#instead we picked an inarguably materially better life

[unravelingwires]

Bespeckling

Take the water in your hand and sprinkle it over the banana leaf. Wipe the water off the banana leaf, taking any dirt with it. Get offered a spoon. Refuse it: you’re not an American even if you really, really are. Put rice on your leaf, then sambar. Mix. Eat off the banana leaf. Realize that banana leaves were a better example for your scholarship essay than turning the lights off. Consider a world where disposable plates are replaced by giant leaves, which are completely biodegradable. Imagine the faces of the snobbier white people you know at the idea of eating off a leaf that hasn’t even been cleaned with soap since it was plucked. Accept the fact that this would be ludicrously impossible to implement and probably lead to a nightmare of monoculture banana farms and laminated leaves. Remember that Indian bananas are so significantly better than American bananas because they’re a different clone set. Finish the rice. Fold the banana leaf in half to be disposed of. Wash your hands. 

[silverfootstepswrites]

Butterfly [38]

summary The path we take

“But I want to watch with you...” Haku whined.

Kisame could have shot lasers out of his eyes. Haku’s lower lip stuck out as he looked at Sakura again. Sighing, she squeezed his cheeks between her hands, making his lips pop out. 

“You better get warmed up before both of us kick your ass,” Sakura warned. He bared his teeth at her.

“Old farts,” he grumbled, wrenching away from her. He headed further into the back to stretch and to warm up. 

“I’ll stay with him. Do some last-minute nagging,” Kisame said to her, giving her a light push on the shoulder. Sakura nodded, already heading in the direction of the lady’s singles skaters. Many of them were jumping up at down, stretching and keeping themselves warm. Some were listening to music. Others were on their phones, sending last minute texts and reading words of encouragement from friends and family. 

Sakura found Karin in her own little corner, trying to check her hair using a mirror and her phone. Sakura intervened. She grabbed the comb from Karin and swiped at a few stray hairs. After a little spritz of hairspray, her crimson hair was perfect. Karin clapped her on the arm once.

“Who choreographed your programs this year?” asked Sakura as Karin took a sip of water. Karin was careful not to smear her lipstick. She flashed her teeth to Sakura, pointing. 

“You’re good,” Sakura assured her. Karin nodded. 

“I did. Mangetsu helped a little,” Karin finally answered. That made sense to Sakura. She had picked Mangetsu’s brain over the years for her own routines. He had a knack for showcasing an athlete’s strengths in his programs.

Karin looked down at her phone, then up at Sakura. She seemed to consider something before she held up the phone for Sakura to see. It was a photo of a hand wearing a sparkling diamond ring.

“GET OUT!” Sakura shouted, drawing many stares. She grabbed Karin’s other hand to inspect it. But there was no ring.

“We’re going to announce it after Worlds. I’m retiring after this season, Sakura,” Karin told her. She shoved her finger up against Sakura’s mouth, shushing her. 

Karin was inarguably one of Russia’s success stories. A woman who had truly clawed her way to the top with lots of natural talent but even more dedication. Sakura knew that it was her rivalry with Karin that had propelled her to the top so quickly. She made it a point to say this in every interview. And Karin always did the same. 

For years, the press had tried to portray them as bitter enemies. Journalists had used every opportunity to twist quotes and snap photos to breed animosity between the two. But the reality was that Sakura loved Karin fiercely. Most of the time, it seemed like Karin returned the sentiment. And although Sakura hated losing, losing to Karin was almost alright. 

Sakura wanted to be surprised. She wanted to be outraged and to insist to Karin that she still had plenty of years of competition left in her. 

“I guess it’s time, huh,” Sakura answered. She didn’t try to hide how sad the idea made her.

“Yeah. My knees can’t take much more of this. And my left hip,” Karin grumbled, gesturing at various parts of her body. And then she smiled.

“Also, it’s just not the same without my rival to piss me off,” added Karin.

Sakura laughed. She squeezed Karin’s hand. Just for a moment. And then it was time for Karin to get ready to go out on the ice

Karin shed her blue jacket with white sleeves, revealing the sparkling red outfit underneath.

“давай,” said Sakura, wishing her luck.

“Arigatou,” replied Karin, who shimmered her way onto the rink.

Karin was still one of the most beautiful  skaters to watch. There was such obvious passion in her routine. But the reality that after a long careers and multiple injuries, she wasn’t as powerful as she once was. Her jumps were clean. Her edges were still tidy. It just didn’t have the speed and strength that she had once been known for. 

That didn’t stop Sakura from being so proud of Karin when the music stopped.

Sakura screamed the loudest when Karin finished her routine. Even though she had threatened Haku, he still snuck out to embarrass himself with her. They fussed and shouted Karin’s name, begging to have her children. Karin turned away from them, heading to the kiss and cry to receive her score. But Sakura knew that Karin was laughing from the way her shoulders shook. 

As the last few ladies performed, Haku lingered by Sakura’s side. 

“...You should be out there,” he muttered, nudging her elbow. 

A sudden, crippling sadness overtook her. Crossing her arms tightly across her chest, she didn’t say anything. She turned her face away from him, watching the skaters dance their way across the light. Outfits glimmering almost as brightly as their eyes did.

“Keep drinking water,” she replied, giving him a soft shove to the side. If he noticed the look on her face, he didn’t say anything. 

There was an intermission as they cleaned the ice to prepare for the men’s competitions. The stands that had been half-empty during the junior programs were filled to bursting by the time the first group went on. The sheer number of signs with Haku’s name on them were uncountable. But then again, he did have the home advantage. It made sense that so many of his fans would be there.

