#in the sense that uh yeah she’s not any worse than any other celeb

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

I am planning to write an article about all this after discovering your page because like, I fell out of love with Swift as a person a long while ago maybe after Lover (my peak because my aesthetic) but I didn’t actively dislike her until the whole environmentalism fiasco

Even then I didn’t particularly care about her as a person or defending her, or attacking her cos like duh she’s a rich person of course she kills the planet too she’s not special either way

I’ve just always found her a little fascinating as a subject of art in a positive sense and the more I read here… I’m fascinated (derogatory)

Like I still really respect her work and technique as an artist and I have some appreciation even if it’s in a derogatory sense for how it ties into her real life and the skill as well as cunning it takes as a business woman

But it’s becoming more and more obvious the more I read that my perception of her being this person who gets unusually attacked for the same things that every other singer/songwriter does…. Is no longer correct.

And I’m adding this reblog because ever since she started dating Travis…. And this is a thought that came to mind when I first saw her first pictures at a game

Is that Taylor…. Just lived long enough to see herself become the villain

Like she has to understand the optics of this right? She is, symbolically, the white, popular cheerleader girl with the jock boyfriend that she used to shade in songs

He seems like…. A guy. I’m not gonna add anymore insults because that’s not my style but even if he were less…. Questionable politically, I…. She has evolved from having the “underdog, shy girl in the corner who’s overlooked for the popular cheerleader” veneer while being the popular girl (toxic)

To

Just

The popular girl

Optics and all

Like she is the poster child for Mean Girl now. Does she realise that?

I just saw a post on pinterest calling everyone who was annoyed by all the T*ylor Sw*ft reaction cuts during the Super Bowl misogynists and I left a couple comments about how she just sucks actually so I think I might need y'all to pray for me

[et-lesailes]

thirst tweets

pairing: chris evans x celeb!reader

word count: 1750

summary: you and your boyfriend chris read thirst tweets for buzzfeed, but chris finds himself getting a little jealous.

themes: jealous!chris, poorly made up thirst tweets by moi, fluff :)

taglist: @viarogers , @evanstush , @chibi-crazy , @chalamet-evans , @world-of-losers , @songforhema, @sebabestianstan101 , @tanyam93 , @b-val1, @wonderwinchester , @little-miss-exo, @poerebel , @bitchbabes-world , @gogomez-509 , @patzammit

note: requested by anonymous // who would have thought that for someone so thirsty writing thirst tweets for a story would still be so difficult. also this is the very first time i’m using “Y/N” in a fic, i normally prefer not to but i figured it made more sense for a fic like this!

“Alright, let’s do this.” Chris declared with a grin, pointing at the camera with a playful wink. You laughed as you nodded your head, just as excited-- the two of you were with BuzzFeed, participating in their famous “Celebs Read Thirst Tweets” video, and being both a couple and a part of the Avengers cast made it all the more fun. “So we’re reading them to each other?” you clarified with the camera crew, giggling slightly at the thought. “That’s right. You read it to the other person as if you wrote it yourself. And-- you have to keep a straight face while you do it.” They confirmed, and both of you laughed loudly upon the thought, clearly liking this game. “Okay, okay. So we’ll switch off,” Chris decided, looking at you with a grin. “Wanna go first, babe?”

“Oh, yes. This is gonna be good,” you laughed, reaching into the container filled with the printed slips of tweets designated for him. Taking one out, you read it to yourself and almost busted out laughing right then and there, but you instead cleared your throat and looked up at him seriously. “Chris Evans could decapitate me and my severed head would be lying there saying thank you daddy.” He blinked before laughing loudly, his hand, of course, going straight for his left pec. “What?! Where did they even come up with that? God, that’s great. Uh, thank you. I think.” He looked to the camera with a wide smile, his blue eyes flickering with amusement. “Okay, my turn.” Reaching into the container, he pulled out a slip of paper, looking down at it-- he was already smiling just from reading it, but he looked back up towards you, keeping a straight face. “[Y/N] could kick me in the balls and I’d probably jizz.” The second he said it, he couldn’t help himself; he burst out laughing and you laughed along with him. “Oh my God,” you giggled, looking towards the camera. “Okay, well, I’m not going to do that. For more reasons than one, apparently.”

