#french is LITERALLY the blueprint btw like. my god

[callixton]

i don’t actively follow any of the oa actors at this point but i am always so so proud to see them in a new project. it’s like we were friends in high school or smth and they’re killing it

[liebgirl]

post season 1 lost character rankings <3 post is about to be long as fuck btw. heart

jack… i’m such a jack girl sorry for being predictable but he’s exactly my type of character… he has a hero complex and big brown eyes filled with tears he can’t save everyone but he has to try…

kate of course!!! blueprint for emma swan in many ways…. the coolest girl on lost island… her cunty 2000s layered tank tops and low rise bootcut jeans in exodus went crazy also but that is neither here nor there i just didn’t get a chance to mention it before. anyway. literally you always wanna run away katie!!!

sayid <3 THE it girl of lost island. he’s like if The Smart One was a heartthrob. you knowwww i’ve always been a sayid girl (ok yes naveen andrews was in ouat but my love for sayid is only like. 40% coming from that loyalty ok) he’s so. he’s the tech guy he’s the soldier he’s leading hikes he’s triangulating the signal he’s sooo kind he’s obsessed with the worst woman on the island he’s literally besties with kate he looks SO GOOD in his tank tops and i love him…

claire and YES i will acknowledge my emilie de ravin bias. it doesn’t matter what claire as a character is like, that’s my friend belle from the tv from middle school, we were in the trenches together, i love her always, claire makes the top five and that’s FINAL. peace and love <3 also she’s like basically mary from the bible for real

sun… she’s just cool and nice and lovely and her husband suckssss but she loves him and wants him to love her like he used to and she’s growing a garden and helping jack with medicinal stuff and everybody likes her cuz she’s just cool and nice!!!

shannon. and i ask you. did she really do anything wrong? don’t answer that. i’m a feminist. she’s like. there is flop in her slay eras and slay in her flop eras. and she’s soooo sad right now and she needs to keep all of her brother’s things because she doesn’t know how to exist in the world without him and she’s folding his old clothes because she’s anal and she speaks french but only barely because she knew this guy and she wants to help but she’s been a princess her whole life and she doesn’t know how to change but she has to and she’s maybe overcommitted to her zigzag hair part because she thinks beauty is her only currency and now she’s taking care of this kid’s dog because he picked her because he thought it would help her and she won’t say it but she loves these people so much and she doesn’t know how to show it and she doesn’t know what she’s doing and she doesn’t know how to carry it all!!!!!!!! i’m normal about her.

charlie has consistently been a favorite of mine but i’m just anticipating the inevitable season 2 heroin relapse storyline and i hateeeee it. but i do love charlie <3 i like how he has this insane devotion to claire for no reason other than he just wants to be nice and help her. he’s just a lovely guy…

walt and his cute little kid swagggg. his henry mills realness seriously. he’s about to be like. severely written out rip but we LOVED him here <3 when he gave his dog to shannon…. oh my god….

boone gets to not be near the bottom even though he was a total freak because well. no one else gave me joke material like him… he fucked that old man fr…. and then he died… and frankly those episodes on his death and leading up to it were so crazy i can’t not just forgive him for the freak shit. sorry for being an apologist for the guy who was in love with his sister. i mean be real though i’m a cassie girl i’m predisposed to forgive worse shit like that. maybe he only projected love onto her because she’s the only woman he knows. and he’s gay. idk. it doesn’t matter anyway who cares

jin. i actually kind of like jin now i like his dynamic with michael a lot and i think in season two he’ll get over the whole oh boohoo poor me i got roped into the mafia and i can’t tell my wife even though it would be good for our relationship to not have secrets. i forgive him. i hope michael or someone else tries to learn korean to better communicate with him though i don’t just want it to be jin having to learn english. like don’t act like michael wouldn’t try at least…

which of course brings us to michael. i like michael but he’s also kind of just not as interesting as the other characters. i imagine though that the 2004 writers room was overwhelmingly white and therefore just did not do as well writing the characters of color, so i’ll grant michael that forgiveness. i do like him i think the situation with walt is crazytown

hurley. not even my ouat bias could save hurley from being third to last. i don’t have a problem with him it’s just. he’s the comedic relief yk. and he IS funny, but like. idk. kinda like what’s going on with him and the numbers i hope that gets cool in s2

locke. booooo locke. an enemy of jack’s is an enemy of mine!! we’re gonna have a locke problem!! also i’m literally still upset about how he handled the boone situation. imagine you have trauma from your dad hurting you to help himself and then you meet a younger guy who looks up to you as a sort of father/mentor figure and you end up hurting him to help yourself and you have zero self awareness about it. kill yourself old man. your ass is not breaking the cycle.

