and despite not knowing entirely what he’s there for, he’s looking forward to the new atmosphere and learning more about this side of his heritage.

PANTHEON: Japanese CHILD OF: Susanoo POWERS: Can summon and control storms for a short time. They are particularly powerful near oceans and salt water restores their energy. STRENGTHS: He’s compassionate, kind, and caring, a good swimmer, all around good human. WEAKNESSES: Attractive people, sad animes, his own emotions, a little chaotic, cares a little too much sometimes.

#kpop rp #krp #pentagon #yeo changgu #yeo one #mp; welcome

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dailyskyferreira · 6 years ago

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Sky Ferreira Returns With an uncompromising vision and the studio hours to back it up, the enigmatic singer is back with a new single—and a promise that her first album in six years will be worth the wait.

So, what’s Sky Ferreira been doing all this time? Well, for the last 35 minutes or so, she’s been in the bathroom.

“I’m so sorry,” she says when she finally emerges, eyes wet, arms full of winter layers. It’s a late-February afternoon at New York City’s Russian Tea Room, the fabled blini-and-caviar haunt of candy-red banquettes and eternal Christmas ornaments where Madonna once worked the coat check. About a half hour ago, the 26-year-old singer turned up for our afternoon-tea reservation only to disappear in an immediate whorl, as if a czarist vortex sucked her into the basement. What she had thought was an asthmatic flare-up, she now explains, was actually a pretty severe anxiety attack. A panicked twinge remains in her expression, like the distant memory of tasting a lemon. In town from Los Angeles for three days, she tells me, “I’ve been anxious to the point that I haven’t slept at all.”

It’s a nerve-wracking moment for Sky, a pop artist, actor, and model who’s lately been keeping a low profile. This is partly because she seems to find the social contract of the PR exchange stressful, but also because she doesn’t want to suck up all the air before she gets a chance to breathe. “You really can get sick of someone’s face,” she says, as only someone who has loaned their own to Jimmy Choo and Calvin Klein could. “I don’t see the point of doing a bunch of photoshoots or press when I don’t have anything out.”

The fact that she hasn’t had anything out might be the biggest stress of all. Signed to Capitol Records at 15, Sky spent years in teen-pop A&R purgatory—groomed as a naughty-girl-next-door type with mall-Shakira hair and prefabricated singles with names like “Haters Anonymous” and “Sex Rules” (“We are animals/No matter what we deny/Our bodies strong, like magnets” are actual words she sang)—only to have her minders decide she wasn’t worth the trouble and shelve her long-promised full-length debut. Rather than give up, she used money she’d earned modeling and finished the album without their help.

Released in October 2013, Night Time, My Time was a rare major-label triumph of craft over product, a purposeful barrage of seething recriminations coated with ’90s-grunge textures and ’80-pop incandescence. It sounded like “My So-Called Life”’s Angela Chase mainlining John Hughes films and channeling her existential anguish into a record—except Night Time was the vision of a 2010s 21-year-old, and the truths were all hers.

The right people loved it. In the spring of 2015, Sky announced her second record’s name was Masochism and promised its first single that summer. The summer came and went, then the fall, and some winter too. On that New Year’s Eve, she addressed the delay obliquely on Instagram (“I refuse to put out something that isn’t honest”) and promised “in 2016 you will hear it.” In 2016, you did not, and now it’s 2019, and, still, no album. At this point, she can’t post online without some commenters popping up to heckle, “where’s the album sky” or “MASOCHISM!!?” or “still waiting,” like they’re hungry people rage-texting Seamless.

These impatient fans aren’t alone in their enthusiasm. “She’s one of those beautiful, rare people who can probably do anything,” says Debbie Harry, who’s had Sky open for Blondie. “If there’s anybody I would ever be jealous of, it would be her.”

Naturally, all of this—the anticipation, the unfulfilled promises, the time lapsed since her last release—is adding to the pressure she puts on herself. She feels like she has to explain. “It wasn’t by choice.” It wasn’t creative paralysis, nor was it a creative hiatus. “I wasn’t just taking time for myself the last five years.” During that time, she landed a half dozen movie roles, but she says she didn’t decide to focus on acting instead. “I never stepped away from music.” She alludes to vague external hindrances: “I’ve been at the mercy of people the last few years”; “gatekeepers”; “the rug pulled out under me”; a “someone at my label” who undid the generous arrangement she had to work with Kanye West musical director Mike Dean; and the very real issue of a young woman telling men what she wants and not settling for less. Then the labyrinthine nature of her production process is, as you’ll see, akin to playing charades blind-folded while riding a dog, and everyone else guesses with kazoos. Plus, she’s a perfectionist. Obsessive. She’ll do 800 takes. She’ll consider every option—and then she’ll consider it again.

But the primary reason it’s taken so long: Sky doesn’t just want her new songs done, she wants them to be good. By good, she means, executed the way she intended, no matter how long she waited to find the right violinist. Properly mixed so they don’t accidentally sound like pop-punk in the car, because “someone puts some shit on my voice” and she forgot to play them in an Uber. (Sky never learned to drive.) Songs that know their place in the broader pop continuum, not what’s hot on streaming. “I’m not looking for ‘a moment,’” she says. “I’m looking for a career—and real careers, you build them.”

She’s deemed two songs good enough to share with me. The first single, “Downhill Lullaby,” is a five-and-a-half-minute, goth-noir, chamber-pop piece—with strings!—that could have easily closed an episode of the revived “Twin Peaks.” (The association may be deliberate: Sky appeared in the show’s 2017 return, deeply admires its director, David Lynch, and the series’ music supervisor, Dean Hurley, produced the song alongside her.) Another forthcoming track, tentatively titled “Don’t Forget,” is a new wave time warp, a lovely bit of nostalgia therapy for people who were never there—even if it is, according to Sky, “about burning down houses.”

By now we’re settled into a booth, one Sky has selected in the empty part of the restaurant, far away from her manager and publicist, who’ve come along to chaperone. Her natural espresso roots have outrun her hair’s blonde highlights, and her dark T-shirt reads “CHICAGO METAL MANIA.” We’ve managed to order tea by asking the waiter to bring what he likes (a nice, orangey, spicy chai) and then momentarily horrify him when Sky asks if, instead of sending the teeny triangular sandwiches with mayonnaise back to the kitchen (she hasn’t touched them, and mayo makes her gag), we can give them to someone who’s homeless. “I’ll get you the ones without mayonnaise,” the waiter says, taking them away.

“I don’t have a back-up plan,” Sky says. “I never have. I don’t have an education. I don’t know how to, like, play music in the [traditional] sense. I’m socially awkward and stuff—I couldn’t really do a lot of other jobs either,” she says. “Literally, there’s no other option for me. So this has to work.”

There are many Sky Ferreiras. There’s Sky the model, a Hedi Slimane muse who’s walked the runway for Marc Jacobs and perfected a glare so haunted the Bates Motel must be jealous. There’s Sky the actor, who played a key supporting role in director Edgar Wright’s big-studio heist flick Baby Driver, but doesn’t have an agent. There’s Sky the live performer, who battles stage fright, but who also opened a 2014 Miley Cyrus arena tour, fell down an elevator shaft on night three, and still took the stage the next day.

There’s also the Sky here at the Russian Tea Room, whose left dimple comes as a surprise because, come to think of it, you’ve rarely seen photos of her smiling. The Sky who shouldn’t eat gluten because of an autoimmune condition, but doesn’t really tell people about it because it sounds like bullshit. The Sky who’s watched enough “Game of Thrones” to see her pets’ personalities reflected in the show’s characters. (For the record, her cat Egg would be a Lannister, while his brother Squirrel would be from the North.)

This Sky speaks in em dashes. It’s less that she loses her train of thought, and more that her thought train is screeching onto a new track. Sometimes you’re right there with her, but other times you’re watching the conversation from a distance like a detached caboose that just kept going straight. “I know I keep going in circles,” she says, “but my mind kind of always does that—spins.”

You don’t interview this Sky as much as steer her, but first you listen. “I’ve always been really shy,” she says, six minutes in. “I was actually mute for years when I was a kid.”

Little Sky Tonia Ferreira hummed along to the radio before she could talk. Raised around Los Angeles, mostly Venice Beach, her young parents split when she was a baby. Her dad tended bar, sometimes with her in tow, and when his roommates got cable, she devoured MTV. “I always hung out with a lot of adults,” she says. “I was, like, one of those kids.”

Being one of those kids meant she didn’t know how to talk to the kids who knew how to talk with each other. She was bullied constantly. She also had trouble with numbers and spelling—she suspects she’s dyslexic, but never got tested—and for a while, was so unhappy, she stopped talking altogether. “I had really long hair, didn’t speak, and had dark circles around my eyes,” she says, describing herself as a child. “I looked kinda feral.”

As the story goes, Sky’s first-grade classmates didn’t know she could talk until she sang “Over the Rainbow” in school. “As long as I can remember, I’ve felt the most like myself when I was singing,” she says. (Roughly 18 years later, she covered the Wizard of Oz ballad at David Lynch’s Festival of Disruption, and the director still raves about her version, telling me, “It was incredible. So beautiful.”)

She lived with her grandmother, who worked as a hairdresser. One time when Sky was around 7, she sang for one of her grandmother’s clients. Impressed, the man suggested she join a gospel choir. The man was Michael Jackson. So she did. Jackson also gave a 9-year-old Sky some grown-up advice that’s shaped her approach to art and music ever since: “He was like, ‘Don’t focus on things that are just around you—you need to look back to the history of music.’ And that’s what I did.”

Yes, Sky went to the Neverland Ranch—“a lot.” She also went to Jackson’s other houses. No, she didn’t witness anything untoward. “It wasn’t just because I was a girl,” she tells me, a few days before the controversial HBO documentary Leaving Neverland aired. “I was around a lot of kids.”

Yes, she’s grown hesitant to talk about her grandmother’s larger-than-life client—for all the reasons you’d expect, along with a few you might not. Like, that it’s difficult for people to wrap their minds around the fact that the King of Pop could be a formative elder acquaintance in the casually anodyne way of, say, a dancing-school teacher or a little-league coach—someone whose small encouragements could be so big. “I was really quiet, but when someone sees something in you...” she says of Jackson, before abandoning the thought. “I had a connection to him, but I’m not, like, his family.”

Sky has also routinely been asked to account for the bad behavior of men in her orbit. A dominant narrative surrounding Night Time, My Time’s 2013 release was her relationship with indie rock band DIIV’s frontman, Zachary Cole Smith—an ex-boyfriend with whom she was arrested that September. He was the driver of the vehicle in which heroin, ecstasy, and a stolen license plate were found (and someone who’s since publicly acknowledged his struggles with addiction). Throughout that album cycle, the arrest became a more delicious red herring than anything Sky had actually done.