The video went on, and each tweet became funnier and more vulgar than the previous one. Despite being the great actor he was, Chris was definitely worse than you when it came to staying serious; he was the type of guy who couldn’t help but express himself, and this was definitely the case with his laughter and infamous left boob grab.

“I want to wear Chris Evans’ beard as underwear.”

“I thought I was straight until I saw [Y/N’s] latest photoshoot for Vogue. I’d be wet if she just breathed on me.”

“Can Chris Evans just suffocate me with those thick biceps? Is that too much to ask for?”

“[Y/N’s] legs are already perfect but they’d look even more perfect wrapped around my neck just saying.”

The two of you were already having a blast, but then the video moved on to couple thirst tweets-- you hadn’t even been aware that such a thing existed. “There’s thirst tweets about both of us together?” you asked incredulously, glancing up at Chris with amusement. “Like, fans wanting to have a threesome with us or something?” The producer chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. “Why don’t you read them and find out?” Now curious, you took the container one of the crew members handed to you, looking at the camera with a little intrigued grin before slipping one of the pieces of paper out. “It’d be one thing to be in front of Chris Evans or [Y/N], but how do people not pass out from the overwhelming beauty and perfection of just being in the presence of both of them together??” you read, then widened your eyes as you looked back up at the camera. “Aw! Oh my God, that’s so sweet, but please, it takes a village to make us look picture perfect, okay?” You looked up at your boyfriend before rolling your eyes playfully, adding, “Well, for me, anyways.” Chris scoffed in response, putting you in a playful chokehold and ignoring your squeals and giggles. “Ignore her, she looks this damn perfect all the time-- and trust me, it does make me want to pass out.”

“Uh-huh,” you replied to his cheesy response, though both of you knew you loved it. He chuckled and let go of you, taking a paper out himself. “My sexual orientation is seeing the way Chris and [Y/N] look at each other. Heart eye emoji, heart eye emoji, heart eye emoji.” He added, then grinned as he saw pictures come up on screen of the two of you at different events, gazing adoringly at each other. “Oh, geez, those look so staged for some reason but they’re so real, I swear.” He laughed, putting the paper down so he could wrap both of his arms around you. “Man, baby, we’re pretty fuckin’ cute aren’t we?” You smiled fondly as you looked at the pictures, chuckling in amusement. “I didn’t even realize we did that. But that is pretty cute, I have to admit. Can fans send us these pictures or something? We need more to decorate our home with, and I swear you guys have more photos of us than we do,” you joked, eyes twinkling as you looked towards the camera.

Just like the previous segment, the tweets were becoming more and more descriptive.

“I bet [Y/N] and Chris have mindblowing sex. What a lucky son of a bitch!”

“Chris looks like he’s such a good kisser, damn [Y/N] good for you girl!”

“Yo those gifs of [Y/N] from that sex scene in her new movie though, I bet that girl’s freaky in bed… Chris care to comment???”

“If I was [Y/N] I’d literally never be able to keep my hands and/or any of my other body parts off of that beautiful man no matter where we were. Props to her for having way more self control than I could ever have LOL.”

“[Y/N] if you and Chris ever break it off please give me a chance, I swear I’d love you down so hard.”

You noticed an ever-so-subtle change in Chris’ expression upon reading the last one, and you wished you had never even read it. The two of you had practically been on autopilot from all the fun you were having, not even bothering to read them to yourselves first but instead just blurting them out loud. Still, he would not show he was upset; the two of you were on camera, after all, but you could read him well by now to know it rubbed him the wrong way. How could it not? You were a bit bothered that the producer had even put it in there, but as you saw the crew laughing, it seemed like they saw nothing wrong with it. The two of you were able to end the video smoothly, still smiling for the cameras and joking around, but once it was over, his expression fell slightly. You said somewhat rushed goodbyes and thank yous to the crew before taking a hold of his arm, lightly pulling him aside to a more private area.

“Babe, don’t be upset about that last one, that entire tweet was just dumb okay? It’s not like we’re actually breaking up.”