Haku and Sakura sat in the warm-up room. 

“Sakura, say something nice about me,” Haku suddenly said. Sakura turned to look at him. Found him holding up his phone. She gave him a flat look.

“Something nice about me,” she repeated. Haku glared. But he was persistent.

“What’s your favorite thing about my skating?”

“I don’t have to listen to you talking,” she retorted.

“What’s my best move?”

“Moving away from me,” Sakura continued. Loving watching the frustration build in his expressions.

“...You’re mean,” he huffed. 

“You can take it. Because you’re a champion,” she answered, finally smiling at him. 

Haku finally stopped looking at her through the camera. His eyes flickered up to meet hers instead. 

“You think I’ll be a champion today?” The way he asked the question made her pause. It was almost like he was a teenager again. All gangly and sulky. The one who still wore oversized suits to banquets and didn’t know how to make real small talk. 

Sakura reached out. She cupped his chin with her palm, patting his cheek with her fingertips. 

“Who cares? You’re always my champion,” Sakura answered. 

Haku ended the video. Shoving his phone in his jacket pocket, he hurried to wipe the tears gathering in his eyes. 

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” he whispered. She had to agree. They had trained side-by-side for so many years. She had seen him during his best seasons and during his worst. One thing that had never wavered about him was that confidence. But as she searched his face, Sakura realized why this was all so familiar to her.

When Sakura reached out with her arms, he accepted her hug. Hunching over, face pressed to her shoulder. 

“You’re nervous because you want to win, stupid. There’s nothing wrong with that,” replied Sakura, laughing a little. She patted his back, listening to her hand swish over the synthetic material. 

“But hey, Sendai senshu for life, right?” she reminded him. She felt him nod. Haku squeezed her a little tighter. 

“....even if I lose?” he asked. 

“Even if you lose,” she agreed. And then she added, “But especially when you win.”

Once Haku had calmed down, they were back to their usual selves. She scolded Haku for dripping snot onto her jacket. Teased him about his puffy face and red eyes. He jabbed at her as he put in eye drops. His half-hearted kick connected with her butt as he blew his nose. 

When it was his turn, he was still a little sniffly, but looked much less distressed. Haku turned to look at her one last time as the ushers called for him. He was waiting for her to give him one last piece of advice. Some words of wisdom that would transform him before he went on. Sakura remembered feeling the same way. 

She smiled, touched the tip of his nose as she whispered, “Boop.” Then she spun him around and gave his back a hearty shove. She could hear him laughing all the way down the tunnel.

The next five minutes went by so quickly. Sakura remembered heading onto the ice. She remembered tucking her hands into her pockets so that she wouldn’t fidget. And she recalled finding Kisame. Her heart pounding all the way up in her throat as she settled in beside him. Haku was the final skater of the night, and the anticipation was palpable in the air.

Kisame held Haku’s bright blue skate guards in one hand. He was just finishing up giving Haku the usual pep talk. Haku listened to every word, nodding. And then he looked at Sakura. There was nothing left to say. They did their usual handshake. And as Haku pushed off the wall, the cocky smirk was back on his face. 

“He’ll be fine,” Sakura realized. And Kisame grunted his agreement.

Sakura couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were glued to Haku as he spun and swooped his way around the rink. He was so dazzling that it almost hurt to look at him. That satisfying crack of his first landing made her heart swell. She didn’t realize that she was crying until Kisame shoved a wad of tissues into her hand. 

She was sobbing by the time Haku landed his final quad. Kisame clucked his tongue at her even as he put his arm around her. The cheers from the audience made the inside of her head feel numb. And when the violin gave its final screech, Haku threw his arms out to the sides. The applause that she had previously thought was loud thundered to new heights. 

Before Kisame could hand over the skate guards, Haku threw himself over the barrier. He wrapped an arm around Kisame and one around Sakura. 

Haku teased her relentlessly about her runny nose all the way to the kiss and cry. Sakura pinched at his side a few times, making him yelp. But as he plopped down on the bench, they were all smiles. Kisame shook his head as he settled in on Haku’s left. He patted Haku’s knee. 

“That was your best this season,” he told Haku, who nodded. They didn’t need to see the scores to know that. They just knew.

Sakura sat to Haku’s right, blowing her nose. When she saw one of the cameras zooming in on her, she gave a helpless smile. Of course this attractive moment would be caught in high definition for all the world to see. 

When the number 190.76 blared out over the speakers, Sakura felt her ears ringing. At first, she wondered if there was something wrong with her. But then, as she looked around the arena, she realized that it was because the crowd was screaming so loudly. It was like her skull was resonating with all the noise. 

Sakura yelped when Haku grabbed her around the waist. He spun her around and around, laughing. She was dizzy. But when Haku finally put her down, her first thought was to hug Kisame. Because she finally understood, even if it was just a fraction of it all, how he must have felt. Being there at at every rehearsal, waking up just as early as her. Yelling at her over mistakes. Watching from the sidelines during each competition. 

“Thank you, Coach,” she whispered. She knew that he understood, because he patted the back of her head. 

“Oh, now you’re grateful?” he chuckled.  

The victory ceremony for that night’s competitors was short. Everyone knew where to stand on the podium. When Haku got up on the tallest box, he waved to his fans, who screamed in response. Gold, Sakura decided, was a great color on him.