“The thing that’s still so fucked up about that: I didn’t have a drug problem, I dated someone who had a drug problem, I was in a car with someone who had a drug problem,” she says. “No one wants to talk about how my charge got dropped.” And the whole Kurt and Courtney star-crossed mythos that dramatized the headlines around the arrest? Spare her. “I was really young; I wasn’t even 21 yet for most of it. That wasn’t my great love story of my life,” she says, adding, “The people that have treated me so much better—they’re the ones who deserve the attention, not that guy.” (Presumably, one of those people is her current partner, Elias Bender Rønnenfelt, frontman of the Danish punk band Iceage.)

Those who have followed Sky’s personal life could easily read “Downhill Lullaby” as an extended metaphor about a tumultuous relationship: “I can see that you want me/Going downhill too/Going downhill into a lullaby.” But she’s adamant about distancing her songwriting from the egos of her ex-boyfriends. “That’s the one rule I made,” she says. “The one thing that I’ve always had is my music. If someone treated me badly, they don’t get to have that. I don’t want to drag the weight of what they did around forever.”

For Sky Ferreira, time is not a flat circle, but rather a sticky mass of saltwater taffy. She tends to run late, but once she’s present and engaged, she can summon an Iron Man endurance. At the Russian Tea Room, two hours of conversation easily floats into six-and-a-half, and eventually we’re the last diners to leave. Somewhere in this elasticity, she talks about her refusal to give up on the work. “I’ve literally been using my life savings to do this record.” She is not motivated by money—to her, time isn’t money, but money is a thing to buy more time.

This springy relationship with time can make Sky seem almost anachronistic. In conversation, her offhanded pop-cultural mentions span director Todd Solondz’s 1995 cult indie Welcome to the Dollhouse, Courtney Love, the 1980 Loretta Lynn biopic Coal Miner’s Daughter, the 2018 iteration of A Star Is Born, and the cheerful ’60s sitcom “The Andy Griffith Show” (which she concedes, “No one my age knows”). Sky’s reference points, like Michael Jackson once advised, exist within a totality, not a blip.

One of her artistic lodestars glows brighter than the others: When Sky was 13, she discovered David Lynch. “He’s the first person who ever saw the world the way I saw it,” she says. “It was the first time anything made sense.” You can see Lynchian dream logic throughout her work. In fact, the staggering, airy title dirge from Night Time, My Time came to her in a dream. “I wrote it in the middle of the night, half-asleep,” she remembers about the album closer, which was built around a line spoken by the doomed girl at the center of the “Twin Peaks” saga. “Then I woke up the next day and I finished it in an hour. I still have the notes; the handwriting’s all fucked up. ” When she finished the song, she knew the album was finally done.

So Sky’s cameo in “Twin Peaks: The Return” had the meta-ness of astral projection. She played Ella, an enigmatic bar patron who talked about a penguin and flaunted a “wicked” armpit rash. “She played that scene so perfectly,” Lynch tells me. “She inhabited that character and made it real from a deep place. When she scratched that rash, you could really feel the itching!”

“Downhill Lullaby” summons the creeping orchestral gloom of “Night Time, My Time.” A sweeping arrangement in five parts, Masochism’s first single begins with a sashay of strings and an interpolation of the unmistakable squee of the Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony,” followed by a murmuring, angered bass. Sky exhales a numb indictment—“You leave me open/When you hit me”—and amid the layers of kettle-drum thunder and keening violins, there’s seduction and revenge, confusion and queasiness, silkiness and elegance. It sounds like the last thing Daniel Day Lewis’ Reynolds Woodcock hears before the poison takes hold in Phantom Thread.

This habit of visualizing music—Sky does it too. Except for her, it’s the first step of many in the song creation process: “I see it like it’s projected in a movie theater.” “Downhill Lullaby,” in particular, began with a vision of water in darkness. “Lakes kind of terrify me,” she explains, recalling a childhood memory of feeling lost in a Maryland forest that packs a similar unease. “In a lake, by yourself, you look at the bottom and it’s murky and still and you can’t really see anything or feel anything—and if you do, it’s fucking terrifying. It always feels like something will grab you and pull you under.” The eeriness became the foundation for the song.

She likens the ordeal of making “Downhill Lullaby” to Mickey Mouse’s Fantasia turn as the sorcerer’s apprentice. “You know how all the brooms are making a gigantic mess and the water starts rising and rising and rising and rising?” she says. “It was sort of like that: Magical, but at the same time, ‘What is going on?’ And then cleaning it all up.”

Her technique is more like a collagist—one who both scavenges her raw materials and oversees the fabrication—than a traditional songwriter. Conceptually, she works backwards, starting a song with an imagined outline of the final arrangement, isolating each sound element, and then embarking on the oft-laborious task of identifying studio musicians with the time and patience and willingness to conjure each sound individually, so that once she’s gathered all the pieces, she can begin the meticulous process of putting them all back together.

This unorthodox approach to songwriting has led to recurring logistical difficulties for Masochism. Namely, figuring out how to articulate what she hears so that someone who’s not in her brain can actualize it. “Nobody really understood what I was trying to say or wanted to do on paper,” she says. “It was a really long process.”

Sky never learned how to read music and she’s too self-conscious to use instruments that aren’t her voice in front of others. So if there’s an obvious reference point—like a certain note in a ’90s-radio staple she wants imitated—she’ll play that for her collaborator. But when there’s not, she’s often like a conductor asking to summon a mood.

In the case of Danish violinist Nils Gröndahl, who recorded all the strings on “Downhill Lullaby,” she recalls telling him: “‘Play it as if you’re one of the birds in Snow White, singing underwater, while slowly being suffocated by plastic.’” And you know what? In the end result, it’s easy to hear all that.

Additionally, Sky is even more particular about her final mixes. She will only be satisfied after she’s evaluated her song in seven different listening contexts: a car stereo; a smartphone with “regular” headphones; a smartphone with Apple earbuds; a smartphone’s built-in speaker; on a laptop; through “really bad, bad computer speakers—like the ones that came with Dells back in the early 2000s”; and the lush splendor of the studio, which is a personal luxury because, as she notes, “most people aren’t gonna listen that way.”

And she goes through this convoluted course of action for every song. It’s no wonder Masochism has taken so long. Says Sky, “I’ve accepted this is how I work and stopped feeling bad about it.”

Two Fridays after her insomniac New York trip, Sky is on the line, self-confidence restored, completing a high percentage of her sentences. Earlier in the week, she received the “Downhill Lullaby” master, immediately dropped her phone and shattered its screen, so now she’s on speaker. “I was like, I hope this isn’t a metaphor?” At least she’s laughing.

As for Masochism. She tells me she produced most of it herself, wrote with Los Angeles-based dream-pop artist Tamaryn, and worked with Ariel Pink collaborator Jorge Elbrecht. The proper album is coming, Sky swears, almost positively in 2019. Granted, she said the same thing last year—and the year before that and the year before that and the year before that—but this time, she has finally loosened her grip on some songs.

“Downhill Lullaby” may sound like dying Disney birds and “Don’t Forget” may be electro-pop arson, but Sky promises “more poppy” songs on Masochism too, as well as more “abstract,” orchestral stuff. “It’s very big, but also very violent,” she says, half-chuckling. “But not all the songs are super-dark.” Beyond that—the number of songs, tracklist, other credited collaborators—who can say? Sky can’t yet. She has some songs in mind she’d still like to write.

#sky ferreira #2019

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readyourimgaines · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter Six: Ready or Not

The chapters might start to slow a bit now because I start school next week and my beta-reader, @thatbarricade, starts school later this week, but I’ll still try to post these when I can. Please enjoy!

Summer was still kicking, though this July night was cooler than most. The group of eight decided to take advantage of the cool night and cram into Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s living room to watch a movie. There was some debate over what was to be watched, but in the end, it was decided that a horror movie on Netflix would be fun.

“Why are we watching a horror movie?” Enjolras asked. He’d never been a fan of them. There were times when Jehan would try to get him to watch one with them; he’d always managed to find a way out of them.

“You’re just scared,” Jehan pointed out.

“I’ll proudly admit that.” Enjolras scoffed. “Why would anyone watch something to scare themselves? I personally don’t find enjoyment in terrifying myself, so I’m not going to watch them.”

“Well, what’s one that’s not too scary?” Courf asked. “Barbodook wasn’t too bad.”

“It Follows was good,” Feuilly voiced.

“You don’t show that movie to a virgin. It’ll turn them off for life.” Bossuet shook his head.

“Says the virgin,” Courf snorted and the room burst into laughter.

“Cabin in the Woods is pretty good. Chris Hemsworth is in it. It uh...what’s the PS4 game with Freddie Mercury in it?” Ferre snapped his fingers trying to remember what it was called.

“What?” Marius chuckled.

“The...I don’t know. Something to do with the morning?” Ferre shook his head. “It’ll come to me when I’m trying to sleep tonight, I swear to God.”

“You mean Until Dawn?” Jehan offered. “With Rami Malek?”

“That’s the one! Thank you.” Ferre nodded. “It’s a little like that, but without the prank thing. Also, there are zombies instead of windagoes.”

“That sounds...doable…” Enj gave in. He wasn’t going to stop the other seven from enjoying their night, but he appreciated their efforts in trying to compromise with him.

“We’ll turn the lights on when it gets dark if the movie’s still on,” Joly said. “I’m not a huge fan of horror movies either, but Bossuet loves them. That’s our rule. He can pick the movie, but the lights stay on after it gets dark.”

“Oh! If we don’t want total horror and gore is alright with everyone, Cabin Fever is good too. It’s about this flesh-eating disease that gets spread through a town’s water supply.” Grantaire sat on the couch next to Enjolras. He placed the bowl of microwave popcorn on the coffee table before leaning back and put his arm around Enjolras’s shoulders.

“Who votes for what?” Enjolras asked, leaning into R’s side. “Most voted Cabin in the Woods.”

“Wait, what one do you want to watch?” Bossuet asked, looking to Enjolras.

“I asked what people want to watch. I can’t vote.” Enjolras dismissed. “The Cabin thing got more votes.”

“You were able to catch that?” Feuilly asked. “Sounded like one big mess to me.”

“He’s gonna be lawyer,” Courf put in. “He needs to start practising that sort of thing. Hearing separate answers in one big, yelled mess.”

“You haven’t been in the same room with his parents and his maternal grandparents. They’re always talking over and interrupting each other. Now that’s a mess.” Jehan shook their head. “Your grandparents are cool, Enjy. It’s your parents that can kiss my nonbinary ass.”

“Alright, let’s get this movie going,” Joly said, taking the PS4 controller from Ferre’s hands. “I haven’t seen this one, I don’t think.”

“It’s not my favourite, but it’s good,” Courf nodded. “It’s not the highest on the jump scare factor, so I’m in favour of it.”

“I hate jump scares.” Feuilly shuddered.

“Don’t play Until Dawn,” Jehan, Ferre, Courf, and Enjolras said together.

“Are you familiar with horror movies, Marius?” Courf asked. The boy had been basically silent up to this point.

