#hudgins

[thegreyunderstanding]

Praying Drunk

Our Father who art in heaven, I am drunk.

Again. Red wine. For which I offer thanks.

I ought to start with praise, but praise

comes hard to me. I stutter. Did I tell you

about the woman whom I taught, in bed,

this prayer? It starts with praise; the simple form

keeps things in order. I hear from her sometimes.

Do you? And after love, when I was hungry,

I said, Make me something to eat. She yelled,

Poof! You’re a casserole!—and laughed so hard

she fell out of the bed. Take care of her.

Next, confession—the dreary part. At night

deer drift from the dark woods and eat my garden.

They’re like enormous rats on stilts except,

of course, they’re beautiful. But why? What makes

them beautiful? I haven’t shot one yet.

I might. When I was twelve, I’d ride my bike

out to the dump and shoot the rats. It’s hard

to kill your rats, our Father. You have to use

a hollow point and hit them solidly.

A leg is not enough. The rat won’t pause.

Yeep! Yeep! it screams, and scrabbles, three-legged, back

into the trash, and I would feel a little bad

to kill something that wants to live

more savagely than I do, even if

it’s just a rat. My garden’s vanishing.

Perhaps I’ll merely plant more beans, though that

might mean more beautiful and hungry deer.

Who knows?

I’m sorry for the times I’ve driven

home past a black, enormous, twilight ridge.

Crested with mist, it looked like a giant wave

about to break and sweep across the valley,

and in my loneliness and fear I’ve thought,

O let it come and wash the whole world clean.

Forgive me. This is my favorite sin: despair—

whose love I celebrate with wine and prayer.

Our Father, thank you for all the birds and trees,

that nature stuff. I’m grateful for good health,

food, air, some laughs, and all the other things

I’m grateful that I’ve never had to do

without. I have confused myself. I’m glad

there’s not a rattrap large enough for deer.

While at the zoo last week, I sat and wept

when I saw one elephant insert his trunk

into another’s ass, pull out a lump,

and whip it back and forth impatiently

to free the goodies hidden in the lump.

I could have let it mean most anything,

but I was stunned again at just how little

we ask for in our lives. Don’t look! Don’t look!

Two young nuns tried to herd their giggling

schoolkids away. Line up, they called. Let’s go

and watch the monkeys in the monkey house.

I laughed, and got a dirty look. Dear Lord,

we lurch from metaphor to metaphor,

which is—let it be so—a form of praying.

I’m usually asleep by now—the time

for supplication. Requests. As if I’d stayed

up late and called the radio and asked

they play a sentimental song. Embarrassed.

I want a lot of money and a woman.

And, also, I want vanishing cream. You know—

a character like Popeye rubs it on

and disappears. Although you see right through him,

he’s there. He chuckles, stumbles into things,

and smoke that’s clearly visible escapes

from his invisible pipe. It makes me think,

sometimes, of you. What makes me think of me

is the poor jerk who wanders out on air

and then looks down. Below his feet, he sees

eternity, and suddenly his shoes

no longer work on nothingness, and down

he goes. As I fall past, remember me.

- Andrew Hudgins

[roughridingrednecks]

Hudgins

[averagecygnet-blog]

one thing I absolutely adore about tgwdlm is how completely and irrevocably a stage musical it is. it HAS to be a stage musical - the medium is so deeply baked into the story that it truly would not translate to another medium.

some reasons why:

the musical style is old-fashioned in a way that screams classic broadway. you can't get away from it, especially in songs like "lah dee dah dah day" and "show stoppin number". and it's not just the music, it's the dancing too - have you ever seen a kickline in a movie musical, once, ever? or jazz hands? gimme a break

along similar lines - all the broadway references! hamilton of course, but also wicked and mamma mia and jekyll & hyde

all the attention deliberately brought to the lighting and set! the performers in "la dee dah dah day" loudly saying "lights down!" when it's over; ted, paul, and emma striking the stage after "show stoppin number"; the lighting panels used as sirens, TVs, showcasing hudgins' alexa, and more; ted wheeling the big meteor prop off the stage after "let it out". they don't let you forget that we're in a theater.