With his season’s best scores and a gold secured for the Grand Prix Final, Haku was busy with interviews. As they called him to the table to sit with the silver and bronze medalists, Haku looked over his shoulder at Sakura and Kisame. They waved him on. Sakura was a little surprised by how tall he was as he made his way to his seat. He bowed to the reporters as he settled in his chair in the middle. 

After such a busy night, Sakura half-expected Haku to want to settle in to rest. Instead, he was pounding on the door of her hotel room. 

“Let’s play!” he whined. 

She cracked the door, glaring, to ask, “You’re the devil, aren’t you?”

Over his shoulder popped up a couple of the other men’s skaters. They waved at her. Sakura sighed.

It didn’t take much more convincing to get her to change. It really had been a long time since she had had a chance to hang out with Haku and all their other friends. 

As they headed to the nightclub, shivering in their jackets, Sakura remembered another Grand Prix Final. The year Haku had finally turned 20 and didn’t have to sulk in his room while everyone else went out clubbing and drinking. 

Haku had been bouncing around, smiling at nothing. And after blowing out the candles on his cake, he had demanded alcohol.

Utakata had suggested that they take him to a nightclub. When they had asked why he had chosen that particular club, he held up his phone, showing off Karin’s instagram post, including the geotag of the club’s location. 

December in Barcelona was nowhere near as bad as Moscow or even Tokyo. They walked on the streets together in light jackets and jeans. She remembered wearing a maroon turtleneck that Kimimaro had bought her. Haku wore a turtleneck too, laughing whenever they took selfies together. 

She remembered holding hands with Kimimaro the whole way there.

Inside the club, Utakata treated them all to shots. Haku threw back his first drink, grimacing at the taste of tequila. They laughed at his expression. But that didn’t stop him from taking another shot. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he looked at Sakura. 

“I want to dance!” he declared, the spoiled birthday boy. 

Sakura slipped off her stool. She took him by the hand, guiding him through the moving bodies. It was a busy night, and it seemed like many of the spectators and skaters had come to this particular club to hang out.

On instinct, she turned back to make sure that Haku was okay. The colored lights blinked in time with the beat, shaking the floors and walls. His face lit up cyan, purple, blue, and then green. And when he met her eyes, he flashed a grin.

“Is this what I’ve been missing out on?” he yelled, leaning closer to her.

Sakura laughed as he grabbed her hand.

“Come on! Let’s dance!” Haku said.

And Sakura glanced over toward the bar. And she could see Utakata and Kimimaro sitting there. Utakata lifted his beer to her in a salute before he took a gulp.

Sakura pointed toward the dance floor. Kimimaro waved her on, a smile on his face. She motioned for him to join her. But Kimimaro shook his head, just waving her ahead. And then he pointed at Utakata and mimed chugging several drinks, assuring her that it was fine. That he would keep Utakata company instead.

Sakura stood there, weighing her options. She looked from Kimimaro to Haku. And as she deliberated, Karin emerged from the crowd, yelling for them to join her. Sakura glanced back at Kimimaro one last time before she pushed past the bodies to join Karin. Laughing when Karin drunkenly threw an arm over her shoulder.

As Sakura stood in that club in Nagoya, she wondered. Because at 24, she had thought that Kimimaro’s smile had been encouraging. But maybe, if she had been a little less self-absorbed, she would have paid more attention to that expression on his face.

Had he been lonely? Even a little upset? Why?

But she jolted out of these thoughts as Haku pushed a drink into her hand. This was a night to celebrate. She didn’t want him to worry if he saw her looking upset.

“KAMPAI!” Sakura quickly exclaimed. A whoop rose from their group as they clinked glasses together. 

[your-dietician]

The worst hit singles from 12 major artists | Arts & Entertainment

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/entertainment/the-worst-hit-singles-from-12-major-artists-arts-entertainment/

The worst hit singles from 12 major artists | Arts & Entertainment

The biggest music artists of all time typically have dozens of hits in their portfolio, often so many that they can’t play all of them in concert.

But sometimes artists are so popular that radio plays their singles and fans buy them because of unyielding devotion, not artistic genius. While diehards will love even the ugliest child, it’s fair to say that not every hit song is equal. So we’ve picked our least favorite song from a sampling of major artists — what we consider some of the worst from some of the most familiar hit-makers.

Yes, in a way, we’re trolling those dedicated fans, many of whom will likely howl in protest over some of our picks. Unlike them, our devotion isn’t unyielding.

Melissa’s pick: “Die Another Day”

There have been numerous worthy James Bond theme songs this century, such as Adele and, um, well, OK, Adele. But Madonna may have kickstarted the string of recent forgettable offerings with her 2002 dance smash. If you’re into rote electro-stuttering and nonsensical lyrics, congratulations for perpetuating mediocrity.

Rodney’s pick: “Don’t Tell Me”

Most of Madonna’s hit songs have a catchy melodic twist and/or lyrical intrigue along the lines of “Material Girl,” “Vogue” or “Music.” Then there is this decidedly unmemorable ditty, which inexplicably peaked at No. 4 on the American pop chart. Even the song title is boring. A mildly countrified guitar riff is accompanied by Madonna sounding mildly defiant in a way that comes and goes with no emotional impact whatsoever.

Melissa’s pick: “Purple Rain”

I know, I’m ducking already. And I’ll concede that when Prince performed the title track of his 1984 soundtrack in concert, even the cacophonous guitar solo at song’s end exploded with vitality. But on record? A thumping slog.