“Not really, no.” The shaggy-haired teen shook his head. “I’ve read a couple of mystery books, but there were all crime mysteries and not related to monsters or anything like that.”

Marius was newer to the group than Enjolras and Jehan. Ever since the day at the beach a week ago, Courfeyrac and Joly had taken an older brotherly liking to the teen. He was still rather shy around the group, but he was glad to have more friends and a chance to spend more time away from his grandfather’s.

Between dates with Cosette, work, spending time with Eponine, and now hanging out with the boys, he was hardly home anymore. His grandfather wasn’t too pleased, but Marius couldn’t be happier. The school wasn’t even in session yet and he was already spending more time out of the mansion-like house. He figured that he’d rarely see his grandfather at all between school, work, clubs, Cosette, and his new friends.

*****

Enjolras had stayed glued to Grantaire’s side ever since the movie had started. Every time there was a bump in the movie or there was a thud from across the house when someone got up for the bathroom, he’d flinch and tuck into R’s side. Ferre and Courf were doing well since both of them had seen the movie already, though Courf would still jump every now and again. Jehan and Feuilly were clinging together most of the time while Joly was seated comfortably on Bossuet’s lap.

“I don’t get why this so scary,” Enjolras spoke up after a long while. “I mean, there are so many scientific reasons why zombies are impossible.”

“Yet so many of how they are,” Joly said. His voice was muffled by Bossuet’s shoulder.

“Not proved or believable ones, though.” Ferre put a piece of popcorn in his mouth.

A door in the movie slammed and everyone but Ferre, Courf, and R jumped. Feeling that the movie was making the room too serious, Courf leaned forward, took a handful of popcorn, tossed a piece at Enjolras, and put the rest in his mouth like he hadn’t done anything.

Enjolras, whose eyes were glued to the TV, squealed when the popcorn bounced off the back of his hand. Grantaire chuckled, hoping to anything and everything holy that Enjolras couldn’t feel the butterflies flying around his stomach.

Grantaire looked at Enj and opened his popcorn filled fist when Enjolras reached out to it. The blond took a piece and aimed for Courf, but ended up hitting Joly instead, which inevitably lead to a full-blown popcorn fight.

Marius took the pillow behind him and used it as a shield to deflect the debris, using his other hand to throw pieces at the other boys. Bossuet had tried to reach for just a handful and ended up knocking half the bowl onto the floor when he lost his balance and slipped.

The horror movie continued to play in the background, though it was all but forgotten. Popcorn flew from every direction; most of them had popcorn in their hair. They were laughing and shrieking, and probably disturbing their neighbours, when a single knock sounded at the front door, echoing throughout the room. Everyone froze.

“Someone’s got to answer the door.” Jehan broke the silence.

“Nose goes!” R yelled, everyone, touching their pointer fingers to their noses.

“Courf.” Ferre nudged his boyfriend with his elbow.

“You’re not afraid of zombies,” the younger protested.

“Because they don’t exist.” Ferre nodded. “I’m just too lazy to get off the couch. Go answer the door.”

“Fine. If I die, it’s on-”

“Go.” R gave Courf’s shoulder a push. He sat back down again, Enjolras curling back into the brunet’s side.

Courf opened the door, his heart pounding. “Hell- Oh.”

“Is Julien here?” Came a woman’s voice.

“Who the hell is Julien?” Bosset asked.

“Mother?” Enjolras pushed himself off the couch. “What are you- How did you-”

Combeferre leaned forward on the couch. “Enjolras, I-”

“Oh god.” Enjolras pushed past Courf and walked outside, shutting the door behind him. “You can’t just show up here.”

“Your friend gave me the address and said to wait at least a week before coming to see you.” Mrs. Enjolras said, fiddling with the zipper of her purse. “You weren’t answering your phone. I thought I’d come down to see if you were doing well.”

“If someone isn’t answering calls and texts, it means they don’t want to talk to you. I blocked both you and father’s numbers. Neither of you cared how I was that night last week, so I assumed you still don’t.”

“Julien, I do care about you. You’re my so-”

“No. I’m not. Not anymore. You stopped being my mom- I was no longer your son- the second you let your husband kick me out the door. You know, I didn’t block your numbers until the other night. Not until five days after I was out of the house. No calls, no texts, I thought you had completely cut me off. So I completely cut you off.

“If I’m your son, where you when I was going through my first panic attack? When I was feeling like I was a monster, a letdown, and a disappointment. It’s Combeferre who holds through the pain, who kisses my forehead each night before I go to bed. It’s Courfeyrac who makes me laugh when I feel like I can’t even breathe anymore. It’s Grantaire who teaches me how to cook and who tells me I’m not alone, or that I’m not a freak because of everything that’s happened. If I’m your son, where the hell have you been?”

*****

“Is everything alright?” Marius asked slowly, tucking one of the pillows to his chest.

Courf, Ferre, Jehan, and R all looked at each other, wondering how much was okay to reveal. They didn’t want to say anything that would upset their blond friend, but they knew that the questions would come later if none of them said anything now.

“He doesn’t get along with his parents,” Was what R settled with. “He came out recently and his parents didn’t take the news so well.”

“Is that why he always beats me here?” Marius asked.

“He lives here.” Ferre nodded. “Has been for a little over a week now.”

*****

“Things have been rough with your father, Julien. I haven’t been able to get away much. He doesn’t want me talking to you at all. Every time I text or call you I have to delete the records. You know how he is— he’d be upset if he found out I’ve been trying to contact you.”

“Then how are you here?” Enjolras leaned against the stair’s railing and crossed his arms.

“He’s at a business meeting and won’t be home for a few hours.”

“You sneaked out.” He scoffed. “Mother, you aren’t married to the man. You’re a serf. No one would blame you if you divorced him. He’s a monster. Even you know that. I’ve heard the things he yells at you. You’ve heard the things he’s yelled at me.”

“I can’t leave him.”

“You can’t have me while you’re with him.”

Enjolras thought a moment, trying his damnedest not to show any of the wild seas of emotions flooding around his head and his heart. “You can’t pick your family. You can’t. But you can make one if everyone tries. Mother, I tried. I did. It was just one-sided. Those people in there-” he pointed at the door to the house- “are my family now. They all accepted me with open arms. I’m basically a stranger to all of them but Ferre and Jehan. They didn’t give a second thought to welcome me and Jehan into their family.”

“I do want you. I do love you. You know I do. Please, let me show you.”

“Why didn’t you show me the night you let father throw me out? How is that showing you cared? Grantaire mentioned you helped to pack up some of my things when he went with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Why didn’t you try to stop them? You all but signed my lease!”

Enjolras cursed himself as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He was tired of crying this week. The boy had finally felt like he belonged, and here was his mother making a mess of things all over again.

*****

Grantaire looked at the door, the worry heavy in his eyes when the group heard Enjolras’s muffled voice outside. The pained look turned to Combeferre, silently asking if either of them should go out and see what was happening. Combeferre gave a subtle shake of his head in response. The interaction went unnoticed by the rest of the group.

*****

“Julien, you don’t need to cry.” She tried to reach out to the boy, but that night was already racing before his eyes. His father striking him. The skin below and around his eye was still a yellow-green as the skin was continuing to heal.

Enjolras took a step back, moving too quickly and losing his balance. He hit the back of his head on the door as he landed, catching himself on his hands and scraping the heels of his palms on the step.

“Don’t touch me. J-Just go.” The dam broke and the woman scurried off to her car just as the door opened, Ferre and Grantaire appearing on the front steps.

“What was that?” Ferre knelt in front of Enj while R knelt beside the blond. The sandy-haired teen looked over his shoulder to see Mrs. Enjolras’ car pulling onto the road and out of sight.

“I’m fine.” Enjolras sniffled. “I’m fine.”

“Your hand’s bleeding.” R said, holding his friend’s wrist to get a better look at his palm.

“I’m fine.” Enjolras tried to pull away from R, but he pulled Enj into a side hug.

“Did she hurt you? What happened?” Ferre asked, looking over Enjolras’s palm.

“She reached for me and I just...freaked out, I guess. I lost my footing and bounced my head off the door.” He didn’t try to stop himself from laughing at how ridiculous it sounded. “I’m a mess, huh?”

Ferre chuckled. “Maybe a little. That just means you fit in perfectly with our group of messes in there.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. We’ve all got something fucked up at home.” Grantaire hugged Enj a little tighter before helping him up.

“Let’s get you inside. I’ll clean your hands and get you some ice for your head.” Ferre opened the door and was shocked to hear the vacuum going. “Whose idea was this?”

“Jehan’s,” Courf, Bossuet, and Feuilly answered in unison.

While the three were talking on the porch, the others had taken it upon themselves to clean up the mess of popcorn after Jehan’s suggestion. Joly was the one running the vacuum; Marius was heating up more popcorn in the microwave while Jehan refilled everyone’s drinks from the two litres in the fridge.

“Thanks, boys.” Ferre walked Enj to the bathroom and had him sit on the side of the bathtub so he could disinfect the younger’s hands. Ferre had closed the door behind them.

“I’m sorry, Enjy. I shouldn’t have said anything to her about where you were. It wasn’t my place and I wasn’t thinking.”

“I appreciate what you were trying to do, Ferre. I’m not mad or upset, or anything. I don’t think I ever could be at you. Not really. I just… You’ve been here for me in ways that you shouldn’t have to be. And that goes for R too. You guys don’t have to raise me, that’s not your job. You didn’t even have to take me in and you did anyway. I owe you so much.”

“You don’t owe me anything. You’re my best friend and you’re crazy if you think I was going to let you stay out on the streets. You needed a place to stay, I just happened to have that place. It’s a no-brainer, Enjy. Courf and I have really enjoyed you living with us for the last week. Courf’s an only sibling and he’s found four in you, Marius, Jehan, and Gav.”

“Can I change the topic?”

“Slight sting.” Enjrolas flinched a little when Ferre gently touched the cotton ball with rubbing alcohol to the bloody scratches on his palm. “What’s up?”

“How did...How did you know you had feelings for Courf?”

“Well, I always felt natural around him for one thing. We never hide anything from each other. I don’t know exactly when I started having feelings for him. I just heard him laugh one day, the same laugh like any other day, and I knew. No singing angels like they show in the movies. I don’t know what it was. I mean, he was just being his weird, yet adorable, self and I just thought, ‘Ferre, this is the guy you’re going to marry.’”

*****

“R, can I talk to you on the porch?” Courf requested. A few of the boys made sounds like grade-schoolers do when a classmate gets called to the office.

The two curly-haired young men stepped out on the porch, no anxiety or tension between them.

“What’s up, Courf?”

“You know how I’ve been giving you constant fuss over your crush on Enjolras?”

“No. I had no idea you’ve been saying anything about it.” R’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “If you came out to kick my ass, I haven’t made a move on him.”

“No, no. That’s not why- You’re a boxer.”

“And?”

“I couldn’t kick your ass if Joly and Feuilly were helping me.”