all the hokey ass miming and special effects???? charlotte and hudgins having their guts ripped out is flashy and fun onstage because of the intestine props. emma and ted having blood capsules in their mouths. paul, emma, and zoey violently shaking when pantomiming being in a helicopter. ted running in place, moving forward or back to suggest movement across the road. it's all so fun and consistently reminds you that this is a stage

double-casting as intentional obstruction of the truth. we're used to seeing one actor play several roles in a musical, so when a familiar face shows up in a new costume we assume it's a new character. but it was zoey flying the helicopter to clivesdale, and I think it was zoey in the hospital at the end as well. you couldn't pull that shit in a movie because movies don't double-cast.

the role of the audience, the laughter and gasps and reactions and applause, especially the applause at the end when emma is begging the audience members to let her use their phone and demanding to know why they're clapping; sure movies have audiences too but the presence of the audience as part of the story makes a point about societal ideals as something we all have a part in that a movie just couldn't make in the same way

on a related note - emma's sudden awareness of the stage and the audience as the horror trope where the person realizes they're trapped and will imminently die. she knows she can't escape because it's just a fuckin loop. she knows no one will save her because they're all clapping. you couldn't do that in a movie because in a movie there is a fourth wall, whereas on a stage there's nowhere for the characters to run away. on a stage the characters can look you, the audience, directly in the eye, with no camera or screen between you

I will literally never shut up about that curtain call

god damn what I wouldn't give to watch this show performed live

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Crowds outside the Lafayette Theater in Harlem, waiting for a performance by Johnny Hudgins and the Cotton Club Band, 1920s.

Photo: E. Elcha Collection/GettyImages/seeoldnyc.com

[exhaustedbluegacha]

Okay I gotta calm down with these

[lovelyballetandmore]

Horus Hudgins | Photo by Jason Allen

[apoemaday]

Praying Drunk

by Andrew Hudgins

Our Father who art in heaven, I am drunk. Again. Red wine. For which I offer thanks. I ought to start with praise, but praise comes hard to me. I stutter. Did I tell you about the woman whom I taught, in bed, this prayer? It starts with praise; the simple form keeps things in order. I hear from her sometimes. Do you? And after love, when I was hungry, I said, Make me something to eat. She yelled, Poof! You’re a casserole!—and laughed so hard she fell out of the bed. Take care of her. Next, confession—the dreary part. At night deer drift from the dark woods and eat my garden. They’re like enormous rats on stilts except, of course, they’re beautiful. But why? What makes them beautiful? I haven’t shot one yet. I might. When I was twelve, I’d ride my bike out to the dump and shoot the rats. It’s hard to kill your rats, our Father. You have to use a hollow point and hit them solidly. A leg is not enough. The rat won’t pause. Yeep! Yeep! it screams, and scrabbles, three-legged, back into the trash, and I would feel a little bad to kill something that wants to live more savagely than I do, even if it’s just a rat. My garden’s vanishing. Perhaps I’ll merely plant more beans, though that might mean more beautiful and hungry deer. Who knows?                 I’m sorry for the times I’ve driven home past a black, enormous, twilight ridge. Crested with mist, it looked like a giant wave about to break and sweep across the valley, and in my loneliness and fear I’ve thought, O let it come and wash the whole world clean. Forgive me. This is my favorite sin: despair— whose love I celebrate with wine and prayer. Our Father, thank you for all the birds and trees, that nature stuff. I’m grateful for good health, food, air, some laughs, and all the other things I’m grateful that I’ve never had to do without. I have confused myself. I’m glad there’s not a rattrap large enough for deer. While at the zoo last week, I sat and wept when I saw one elephant insert his trunk into another’s ass, pull out a lump, and whip it back and forth impatiently to free the goodies hidden in the lump. I could have let it mean most anything, but I was stunned again at just how little we ask for in our lives. Don’t look! Don’t look! Two young nuns tried to herd their giggling schoolkids away. Line up, they called. Let’s go and watch the monkeys in the monkey house. I laughed, and got a dirty look. Dear Lord, we lurch from metaphor to metaphor, which is—let it be so—a form of praying. I’m usually asleep by now—the time for supplication. Requests. As if I’d stayed up late and called the radio and asked they play a sentimental song. Embarrassed. I want a lot of money and a woman. And, also, I want vanishing cream. You know— a character like Popeye rubs it on and disappears. Although you see right through him, he’s there. He chuckles, stumbles into things, and smoke that’s clearly visible escapes from his invisible pipe. It makes me think, sometimes, of you. What makes me think of me is the poor jerk who wanders out on air and then looks down. Below his feet, he sees eternity, and suddenly his shoes no longer work on nothingness, and down he goes. As I fall past, remember me.