He sighed, clearly annoyed as he ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but then after that one it just got me thinking about every tweet. I mean, why do these little pricks think that they can just.. I dunno, think about you like that? You’re my girlfriend, not theirs.”

The pout on his face was adorable-- in fact, his boyish grumbling was adorable, but you knew the last thing he wanted was to be called that right now. Still, you couldn’t help but smile as you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It doesn’t matter, Chris, you’re the one who has me. Not them. And don’t call them pricks, they’re fans, they support us! ...In their own, weird way.” You giggled, and he looked even more grumpy, muttering, “Well they shouldn’t say such crude stuff about you. That’s not how you talk about a lady. Especially not one as beautiful as you. And why does it seem like they’re all trying to say they can fuck you better than I can or something? Doesn’t it seem like that?”

“I think you’re overanalyzing it, baby. But even if that is what they think, they’re wrong.” You insisted, sighing softly as you ran your fingers through his hair, though unable to help but chuckle quietly at how worked up he was-- you couldn’t help but think it was cute how protective and defensive he got over you. “Besides, if you want me to prove how much I love you fucking me, I’d be more than happy to…” you murmured playfully, pressing a kiss to his chin. That made him smile a little bit, though he still looked a bit dark overall. “Mm. I just don’t want people talking about you like that anymore. Only I’m allowed to,” he muttered somewhat childishly, though the corner of his lips were barely tugged upwards, indicating that he wasn’t being fully serious. You smiled in return, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Are you really so jealous that you just basically ignored me inviting you to have sex with me?” you asked playfully, and he blinked a few times before finally cracking a wider smile, sighing as he suddenly scooped you up in his arms. “Jesus. Something really must be wrong with me, huh?”

“Yes, but… your jealousy’s kinda cute.” You admitted, giggling as you securely wrapped your legs around him. “Come on, let’s go back home. Dodger’s waiting for us.” He smiled upon the mere thought of sharing cuddles with you and his adorable canine best friend, nodding his head with another heavy sigh. “Alright. But just know that when we get home I’m tweeting a selfie of both of us just to further clarify that you’re mine.” He leaned in to kiss you lovingly, still easily holding you in his arms. “I have absolutely no issue with that,” you giggled softly against his lips as you kissed him back, giving in to the luxury of the muscular man carrying you outside to the car, just as excited as him to go home and cuddle up on the couch.

[avidfanficwriter]

Younger

Jake Gyllenhaal X OFC

Rating: T.

Summary: Aubrey and Jake are paired up to work in a homeless shelter preparing a desert portion, during so they flirt and mock. Even if things take a turn for the personal.

Aubrey stands in the middle of the kitchen, her hand on her hip and a paper full of directions in her other. On top of the paper reads: “Aubrey and Jake’s shift.’ She bites her bottom lip as she reads further on, “Make Ten batches of round shaped cakes (recipe included on second sheet), completely frosted cakes and a placed in the fridge to cool until the next shift comes in.”

She sighs, putting the paper down and looking around; she was beginning to have second thoughts. Volunteering for a homeless shelter on a holiday seemed like it would be fun at the time but she didn’t exactly realize that she was going to be forced to actually cook, she was under the impression that it would just simply be a ‘scooping stuff out of a pan type deal.’ The type of things that big time celebs did in front of the cameras. This was not the case. It was homemade, good ol’ fashioned, behind the scenes cooking.

Aubrey leaned her hands on the island in front of her, looking at the two large mixing bowls in front of her, the only thing missing was her shift partner: Jake. Jake Gyllenhaal, the infamous playboy who had a lipstick named after him. Who also apparently couldn’t tell the time as he was nearly twenty minutes late. All the same she began her prep work, measuring out the quantities of flour and preparing the mixing bowl.  She manages to prepare two cakes, putting both pans into the oven and beginning to work on a third when the door burst open, a small group of tall men walk in, laughter filling the room immediately. She recognizes Jake immediately, a large smile plastered on his face as he nearly falls from laughter. The men continue their conversation, paying little to no attention to Aubrey.