“Probably not, no,” R chuckled. “That’s beside the point. What about my crush on Enj?”

“I’m not going to give you shit about it anymore.”

“No? What changed your mind?”

“The way you look at him. You look at him the same way Ferre and I look at each other… I thought, for a couple of days, you liked him because of his looks. Because he’s new to the group. I guess I should have known better than that.”

“I’m a little hurt you thought that, but I get where you’re coming from. You’ve met my father before— and there’s an old saying, ‘like father, like son.’ But yeah. I don’t like him because of his looks. Those are just a plus, man.”

Courf shook his head. “Just, don’t do anything until he’s 18. Please.”

“Why does that make you so uneasy? He’s like a year and a month younger than me.”

“I don’t know. Just, you’re 19...You can watch porn and smoke and shit. It’s weird. An adult dating an 17-year-old? Just, ugh.”

“We’ve talked about age differences, you know. He wouldn’t be grossed out by it.” R chuckled at the mock look of horror on Courf’s face. “So you’re done bullying me over my crush?”

“Yep. No more teasing. I’ll even tell you if and when I think he’s got a crush on you. Dude, this is gonna be so much fun. I haven’t gossiped like this since high school.” Courf opened the door and lead the way inside.

“You gossiped about crushes in high school?” Grantaire closed the door behind him.

“Hell yes. I was openly gay in high school. Girls would come to me to see if a dude was gay or who he was dating. I’m telling you, I was the GBF of my time.”

“Are we finishing the movie tonight?” Jehan asked, setting the cookie tray loaded with cups on the coffee table.

“We’ve got to,” Enjolras said as he and Ferre emerged from the bathroom. “You and Pontmercy refilled snacks.”

“Everyone can crash here if we can make the space,” Fere invited. “The couch pulls out into a bed, and we can get blankets for people sleeping on the floor.”

“We can fit maybe three people on each of our beds. We can fit everyone,” Courf confirmed. “Let’s get this movie goin’ again.”

*****

By the time the credits were rolling most of the group was asleep. Enjolras was sleeping, tucked into Grantaire’s side as he had been before. Ferre was half asleep in Courf’s arms, Courf nodding off every now and again himself. Jehan and Feuilly were leaned against each other, falling asleep, while Joly and Bossuet were curled up together on the floor watching the cartoon Netflix had put on. Marius had decided to drive home for the night and get some real sleep in his own bed, as he had work in the morning.

Grantaire kept a light hand on Enjolras’s head, mindlessly playing with the golden locks that slipped between his fingers. A couple of times he adjusted how he was sitting; each time Enjolras would shift closer in his sleep, nuzzling his nose against R’s shoulder.

“Hey, R?” Courf whispered sleepily with a small smile.

“What?”

“I think he does.”

@iamnotbrianmay @board-certifiedbastard @mayonnaiseismycomfortfood

#read your imagines #snafu and freddie's imagine shoppe #les mis #les amis #enjolras #grantaire #combeferre #courfeyrac #jehan #bossuet #Marius Pontmercy #joly #feuilly

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toldnews-blog · 6 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/technology/entertainment/how-will-satan-adam-play-in-2019/

How Will Satan & Adam Play in 2019?

An interracial blues duo born in 1980s Harlem was a symbol of harmony in a tense time. But times have changed.

May 2, 2019

“I can’t believe how many white people are in Harlem now,” Adam Gussow said. He was strolling around the neighborhood, marveling at how much the place had changed since he was a Columbia University grad-school dropout in the 1980s. “I was the only white guy in Harlem at the time. I just saw a white guy jogging. You never used to see that.”

But he was more than an interloper in Harlem all those years ago. He was the harmonica player in a blues duo called Satan & Adam that started off playing on the sidewalk of 125th Street and then went on to tour the country, make a record that charted, and even appear briefly on a U2 album.

“Back then,” he said, “everyone used to tell me, ‘Don’t go to Harlem.’ I would say, ‘Why not?’”

It was in Harlem that he met Sterling Magee, the guitarist he would play with for the next 12 years. Mr. Gussow was in town for the New York premiere of a documentary about the band. The movie, “Satan & Adam,” opened in theaters last month, and it starts streaming on Netflix early this summer.

“I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I’ve finally woken up, and now everything is different.” He turned reflective: “I wonder if anyone still remembers Sterling.”

Long before Mr. Gussow’s arrival in Harlem, Sterling Magee had been a neighborhood eccentric who called himself “Mr. Satan.” He was the bluesman of 125th Street, wailing on electric guitar, singing soulfully, and stamping out a rhythm with a pair of high-hat cymbals. He had a Moses-like beard, and rumor was he used to play in the bands of Ray Charles and Etta James and had performed with James Brown at the Apollo.

As the story goes, Mr. Gussow was getting over a bad breakup, and he wandered up into Harlem one day and encountered Mr. Magee. Feeling the blues in his bones, Mr. Gussow took out his harmonica and started jamming with him. Passers-by were riveted by the unlikely pair, and Mr. Magee’s tip jar filled up quickly, so he said Mr. Gussow could come back.

Racial tensions in the winter of 1986 were boiling over in New York in the wake of the Howard Beach attacks and the massive protests that followed. The duo’s image of musical harmony was soon picked up by the media, and they became a local news sensation. They played Central Park SummerStage, appeared on U2’s “Rattle and Hum” album, toured with Bo Diddley, and performed at the New Orleans jazz festival.

“They were playing the kind of Chicago blues I don’t think anyone was playing anymore much less in New York,” said David Fricke, a writer for Rolling Stone. “Here was this guy who did his time in the trenches, and this other guy who could play in that school and galvanize him.” He added, “The fact that they united at a time of racial tension is something important that should be paid mind, but if they sucked, no one would have cared.”

Mr. Gussow is now 61 and lives in Oxford, Miss. He received his Ph.D. from Princeton and he teaches English and Southern studies at the University of Mississippi. After his flight into town for the premiere, he was eager to retrace his footsteps in Harlem. Mr. Magee did not make the trip. He is now 82 and lives in a nursing home in Gulfport, Fla. He doesn’t play the guitar much anymore and his thoughts about the documentary were scattered during a phone interview last month.

“I’m still Mr. Satan,” he said. “I’m Mr. Satan all the way. There’s no explanation. I am truly Satan. The message I’m giving is the truth, and the truth shall set me free.”

I asked if he liked the documentary. After some silence, his caretaker spoke.

“We’ve shown it three times here,” he said, addressing Mr. Magee. “Your family saw it at a big showing. Then here at Boca Ciega. Don’t you remember all the fan mail, Sterling?”

I asked about Harlem.

“I miss Harlem,” he said. “My music reflects the energy of Harlem because it is my home and she was pretty. Maybe Harlem has changed but I haven’t.”

The tale of two musicians from different walks of life is the familiar heart of the documentary, but as a roiling national conversation about race is taking place in 2019, it’s hard not to wonder how their story fits into New York today. In the film, the Rev. Al Sharpton, who rose to prominence as the organizer of the Howard Beach protests that winter of 1986, considers as much. “To see two people that came from two diametrically opposite existences in the streets of Harlem,” he said, “even if it violates tribal code, takes a lot of self-confidence, a lot of courage, or a lot of ignorance to the environment that you’re in.”

The documentary focuses heavily on the myth of Sterling Magee. Born in 1936 in Mount Olive, Miss., he grew up attending a Baptist church and worrying his mother when he discovered the blues. He served as a paratrooper in Germany before recording hits for Ray Charles’s Tangerine label in the 1960s. In the 1980s, he radically reinvented himself in Harlem as Mr. Satan. Eventually, Mr. Magee suffers a nervous breakdown and disappears and is later found by the filmmakers living in Florida.

Mr. Gussow’s origins receive less screen time. Born in 1958 and raised in Congers, N.Y., Mr. Gussow’s father, Alan, was a celebrated landscape painter, and his mother, Joan, is an influential nutritionist who The Times once called the “matriarch of the eat-locally-think-globally food movement.” A 2010 article in the Home section of The Times visited his mother’s house overlooking the Hudson River, and his uncle, Mel, was a theater critic for The Times. He discovered the harmonica in his teens and he dropped out of graduate school in his 20s to busk on the streets of Paris.

“It’s funny, I think about my class position now sometimes in regards to all this,” Mr. Gussow said. “My parents had no money. We grew up poor in a big house. My grandfather was Lithuanian and grew up dirt poor.” His grandfather, he said, later founded a successful publishing company that printed trade magazines. “I had rich grandparents. But they never gave us any money. They lived in Sutton Place, but the world of Saks Fifth Avenue was not my world. I grew up raising chickens.

“The first time I ever felt class was at school,” he continued. “All the kids would go on ski vacations, and my parents got me oversize ski shoes. I’m not complaining, but that’s when I got my first real sense of class. I had a real chip on my shoulder after that because I realized there was this whole world of privilege I didn’t know about. I went to Princeton, but I also cleaned bathrooms at Princeton.”

He added: “Sterling was colorblind to me. I needed mentoring, and he provided that.”

In 2019, this kind of racial imbalance is seen in a much less forgiving light. But Mr. Magee said such comparisons fatigued him. “When we get together, I’m Mr. Satan and he’s Mr. Gussow,” he said. “I want to put the message out that Mr. Satan is in love with this person, and that I don’t give a damn about all that stuff.”

Some might say Mr. Gussow has grappled with the blues, its appropriation, and privilege in his work as a scholar. In 1995, he wrote an essay for Harper’s Magazine about his experiences with Mr. Magee, and he later published a memoir, “Mister Satan’s Apprentice.” At the University of Mississippi, according to his faculty page, he has taught courses like “The Blues Tradition in American Literature” and “Cotton, Slavery, Travel, and the Blues.”

V. Scott Balcerek, the film’s director, started documenting the duo in the 1990s. “I guess it always occurred to me Adam might be considered problematic even when I first met him, but I knew his heart was in the right place and that’s what mattered,” he said. As the documentary tours the festival circuit, he said, he’s gotten a few critiques of “white lens,” but he added, “It’s honestly only white people who bring it up.”

As the afternoon progressed, Mr. Gussow stopped at a patch of sidewalk on 125th Street. It was his old busking spot with Mr. Magee. But the block was unrecognizable to him, and so he moved along to Mr. Magee’s old apartment building. No one there remembered much. Mr. Magee’s favorite stoop, where he displayed his street art, had become part of a hotel. But at Paris Blues, the dive bar on Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard, Samuel J. Hargress Jr., its owner, remembered the duo and was pleased to see Mr. Gussow. “Yes, I remember a good-looking white boy who played the harp,” he said.

Mr. Hargress, 83, stepped outside in his three-piece suit and pointed to where Mr. Magee used to hang out. He opened the bar in 1969, and he said that Harlem’s gentrification has been good for him. Business is lively and his building’s property value keeps rising.

“I stayed in Harlem because I couldn’t leave,” he said. “I never thought any of this would end up happening.”

“It’s like winning the lottery,” Mr. Gussow said.