[kyaikoo]

friday night vibe ♫

amazing build by my fav @cowboycid 🫶🏽

[graceandfamily]

Grace Kelly with MGM publicist Morgan Hudgins, at the RKO Pantages Theatre for the 28th Annual Academy Awards, Hollywood, California, 21st March 1956.

[academicelephant]

Spoiler alert on Chicago Med s10e1

Why am I not even surprised things didn't work out between Dr. Charles and Lilliana...

Wow, miss Goodwin in scrubs!

No way that new doctor just kicked Hudgins out!?

Okay, what the f- with the Pavel case now?? I didn't see that coming

Yeah, Dr. Archer has all the right to be pissed to the new doctor. I am too

... I don't know. I was waiting for the 10th season to begin so bad but this doesn't feel right. Something's off, and I don't like it

[dgct2]

This is a FANTASTIC article written by Marisa Roffman who runs Give Me My Remote. Definitely worth checking out if you're a member of the Wolfpack and want to help out the writers and actors.

FBI MOST WANTED

For FBI: MOST WANTED showrunner David Hudgins, this marks his second strike. The first time, in 2007, he was a co-producer on FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS. Now, “it’s really interesting to be going through this…where I’m a showrunner and I’ve been doing this 17 years longer,” he explains in the video below. “The issues to me are incredibly important.”

Hudgins acknowledges that some of the bigger issues impacting writers are in the streaming world, “but I’m here for basically the younger writers—the people down below,” he says. “Because we got to give them the chance to make a living…it’s not fair. And I think about what they’re dealing with now versus what I was dealing with back then. And something needs to change. And I think now is the time…we’ve got all these people out here, and nobody has relented.”

While arguments have been made online that people should just accept their one-time initial payment for the script or acting performance—a specious argument considering the revenue syndication continues to bring in for the studios—Hudgins shares how he explained it to his family: “If you write a play, you keep the copyright; if you write a book, you keep the copyright. If you do television or film, it’s a work for hire, you don’t own the copyright and the compensation for that is a residual. And they’re not paying enough. So it’s gonna take something like this to get them to come to the table, I think. And we’re not going to stop until they do come back to the table.”

HOW FANS CAN HELP

Entertainment Community Fund

WGA Strike Hub

Donate to TTIE ( Think Tank For Inclusion in Entertainment ) which has various funds.

Use Your Social Media - Amplify what is being said by WGA, SAG, and writers.

Come out to the pickets - Follow the rules here.

Sign the WGA Petition to have the lot at NBC Universal made safer for Picketers. Anyone can sign it.

Contact your member of Congress or Senate and tell them that you support the strike by the actors and writers.

[roughridingrednecks]

Hudgins

[pityroad]

Forgive me. This is my favorite sin: despair—

whose love I celebrate with wine and prayer.

— Praying Drunk, Andrew Hudgins

[george-hudgins]

George Hudgins - A Seasoned Accounting Expert

George Hudgins, a seasoned CPA and founder of Hudgins and Associates, CPA’s, has shaped a respected firm since 1974. A devout Christian, George values personal and professional growth, enjoying pickleball, fishing, and mountain retreats.

[imaginarythings-world]