Rodney’s pick: “Batdance”

The 1980s were a prolific period for Prince, including some of his most iconic hits that R&B and pop radio stations continue to play today. This song hit No. 1 in the summer of 1989 but is rarely heard for a reason: it’s basically a weird promo for the “Batman” movie. There are elements of cool songs embedded in here, but it feels cobbled together more for commercial purposes than artistic merit.

Melissa’s pick: “A Matter of Trust”

By 1986, Joel certainly earned the right to indulge in a vanity project, and this is his only hit to spotlight him on electric guitar instead of piano. Unfortunately for longtime fans, Joel’s pet project was manifested in simple, monotonous chords, a sluggish pace and a cringing attempt at Springsteen-esque grit.

Rodney’s pick: “You’re Only Human”

Billy’s best songs are romantic or parables of sorts. This is Billy at his preachiest. An original song he wrote for his “Greatest Hits Vol. 1 and Vol. 2” release, this top 10 hit from 1985 was a way to help young people with depression and thoughts of suicide so the intentions were good. But as a song, it’s both annoyingly chipper and lyrically flaccid.

Melissa’s pick: “Crocodile Rock”

Perhaps it’s due to decades of witnessing thousands of uncoordinated suburbanites attempting to dance while singing the grating “la la la la la” chorus of John’s first No. 1 hit (in 1972) in concert that has spoiled any enjoyment of this ditty. But the inanity and novelty song quality also contribute.

Rodney’s pick: “Can You Feel the Love Tonight”

John went through a 1990s phase of bland balladeering which sticks in my craw including “Circle of Life” and “Believe.” This is probably the most famous of that era, his “Lion King” cash grab that won an Academy Award and a Grammy. I’d take the worst of his 1970s hits (including “Crocodile Rock”) over this drivel any day.

Melissa’s pick: “Blood on the Dance Floor”

With production by new jack swing maestro Teddy Riley, the lead single from Jackson’s 1997 “Blood on the Dance Floor: HIStory in the Mix” album was originally slated for his 1991 “Dangerous” release. That explains the victim-heavy lyrics about backstabbers (prime early ’90s Jackson fodder), but not the middling funk backbeat. While the song only climbed to No. 42 in the U.S., it was a worldwide smash, proving that sometimes, Americans do have better taste.

Rodney’s pick: “Dirty Diana”

This song, his fifth No. 1 song off his “Bad” album in 1988, is about aggressive groupies and feels dark and dreary, with overdramatic guitar rock licks. Tell me where the actual hook is in the chorus. And the odd lack of percussive rhythm keeps it from ever finding its core essence.

Melissa’s pick: “One Moment in Time”

Look, I adore a good anthem. And this one is all about anthem-y things such as inspiration and pride in accomplishments (Houston recorded it for the 1988 Summer Olympics). But sometimes Houston’s schmaltz-ometer needed to be tempered and this was prime time.

Rodney’s pick: “I Have Nothing”

Houston during her peak was able to belt a ballad in her sleep. This David Foster/Linda Thompson tune from “My Bodyguard” is very prototypical Houston with her requisite dramatic flair but has always made me want to go to sleep instead. I suspect the excessive use of this song on “American Idol” has soured me even more on its charms.

Melissa’s pick: “Lover”

It’s a word that prompts all of the blechs, and coupled with Swift’s cooing delivery and the echo-y drumbeat powering the ballad, it results in continued wincing. Despite a killer bridge — which is becoming a Swift specialty — her breathy delivery of “You’re my, my, my, my love-ER” is straight-up icky.

Rodney’s pick: “Look What You Made Me Do”

This song was super impactful for many reasons when it came out in 2017 due to the lyrical content about her reputation and its obvious electro-pop vibe. But there’s a reason you hardly ever hear it on the radio in 2021. It’s less a viable pop song and more a treatise about Swift’s fame and how people perceived her at the time. Unlike most of her other hits like “Blank Space” and “Delicate,” this one doesn’t hold up well over repeated listens.

Melissa’s pick: “Bed of Roses”

Even hardcore Bon Jovi fans (hand raised) will admit that the band’s ’90s-era ballads were brutal (see Rodney’s choice to further solidify). But between Jon Bon Jovi’s cliched Romeo routine and one of the most ludicrous lyrics in rock history — “I wake up and French kiss the morning” — this one is unlistenable.

Rodney’s pick: “Always”

This power ballad about someone who sounds like a stalker hit the top 5 in 1994 but is largely forgotten a quarter-century later. Why? It’s so dull and shapeless, the lighter you’d raise in concert would refuse to ignite in protest.

Melissa’s pick: “Pour Some Sugar On Me”

Released in 1988, the Mutt Lange-produced track is inarguably Def Leppard’s best-known hit. It’s still horrible. Dopey lyrics and minimal use of the band’s copious musical abilities mar every bar. The song was a last-minute add to the “Hysteria” album. If only we had gotten lucky.

Rodney’s pick: “Let’s Get Rocked”

This 1992 top 20 hit feels like a ragged compilation of all their previous hits amped up to 11, led by a super cliched chorus and song title. It’s like Def Leppard color-by-numbers.

Rodney and Melissa agree: “Work”

Rihanna has said her broken, often half-hearted vocal style in this dancehall song represents her culture. But that doesn’t seem to explain the basic lack of a hook, a melody or anything resembling a coherent outline of a song.