sawyer. just. ….😒 remember when shannon was having an asthma attack and could have died and sawyer made it seem like he had her inhaler and told kate he’d give it to her if she kissed him. which is already icky. and then kate did it. and then he was like oh yeah btw i don’t have the inhaler haha! like. can you kill yourself.

and if i were asked to name my favorite episodes of the season? well most recently i loved do no harm, but all jack’s episodes were great to me so also white rabbit and all the best cowboys have daddy issues. and deus ex machina was crazy as well. and the moth. and exodus part one specifically but all three parts were pretty great too. born to run was also good! and can i be frank. can i say something we might not like. hearts and minds was a great episode… yes it’s the incest episode i know i was there… but speaking from a standpoint of like. what makes a tv episode a Good TV Episode, it kinda went crazy. i mean did we see the twist coming? for sure not! that’s tv! sometimes the point of tv is to make you go 😟 and well. hearts and minds did that…

[idasessions]

Famous Muses & Groupies in Rock Music Pt. 39

GROUPIE: Pamela des Barres (born Pamela Ann Miller)

So you might be wondering why, nearly 40 posts into this series on muses and groupies, I haven’t focused on the queen bee herself yet. Well to be completely honest, it’s because I don’t like her I figured everyone already knows her story, lol. But I might as well give it a go just for the sake of continuity. Pamela was born on September 9th, 1948 in Reseda, CA to a housewife and a gold miner. She grew up in the San Fernando Valley right in the middle of where the first wave of rock music history was taking place. She passionately fangirled Elvis Presley, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. Paul McCartney was her blueprint for the perfect boyfriend as a teen, and in her first memoir I’m with the Band (1987), Pamela claims she got an ‘A’ on an art project by drawing Mick Jagger’s crotch (….). She quickly met her first musician through high school classmate Victor Hayden—who just happened to be Cpt. Beefheart’s cousin. Through Victor, Pam got to go backstage and to local parties where she met Frank Zappa, the Byrds, the Stones, the Doors and Steppenwolf when she was 16-19 in 1965-68.

Even though she had been meeting and befriending rockstars since 10th grade, Pamela says she was mostly a virginal groupie in the late 1960s, and didn’t sleep with any of them as a minor. With a couple of intimate exceptions—like making out with Jim Morrison when Pamela Courson wasn’t around—Pamela didn’t lose her virginity until she was 19. The guy ended up being bassist Nick St. Nicholas of hard rock band Steppenwolf, and she claims the experience was ~just okay (i.e. she barely remembers it). Since then, Pamela went on to casually date and randomly hookup with stars in the 1970s like previous art class subject Mick Jagger, Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin, Keith Moon of the Who, Noel Redding of the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Chris Hillman of the Byrds, Gram Parsons, and Waylon Jennings. Her first and only husband would be Michael des Barres of the B-list rock bands Silverhead and Detective from 1977-1991. Her only child, son Nicholas, was born on September 30th, 1978. She also went through a movie star phase and went on dates with former child actor Brandon de Wilde, TV star Don Johnson, comedian Michael Richards (??) and comic-turned-filmmaker Woody Allen (?!?!).