Aubrey watches in disbelief as the men surrounding Jake, attempt to convince him to abandon his work and party. Jake stood in the front of the kitchen, his hands underneath the stream of water as he chuckled at their responses. In a low voice he responds: “I can’t just leave her.” He gives a quick glance at Aubrey who continues to ignore them. Her eyes never lifting from the bowl she’s mixing.

“Come on! There’s a hot girl in the bar who would totally do you!” the other man says, cheerfully.

Jake sighs, wiping his hands on the towel, nearby. “No.”

“Come on, she’s young!” He shouts even louder.

“Yeah, I’m sure she is. Come on, now. get out of here.”

The men pout at Jake, annoyed and slowly begin their trek out of the room. Making sure to give a small smile to Aubrey on their way out.  Aubrey rolls her eyes before retrieving another pan and placing the cake mix in to it.

Jake cheerfully looks around, smiling. “Alright, what’s on the agenda?”

Aubrey annoyed, glances at the man. “Instructions are on the counter near the oven.”

“Okay.” He says, proudly. He takes a few minutes to read through the instructions, “What do you want me to do?”

“Uh---” she looks around, her eyes scanning the areas of the counter she claimed as hers. her eyes fall on to the unopened cans of frosting. “Oh, You can frost.”

Jake’s eyes meet the can of frosting, smiling. “My favorite thing to do.”

Aubrey rolls her eyes at him, “There should be two cakes inside of the walk in fridge that you can pull out and start frosting. Just make it look pretty.”

“Pretty?” Jake asks, confused.

Aubrey is in the middle of walking the cake pan to the oven when she stops midway, her eyes looking at Jake, annoyed. “Yeah, like something a five year old didn’t do.”

“Mmm...” He looks over at the small fridge, barely a whisper repeating, “like something a five year old didn’t do.”  in a mocking voice. Jake begins his assigned job, frosting the first cake with a purple frosting.

Aubrey continues with the baking process, moving freshly baked cakes to the fridge and the uncooked ones to the oven. It goes over quickly, the pair making small talk as they continue.

“Did you know you would be cooking?” Jake asks, wiping a dollop of blue frosting onto his shirt.

“No. I was hoping i’d just have to put it on peoples plates.”

Jake smiles in agreement, “Me too.” He finishes the first two cakes and backs away in glee. His frosting covered hands rest happily on his sides as he stares at the cakes. Admiring them, like they are pieces in a art exhibit.

“There what do you think about that? Does that look like some five year old did it?” He asks, proudly.

Aubrey slowly walks over, her hands and apron covered in flour as she gazes upon the cakes. “The one on the left looks a little bumpy and--” She steps closer, leaning towards the cake. “Was that suppose to be a flower?”

Jake sighs, “No, it was suppose to be a star but they didn’t give us yellow.”

Aubrey looks back at Jake, “Next time just say it’s a flower. Stars don’t have that many points.” She’s got a playful tone in her voice which only makes the insult hurt worse.

“I think it looks amazing.” Jake says, loudly. His puts his hands on Aubrey’s shoulders, gently turning her back towards her work station. “I’d marry this cake.”

Aubrey can’t help but laugh at him, he continues to look down at the cake, his eyebrows furrowed together and his bottom lip between his teeth while he holds a frosting bag in his right hand over the cake. She watches him lost in thought as he attempts to salvage his ‘star--flower project’, he moves the bag in a few spots but never puts any frosting down until the third time around the cake, she assumes he’s trying to fix one of the leafs or points as he claims.

It’s both amusing and a wonder, just watching how much thought he puts into where the frosting will go. He switches between purple, blue and green colors, adding small drops here and there yet nothing seems to please him. When his eyes rise, he meets Aubrey’s, a small smile crosses his lips. Yet she looks away, looking back to the bowl in front of her, desperate to hide the chance encounter. Just a few seconds later, she meets his eyes again when she checks to see if he’s watching her.  

“What?” Jake asks, a smile still prominent on his face.

She shakes her head, slowly lifting her eyes at him. “Nothing.” Her eyes look back at the bowl, stirring the bowl of flour and baking powder.

Jake’s blue eyes watch her for a little longer before he smiles and returns back to his work, smearing a drop of pink frosting onto the small cake. He slowly moves the frosting around in a circular motion, his eyes occasionally drifting back to her.