Melissa’s pick: “One”

While I appreciate Bono’s sentiment that we can be simultaneously unified and diverse and while I will never disparage the charitable causes associated with the band’s No. 1 hit from 1992, I will also never be swayed of the opinion that musically, it’s a droning snooze.

Rodney’s pick: “With or Without You”

The opening single off U2′s most successful album “The Joshua Tree” from 1987 has a pretty solemnity, but after countless listens, I’ve lost patience with Bono’s overwrought delivery. In other words, I can easily live without you. Give me “In God’s Country” or “Red Hill Mining Town,” thank you very much.

Melissa’s pick: “Animals”

I have a visceral reaction to Adam Levine’s nasal whine, so truly any song from Maroon 5′s inexplicably extensive catalog is on my list. But if forced to choose one waste of four minutes of my life, it would be this 2014 hit laced with Levine’s grating falsetto and packed with high school-level sexual innuendo.

Rodney’s pick: “Moves Like Jagger”

It’s mind-boggling how many top 40 songs this band has generated over the past two decades: 23! This was their biggest hit of them all and possibly their most memorable song as well, given the Mick Jagger twist and help from Christina Aguilera. But this fangless song packed with whistling has none of Jagger’s actual swagger. Even Aguilera’s contribution is unmemorable.

©2021 The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Visit at ajc.com. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.

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[bitletsanddrabbles]

Dear Doctor

A series of letters between Thomas Barrow and Richard Clarkson, written while Thomas was at the Stiles’s.  These were written with no aim except to help with a short piece I’ve been wrestling on and off with for over a year now.

Ultimately, they failed, but I’m posting them anyway to keep myself from picking at them and trying to turn them into something.

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Characters: Thomas Barrow, Doctor Clarkson

Relationships: General

September 30, 1925

Dear Dr. Clarkson,

As per your request, I am writing to let you know I arrived safely in Driffield and am settling into my new home. While Driffield itself is about the same size as Downton, the house is, needless to say, considerably smaller. It is actually about on par with the Dower house, both in size and population. My employers, Sir Mark and Lady Stiles, are both elderly and inclined to quiet living. I've spoken to the cook, Mrs. Jenkins, and the maid, Elsie, and am not expecting there will be much in the way of entertaining.

On the bright side, I suppose this means there won't be too many people poking into my private affairs. That will make things easier.

I look forward to having a lot of time to read. If you have any recommendations, feel free to share them.

Sincerely,

Thomas Barrow

-

October 5, 1925

Dear Thomas,

It was good to hear from you. Thank you for writing. I am glad to hear that you've arrived safely and that your new circumstances, if not as busy as they could be, should at least allow for plenty of relaxation. Hopefully your new coworkers, while few, will prove lively and make good friends. It is, after all, better to have a few good friends than a lot of bad ones.

I'm afraid I don't have much time for reading, outside of work, so my list of suggested books would be either very short or very dry. I could recommend some very good medical journals, if you like. I don't know how strong your interest in medicine is, now that the war is over.

Sincerely,

Dr. Richard Clarkson

-

October 8, 1925

Dear Dr. Clarkson,

Life is settling into a routine, as it does, I suppose. Unfortunately here the routine is a lot of nothing much. I have about a half day's worth of work and an entire day in which to do it. It's funny. I remember back before the war, Bates going on about how I'd like nothing more than a position where I had nothing to do but stand around. I can now say quite firmly that he was wrong. I'm about out of my mind with boredom.

That's not to say I'm about to do anything stupid or drastic. I'm not, I promise. It's just a bit...I suppose frustrating is the word. I had more to do as an underbutler. I had more to do as a footman. It seems that every time I think I'm actually moving forward in life, I'm somehow moving backwards instead.

I've already read through a small stack of books from the library. Admittedly, I'm a fast reader, but at this rate I'm going to have read everything in the house before I've been here a year. At least when I make it back to visit, I'll be able to give Molsley a run for his money.

Needless to say, I would very much appreciate any medical journals you might recommend. No need to waste all of that war training, after all.

Sincerely,

Thomas Barrow

-

October 13, 1925

Dear Thomas,

I am sorry to hear that things are not working out as well as you'd hoped. I can understand how feeling you're headed in the opposite direction of the one you want would be frustrating. I can only suggest that you give it time. You've been there less than a month, after all. You may discover there are local events that add a bit more interest. In the meantime, I am sending a list of recommended medical journals, along with a copy of this March's edition of the British Journal of Surgery. Somehow I received two copies, so there's no need to worry about returning it.

You said that your new house is about the size of the Dower house. I know you're not fond of asking for advice, but have you considered writing to Spratt and asking him what he does in his free time? I understand that Lady Violet has more visitors than your current employers, or she seems to at any rate, but Spratt is still likely to have more free time than Mr. Carson.

You might also ask some of your former coworkers. I met with Miss Baxter yesterday and she mentioned receiving a letter from you. It's good that you're keeping in touch with people here, for your sake and theirs. I'm certain you've been told this, but you have been missed.

If you're ever coming this direction, please let me know. I would enjoy being able to have lunch or tea together.

Sincerely,

Dr. Richard Clarkson

-

October 18, 1925

Dear Dr. Clarkson,

Thank you for the reading material. I think I will take out a subscription to the British Journal of Surgery. Found it very interesting. Elsie, the maid, found it interesting that I was interested, so it made for an evening's conversation as well. That was nice. Elsie's a pleasant enough girl, I suppose, although we don't have much in common. Nothing I feel comfortable admitting to, at any rate.