For work, Pamela had random jobs around the Sunset Strip from waitressing and retail to TV hosting and B-movie acting. After she finished school, she briefly babysat Frank & Gail Zappa’s kids and became part of Frank’s side project Girls Together Outrageously (AKA, the GTOs). The group was comprised of local LA County groupies as an experiment to see if they could make their own music too (spoiler: they can’t). During this period, Pamela went by the moniker ‘Miss Pamela’ or just ‘Ms P.’ The girls broke up after only two years together (1968-70) and one album released, ‘Permanent Damage’ (1969). Pam and fellow GTO Lucy Offerall both later had cameos in Zappa’s cult film 200 Motels (1971) alongside Ringo Starr, Keith Moon and Mark Volman. In her late 30s, Pam was inspired to take up writing after gossip journalist Stephen Davis told her she was a good storyteller while interviewing her for the (awful) Led Zeppelin biography Hammer of the Gods (1985). Soon she went on to coin the first ever groupie memoir in 1987 called I’m with the Band, which quickly gained notoriety in the music community. Since then, she’s written three more memoirs: Take Another Little Piece of My Heart (1993), Rock Bottom (1996), and Let’s Spend the Night Together (2007). In modern times, she occasionally writes featured columns for publications, her own blog posts and has her own ‘groupie’ fashion line. She’s also still friends with GTO pal Miss Mercy and fellow Led Zep groupie Michele Overman.

But how does she feel about carrying the title of ‘the most famous groupie in the world?’ Well, it’s complicated. Pamela claims the first time she ever heard of the word ‘groupie’ was by a Zeppelin roadie at a Hollywood party in 1969. For a decade she battled with people labeling her the ‘G’ word, as she tried to be taken seriously and not viewed as a slut. But by the time she was writing her books, she changed her tune since it’s the only reason anyone knows who she is. She even goes as far as to argue that groupies are the ‘real’ muses of rock music and feminist. 😒 Another little issue that occurred after living it up in the late ‘60s/early ‘70s. There was a new, wilder, less legal breed of groupies in town: baby groupies (or the Star Girls). Teen girls between ages 13-17 who were ~stealing all the rockstars from the 20-something, seasoned groupies like Pamela and Bebe Buell. In 1971, while Pamela was dating Don Johnson, she noticed that 14-year-old Melanie Griffith was hanging around his film sets and neighborhood a lot. Soon ‘a lot’ became all the time, and Don infamously dropped Pam for Mel. Then only two years later the same shit happens again, when Zep guitarist Jimmy Page ditched Pam at the English Disco for 14-year-old Lori Maddox in 1973. (BTW, Jimmy wasn’t even legitimately with either of them. He was living with French model Charlotte Martin. Oh, and Jimmy and Pam’s husband Michael were friends at one point and Jimmy would hang out at their house sometimes…awk.) Now seen as ‘old,’ or ‘over the hill’ as queen baby groupie Sable Starr apparently called her, Pamela went through an existential crisis at age 25 about her exes leaving her for literal school girls.

But rather than, I don’t know, raising her standards on men, she spends the next 30 years shaming these teen girls for being man-stealers or something. In I’m with the Band, she’s a lot more forgiving of Melanie and even claimed they’re friends now, but she still held a grudge at Lori. Then sometime in the mid-2000s, Pamela and Lori are suddenly ~good friends and Lori is subject of a chapter of Let’s Spend the Night Together. When David Bowie died in 2016, Pam finally started publicly stating that teen groupies are unethical. But then #metoo blew up in 2017, and it quickly occurred to people that in an environment where sexism and sexual misconduct are being re-evaluated; music stars getting one-night stands and random blow jobs while partying with young women anywhere from 13 to 30 years old started sounding really, hella sketchy. Instead of owning up to the culture being outdated, Pamela doubled down hard on groupie-ism, defended the statutory rape with the baby groupies, and thinks ‘sex, drugs and rock & roll’ isn’t an issue. In most of her interviews from 2018, like on “Ken Boxer Live,” and in Women Wear Daily, NME and The Big Issue Magazine; she says she’s ‘bored’ with being asked about #metoo and that it’s a whole different vibe in the music industry. (I’m sure the women accusing R. Kelly, Ryan Adams and Russell Simmons of abuse agree.)

I’m sorry, but you can’t claim being a groupie is feminist, and at the same time say all that shit and brag about giving hickeys to Jim Morrison or blowing Mick Jagger. Just admit it was all about partying and being with famous people.

P.S. Penny Lane in Almost Famous (2000) is not based on Pamela, no matter how much she (or any other famous groupie) claim the character is. Penny’s based on Pennie Ann Trumbull. Check out my earlier post on her.