Mr. Hargress then gestured proudly to his bar’s live music schedule.

“Got some rich white boys playing here tonight in fact,” he said.

#e entertainment news live stream #entertainment news business #entertainment news companies #entertainment news l #entertainment news script #entertainment news story ideas

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bibliosexxual · 8 years ago

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the blazing bombardier.

Idk, this is just a summery fluffball of a Sterek getting-together drabble because I’m tired of winter. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Derek fundamentally doesn't understand people who like roller coasters.

He knows such people exist because he's been standing in line with them for the Blazing Bombardier for half an hour now, but even when he's looking right at them, it's hard to believe. Seriously, why. The list of things to do on a Saturday afternoon that don't involve screaming and trying not to hurl is literally infinite. He could be lounging around in his pjs in his dorm right now and rereading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, just for example. Or working out, or going for a drive to the beach, or watching a movie with Boyd and Erica. (Boyd and Erica are officially his favorite people right now because, unlike his sisters, they understand the basic concept that friends don't make their friends who lose bets ride the most terrifying invention since clown costumes.)

The line moves forward, and oh god, now Derek can actually see the loading station. The seats are wicked-looking hanging harnesses painted to look like flames. He's going to be sick before he even sits down in the thing.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Cora. send me a selfie when you get on the ride or we'll make you go on it again.

"Dude," the guy directly in front of him says, eager, and for a split second Derek tenses, thinking he's being addressed, but no, he’s talking to the guy in board shorts beside him, showing him something he’s found on his phone. It looks like he’s on Wikipedia. "Did you know it’s actually possible to kill someone with a roller coaster? Like, hypothetically, you could build one that kills you with its g-force.”

“Awesome,” Board Shorts Guy says.

(Derek does not think it sounds awesome. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about happy things, like puppies and solitude.)

“Yeah,” Wikipedia Guy goes on excitedly, “it’s called the Euthanasia Coaster. First it drops you from the top so you’re going over two hundred miles an hour, and then it loops and loops in tighter circles until you die...”

Puppies, Derek thinks aggressively, and then, Don’t throw up, don’t—

“...It only takes seven loops. Three minutes and twenty seconds. There’s a mathematical formula and everything. God, what a way to go, right? First you’d be having the ride of your life and then you’d faint, and then boom..."

Someone behind Derek pokes him in the small of his back, and he opens his eyes to see the line’s moved again while he’s been standing there, trying and failing to tune out Wikipedia Guy. They’re at the gates now, next in line to board.

His phone lights up with a text from Laura. It’s like she can sense him scrambling for last-minute loopholes. pics or it didn’t happen! and no just standing beside it and then walking off, bby bro. you gotta actually be STRAPPED IN.

Fuck.

“Hey, man, you okay?” someone says, and Derek looks up, straight into the warm, concerned brown eyes of Wikipedia Guy. “You look kinda pale.”

“I’m fine,” Derek gets out through gritted teeth.

Wikipedia Guy doesn’t look like he believes him. Derek half-turns away. The gates to board the ride open, and someone behind them yells, “Are you going to get on or what?”

“No,” Derek mutters, and presses himself up against the railing so the people behind him can get past. To his surprise, Wikipedia Guy doesn’t budge, either. He just turns to his friend and says, “Hey, Scott, you go on, okay?”

Before the guy—Scott—can respond with anything more than a nod, Wikipedia Guy has Derek by the elbow and is dragging him aside a little, urging him to lean against the wall and breathe while he distracts him with bad puns and chatter. It helps. Derek wonders how old he is. Probably early twenties, like Derek. He says his name is Stiles.

“Look, man, you don’t have to go on this if it scares you,” Stiles says finally, after Derek’s stopped hyperventilating and explained a little about why he’s here.

Derek knows that, okay, but on the other hand… a bet is a bet. He and his sisters bet each other on practically everything, and none of them have ever backed out, not yet. Derek’s not going to be the first to do it, that’s for sure.

But on the other, other hand, just glancing over at the Blazing Bombardier is enough to get his heart racing again.

But on the other, other, other hand, there’s something about Stiles that makes Derek want to impress him. It’s illogical—he’s probably never going to see Stiles ever again after this—but he wants Stiles to remember him as more than just that wimp who got scared of a ride that even pre-teens are going on. He’s seen the group of them over Stiles’ shoulder, bouncing on their heels with excitement and giggling, not scared at all.

Stiles rests a comforting hand on his shoulder and says, “Screw your sisters. Do what makes you happy.”

It’s how soft he’s pitched his voice, like Derek is fragile or something, that finally strengthens Derek’s resolve. The gate is just opening to let the next batch of people get on the ride, and Derek squares his shoulders and tugs Stiles forward by the wrist. “No, I can do it. Really.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. He looks a little doubtful, but he doesn’t question Derek’s choice.

Before he can over-think it, Derek pulls down his harness to lock in place and hands over his phone so Stiles can take the photo evidence for Derek’s sisters.

As soon as the ride starts moving, Derek grabs Stiles' hand in a death-grip and doesn't let go until the end, when he's shaking too hard to undo the clasps on his harness and Stiles has to help him.

At least Derek didn’t faint or throw up. He just screamed a little. Or a lot.

“Do you want to ride the scenic riverboat with me?” Stiles asks him at the end of the exit ramp, when Derek’s racing heart has started to slow, finally.

Derek realizes he’s still clutching Stiles’ hand from when they got off the ride, but Stiles hasn’t let go.

“What about your friend? Scott?”

Stiles shrugs. “He texted me, he’s going to ride the Blazing Bombardier again. After that, I dunno, he might go find our other friends. We came with a group. Anyway, I figured we could do something else.”

Derek blinks at him. “Why?”

“Well, I can’t in good conscience just abandon you to your sisters,” Stiles says, squeezing Derek’s hand a little. “But to be honest, I’m not that selfless. It’s mostly because I think you’re really hot, and I’d be down with getting to know you a little better.”

“Oh,” Derek says. He’s been trying not to stare too much at Stiles, especially at his mouth, or his hands, or his neck. (Derek has always had a thing about necks.) The fact that Stiles thinks he’s hot is definitely okay with him. “Okay.”

As it turns out, Stiles loves roller coasters, the more terrifying the better, but he’s also perfectly content with the tamer aspects of the park. They ride the riverboat, as promised, and Stiles gets the brilliant idea to send a selfie of them together to Derek’s sisters. Then Derek turns off his phone just as the first volleys of “who is that? DEREK, WHO IS THAT?” texts come in. It’s pretty good revenge.

After that they just wander, going up to booths and competing for prizes (Stiles has terrible aim and a competitive streak a mile wide). They eat themselves into a food coma. They get into a lively debate about whether Rey is a Skywalker or a Kenobi. They spot Derek’s sisters across the street and duck behind a group of German tourists to hide, and Stiles says he feels like a secret agent; he sounds pleased. They try on ridiculous sunglasses in the gift shop, and Stiles gets Derek to take a picture of him like that to send to Scott. At one point Stiles mentions that he goes to Berkeley, which is where Derek goes, too.

“We should meet up, then,” Stiles says, smiling. “Hang out, do a study date.”

They’d decided to go for ice cream, so now they’re standing on a bridge overlooking the lazy riverboat ride and talking while they eat. Derek got vanilla; Stiles got this monstrosity of a three-scoop thing with mint chocolate chip, strawberry, and pistachio. He has a bit of chocolate sauce on his chin. He’s the most enthusiastic and also messiest eater Derek has ever seen, and it’s weirdly attractive.

“Yeah,” Derek says, maybe staring at Stiles’ mouth a little too long as Stiles licks a long, slow stripe up his cone.

When Stiles leans forward and kisses him, slick and messy and wonderful, Derek is so surprised he drops his ice cream into the river.

For a second they look down in sad silence at the swirling water where it disappeared, and then they both crack up.

“Here,” Stiles says, “you can share mine.”

Derek is dubious, but it’s actually a surprisingly good combination. (Stiles looks smug.) It doesn’t hurt that this way they get to pass the cone back and forth while holding hands, or that some drips on Derek’s wrist and Stiles licks it up while making intense eye contact, until Derek feels like he’s going to combust.

It’s definitely the best time Derek has ever had at a theme park.

He leaves with Stiles’ number.

#my fic #sterek fanfiction #this is one of those quickie fics i wrote in one sitting #i can't wait for it to be warm outsideeee

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stephenjaymorrisblog · 6 years ago

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This is of an old article I wrote 17 years ago. I am re-posting it because a lot of people didn’t see it. It takes place in the North Miracle Mile of Los Angeles California. The finale takes place at a movie theater on Beverly Blvd. Like many things in L.A, it does not exist anymore. It is now a patch of yellow grass.

I went to the Pan Pacific movie Theater a lot in the 60’s and 70’s. It was cheaper than the Fairfax Theater several blocks away. The Fairfax played first run movies and the Pan Pacific played movies that were a couple of years old. Some times they play first run movies. I saw GoldFinger there in late 64.

When the Beatles were hot in 64, their movie came to my neighborhood theater. This is what transpired. I preface it when the Beatles were on Ed Sullivan show….

A Beatle Memory

By Stephen Jay Morris

Part 0ne

Tuesday, December 04, 2001

I remember the Kennedy assassination in 1963. I was 9 years old. It seems as though my Memory started at that point in time. I do not recall the 50's, or even the early 60's. What I do remember is that America was a sanitized place. Or, maybe I was just completely sheltered from the real world. At the time, there was a pervasive melancholy in the atmosphere. Everything was so sullen. This didn't jibe with my childish outlook on life; I was carefree. However, living in a Jewish neighborhood made things especially depressing. Most Jews there were strong supporters of J.F.K. One day, I was visiting my uncle's house. There was a hi-fi system in his living room. At the time, Hi-Fi's were state-of-the-art record players. There were some record albums on display, facing frontward on the mantle. One was a comedy L.P. entitled, "The First Family"--it was a satire on the Kennedy' s. I asked my uncle if I could play it and he replied in an authoritarian voice, "Our president has just died and we must show respect for him!" In my young, critical mind, I wondered why the dick had it on display in the first place, if he was so respectful!

That was the tone of the times. Adults were so God damn serious! The only things I cared about in 1963 were baseball and monster movies. I hated school and my parents. However, I viewed school and parents as irrefutable authority figures to whose dictates I had to submit. I used to play with my childhood friend, Glen. He lived in a high-rise apartment building near my house. Our favorite place to play was on the roof of his building. We would pretend that space aliens hid in the giant air conditioning unit. We lived in our own little world. I remember one day, we were playing on the front lawn, when Glen's mother yelled out of the 4th floor window, "Glen! Time to come in! The President's funeral is about to begin!" "Ok, mom--I'm coming!" he answered. Then he turned to me and said, "My mom is making me watch Kennedy's funeral on T.V. I don't want to watch no dumb funeral on T.V! I gotta go! See ya." Yep! That's what was happening then.