Sir Mark and Lady Stiles were invited up to Sledmere House for the day earlier this week, leaving me with almost an entire day to myself. I took the opportunity to go out to Bridlington for a couple of hours. It's a miserable time of year to visit the sea. It was raining, but the change of scenery was nice. Had lunch at a very nice little tea house. At least I'm earning a butler's salary, so I don't need to worry about treating myself occasionally. I suppose I never worried about it before, but it's the one thing about being in charge of a house that's living up to my expectations.

I wrote and asked Spratt about what I might do in my free time. All he said was “get a hobby”.  I am not writing back and asking what sort of hobby he had in mind. I think Miss Denker mentioned he collects stamps at one point, but that doesn't sound terribly exciting, and I don't trust her word as far as I could throw it anyway. I think I'll stick to reading about the proper way to sew up a wound.

I hope you are well.

Sincerely,

Thomas Barrow

_

October 22, 1925

Dear Thomas,

While stamp collecting is a fine hobby, inarguably, I must confess I have never seen the appeal. I will not, therefore, blame you for passing on the opportunity to start. Reading seems a more enjoyable past time. You might also consider writing. While many people find writing reports and similar paperwork to be tedious, I've always found that it helps clear my mind and settle my thoughts. It seems like the sort of thing that might be well suited to your temperament.

I have not been to the sea for years. I remember loving it when I was a boy. Perhaps when the weather clears up I will find an opportunity to visit. If nothing else, I could stop off in Driffield on my way, if you have time for a visit.

If nothing else, I will need the holiday after this whole hospital merger nightmare. Fortunately things are settling down with the board, but these sorts of procedures are never as neat as they should be. I hope everything continue to go smoothly for you and that Christmas time, at least, has a bit more interest.

Sincerely,

Dr. Richard Clarkson

-

November 19, 1925

Dear Thomas,

It has been nearly a month since my last letter and I've not heard back from you. I would not be overly concerned, except that I bumped into Andrew this morning and he said no one at the house has heard from you either. I hope that you have simply become unexpectedly busy and that all is well. Do write, though, when you have time, and let me know if anything is wrong.

Sincerely,

Dr. Richard Clarkson

-

November 21, 1925

Dear Dr. Clarkson,

I'm sorry for the long stretch between letters, truly. I am. I have already written up to the house and assured everyone that I've simply been too busy to write. That is mostly true. The rest, I couldn't tell Baxter. It would worry her too much.

The truth is, I had a bit of a bad spell.

My employers had been talking about visiting relations the first week of November. It was their nephew's birthday, so they were going to be gone for at least three days. I had thought to surprise everyone by visiting Downton, unannounced. I'd have taken a room at the Grantham Arms for a night or two and had plenty of time to see everyone.

Two days before they were scheduled to leave, Lady Stiles started coughing. It was nothing but a bad cold, in the end, but at her age a bad cold can become bronchitis or pneumonia so very easily. There was no question of their making the trip. I hate to say that it wasn't so bad while she was ill, but I was busy. The local doctor had us watching her like a group of hawks (is there an actual term for that? I feel there must be, but I don't know it) and Sir Mark had us waiting on her hand and foot. Elsie was the one providing direct care, of course, but I was still busy.

Once she recovered, I started to feel off. I am still bored here. There's nearly no one to talk to. I think there are cemeteries that are more lively. And having lost that one opportunity to come and visit, particularly with the promise that the Stiles's will be staying home for Christmas, I began to question if I'd ever be able to visit. That's part of the reason I wanted to stay in Yorkshire, after all, so I could still see everyone. Here I'd been gone over a month and hadn't had time to more than write. I understand that a month isn't a very long amount of time, but it suddenly seemed like a year.

I was home sick.

There, I've said it. I don't know when Downton became home or when the other staff became more of a family than the one I grew up with, but there it is. I miss the children. I miss Baxter and Andrew and Mrs. Hughes and Anna. I even miss Mr. Carson going over my work like a Sergent, while Mr. Bates could get away with murder.

I'm lonely.

I was only starting to really pull myself out of it when your letter arrived. I'm sorry to have worried you, again, and thank you for caring. I really do appreciate it. And don't worry, now that my head's cleared a bit, I know I'll make it back to visit at some point.

I wish you the best, always.

Sincerely,

Thomas Barrow

-

November 21, 1925

Dear Dr. Clarkson,

Unfortunately the post had gone out before I'd had time to regret that last letter. I hope this one catches up to it.

I'm certain it sounded like I've spent the better part of the past month simply moping. I haven't, I just really haven't had the heart to write is all. I've continued to read. I did take out that subscription to  the British Journal of Surgery and looked into a couple of your other recommendations.

Elsie and I actually went to the pictures together.  We went to see the newest Chaney film. Turns out she likes scary stories. It was well done, although I preferred the book. This played up the horror a bit much for my taste. Left out the mystery and I didn't feel as connected to the characters. It was worth seeing, though, if you have time. It really is amazing how Chaney can do that to his face.

I hope things have been as dry in Downton as they have here. We all nearly froze on Guy Fawkes day, but at least the local events weren't rained out.

Sincerely,

Thomas Barrow

-

November 25, 1925

Dear Thomas,

I've some business in Beverly in the first week of December. I thought, if you had the time, that I might make a long drip of it and come for a brief visit.