Together they’d finished fifteen cakes, Jake taking much pride in decorating them all differently. Trying to make the newest one out due the one prior. There were times where he’d succeed forcing Aubrey to look at his work and other times where he regretted not paying attention to art in high school.

The last cake, he puts in the fridge, slowly closing the door and looking around. “Well, I’ve run out of cakes... now what?” Jake asks, retreating back to the sink to wash off the leftover frosting.

“Alright, here do me a favor see those bowls to your right?” She asks, pointing near him. He turns and nods. “Put two cups of flour in both and make a well then slowly mix in the water, oil and eggs.”

Jake looks at the bowl, a look of confusion on his face. He grabs the bowl, putting it on the island in front of him and pours in the flour his eyes fall back to Aubrey whose now pulling another cake out of the oven.

“Create a well...” Jake whispers to himself, starring at the bowl of flour like it was his enemy. “Create a well.”

He fights the urge to pull out his cell phone and search the meaning of the term when he looks away from the bowl Aubrey is by the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. Her shirt stained with flour dust and her hair daring to escape the hair tie. She turns just at the right time, to catch his stare.

“You okay?” She asks, opening the bottle of water.

Jake doesn’t answer, he glances between the bowl and her. “Y--yeah.” He stutters. “Just making a well.”

Aubrey tilts her head, bring the bottle of water to her lips. She slowly takes a small swig of water, treasuring the taste. The aroma and taste of flour was beginning to become nauseating. She puts the water on the counter with a small thud and smiles, “Do you know what a well is?” she asks.

She watches Jake’s expression change from calm and collected to worried. He raises an eyebrow, “No.”

Aubrey chuckles, clapping her hands together to remove the built up dust. “Make a hole in the flour, in the middle of the bowl. That’s your well.” She leans on the counter, watching Jake follow her instructions, finding amusement in the way his expression changes with each movement. “Good, then you’re going to slowly our the liquid mixture into the middle of the well.”

Jake reaches for the small measuring cup, beginning to pour it in but it’s slower than you expected. “Quicker than that.” She says, annoyed. Jake does as told but just as the cup gets halfway empty he moves, turning the cup over just an inch more when the liquid crashes into the cake. Destroying the well hes created.

A sense of panic washed over his face as his eyes meet her. “Is this still going  to work?” He asks in a small voice.

She nods. “Do you know how to cook?” She finally asks, a question that has been itching to be asked since she witnessed him struggle to mix food coloring into the frosting.

Jake shrugs his shoulder. “I can make spaghetti.”

“Pasta is not cooking. Anyone can throw noodles into a bowl of boiling water.”

“Yeah...” He whispers, embarrassed.

“It’s amazing your alive, Jake.” She says, moving next to him. She stands idle to him, her leg grazing his as she retrieves a spoon and slowly mixes his batter.

“Why’s that?” He asks, taking a step back to watch her work.

“You’re what?” She glances at him her eyes looking up and down his sleek body. “Thirty-three?

“Thirty-six.”

Her jaw drops, “You’re thirty-six? And you don’t know hot to cook?” The sound of shock in her voice is evident, the same expression covering her face. The green in her eyes shining in the light as she stares wide eyed at him.

“My mother never taught me.” he says defensively.

“You’re thirty-six, sweetie. You should know how to cook by now. Haven’t you ever wanted to cook a girlfriend a meal before?”

Jake tilts his head, replaying old memories. “No, they all wanted to dine out.”

“Clearly, you were with the wrong women.”

Jake’s eyes grow wide, shocked by her words as he chuckles. “No, they--they were okay. They just weren’t good.”

It’s her turn to look confused, “Good?”

“Yeah, you know--” He shrugs his shoulder, playing with the small towel resting on the counter “The marrying kind, the house full of kids; the one you grow old with. I want a good woman.”

“A good woman, huh?” The sound of her voice is insulting, like she doesn’t believe a word he just said. “Good luck with that.”

“What do you mean?”

“The amount of good women out there are slim, everyone cares about their looks, their clothes or lack their of; what so and so had for dinner. They’re a rare breed.”