Three months later, word came of something happening across the Atlantic Ocean. I heard my sister talking about the Beatles; she was telling my mom how cute they were. I didn't know what she was babbling on about; I thought she was talking about puppets. It was in early February, on a Sunday night. I'd always hated Sunday nights-- the last free night before school the next morning. The local TV station broadcasted my favorite cowboy show. It was on ABC, I think it was called, “Travels of Jamie Machetes.” I was about to tune it in on my parents' old Zenith black & white, when my sister came bursting into the living room, demanding, "I wanna watch the Ed Sullivan show! The Beatles are gonna be on!" I said, "Tough! I'm watching my show! She ran out of the room and whined to my dad, "Daddy!! Stevie wouldn't let me watch Ed Sullivan!" Next thing I know, my father stomps into the living room like the American Military liberating Italy in 1945; he was taking the moral high road, fighting against my evil selfishness! He said in that 1950's fatherly voice, "Hey, stupid! You don't own the T.V. set! Let your sister watch her show!" I relented. My sister stuck her tongue out at me. My dad was bigger than me, and this depute was not negotiable. Also, he held the deed to the house and was the final judge. My sister always won the arguments! Because I was older than her and had a penis, she was the innocent victim. No matter what she did--even if she was in the wrong, she was innocent. She got away with a lot of shit! My dad was so overly protective of her. I think he was the only man in the world that suffered from "vagina envy." My sister made sure the whole family watched the show. I hated the Sullivan show! It was lame, wholesome, family entertainment. I did like the comedians sometimes. Most of their material consisted of mother-in-law jokes and self-effacing humor. Then the big moment came. I was expecting human-sized puppets, but instead, on the stage were four guys with Moe Stooge hairdos, singing these cute, upbeat, love songs. The mostly teenage-girl audience was screaming at them! It was like one of those Godzilla movies from Japan. Usually, females screamed at something terrible. I remember thinking something bad was happening off camera. I asked my mom why the girls were screaming. She replied, "They used to do that to Elvis, and Frank Sinatra before him." "Who ARE those guys?" I asked my mom. "Will you shut up? I'm trying to watch the show!" my sister whined. I went to bed in disgust.

A lot of Baby-Boomers will tell you that that was the defining moment in their lives. Not me. I thought the Beatles were a bunch of fags! My defining moment was when the Rolling Stones appeared on the Sullivan show, a year later. I started to like the Beatles when Capitol Records released "Rubber Soul" in 1965.

In 1964, everywhere you went, you heard Beatles music. People used to install public address systems by their swimming pools. The neighbors to our left had one, and the family behind us had one, too. That summer, while the neighbors had friends over to swim in their pool, you could hear slashing and laughter and Beatles songs. At the Sav-On Drug Store, there was a whole section devoted to Beatles souvenirs. I remember Beatle lunch boxes, Beatle sweatshirts, Beatle wigs, Beatle board games, and Beatle plastic guitars. Little did I know that this junk would become collectors’ items! There were also Beatle trading cards. They cost five cents a pack. Like baseball cards, they contained a stick of pink bubble gum. You could smell the gum on the top card. The cards came in two editions: the black & white set, and then the color set, which sold for 10 cents. At my school, boys started to wear Beatle boots and combed their hair into bangs. Before they got home, they'd comb their hair back into pompadours so mom and dad wouldn't get pissed off.

At that moment in time, the Beatles were a harmless fad. America was, and still is, a nation of fads. The Beatles' management and the record industry calculated the Beatles fad. It started out that way. In the beginning, it was a teenybopper affair. Today, most Beatles fans like this era of the Beatles' career the best. Yeah, I must admit it's very nostalgic to listen to a 1964 Beatles' song. However, three years down the road was the outbreak of the Counterculture movement. A big fallacy is that the Beatles were responsible for this movement. Nope! They were merely a part of it. In 1964, some ex-beatniks in San Francisco were experimenting with drugs and music and created "psychedelic" music. The Beatles just brought it to a mass audience. Goodwater conservatives didn't think highly of the Beatles. 1964 was an election year. Buttons started to circulate reading, "Beatles For President!" It was all in fun. The conservatives despised their daughters for getting hysterical at these effeminate looking Brits. It's the oldest story in the world. When humans (males mostly) get older, they lose their sexual attractiveness. Consequently, they become anti-sex monsters. They hide behind the lofty veil of "Morality." Actually, it's just a simple of case of JEALOUSY! Maybe Viagra will change that age-old problem. There used to be a movie theater in my neighborhood. It was called the "Pan Pacific Theater." It had that weird, 1950's, post-modern look, like the coffee shops that were built in the 50's. I don't know when it was constructed, but I remember it burnt down in 1980. During my childhood, it was the place to go for Saturday matinees. It was cheap, too: 50 cents cheap! For that, you'd get a couple of cartoons and a B movie--not bad! I saw all the James Bond movies there. In 1964, when "A Hard Days Night" was released, it came to the Pan Pacific. I went to see it with my 5-year-old brother, Irwin, and my 8-year-old sister, Fay. When we arrived, there was a line around the block! This was unusual for this theater, which was called a "walk-in theater." And it was. It had only a local clientele. But not this time! The kids in the line were in a festive mood. They had their Beatles shirts on, and sported buttons of their favorite Beatle. Paul was the most popular. I listened to the girls in line talking breathlessly about their heroes. The theater's owner--a fat, Jewish, middle-aged man--looked nervously at his youthful customers standing in line. He was happy that he was happy making money for a change, however, he was uneasy about the possibility of a teen riot. Around the block, there was another Pan Pacific Theater. That theater staged an Elvis concert in the '50s, which had resulted in a teen riot. After that, they never hosted another rock concert again. The owners of this theater didn't want a repeat of that event. After all, most of their patrons were old Jewish ladies who would complain about the air conditioner.

When we finally got in, we sat in the back row; all the good seats had been taken. After the trailers of upcoming beach movies, the movie started and the place went nuts! The girls were screaming at the movie screen like the Beatles were there in person. It was unbelievable! In the middle of the movie, the projectionist freeze-framed a scene and the house lights went on. There was a loud, collective groan from the audience. The owner stood on the stage and said loudly, "I have gotten complaints about your conduct! People come here to see a movie, not to hear you make noise! If you do not act like ladies and gentlemen, then I will stop the movie and send you all home!" Then, the movie resumed and the screaming continued anyway. I saw some grown-ups get up and go to the ticket office for refunds. I did see the movie again--a few months later in an almost empty theater.

#the beatles #fairfax district #60's rock #poets on tumblr #stephenjaymorris

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trishgibsontx · 7 years ago

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Hollywood is bullshit and everyone in or around it has always known it.

photo by Tsubasa Watanabe

I have said it for years now. Hollywood is going to crash. Everything is going to change — for the better. True talent will override money and favors. I started saying it in 2012 for some reason, when I could sense the true onset of the rise of truth and how authenticity would eventually be the only rule in society (hence everything “crashing” last year — and yes, it is all for the good, no matter what it looks like!). I would see now-famous actors and actresses during the earlier days of my healing work, super bright lights who would come to me and say “Elaine, why am I not working??” and I would say “because there is not enough truth in Hollywood yet — but YOU WILL”. those bright lights went on to star in current and above-board TV shows and hit Broadway. yes. the ones we all know and love. not run by monsters or pedos. because things have started to change, even just in recent years (mostly due to technology, but we can also take into account the Age of Aquarius! I guess it’s chicken and egg and it is ALL part of this BIGGER equation of the ascension of truth). the performers I worked with and do work with are the kind of lights that could not ever be dimmed by the temptation of money or fake ego-satisfying promises — because these were the people I was vetting out anyhow, on strictly a soul level (knowing nothing about them, not even their name prior to meeting them) and I wasn’t interested in working with soul sell-outs. the toll it would take on me physically and otherwise would have been too great. just as we see with the experiences of many of the unhappy byproducts of today’s Hollywood. no thanks! that is why, even as of now, I have a rule that a public figure does not leave me their full name or real name in a voicemail — I do not want to offend the wrong person, and this way it does not have to be personal at all if I take a pass on someone who would match Hollywood’s underbelly to begin with. you get the point here: the imminent rise of truth has been in my peripheral view for a long time and I apply that morale to my work. anyhow:

as a young child I loved to perform. sports, music and so forth. I would write my own music and sing until I was about 10 and much of my confidence went straight out of the window. that detail is a digression, but I do want to give some personal background before I continue this post. it was in my core to express myself, and it brought me joy. for whatever reason, my ability to carry through with those gifts was cut short and I became a ruminator for many years and kind of let life happen to me. but that desire to express, to convey, and to share energy from an artistic or spiritual perspective is who I always was and always will be. in my teens, I went to a model scouting event with my sister because my parents thought she could be a model. while we were standing in line, the founder of the company came to me and gave me her business card. she told me to come in for a private casting and that basically they would pay me $150 per catwalk or something, during the day at this venue. I think at the time I felt bad and didn’t tell my sister or my mother who were both there, either that or no one gave it any credence. I don’t really remember. but I did decide to go to the casting. I was dating my first real boyfriend at the time, and he brought me to the casting. keep in mind, this was the 90s lol. no phones, no social media, etc. I showed up and waited in a room with these giraffe models who were practicing their catwalks. I felt immediately inadequate and out-of-place. the woman who invited me came over to me to take my measurements. at the time, was built like a JLo, only taller at 5’7″. as the woman put her hands on my hips I could see the excitement in her eyes about being her first curvy model. she told me I would need to lose at least an inch and a half, but that I could walk for her. the company she had and the venue in which I was to be hired were definitely above-board. the woman was nice. but I felt that immediate sense that I would have to adjust or conform. I was already super thin at about 120lbs. I loved my curves. I did not suffer from any body image issue, thank God. I did have other problems though, like zero confidence to go walk and make good money as a teen and probably have that lead to many other things in the big apple. I couldn’t get my head high enough, and I was stiff and rigid as I walked, even though the woman told me she wanted to hire me and she would work with me on my walk. I don’t know if I was just too PTSD at that point to be seen, or if it was the stench of desperation I got from the other girls (which was MAJOR, btw), or if it was the knowing that I would have to change part of me (lose weight) to “fit” somewhere, but I walked away from it. at the time, it was a big thing to walk away from, because it was right up my alley of having some kind of stage presence and sharing some kind of energy and I would at least have had a solid modeling portfolio and good money at the time. it was also spring into summer, so I could have worked 5 days a week. but I didn’t sign, I walked away. and I will never forget feeling like I was walking away from a path that would have taken me straight and fast into Hollywood somehow. I was fine though, I had other things going for me, like my brain.