I thank you for responding as quickly as you did to my last letter, but I will not pretend that they weren't concerning. Loneliness and homesickness are perfectly natural, of course, but they should not be left un-tempered if possible and there are only so many films released per year. I should like the opportunity to visit anyway. I have been curious what your thoughts on the last Journal were.

Sincerely,

Dr. Richard Clarkson

-

November 28, 1925

Dear Dr. Clarkson,

I can be available between the hours of eleven and one any day of the week, if you can provide one day's notice. I look forward to seeing you.

Sincerely,

Thomas

[sinceileftyoublog]

Amanda Palmer Interview: There Should Be No Misinterpretation

Photo by Kahn & Selesnick

BY JORDAN MAINZER

“No one’s gonna tie surprise balloons / Onto your desk at work / And no one’s gonna ask how you’re doing,” Amanda Palmer sings on “Voicemail for Jill”, a standout track on her new album There Will Be No Intermission. She’s talking to a friend about an abortion, something you think may be the case throughout the song but that’s--importantly--revealed explicitly at the end. As someone who has had three abortions herself, Palmer didn’t wish to steep the subject in wink-and-nod metaphor or any sort of ambiguity. Let’s just talk about it, she’s arguing.

This lack of grey area exemplifies the album as a whole, a stark affair consisting of mostly Palmer and piano, alternating between long, but structured tales and instrumental interludes. The subject matter of the songs isn’t necessarily tragic, if something has to achieve a certain level of rarity to be considered tragic. Rather, they’re common even if not part of every life--miscarriages, cancer, and abortions--and as such deserve to have their stigmas eliminated, something Palmer helped to do the best way she knew how: by writing songs. Likewise, the live tour accompanying the record will be similarly minimal, Palmer’s voice and a couple instruments the vessels for telling vital stories.

Last month, I interviewed Palmer over the phone (in preview of her show at the Chicago Theatre next Friday). In addition to talking about Intermission and “Voicemail for Jill”, she spoke about working with John Congleton and crowdfunding using Patreon. Read our conversation below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: How is the new record unique as compared to anything else you’ve ever released?

Amanda Palmer: It’s the most direct, for sure. [laughs] There’s not a whole lot of room for interpretation or misinterpretation, although I’m sure there will be plenty of people out there who try to misinterpret it. It’s about as forthright as my songwriting has ever gotten, and it’s certainly the most therapeutic record I’ve ever made. I’ve made some therapeutic records, but this one takes the cake.

SILY: Would you say that whatever ambiguity there is, it might lie in the perspective from which you’re singing?

AP: You know, I don’t know. I always think my songs are easier to figure out than other people do. A lot of these songs are just very direct storytelling. They don’t leave a whole ton up to the imagination. And that’s really deliberate. I didn’t want to couch these experiences in a whole lot of metaphor for a reason. It felt like I could do a better service to the world and to the sorts of people who will probably listen to my music who are already collected if I didn’t take the easy way out and didn’t decorate these subjects. That’s reflected in the record cover. It’s a very blunt, naked record.

SILY: That doesn’t mean that you can’t toy with different modes of storytelling. A song like “Voicemail for Jill” has that very explicit reveal in the end about the abortion shower. Do you think you were still able to change up the way you told the stories?

AP: That’s such a great question because I struggled for so, so many years trying to figure out how to write about abortion. The place I would always get really tripped up when trying to sit down to write about that subject was I just couldn’t figure out who was talking. For a subject as dicey and as personal as abortion that’s at once completely intimate and heavily political, I just couldn’t find a voice who was inarguable. I needed to somehow find that. It took me a really, really long time, and I always had a pot on the back-burner of my songwriting brain trying to figure out how to write a really, good, solid, unsentimental abortion song. Interestingly enough, it was finally landing on a perspective that worked for such a powerful and obvious reason, which we’re seeing reflected in all of the movements that are springing up right now, which is a woman telling the truth to another woman. Shamelessly.

SILY: A line that sort of sticks out to me--and maybe it’s no coincidence it becomes at the beginning of the record--is, “Isn’t it nice when we’re all afraid at the same time?” Is that solidarity in fear a very important theme of the record?

AP: I think that’s a question for you. [laughs] I think that’s why we make art. We don’t want to feel alone. That’s why we make it and why we listen to it and look at it. It’s why we continue to need it. Art does something that nothing else can really do. It doesn’t matter how educated you are. It doesn’t matter what your human experiences have been. It doesn’t matter what you believe. There’s this incredible core truth that art can bypass all of these systems and give a shared human experience that nothing else can give us. This record for me feels like my most direct contribution to that pile of stuff.

SILY: I want to switch gears to the structure of the record. It switches between stories and interludes, or short instrumental bits. The title was named after one of these instrumentals. Obviously, people are going to concentrate more on the words of the longer songs. But what’s the importance of the shorter, in-between tracks to you?

AP: They’re strategic breaks so that you can get more wine and Kleenex. [laughs] They’re there to give you a breather and also thread the record together so it feels like one album instead of a bunch of random fragments.

SILY: Is this the second album you’ve crowdfunded?

AP: Kind of. It’s interesting. Nobody has said that before. This record wasn’t really crowdfunded. You can look at it either way. It was either entirely crowdfunded because my entire life right now is crowdfunded, or it wasn’t because I didn’t use Kickstarter and I didn’t raise funds for this one standalone album. I’m using Patreon now, so everything in my life is crowdfunded from the album to the salary that I pay my assistant to the bananas I bought this morning for my kid. It’s all crowdfunded. And I love it that way. My audience has put in an immense amount of trust in me, and I pick my Patreon salary every month and spend it on the entire work of my life, which is the cost of this album and a huge studio in L.A. and a string section and producer and the mastering and the artwork. It’s endless. There has never been less of a beginning and end as far as that kind of stuff is concerned. My art and life and business has achieved a complete figure 8. I love it. It’s working beautifully.