Jake looks down, agreeing with her. He finally steps forward when she begins pouring the mixture into a pan, holding the large green bowl for her. “I didn't say, I was going for a younger woman.”

Her actions cease as she stares at him, her eyes surprised. “So, you mean your actually going to find a woman that’s not nineteen? You’re not going to impregnate a child with a child?”

Jake can’t help but chuckle, “No. I want a woman.”

“Wow.”

Jake sets the bowl down, happily grabbing the pan and walking to the oven. He carefully sets the pan on the top rack. “That’s shocking to you? He finally asks.

“Yeah.” he hears the sound of the spoon, hitting the edges of the second bowl as he closes the oven. “Most men want a younger, hotter model.”

“I think you mean most people.” He says turning to face her, “Men aren’t the only ones guilty of that.”

“Touche.”

There’s a brief silence between them as Jake watches her mix the batter, he thinks back to his relationships. They all were serious even the ones that didn’t last long, each one meant something to him. “What about you? Are you gonna go for a man that’s twenty years your senior?”

“What?” She says, loudly.

“Men go for younger women and women go for older men.”

Aubrey rolls her eyes at him, “No. I don’t.”

“You don’t? Or you haven't?”

She scoffs, clearly annoyed. “My serious ones, no. They’ve been close in age. I can’t be with a younger guy like most women.”

Jake’s interest is peaked, “Why?”

“Because---” The word lingers on her tongue as she walks to the sink, slowly starting the faucet and placing her hands under the stream of water. “I can take care of myself. I know i can. Yet sometimes it’s nice to not have too. Younger guys just want to look macho.”

“So, a protector?”

She leans her head to he right, “Mmmm---No, not exactly. I just want to be able to look at a guy and him know what i need or want. That he can know what is wrong with me in a few seconds, he wont have to double check. ”

“You want a man that can take control?”

“I want a man that...that knows what he wants and does something about it.”

“Oh...” Jake takes a step closer to her, slowly finding himself just inches away from her. As she turns around from the sink, her hands still dripping with water as she collides with his upper body.

“Oh...” she says, quickly. Her eyes meet his as he looks down at him, shades of purple and pink frosting rest on his shirt while a small white hand towel rests over his shoulder. She smiles at him but the smile quickly fades as he still has yet to further the distances between them. “What are you doing?” The question comes out full of confusion, a worried look on her face and a hint of hesitation in her voice.

“Knowing what I want...” It’s a harsh whisper as he moves his face closer to hers, his hand gently coming to rest under her chin, lifting. “and doing something about it.”

Aubrey stands still, confused; frozen in time as he closes the space between them. His lips are delicate, soft. Pulling her further into the kiss. He doesn't deepen the kiss, he’s simply doing what he said, proving his point. Aubrey’s hands leave her sides, one gently coming to rest on his stomach, her fingers running past the rippled muscles hidden beneath the t-shirt, the other to mimic his resting on his side.

She moans softly, it would have embarrassed her if just a few seconds earlier, Jake hadn’t done the same thing. On her waist, she feel his fingertips push into her skin and the stubble on his cheeks marking her face.

He slowly pulls away, desperate to keep his lips in contact with hers but knowing full well, he may have overstayed his welcome. Aubrey fights the urge to pull him back in, to make the moment last longer but she doesn’t.

Their chests rise and fall, rapidly as he pulls away. His eyes looking deeply into hers. Aubrey slowly moves her eyes away, moving her hands away room his body. “I have to get the cake out of the oven..”

“Yeah.” Jake whispers, sighing as she slips past him. He feels the wet hand print on his shirt begin to send chills down his body as he remains still. Cursing himself for kissing her, aside from him he hears the oven open and close, the cool metal pan coming into contact with another metal surface.  The beep from the oven turning off and silence. He looks confused and turns over to catch Aubrey's eyes in his own.

“It was going to burn.” She says before moving closer to him. Her hand pulls at his shirt, forcing their bodies together as her lips attack his. Her arms tangle around his neck, moaning at the feeling of his hands trail up your back.

“How do you know I’m a good woman?”

“Well, you’re not twenty years younger than me.”