during college I never once shook the feeling that I was in the wrong place. I was taking business and marketing classes when I wanted nothing to do with them. I felt like an imposter. I began by majoring in psychology, but even that felt forced and I didn’t like the boxes they used to define people. I think it was safe to say that I was there just to prove something to those who expected something from me or to prove to myself that if I ever ended up being “seen” by many that at least I had some solid “real world” experience first. and actually, I was right and it did serve me. I talk about that in other posts. so I weathered the conventional track, conforming like I considered everyone else would be doing too. during my final year in college, another woman scouted me at a karaoke night. she was an agent and wanted me to work with her. she created musical acts or something. I did not have a good voice, but I could carry a note. that’s all that many creators of artists cared about during that time, I think. I met with her and I got that same vibe — that I would be owned, somehow, some way. so I declined.

immediately after college I could not wait to get away from New England and be somewhere warm and free and creative. I moved far away into a scene where it was sunny every day and there was always a music video or film being shot on my block. my very first week there, I met a reputable actor who invited me to drinks with his coworkers. they were major filmmakers. it was basically us and a group of men, and they were shooting this huge hit movie that we all now know. there was an open invitation on the table if I wanted to take some small part, like a non-speaking part and just be a featured dancer or something in a nightclub scene. I never responded or followed up. I never got a creepy vibe from anyone either, but I did just get this sense that if I even dipped my toe in, I would be owned. and let me make this clear, please: it is not hard to get famous. it is not hard to book roles when you are getting offers like I did and will further detail here. but something kept saying to me “no”. still, it also went against what I always saw myself doing though, which was communicating with large numbers of people. I wasn’t sure how to bridge that gap. but I just kind of…followed myself. I didn’t ever want to be known just for the sake of it. I wanted to make a contribution to society or people and animals and so I was doing this thing in my head where the facts didn’t add up to any kind of legitimate contribution I could make by taking some cheap role. even if it was a door to another door that would lead to me being able to make a major contribution. and, I was too young at the time in my own right, to have any kind of legit message of my own to share. I remember leaving the nightclub we were gathered at for drinks and learning how famous these men were and feeling special that I was near them. I was also like a fish out of water that night though — I refused to let anyone on this LA team buy me anything, I watched my drink like a hawk, I wouldn’t even give my home address to the actor I met. my PTSD and high alert responses that I had developed at such an early age perhaps served me well.

a few months later, also still in my new city, I was offered a role in a major music rap video. yes, I know, imagine me in one. but at the time, I was young and super comfortable in my body and thong bikinis running all over the beach, so it didn’t feel so far out-of-place. like young women in their early 20s, I was enjoying my life and learning about people and the cruel world and socializing and also I was tan. I was VERY TAN…ha. I knew also, that I was scouted for my figure, which was unconventional to a caucasian woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. I felt the JLo train that was in its prime during that time and I knew that my look was the “new” and “cool” look (fast forward and think of all the butt implants etc we see). still, I felt that if I took this role (with prominent stars and what I considered at that time to be a lot of money), that somehow again I would be owned. I couldn’t put my finger on it, or what I thought being owned actually was. but my intuition kept speaking. I turned away from that opps and others like it and kept socializing instead while working my little marketing job (you can read more about this era of my life in my first eBooklet in the shop page!). I would also often be amongst many of the music icons of our time, either at dinner or at their table at some nightclub. everyone was always nice, I never had ANY bad experiences, but I also probably missed out on the bad experiences because of who I was at the time — I was someone who could not justify doing xyz unless it MEANT something. what would doing a rap video or a movie MEAN? I mean, really? and so for me, the equation was comprised of a trade-off that would not satisfy me. the kind of trade-offs that all of these women in Hollywood are suddenly talking about. and so, HOW, you tell me, does a young 20-something (me) who has never officially worked in this business at that point but who is around it, smell the trade-off that now everyone is talking about? I’ll tell you how: because that trade-off has ALWAYS BEEN THERE. I wasn’t even in it, and I could smell. it. the fact of the matter is, some of us are willing to sell our soul for the riches and the attention and the “creative fulfillment” and some are just not. I wasn’t. I didn’t even want to be a bystander of that trade-off, let alone a victim.

as my life was completely falling apart and unraveling during this particular time (again that’s another post, eBooklet 1 on my shop page), one would think it would have been completely easy for me to just sell out because I was so weakened emotionally and otherwise. instead, I would rather have been homeless. and, I became homeless. but that’s another story, another post. after losing my marketing job due to unforeseen and untoward experiences with those very close to me, I made friends with this older man whom I had met through a “powerful” nonprofit foundation. he didn’t work with the foundation, but he was friends with the director who I had once worked with. this older man decided that I was the next “it” factor, the next star of our time, and so he wanted to be friends with me and “mentor” me. he was no problem, he never hit on me or made me uncomfortable. mainly, he just used me for rides because he was broke (but no one knew it — repossessed car, fancy home). over the course of the few months I spent time with him (platonic time) he saw many men “in the business” either in front of the camera or behind it, pursue me. this man who thought he was my mentor must have been some kind of God send, because he would coach me on the things to say to the people who wanted to take me on dates. I would write down his words on pieces of paper. one paper said “Hi ___ . I’m not into dating or sleeping with anyone right now.” Yes, I would say this first thing during phone conversations. I was totally coached by this guy, because he worked with Hollywood in years prior and knew the baiting game that came with it. he told me that it was extremely important to be straight up before even any small talk. there was no texting at this time (except for 2-way devices, which I didn’t have) so it was all phone conversations. I had my little piece of paper on the kitchen counter and when I would get on the phone with someone who worked in Hollywood, it was the first thing I would say. due to situations in my past, also, with creepy men, I was totally on high alert before I ever really needed to be. I was lucky, I guess. I was always afraid that I was going to be assaulted or something, so I was extremely careful about who I spent my time with and where.

one night, after reading from my mentor’s script and making plans with a famous Hollywood hot man person, I emptied my bank account (all $100 of it) and packed it into my little wallet before our date. in true awkward fashion, I was destined to not allow him to pay for one thing. I flashed my little wad of cash around at the first place we went for food and he told me I needed to get a money clip. he thought I was rich. this was probably a good thing at that time. and it was so contrary to the truth. the man I was with, I would like to add, was truly the man of the moment. it was his peak of success. so this was a big deal to me and I didn’t know how exactly to handle it, but my mind kept saying “stay safe, do not get hurt, do not be alone with him”. probably he was not a rapist, and probably my mind was overactive, but why? because I was attuned to that which everyone else in or around Hollywood was and is attuned to: that it is run on sex, favors and ego. and mostly sex and sexual advances that people pretend doesn’t happen. I didn’t choose to bury my head in the sand, and so I remained on high alert. I had one of the best nights of my life, and toward the end of it, famous man had to use the loo. for some reason, he wanted to use the loo in his penthouse suite. I remember the elevator ride up with him, in which he pinned me against the elevator wall and kissed me passionately. I remember feeling cool, again because I was with this hot famous man, but also on guard because this meant we would end up alone in his room. I remember this scene so crystally clear now: we got to his suite and he walked ahead of me to the bathroom. I left the door to his suite ajar — completely ajar. odd move, right? I had no reason not to trust him, he had a good reputation and all, but I also had no reason TO trust him. so I left the damn door open and stood next to it. he used the loo — also with that door open so I could hear him peeing. which turned me off. my stance in front of the open door to his hotel room with the door completely ajar could not have been more obvious. I remember feeling only very minor potential danger, because I had recently watched this movie about date rape and I didn’t want to be a statistic or put either one of us in an awkward position. when he finished using the bathroom, I stayed stoic like a fixture in between the door arches with the hall light beaming on me, and that was his signal to approach me and leave the suite. he invited me to the beach the next day.

maybe I’m really lucky, because I have heightened senses. but, I also don’t think that my senses are unique. a lot of people have them and push them away, or push them down into an unconscious space BECAUSE THEY WANT WHAT THEY WANT. it is more important to them to be the A-lister, to make that money, to be revered by the masses. and that is kind of the point of this long-winded post. which is not close to being over yet. and my point is, at what point do we stop selling out as human beings? I hate to sound like I think I am better than others, because I am not and I am just as imperfect as anyone on this planet, but HOW is it that hardly anyone speaks up when they should just because they are trapped by human ego? or perhaps they are so desensitized by Hollywood as young children and they are truly victims of the system. this complete lack of understanding that I have about how humans can be made so disingenuously to themSELVES, is what makes me pray for UFO abduction at night. people have, like, zero moral compass it seems. and they go and they make their films, and they KNOW what happens to their peers or employees. and the women are equally accountable! the ones who fake this heir of “greatness” as role models for millions of young people, yet hide the reality of the underbelly of Hollywood until they “have to” say something, knowing full well all along what I sensed at a young age and turned AWAY from — I did not need an actual rape or threat to KNOW. it was fucking palpable, man! forget about your job, forget about your money, how well do you sleep at night and how peaceful are you during the day? because that is the real measure of success and power. and it is never too late to change, to become authentic and make a difference for those who don’t have perspective yet or for the innocent.

after the hot famous man date, I didn’t go out with him again. I knew that he wanted arm candy. he didn’t understand why I wasn’t modeling and why I was taking a mundane route in life. I didn’t fit his cool Hollywood life and I was ok with it. I know I was a conundrum. to him and others. I then met another man, who worked in Hollywood. this one worked behind the scenes doing marketing for music events. I met him at a music festival and traveled with him to Los Angeles to “make some things happen”. this was still in my early days of having unfortunate comfort with duality, since it was ALL that I knew up until that point, and so it became relevant to me on our “business trip” to LA that he was just trying to make money in any way he could and his company was a sham. the irony, to me though, was that he was friends with a large portion of Hollywood. the people, the parties, the blah blah blah, he was in it. so typical! I decided half way during the trip that there was nothing there with him workwise (duh! and thankfully he never pushed himself on me in any way) and I dipped. I then met another person — another Hollywood person — who was surrounded by women. I felt safe because there were so many women around him! that meant, he MUST be trustworthy! I was sure that I had struck some kind of gold, because I had lost my job in the city I was living in and here was this marketing opportunity. only, it wasn’t. I got to his hotel room in West Hollywood with his bodyguard for a meeting and there were women there. like, half-naked. it was a large two-bedroom in a gated community that seemed totally above-board from the outside. this time, my spidey senses had been down. after all, I was tired, disoriented, and deeply in need of stability in life. I had zero idea that there was anything untoward happening. but as soon as I saw what I saw, my insides turned upside down. this man spoke to me the way one would interview someone at Starbucks. as if there was nothing irregular. the half-naked women were like baristas making coffee. one was in a freaking bathrobe. business as usual. the women were beautiful and I could not understand why they would be there in this situation. I felt badly for them. I felt like they missed out on something that I got lucky with. I never judged them. they felt like true victims to me. they were so young, too. this was my first time in Hollywood and my first experience with something like this. somehow, by the grace of God, I knew exactly how to act. I acted like I was totally in — but I had to leave first and come back was all. I never went back.