[mexican-texican]

Terms Of Endearment

Characters: Megamind and Roxanne. That’s it. Words: 2,513 (pout) When it comes to spending (nearly) every waking moment together, after so long one gets comfortable with the idea of using different terms of endearment with their significant other. Even if they're not always nice. Or the other person has no idea what you just called them. Up on Fanfiction.net if you want to head that way, or not, because it sucks, you can head to my new AO3 account. Oh, and btw, this is a gift for @elf-kid2​. Yo dawg I heard you like nicknames. Hope this cheers you up.

“What did you just call me?” she asked with a slit of her eyes. She had to put her book down to glare at him properly, her arm hanging low off the side of her now ex-kidnapping chair. Lowering the drill, he reached for the screws balanced between his teeth thinking the metal had muffled his voice (but knew he reached slowly in fear of having said the wrong thing). “M-ma puce?” he spit out, a lone screw tinkling a metallic laugh as it skittered across the labs cement floor. She stared, her hand hovering dangerously close over the toolbox next to her foot. “And that means what, exactly?” “I-is French, for ‘m-my flea?’ I didn’t, is not-” he broke off, his voice dropping to dust. “-I mean it- it’s better than cabbage, at least I thought so, and with, I, well- I thought it was cute,” he mumbled, his cheeks puffing in defense. Her eyebrows didn’t drop from their raised-in-confusion position, her eyelids closing slowly to rest on his response as she pursed her lips. And then she laughed, light and feathery in the way it tickled his chest whenever she did. She shook her head with a smile and pulled out the soldering iron he’d asked for. 

“Good morning, min lille guldklump,” he said with his sluggish entrance into their kitchen, yawning the entire slump towards the coffee pot. “What’s a ghould clomp?” she asked over the oversized spoonful of cereal in her mouth. “A wha?” he asked with another yawn, one hand on the milk jug and the other pouring a stream of sugar into his mug. “Oh, a gold nugget.” She nodded slowly in thoughtfulness, processing his words and her breakfast. She made sure to clear her mouth before attempting a response. “What, am I not good enough to be a diamond or something?” He gave a low chuckle with a quirk of his mouth, his eyes never fully opening as he slumped his way back out of the kitchen. “Love, gold holds more value than a diamond. If the world ends, diamonds would be worthless. Gold will always hold monetary worth.” “So does food,” she retorted with a snort. “Fine, fine,” he chuckled with a wave of his hand. “Whatever you say, honey.” He stopped briefly next to her seat, leaning down slightly to press a kiss to her forehead before walking out into the lab. She couldn’t help but smile into her bowl as she stirred her cereal for another bite.

“Love.” “Ngh.” “Darling.” “Mmmph.” “Megs, sweetie, are you okay?” He snapped his eyes open towards her voice, darting them throughout the room to assess his situation. Sitting in his wheelie chair slumped over the desk, blueprints spread throughout, a wet smudge on one corner directly underneath him, his drafting pencil on the floor-oh no “You sure you don’t want to sleep in bed instead?” she giggled. “No, I’m okay. Got lost in the moment,” he insisted, waving her off and picking up the pencil from where it had fallen on the cement floor. She eyed him from where she’d been folding the clothes by the couch, the tip of the pencil scribbling away furiously into the desk through the papers and blueprints that littered the surface. “Well, as I was saying the committee found it irresponsible to be stretching the budget to invest in shifting between regional chefs and decorative dinning sets whenever a guest of honor would be expected in the hall, but I had to remind them that how the hell are we to impress an investor from South Africa if the most complicated thing coming from the kitchen is carbonara on fiesta-ware. Of course Herault still had two cents to put in what with the mishandling of the ball funding, he’s still upset you actually brought in a bouncy house, so he-” she looked over again, seeing him slumped over the paperwork in the same stance he was in just barely a handful of minutes earlier. With a laugh that was carried out in a breath, she unfolded the last thing she had squared over the top of the laundry basket and undid the heavy fabric over his slumped shoulders. “Asteri mou, you’ll be the death of me,” she whispered into his temple with a kiss.