[recentnews18-blog]

New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/adam-cayton-holland-on-letterman-lions-lair-and-loss/

Adam Cayton-Holland on Letterman, Lion's Lair and Loss

Adam Cayton-Holland is Denver’s own Renaissance Man: Named one of Esquire’s “25 Comics to Watch,” he’s one of the creators and stars of a successful cable sitcom, Those Who Can’t. He got to throw out the first pitch at a Rockies game. And he’s a writer, now with a nationally recognized book, Tragedy + Time: A Tragi-Comic Memoir, about life and family and losing his younger sister to suicide. He’s launching the book, which has been praised by the likes of fellow comics Patton Oswalt and Bobcat Goldthwait, right here in his home town, at the Tattered Cover Colfax, at a reception/signing tonight, August 21.

In advance of that appearance, Cayton-Holland — or hell, let’s call him Adam, since he was a staff writer at Westword about a decade ago — talked with us about his first writing gig, his comedy, his sister, and how it was to write about her and her passing. And also about Denver, the city he both loves and misses.

Westword: You used to write for Westword, and now you’re being interviewed by Westword. Is that weird? Is this how you imagined it might be?

Adam Cayton-Holland: Ha! It’s a little strange, I suppose, just because I know how the sausage is made. But you know, I used to read Westword growing up, so I had a relationship with the paper as a reader long before that. And I haven’t written for them since 2009, so I guess I’m just happy to appear in these pages once again. I’m sure some guy at Chipotle is reading this right now, spilling dollops of wet sour cream onto my very words. And it’s good to have that feeling again.

How did you originally get started writing for Westword? Any favorite memories of your time here?

My buddy Monty convinced me to enter an essay contest Westword was running; “Denver, Why I Love Her.” I was living in Chicago, taking classes at Second City and trying to figure out what I was doing with my life. They liked my submission enough to publish it, and Patty [Calhoun] asked me if I had any interest in freelancing. It was the biggest lead I had going professionally at the time in any field, so I moved back home, started substitute teaching and freelancing, and then I started standup. All in 2004.

Any standout recollections from your tenure here?

Many. Making vlogs for the web with my buddy, former web editor Sean Cronin. We didn’t know what the hell we were doing, and they were really funny and weird. My friend Jim Hickox helped out a lot. I used to write a humor column called “What’s So Funny?,” and one week I decided to take full advantage of the Rockies promotion where if they score seven or more runs you get a deal on tacos at Taco Bell the next day. The deal was that the following day you could get four tacos for a dollar at any Taco Bell between 4 and 6 p.m. So I set out on this mad dash to get as many tacos as I could in that window. It was a shit show, just me speeding all over the city looking for Taco Bells. I got something like 32 tacos. I came back to an empty office to type up the article, and I left a taco on everyone’s keyboards so they would have a delicious treat the following morning. But mostly I remember smoking cigarettes in the back alley with then-music editor Dave Herrera and food critic Jason Sheehan. We would just chat and laugh and laugh back there. It ruled.

Your new memoir Tragedy + Time is part autobiography, part tribute to your sister Lydia, part meditation on loss. How was it to balance those three elements in the writing? How tough is it to write about mental illness and suicide and family, and also write about comedy? Or is there some sort of undercurrent that all those things somehow share?

It honestly wasn’t something I thought about during writing. I was just getting it all out. This book was an extremely necessary act for me. It was the way I processed all of it. It was a catharsis. So I just kind of vomited all of it onto the page — the good, the bad, the devastating, the mental illness, the death, all of it. And I think that feels really true to life. Or as I experience it, anyway. So perhaps that’s the undercurrent. That it can all happen at the same time — not in some neat, compartmentalized way. I think that rings true to how a lot of people experience overwhelming things.

Tragedy + Time

The book grew from your Atlantic article “Ghosts I’ve Known,” which is also the name of one of the unnumbered chapters in the book. How did you go about expanding that article into the book that it would eventually inspire?