I started seeing a pattern. my life sans anything Hollywood or famous people didn’t include the same kind of fear or creep factor. I didn’t need to read from a script or assert myself before entering a conversation or a room. at least not to the same degree. I went back to the city that I was living in, and every day was still like it always was — I was approached weekly for modeling, film and TV opportunities. this is because I was living in the hotspot for such. I was so exhausted from all of my adventures (oh, and being evicted from my home) that I moved back to New England instead and craved a “simple life”. and a simple life I chose. I still did karaoke on Monday nights, fantasizing about being a performer, and went to my boring financial sales job hungover the next morning. my escape was listening to Alice In Chains while driving down the I-95 at 8am on the way to work, smoking a capri cigarette, in deadlock traffic while applying mascara. I wore my coolest T-shirts underneath my cheap and ugly grey suit that I got at Marshalls and wore 3x a week and I felt slightly free. I was a fake financial sales person; a closeted medical intuitive and healer who listened to Carolyn Myss on her headset all day and learned about intuition and chakras. I was an imposter in the “system”. but at least I wasn’t an imposter in my soul, like I felt I would be if I obliged Hollywood.

a few years later, I got knocked over the head, out of finance, and into a space where I felt I didn’t have a choice but to pursue media – on camera. I can’t explain the pull, because of my major fear of being seen, but it was greater than just the joy of sharing energy with other actors. it was more so a calling that said “you paid your dues, you learned your lesson, now go and pursue this path or else”. deep inside, I knew that I needed to do this because it would relate to my message later on in life. so I hit the pavement — with no agent — and did a ton of background work and some plays and photo double work for celebrities. this felt safe, because 1) I was in NYC, not some hippy dippy hokey pokey beach community like I had been prior and 2) I owned myself. I had no agent, and I was my boss. I managed to book enough work to live, and I did some workshops with casting directors who were with shows that were on TV for decades. I worked really fucking hard to make this happen. I was also pretty sure that hitting the pavement didn’t require flirting with anyone for a job and the casting director I stayed in touch with from a workshop was gay, so things were good. I got hired for the rest of one year on a reputable soap that was just enough time to get some experience and make some kind of a mark or professional credits for myself. after the soap ended and moved to LA (and I did not!), offers to sign with agents came in. once again, that feeling came back…”why would I go do xyz, for what reason will I do this project?”. fortunately or not, I signed with no one. I met some really nice agents and casting directors who are above-board to this day, but I also know that they were not ignorant to the underbelly of Hollywood. and while they were nice, I just felt averted to pursuing what felt like it would be so easy to sell out for, on some level, consciously or unconsciously. around this time, I did a brief job on another hit TV show. only because my spidey senses are incredibly high did I hear this verbatim while on the job: I was standing in cue for “action”, and I hear the director say in response to his ADs comment “well you can get anything you want”, motioning at me — “and I probably will”, motioning at me, with a smirk. this was the first time I was on a set and heard something like that, and it was directed at me. I almost wanted to deny what I was hearing. I felt shame, and I quickly shoved that shame way way down. why would this man say this about me? also, he was so…old. grandpa age for me at the time. what would I want with him? after the scene, the director approached me and gave me his cell phone number. instead of feeling shame in that instant, I felt important. he said he might have a part for me on a show (he had many). he said to meet him that night at his hotel in the lobby. I was living with my boyfriend at the time, and I asked my boyfriend (he was a bit of a sell-out himself and just wanted a famous girlfriend) if I should go. of course I should go he said. I landed at this fancy hotel and met the director for drinks. we sat near the big windows and watched the people walk by. we talked about our lives, and the first thing he talked about was which part he would give to me. I think I kept changing the conversation to personal life, for some reason — like, who were his parents, who WAS HE, etc. and somewhere in the middle of the conversation, something…changed. it was like he saw me as a person. then I really felt like I was with my grandpa, not this creepy TV director with decades in the biz. it was like watching someone who had been forgiven for their sins, the expression on his face as we ordered our third set of drinks. it began to retroactively dawn on me that he had invited me there to sleep with me. because we were in a public place, I felt safe. and I also felt like there was more humanity to him than his initial intentions showed. he told me, flat-out, that I surprised him. as a human being. I recall him being absolutely bowled over with the fact that I was not a whore. this made me feel sad. for him, for Hollywood, for many actors and actresses. I was like a little kid finding out Santa was not real. our conversation continued and I really felt like I was with a beloved grandpa. instead of going to his hotel room, we went into the restaurant and had dinner. he was looking at me differently now. I didn’t know what to think. I also knew that any talk of a part on the show was off the table. I got it. I understood why I was invited there and I also understood that something had shifted — for me, but really for this director. I can’t say, to this day, what it was, other than he saw my humanity. and I was ignorant enough to believe that he would never have wanted anything from me except to honor my great talent (lol! that’s a joke) and offer me a role in this hit show. he stopped talking about the thing he promised me he wanted to talk about (my role) and he just became a person. we were both a little drunk at this point, and there was just some surrender around him that to this day I will never forget. he went on and on and on telling me how special and lucky I was, that I was a “real person”. I left the hotel perplexed, somehow joyful, and on my ride home he left me a very long voicemail. I kept it for years. it reiterates his surprise and surrender around the fact that I didn’t play the game, only he used other words for it. it was the most bizarre but interesting and somehow heart-warming voicemail I have ever gotten. I never got any work from this person, and we stayed in touch over email about surface subjects down the road. I never once told him that I heard his comment on set that day and that I hoped that I had just heard wrong. I never told anyone until writing this here, about the experience that day. part of me could not admit to myself where he was headed with me. and because somehow, for some reason, the angels vindicated that situation that day, maybe just once or maybe forever for him and definitely forever protecting me.

I could go on and on (as if I haven’t already) about ALL of the people who told me that xyz person slept with xyz person and EVERYONE knew about it and just turned away. powerful women knew. powerful men knew. just like all the manifestos you are hearing about related to the HW situation as of late. I heard a lot of second, and a few, first hand accounts. to this day, I can not believe some of the stories because they are so shocking. like, these are A-list women who supposedly do xyz for xyz. I guess I’m like an overgrown child or something, but I’m still shocked about the way the world works. but I am equally happy that I am not jaded. and yet, at the same time, the ick factor, the spidey sense I have for sexual advances and favors in advance for roles or whatever is sky-high — for that and also for the abuse of both men AND women that occurs long after roles have been booked and played, and a career is held hostage by a sloppy gluttonous person who seeks to bed every person they hire.

a couple of years after I dropped the acting ball to come further out of the closet with my healing work, I was still trying to make it in production. I worked with some super crappy and desperate people and decided I wasn’t a whole enough person to continue in production. but before I left, I met a big Hollywood producer at a friend’s screening. I was hopeful that maybe someone as great and kind as HE would surely have words of advice and encouragement for me! I took him to Soho House (his membership, not mine) for drinks. I started to talk about how to quantify the equity that I had brought to this one film I was on, and how the Producer wouldn’t give me a contract to clarify what she promised me, and I had all of these important questions, and all he wanted to talk about was how I don’t use my sexuality in meetings and therefore I will never get anything even in production. HUH? I swear to you. he told me that by shutting down my sexuality, it closes doors. he told me it’s “easy” to book a good TV role or get xyz credit. he acted like it was as easy as ordering the drinks we were having. I felt insecure, I didn’t know why I wasn’t sexy, I didn’t know what I was doing wrong, and I really looked up to him and believed him. I had no idea how to change myself though, so I just internalized it and felt stupid. he seemed angry that I wasn’t hitting on him, but I didn’t know that I was supposed to. I paid our huge bill and left and never saw him again. he later said nasty things about me the mutual friend who introduced us. #Hollywood! I later found out that this “man” supposedly turned all Buddhist or spiritual or something and had distanced himself from Hollywood. I mean…whatever. go and re-do your soul no doubt!

I know why I didn’t pursue Hollywood, and I didn’t even have the horrible firsthand experiences that so many women AND men have. so, why wasn’t the current news about HW SUPER mainstream already, years before now? because everyone remotely close to Hollywood or in it DEFINITELY knows and turns the other way. even if they know just in a passing sense. yet, many of them continue to work and say nothing. not all, but many, who are close enough to these situations, have a human responsibility to walk away from that which does not honor them or others. they know unconsciously, all of them. the thing about Hollywood is, if you are conscious and working, you are not sleeping well. or, if you are conscious and working, then you have managed to meet the smallest percentage of people who are true and good and do not abuse their power. that percentage does exist. it is just extremely small (and even in that, there are people who know about the rot they just go nowhere near it or it hasn’t been their place to talk about it). otherwise, you are unconscious for a living. what we have is not an issue of ignorance in our society, but rather an issue of a broken moral compass. why is the human species so fucking weak?

it’s not just Hollywood of course, as it is EXACTLY in the modeling industry — for both genders. can I tell you how many POSs I know who harass young hopeful MEN for “dick pics” in exchange for castings? can I tell you, from firsthand experience, how many young men feel that they have to pretend to be gay to book a job? when I was fresh out of college I was dating a model in another city and he would break down and tell me about how he was raped by photographers and how he felt so guilty because he could not defend himself. he was also not a US Citizen, and he was and felt threatened and didn’t know what to do. this shit happens ALL. THE. TIME. and the agents and casting directors look the other way so they can cash their check and attend their next bullshit party on the red carpet with people who could care less about them. it’s all such a sham — unless it actually isn’t, which does exist, but again it is SO few and far between (and on the rise, thankfully!).

I will avoid detailing first-hand accounts of others abuse here because they are not my accounts and it does not feel right, but what I want with this post is to let young people know that anything fast and bright is a SHAM. promises of money, attention, fame or whatever else will hit you with a price most or all of the time. there are very few people who can navigate the “system” in Hollywood with any sort of integrity. I don’t regret one “opportunity” that I “missed” by either being extra cautious or just saying “no”. I still say no, all of the time, to a LOT of things! maybe I’ve slowed my own track in life, but at least it is an honorable one. if you are an actor or actress and you don’t understand why you can’t book work, please know that the system is crumbling so that it can change and expand. with the crumbling of networks and studios in recent years, there are spaces for individual and powerful distribution to get your message across. and those of you waiting, those of you “not booking”, it’s because you have something to SAY. and you will be heard. I know you will be heard because I SEE with my own eyes people I have worked with make that transition over these last few years alongside their MESSAGE. that’s what I have waited so long for, in terms of putting a solid message out there, whether that includes me being on-screen again along with it or just behind the scenes. I refused to thus far go and spoil my message on some black hole that only perpetuates myths and half-truths. AND I COULD HAVE. and I could, as a consequence, have all of the “things” that our sick society deems “important” or “cool” or “powerful” and it makes me sick to see otherwise educated and intelligent people agreeing with it. because even before I knew it, I knew it: Hollywood is bullshit and everyone in or around it has also always known it and the rot that devours the lights.

The post Hollywood is bullshit and everyone in or around it has always known it. appeared first on The Medical Intuitive Blog: Healing Elaine.

from Trisha Gibson http://www.themedicalintuitiveblog.com/2017/10/17/hollywood-bullshit-everyone-around-always-known/

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