Candles decorated the room with a soft embrace, precise placements scattered between loose flowers and tempting chocolates. Once having scanned the entirety of her adorned living room her eyes settled on her kitchen bar, a lone card propped against a bottle of red wine with a single sentence written across it, the candle light seeming to glow off the shimmer that made up the flowing script. a ghrá mo chroí He recognized her smile, the million watt beam she perfected for the public whenever she was facing the camera. He frowned. “Wuh- Is something the matter?” Tight lipped, she carefully raised her gaze from the wine bottle to meet his, that “I-don’t-want-to-hurt-you-but-I-don’t-know-how-else-to-put-this” expression never wavering from her face. “I, it’s-” She lingered with a frozen face as she thought out how to simply explain “I can’t read this.” He drew his eyebrows together, lifting the note card from its place on the bar between them and reading the words written in love out loud. It was her turn to frown in confusion. “Why, where did, what gave you the idea that it’s supposed to go like that?” “I, I don’t, understand-” “I mean you’re saying it right, you’re just spelling it, very wrong,” she declared. “…excuse me?” She takes the cardstock from his hand and holds it closer to her face, as if shortening the reading distance would suddenly clarify the unintelligible hand writing. “Well see, this one is missing the rest of the word, and this one isn’t even a word itself,” she pointed out, her eyebrows still furrowed as her finger gently underlined the sentence. “Where did you even?” she managed to ask before he interrupted with a toss of his hands and an exasperated huff, reaching for the bottle of wine to uncork it as ungraciously as his pocket corkscrew would allow. “I don’t understand, it’s supposed to be in true Gaelic, at least as far as Uncail Derry had been preaching over it,” he whined with a pop of the bottle’s cork following close behind. “Claimed that Gaelic was pretty much a one and done.” “Gaelic,” she stated with a deadpanned stare. “Tell me, where was ‘Uncail’ Derry from?” He paused briefly in between filling glasses. “Northern Ireland,” he practically scoffed. She reached out for a glass after he had taken his own. “Not to be a jackass about it, but your Uncle Derry was an amadán.” He practically inhaled his glass of wine through his nose. “Hey, I resent that!” he coughed out. “And I don’t,” she countered. “Sweetheart, there’s a fine line between Irish and Scottish Gaelic, but there’s a line.” He eyed the card in her hands with his apparently wrong declarations of love, her fingers caressing the letters with as much cherishment had it been properly written in the other half of her native dialect. There wasn’t a hint of discontentment outlining her features, no outward signs of having been put off for the evening, just a barely visible sparkle of endearment tucked away in the corners of her eyes. “Okay,” he sighed, the gentle tap of his wine glass meeting the marble bar top drawing her attention back towards him. He outreached his arms to take both of her hands in his, his fingers overlapping the cardstock with hers. “Then show me.”

“Duckie.” “No.” “Baby?” “Eh.”

“Hunny Bunny.” “Oh good god no,” Megamind sneered into his milkshake, fishing out for what seemed to be the sixth cherry out of the mound that sat against the rim of the glass. Roxanne smiled around her own straw, her feet tapping restlessly against his own underneath the table. They both took note of a couple making their way into the restaurant when one of the men stopped short and was sidetracked by something just as they neared the glass door. Already having walked up to the counter, the other man turned around in confusion before spotting their partner making way to a pet store across the street, and rolled his eyes while making way back to the front entrance, throwing the front door open with annoyance. “Turdblossom, come here!” was shouted through the diner’s door, and Megamind inhaled his cherry getting it promptly lodged in the back of his throat while Roxanne had coughed into her straw, thereby splashing everything within a three foot radius with cookies and cream droplets. Including themselves. In the corner of a mom and pop diner on fifth and broadway on a sunny Thursday evening, Roxanne was smacking the ever-loving crap out of her blue boyfriend’s back while tears of laughter ran down her milkshake stained cheeks.