The book grew from that, but also from podcast appearances I was making. My lit agent heard about me through comedy podcasts, went back and researched me, found some of my writing — including that article — and called me out of the blue and told me I should write a book. So I give a lot of credit to him for planting that idea in my head. I was just writing as a way to process grief, which was why I wrote that Atlantic article. What happened to Lydia was so profoundly traumatic for me, obviously. It dominated my thinking, and I wasn’t talking about it on stage, so I had to write about it. I’ve always been a writer first, comic second, so I think I needed to write about this so I didn’t feel any pressure for it to be funny. Nothing was funny about this. I wish I was the type of person who just processed things internally, but for better or worse, I’m this creative person, and I have to get this shit out in some form or another.

Your acknowledgments section ends the book — sort of perfectly, I think — with a short personal note from you to your sister. What do you imagine Lydia thinking of this book? What would her response be to you writing it for her?

It’s my sincere hope that she would like it. I tried very hard to not make this book overwhelmingly about her death. More about her life. Because Lydia was absolutely incredible. So smart, so funny, so weird, so beautiful and completely herself. Just an utter individual. I consider the time I had with her a gift. I cherish it. So I want this book to serve as a tribute to her. I think she’d be honored and then quickly say something self-effacing and get out of the spotlight. Then we’d obsess about it later in secret.

The title Tragedy + Time is obviously based on the old-saw definition of comedy (apocryphally credited to everyone from Carol Burnett to Steve Allen to Mark Twain). Speaking comedically, do you subscribe to that idea?

It’s funny — I don’t. I remember someone did an interview with me before Lydia’s death. And their question was basically about how I come from a normal, good family, I don’t seem all that fucked up, how am I possibly funny? Comics have to be tortured, dark geniuses, right? It’s such a lazy trope. Comics are sensitive. Comics are observant. Whatever way you arrive at that place is simply a means to an end. Whether you’re a comic because you’re trying to make your distant father finally pay attention to you, or whether you’re a comic because you were a wallflower in middle school who watched everybody from afar, one is not worth more than the other. Of course, now I have enough pathos to drown a graveyard, so do what you want with that answer.

In the book, you talk about David Letterman being your “own personal Jesus” and writing your own Top Ten list. What were some of your other favorite bits that Letterman did? How instrumental was Dave to the comedian you’ve become?

Man, I loved Letterman. Just his odd sayings: “Uh, you got any gum?” He would just say that randomly in the middle of a monologue. Adopt a hick accent and go for it: “Uh, you got any gum?” So funny and weird. I loved when he sent Mujibur and Sirajul around the country. First time I went to NYC, I went to their shop, then Rupert Jee’s Hello Deli. They were like celebs to me. Dave was really tuned into the oddity and humor in everyday life. I really like that. Who cares about him interviewing celebrities? Give me a shot of him picking something out of his teeth for effect. That kills me. Uh, you got any gum?

And Dave led me to Conan led me to The Simpsons led me to The Onion led me to Mr. Show led me to standup. They were all huge for me.

Your TruTV sitcom, Those Who Can’t, is based in Denver, a city you grew up in and where you still live. Denver gets its share of jabs, politically and socially and the like — how do people in the city respond to the show? 

People in Denver love it! Although one night at my friend’s bar, some chode teacher from Creek was drunk and got in my face about how we’re doing teachers a disservice by portraying them as inept. It was like, “We’re portraying bad teachers. It’s right there in the name: Those Who Can’t.” My friend threw him out of the bar. I think good teachers don’t worry about negative depictions, because they don’t see themselves in our idiot characters. I also think good teachers — get this — have a sense of humor! You have to. Sometimes groups of teachers will organize outings to live comedy shows of mine, or Ben Roy’s or Andrew Orvedahl’s — my cohorts in Those Who Can’t — and nothing makes us happier than that. Those are the people out there fighting the good fight and being woefully underpaid for educating our children. They need a laugh more than anyone.

But, yeah, for the most part, people in Denver really like the jokes we make about the city. A lot of them aren’t even jokes. Just local references. They’re more shout-outs as a form of love. That’s why our characters drink at the Lion’s Lair. We all started comedy there together.

Tuesday, August 21. Signing-line tickets are $26 and include a copy of the book. Find out more at tatteredcover.com.

Source: https://www.westword.com/arts/adam-cayton-holland-talks-about-letterman-loss-and-his-new-book-10684786