SILY: It’s almost a model for other people to follow themselves if they see it working for you.

AP: Yeah, they are slowly, but I’m still an early adopter, and I’m also a weird kind of unicorn because I really deeply love being in constant touch with my audience. I love sharing my process. I love having very few boundaries between my so-called personal life and my work. And that makes it much easier for me to jump the crowdfunding hurdle. It doesn’t mean that it’s impossible for very very private artists to stand up and say, “I’m fucking sick of the major label system; all I want to do is put out a record every five years. Will you promise to contribute 25 bucks every time that happens?” The PJ Harveys and the Jeff Mangums of the world are perfectly capable of doing that and would probably be showered with hundreds of thousands of dollars. But there’s still a real emotional stigma around the idea of going directly to your audience instead of going up to the head office of a label.

SILY: Is this your second record working with John Congleton?

AP: Yeah. He’s my soul brother. There was nobody else I wanted to make this record with.

SILY: What does he bring to your creative process that’s unique and continues to help you grow?

AP: He brought two essential things to this record--and I’m so glad you asked, because you’re the first journalist who’s asked about John, and he deserves a lot of credit for this record. First of all, he and I have a rapport personally with one another which was an essential ingredient of an ability to go into a studio, sit behind a piano, and do this kind of material. There was no fucking way I was going to go into a studio and do this with a stranger. I had to be with a friend. It was just a non-starter. And John and I haven’t just worked together--we’ve worked together and have become friends. That was important. I needed to go in that studio and feel completely safe. To cry, to be frustrated, to feel completely un-self-conscious. I knew John could allow me that space and help create a harbor that I could dock in and do whatever it was I needed to get wherever I needed to get to make an album this honest. It's important to point out that there was nobody else in the studio. There wasn’t an assistant engineer. We locked the doors. It was just me and him. And mics and instruments. Later, we had lots of people coming in and doing overdubs, but when we were doing basic tracks, it was a lockout. 

The other thing was everything added to the record beyond the basic tracks. John and I had a really strategic, deliberate approach to how we wanted this record to sound. I have made records with full orchestration, full 30-piece orchestra with strings sections, full bands, full kicks, full everything. And I’ve also made a bunch of music with the Dresden Dolls. I’ve experienced the whole spectrum at this point of what you can and can’t do when you’re starting with a piano song. John and I discussed this over email and over the phone for a year. What we agreed on was that the album needed extra ornamentation, but it needed to be extremely minimal and it needed to have rules. We were going to create that set of rules and then stick to them like our lives depended on it. The rules were: No band, no strings, anything else goes. I trusted John. He hired Max Henry from the band Suuns from Montreal to fly out to L.A. to experiment with me in the studio to program and create extra sounds. My really good friend Jherek Bischoff, who orchestrated the last record, came in and did really minimal upright bass overdubs. We prepared the piano and he created all of those intermissions. That was it. And there was one other, Joey Waronker who played drums for about 25 seconds. He was off tour for two days and was like, “Sure, I’ll play drums.” Jason Webley played some accordion on “Mother’s Confession”. That was it. If you’re a music geek and really care about production, all of our choices in terms of the overdubs or adding extra vocals were super careful and very deliberate. Anything that didn’t support the story was jettisoned. We ended up leaving a lot on the cutting room floor. We were trying to leave with the most tasteful, minimal sound we could achieve.

SILY: How are you adapting this album to the live stage?

AP: Solo. [laughs] It’s just me, a piano, and a ukulele, and that’s it. There’s no support. No special guests. I’m not fucking around on this tour. I’m just getting on stage and delivering a really meticulous, powerful show.

SILY: Do you find it weird doing that in big theaters?

AP: Well, I have to do that in big theaters because even though I would probably prefer to do this in 300-seat clubs, I don’t want to tour this record for 5 years. I can sell about 2,000 tickets per city. Unless I wanted to tour this record every night in every city for 8 nights, I needed to play large theaters. But they’re not so large that they can’t feel intimate. I think it’s gonna work. And that’s part of the challenge. It’s a lot easier to play to a room of 300 people and make it feel totally fucking real. It’s harder to do when you’ve got 2,000 souls in a room. I think I’ve figured it out. Check back in with me in a couple months.

SILY: You’re playing the Chicago Theatre on your tour, and I think it definitely fits that description.

AP: Yeah. And you know, I watched Nick Cave play Skeleton Tree to a room of, I don’t know, 7000 people in Sydney. And he pulled that off. And I thought, “If he can pull that off, I can pull this off.”

SILY: Do you have a favorite song on the new record?

AP: Yeah, I think I do, but I think it’s gonna keep changing. [laughs] Right now it’s “Voicemail for Jill” because I’m putting it out tomorrow. I’m surrounded by it. I’m really really attached to and proud of all of the material on this record in a way that I never have been before. Unabashedly. But this song and what it means and what it says, it’s like if you held a gun to my head and said, “Okay, you can put out only one of these in the world,” that’s the one I would pick. As a survivor, that’s what I would stick in the life raft when escaping from a sinking Titanic. That’s the song that may help and heal the greatest number of people. That’s the one I’d give my organs to.