There was only three more things to get on the grocery list before they were done. At least there was, until she looked up from the list on her phone over the grocery cart. “No,” she said sternly to Megamind’s pouting face. He gave a wordless grunt and a shake of the box in his hands. “I said no, you’ve had your limit for the week I am not adding more.” More wordless noises followed by flailing arms. The box being shaken more sternly. “Blue I swear to god if you don’t put down those pop tarts-“ Having taking her words literally, he dropped them into the grocery cart with an evil smile only a toddler would know how to utilize. She lunged for his arm as he made a run for the end of the isle, settling on flinging the box of pop tarts into one of the empty slots in the isle they were in. Making her way to the last of the items, her grocery cart bumped into the leather clad behind of her idiot boyfriend as she said “Stop being a butt and help me get the can of capers down from the shelf.” Until he turned around with arms full of Rice Crispies. “Nuh-uh, no- damnit put those back.” She stared him down, his determined stance never wavering. “Listen here you squiggly spaghetti, if you don’t put those back this instant I will call Minion and tell him to move all of your hidden snack spots you think I don’t know about to places where even you won’t find them.” Fear in his eyes and the decision to not call her bluff forced him to pace down the isle in not-exactly-a-sprint-but-definitely-not-a-brisk-walk to rid of the mound of marshmallow snacks in his arms. Formal speed-walking her mind brought up, and she bit the inside of her cheek before turning up to reach for the top shelf herself. Standing alongside Roxanne by the checkout counter, Megamind gave her a sideways grin. “Squiggly spaghetti?” he muttered amusedly. Her lips twitched with the ghost of a suppressed smile. “Sounded better in my head than limp noodle. The way you fight sometimes, looks like someone flopping a string of spaghetti in the air.” He should’ve been offended, tried to be, but he really couldn’t.

Leaning over the side of the mattress, he could see she was still dealing with the worst of the fever. “Amor,” he whispered, the back of his hand placed flat against her forehead. Her hair framed her head in a wild halo spread slick across the comforter where she slept upside down, feet elevated on the headboard. She hummed without movement. “Fofinha?” She stirred, coming to with a dazed start. Her eyes seemed to look without seeing, clouded over with sickness and sleep deprivation as she patted down the surrounding mattress in search of something. Before she could make a full sweep he grabbed her pillow by the headboard, the one that was more down than feather, and slipped it underneath to where he anticipated her hand would pat down next. With silent satisfaction, she crumpled the pillow to its familiar mound and shoved it underneath her head, never once coming into full consciousness. Just as easily did she wake up was she falling under the spell of sick sleep again. He chuckled to himself, low in the back of his throat as he crossed his arms and looked down to the dozed off bundle of mess and soft snoring that was the love of his life. “Tão Fofa,” he breathed out with fondness before walking out of the room and closing the door with a barely audible click.

It had been a crisp night, the air sharp with the bite of winter coming around the corner. Most of Metro City had hidden away once the sun had set, but it didn’t stop Roxanne and Megamind from camping out on her balcony with mugs of hot cocoa and a sherpa. Nestled in the comfort of her outdoor papasan was where Roxanne waited patiently for Megamind to come back outside from refilling the mugs, one arm outstretched towards her as he asked “These ones?” She reached out a hand from underneath the warmth cover of the blanket, a rushed and needy sound through her pursed lips as her hand grabbed for her mug. He handed it to her with a wiggle of his hips, trying to work in enough space next to her in the already cramped pillow bowl to warm himself up again. He hissed cold air though his teeth as they fought for dominance over the Sherpa, grunting and nudging until they settled on overlapping their legs and sitting nearly chest to chest for maximum coverage. After regaining some of Roxanne’s body heat, he furrowed his brows with a questioning glance towards her. “I, couldn’t completely hear you from inside, what, exactly, did you ask?” She furrowed her eyebrows back, a gentle twist of her wrist to indicate he had already answered her question with the mug in hand. “No, I mean, what did you say?”

“To, get the marshmallows?” she asked more than stated. He shook his head. “Before that?” “I know what’s missing?” “After.” “The marshmallows?” “Rox-anne,” he chided. She bloomed, a radiant blush that he hadn’t seen since their first real date. Not that all the ones as Bernard didn’t count, it’s just that, well, they didn’t. Not when he got to appreciate the reactions he got out of her when he was being just himself without the help of a disguise. The blanket slipped from his shoulder briefly when she leaned over the edge of the seat to set her mug down. He didn’t complain. She caressed his face with both of her hands, her head tilting to one side with a delicate smile growing on her lips. “Matia mou” was all she said with an endearing gentleness, her thumbs stroking the high cheekbones underneath his widened eyes. “And, what is that supposed to mean?” was his turn to ask in a whisper of his own. She pulled him down to place a light kiss on his closing eyelids. “My eyes.”